Joker Scars の小説・ストーリー

No listening ears for the conversation that was about to happen. I pound on the door using the side of my hand and forearm, warning Joker I wasn’t here for small talk. Joker answered the doorway shirtless, his torso covered in tattoos and old scars. He wiped the sleep from his eyes; seems that I had woken him from slumber. “Can this not wait?” Joker looked so tense, the look of a man that needed to get laid. I knew the look all too well at the moment, which further pissed me off.

The Adversary Dark Prince (POV) When people notice the jagged scar on my arm, their eyes often widen with worry, and they jump to conclusions that are far from the truth. It's a common reaction, especially in a world where scars usually hint at pain or violence. But this scar tells a different story—it's not a sign of suffering; it's a symbol of something beautiful and meaningful in my life. Each curve and line of the scar represents resilience and a deep bond that has lasted through challenges, showing that not all scars are reminders of hurt. Instead, it reminds me of love and the strength I've gained along my journey.

“It’s – well. Some of it’s really bad. But you must know that, right?” Ace thought about the beatings that had gone on for hours; the crunch of lower leg bone; the knife carving out his left eye; the razors cutting the skin off his chest. Joker had insisted on removing his Fallen Angels tattoo personally, claiming that a cock-sucking traitor had no right to have it on his body any longer, and Ace still wasn’t sure if Joker had been more outraged by his disloyalty to the club, or his homosexuality.

I never liked people getting too close to me. It might have been my survival instincts and trust issues, but I'm used to people being cruel. With both my parents gone, years of surviving as a lone wolf taught me to expect only the worst in humans. Kindness isn't something I see every day. Scar watches me as I wrap up the cuts around my hand with a white cloth. As his name says, he has quite a glaring scar that runs from his left eye to the side of his jaw. His bare chest shows numerous tattoos and battle marks. A leather belt hangs on his waist, securing a pair of cargo pants.

Jace whimpers and coughs, blood spilling from his mouth as he squirms on the floor. “Stop!” I choke on my breath. “Jace…” “Don’t pity them, Tabitha. They don’t deserve it. See this?” Mario lifts his shirt and reveals a massive scar carved into the side of his stomach. It looks like a bite taken straight out of him. “I got this more than twenty years ago,” he explains. “From Emery Aldair himself. He went berserk during the full moon after his twenty-fourth birthday.” “W-What? I don’t understand,” I whisper.

The one thing, however, that stood out was the jagged scar on his face. From the top of his left eyebrow, slicing into his eyelid, and all the way down to his top lip was a claw mark. The skin was a darker pink and rippled around the scar, despite having years of healing. The line was rough, probably due to him struggling when he received it. I couldn't help but flinch as I fully digested the man in front of me.

"I'm mateless, Celeste." "What do you mean?" He sets his drink down, scooting off the bean bag and pushing himself closer to me. He turns his back to me, grabbing his lengthy hair and moving it away from the back of his neck. There, beneath his hairline, is a circle of scarred flesh. As he flexes his neck I could've sworn it had a goldish hue to it. There's raised flesh within the circled scar, slightly pale in color. Two inward curved lines reflect back on each other on opposite sides of the scar. Additionally, a small line lays between the reflection, outward dashes of opposite direction on either end. A slanted slash goes through the middle of the line. It looks wrong on his body, the mar

I watched, my eyes narrowing, as he held his arms out toward me. My breath hitched. His skin was ruined. From his wrists all the way up to his forearms, his flesh was covered in a frightening web of scars. There were deep, jagged lines, discolored patches, and dozens of circular puncture marks. They were injection scars, overlapping one another, telling a story of years of brutal, desperate experimentation.