She had bruises scattered across her skin. Purple, yellow, green and blue. Little declarations of love I trailed along her body. Tiny blood vessels erupting as my palm would struck her cheek. I made her beautiful. Without me she was a white canvas, sitting in a corner, patiently waiting to be brushed. With me she was shimmering in every color known to man. She was my canvas to paint. My girl to love.
I’ve taken a picture of this bruise (in the same position and almost all the same light) every day since I got it, and I’ll post a photoset of the whole week on Saturday or Sunday.
“Wakey, wakey, baby!” The tug of the chain slightly choked him and made him coughed before he was released again. Ronald chuckled, then gently touched his battered back. Just because of the eye gaze, he had to endure such severe torture.
“Time to get up and get to work!”
Oooh this is gorgeous!! The shadows and the bruises? And that chain? Chef’s kiss!
Ahsoka pulled a pillow over her head to drown out the sounds of snoring, but to no avail.
She wondered groggily if she was dreaming it, and could will it to go away. When that didn’t work, she wondered if she could wait it out, or go back to sleep in spite of it.
Finally, when the snoring continued and Ahsoka was awake enough to do something and annoyed enough to try, she prodded the bunk above hers with her foot and hissed, “Skyguy, shhhh,”
There was no response except for another snore. Ahsoka kicked the mattress above her and was met with very little resistance.
Ahsoka sat up further, and saw her master sprawled out on ground beside the bed, dead asleep with his face scrunched up against the cold duracrete floor.
“Hey?” Ahsoka said, louder.
“Hmm?” Anakin replied without moving.
“Why are you on the floor?”
“Hmm?” Anakin said again. “It just seemed easier.”
“You were snoring.”
“Okay.”
“No, not okay,” said Ahsoka with a little laugh. “Why not get in bed?”
“Anything is a bed if you try hard enough.”
Ahsoka threw her pillow at him, and Anakin’s next quip was cut off by a sudden gasp. Ahsoka rubbed her eyes. “Wait a second, are you hurt?”
“No,” Anakin sniffed.
Ahsoka turned the light on. “Master, it’s starting to sound like something happened and you can’t climb up into the top bunk.”
“It’s fine.”
“Is it?” She knelt down on the floor next to him. Anakin sat up with careful, slow movements, resting one hand protectively over the lower left side of his torso.
“It’s fine, Snips. I really mean it.”
“But you are hurt?”
“Just…bruises.”
“Bad ones?”
Anakin shrugged. Ahsoka fought the urge to whack him with the pillow again. “Then take the bottom bunk, Master,” she said. “And um… maybe I should wake up Kix?”
“No, no,” Anakin shook his head. “Go back to sleep. The floor is kind of nice and cool.”
Ahsoka almost asks if he’s feverish. “Are you sure you don’t want Kix? Or Master Obi-Wan?”
Anakin exhaled with soft laughter. “I’m sure.”
“What about the bottom bunk and an ice pack?” she said. “Final offer.”
Prompt:Touch and Go (bruises, touch starved, hunger) Fandom:Naruto Pairing:Sai/Ino Rating:T Words:941 Notes:This wasn’t a request, but I wanted to write these two. This is a background piece from Healing Hands (a YamaSaku story that’s in progress)
Candlelight danced on the wall, throwing the room in shades of shadow and soft light. The highlights on Ino’s cheek bones were lovely, shifting as she continued to tell her story. Sai tried to focus on the words, but the sound of her voice was like a lullabye. She was talking about her day, and he only managed to make snippets of the conversation fit into his memory. There was something about Sakura, but that wasn’t unusual. The women had become friends in the past few weeks.
After a minute, Sai sat up straighter and forced his mind back to the task at hand. “Wait, what was that about Anbu?”
“Sakura said she’d referred a couple to T&I for counseling,” Ino continued, tipping her head to the side. She caught her crimson lip between perfect white teeth, then managed a weak laugh. “I was afraid that you were one of them since you hadn’t been around in a while.”
“It’s been two weeks,” Sai amended with a shake of his head. “I’ve been on a mission.”
Ino hummed and took a sip of the wine that she’d poured them hours ago. Sai’s remained untouched on the table beside him. “I know,’ Ino sighed, placing her glass next to his. “But, it could have been you.”
“Unlikely, Sakura didn’t say anything at my physical,” Sai reasoned. He shifted position and kept his face carefully impassive. “I’m sure she would have said something, if she was worried.”
Another soft hum left Ino’s throat, but the woman didn’t seem aware of it. Her head was tipped to the side, studying Sai through the fall of blond hair that covered one eye. “You’re right, but I was worried all the same.”
Something warm and foreign opened in Sai’s chest, a light feeling of giddiness that he’d never experienced. “I’m sor—” Sai lost his words in the soft brush of Ino’s lips against his. He sat stunned for half a second, then his mind caught up with his body. Oh. Ohhhh.
Sai let out a shallow breath, suddenly aware of Ino in a way that he’d never been cognizant before. Her hands splayed on each side of his hips, and her pale eyes inches from his, waiting for a response. He exhaled in a nervous chuckle and continued his earlier thought. “I’m sorry to worry you. It wasn’t me.”
“But, it could have been,” Ino countered without moving away.
The woman’s presence made it difficult to think of a response, but Sai wasn’t sure that Ino wanted one. The expression on her face was foreign and dizzying. He found himself wishing he’d drank the wine without knowing why. The second kiss lasted longer, trapping Sai’s breath in his lung to the point of pain. When they broke apart, he realized that Ino had moved closer. One hand rested against his chest when she blew out a soft breath. “I don’t want to lose you too.”
Sai wanted to assure Ino that she wouldn’t lose him, that he was right there, but the words tasted false. He’d seen enough people die to know that tomorrow wasn’t promised, especially in his line of work. Ino knew that too; she’d lost more than most. Carefully, Sai raised one hand to brush across Ino’s cheek. “You won’t,” he answered, suddenly understanding why people lied.
Weight settled on Sai’s thighs and his arms closed around Ino’s back with a familiarity that left him reeling. If her mouth was warm against his, her body felt like an inferno. He lost track of time, of anything but the flutter light kisses that brushed over his jaw. It could have been seconds or hours when Ino shifted and pain exploded from Sai’s side. He grit his teeth and tried to smooth his features, but he wasn’t fast enough.
Ino pulled away, chest rising and falling distractingly as she caught her breath. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” Sai answered, a heartbeat too fast to be honest.
Ino’s lips slid into a frown, brought her hand back to the position it had been moments before, and pressed. Sai hissed through clenched teeth. Frowning, Ino sat back and undid the first four buttons of his shirt. She pulled the fabric aside and his name left her mouth in a chiding gasp. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine. It’ll heal in a few days.” Sai watched the horror dawning on Ino’s face with a sort of morbid fascination.
Ino traced across the bare skin with more tenderness than desire, following the angry red and black marks on Sai’s pale skin. The bruise covered almost the entire left side of his chest, a deep purple blotch that centered just below the pectoral muscle. Angry streaks sprayed across the skin in every direction, fading the further away from the point of impact. Ino traced one that wrapped around his back. “Have you been to the hospital?”
“I’m fine,” Sai repeated, catching Ino’s hand and guiding it away from the mark. “In a week or two, you won’t even know that it happened.”
The woman frowned and moved to sit beside Sai on the couch. The loss of her weight and warmth left him feeling disoriented. “You should still get it checked out.”
“I will,” he said, and was surprised to find that he meant it.
Ino brushed her hair behind one ear, then nodded toward the movie that they’d been planning to watch. “It’s getting late, we better get started.”
The woman spoke as if the past fifteen minutes hadn’t changed everything between them. Sai didn’t know what to say, so he nodded and tried to figure out what happened and why.
I was a sore little girl after a visit from Daddy. The welts from the USB cord aren’t showing up but bonus points if you can spot the mark from his little bastard hairbrush paddle that made me cry.
(Please don’t remove the caption or a unicorn will die.)
I struggle to reconcile my sadism with my conscience.
I’ve grown up believing that violence isn’t the right thing to do, and that there’s always a way out. That, if there really isn’t any other option, you don’t land the first blow. I’m a really big guy, and all the way through growing up I was told not to use my strength as an advantage, that it would be wrong to take a natural gift like that and abuse it. All those admonishments and reminders sunk in, eventually.
But I like to inflict pain. I know I do, and that knowledge is something I find hard to sit easily with. I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting on it, trying to find the root of it all so that I know the why, even if I don’t know how to cut that urge and satisfaction out of me in some makeshift figurative surgery. And I’ve pretty much figured it out, at least to the degree where I’m not guilty about it any more.
I like to hurt people who like to be hurt. By dissociating the pain from the intention behind it, I can see it purely as a sensation, and that makes it all much easier to stomach. It’s just a response that your nerve endings fire off signals because of, signals that rush up your spine, blast into your brain and release a pulse of endorphins. It makes sense for you to enjoy it. It makes sense for me, then, to enjoy giving you that pleasure, even if it is a few steps removed from the direct.
I understand the catharsis of pain. I find the infliction of it cathartic, too, and even when it’s not physical, and instead the words that slap and sting, the actions I do, or I force you to do, that cut into you and create that response, it’s still just that; a set of sensations and physical, visceral responses that you can enjoy. It doesn’t mean that I mean what I say or do, that I have anger or callous violence behind any of my actions. There’s nothing but care and love in my hand when I lay it on you, even if it does leave a sting.
Even with all that, there’s a fear in the back of my mind that I’ll go too far. That I’ll like it a little bit too much, and get to a place that I can’t come back from. We’re playing with fire all the time, and it’s a wonder we don’t all go up in flames. It’s only through careful introspection and reflection that we can keep them in check, make sure they stay on the bonfire and off our clothes.
We forget the importance of words sometimes. The power they have to destroy someone’s spirit. There’s nothing more important than to know when to keep them in your mouth and when to blurt them out.
I BLAME EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU FOR IGNITING MY LOVE FOR THIS FRUSTRATED THEATRE BOI AND HIS SOFT-VOICED HIMBO FIGHTER. Not lawrusso at like… all, but apparently, people keep creating all the different combos of Daniel/Johnny/Ruben/Chris, so… yeah. The magnetism between Ralph and Billy is absolutely transcendent.
I have not seen Naked in New York or Shootfighter, and I am afraid that if I do, I will spontaneously combust from excitement or embarrassment.
Only remembered one fic about NINY, but there are now FOUR?! Check it out y'all!
I have so many WIPs and AUs in my head, I saw this karate kid x labyrinth post and was like… oh dear… I am already drowning in ideas looool.
She loves jellyfish so much that she’s grown a tolerance to the their sting and hence is covered in bruises. Concepted this drawing last year for Mermay and never got around to working on it.
I’ve always found Kyle’s design in Stick of Truth so pretty, so I wanted to draw it. I finally got around to it. It’s been such a long time since I made a whole drawing with lineart and all, so I’m happy I finally felt like it<3
My idea for this was was that Stan had been fighting for his King and gotten severely hurt. I dunno he always seemed like such a loyal knight to me. Even though Kyle can kick some ass too lol, I used him a lot on my team in the game for that reason..
I just finished “South Park - The Stick of Truth” the other day, and I’m currently playing the next game with my girlfriend, who was also so sweet to lend a ‘hand’..quite literally. Here’s her Tumblr: https://yuukipuki.tumblr.com/ - she makes wonderful drawings <3
CW: Restraints, stress position (brief), vague threats, bruises, hypersensitivity
Nicholas returned about a half an hour after Killian left. He took his time in Nicholas the chains and finding the keys to the cuffs.
“You been crying?” Nicholas asked as he started to unlock Shea’s wrists.
“… Yes, sir.” It was obvious. Even if Shea denied it, Nicholas would find out momentarily anyway.
“Did anything happen after the group left?”
Shea’s heart started to race. So it had been a test? Had he passed? “S-sir, one of the guests came back and tried to convince me to run away.”
Nicholas paused unlocking the cuffs on Shea’s ankles. “… Excuse me?” His voice sounded tense.
Was it not a test then? Shea was confused. “O-one of… of the guests came back and took the chains off. H-he… he tried to get me to leave with him, sir.”
Nicholas moved in front of Shea and grabbed his face, forcing Shea to look at him. “Who?” His voice was like ice and it made the blood freeze in Shea’s veins.
“I… I-I’m sorry, sir— I don’t remember his name.”
“Then what did he look like?”
“I-I… ah, I-I didn’t see his face.” Shea lied. Nicholas hadn’t set this up and Shea wasn’t about to get Killian in trouble. What Nicholas did to him was admissible by nature of what Shea was, but he feared Nicholas wouldn’t restrain his anger against a human any more than he did against Shea.
Nicholas’s expression changed. “Why are you such a fucking liar? You don’t know his name or his face? And you expect me to believe that one of my friends was in here, trying to rescue you?” Nicholas laughed.
Shea felt relief calm his heart as Nicholas went back to uncuffing him. “Sorry, sir.”
“You know I’m gonna have to punish you for that, though.”
“Yes, sir.”
Nicholas ran his hand up Shea’s back once he finished unlocking the cuffs, pressing his fingers onto some of the bruises he passed, then stroked a hand down Shea’s wing.
Shea gasped involuntarily as a shudder ran down his spine.
What on earth??
“Did you just try to pull away from me?” Nicholas asked, his voice bordering on snapping.
“N-no— no, sir— I don't—” Shea trailed off. What was that? He tried to think back to when the last time someone touched his wings was.
He couldn’t remember. Master Wilson never really touched him unless it was to slap him across the face or pull him by the arm. Nicholas was never allowed to touch his wings or hurt him before Master Wilson died. Since Master Wilson’s death, Nicholas had been much more interested in beating the hell out of Shea’s face and torso than anything to do with his wings.
Nicholas took a fistful of Shea’s feathers and pulled him back. Shea screamed.
Shea hadn’t screamed in years. Had he ever screamed? He didn’t know. He’d never felt pain this bad before. It was like every sensation in his wings was multiplied tenfold— he knew it wasn’t like this normally.
If Shea touched his own wings or if they brushed up against a wall, it just felt normal. He started to cry aloud as Nicholas finally released his wing.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Nicholas asked, pulling Shea’s hair so his head tipped backwards to look at him. “You’re not usually such a crybaby.”
“I-I-I’m sorry, sir— I’ll sto-stop…”
If Nicholas decided to pull Shea’s feathers again, however, Shea doubted he could keep that promise.
Nicholas didn’t pull Shea’s wing again, but he did draw his hand slowly down the length of the wing. At first, Shea reflexively jerked away, but he consciously focused on not moving, knowing it would only irritate Nicholas. Shea shivered, whimpering quietly.
“Your wings aren’t just delicate, are they? They’re also hypersensitive.” Shea could hear the smirk in Nicholas’s voice. “You’re going to regret that I found out about this.”
CW: Bruises, partial nudity, stress position, put on display
The past week and a half had been hell for Shea. Without his father to reign him in, Nicholas had become a terror. Shea had sort of anticipated it, but the sheer level of brutality had been… unexpected to say the least.
“Shea.” Nicholas threw open the door to Shea’s room. “Come out.”
“Yes, sir.” Shea obeyed quickly, keeping his eyes glued to the floor.
“Take off your shirt.”
“Sir..?” Confused, Shea’s expression faltered.
“Are you questioning me?” Nicholas leaned back against a wall.
“N-no, sir.” Shea removed his shirt, revealing the mottled purples, greens, and yellows covering his body.
“Give it here.”
Shea handed his shirt over to Nicholas, who tossed it aside.
“Follow me.”
Shea followed Nicholas down the hall into the sitting room— a room with which he was well familiar. He was not familiar, however, with the new fixture in the center of the floor.
Mounted in the floor, there were three rings, distanced from eachother, with three chains attached to the rings. The chains were of three different lengths.
Nicholas grabbed Shea by the hair and pulled him over to the rings, pushing him down to kneel between them. “Fold your wings.”
Shea did.
“Put your hands behind your back.”
Shea heard Nicholas open a drawer and remove something metal. Soon, he felt steel cuffs close over his wrists, followed by similar cuffs around his ankles. Nicholas attached the chains from two of the rings to each of these cuffs before crouching in front of Shea.
“Look at me.”
Shea raised his eyes and saw that Nicholas held a collar, which he placed around Shea’s neck. He didn’t know what he had done to warrant this punishment, but he knew better than to ask. Nicholas pulled the collar downwards and attached the short length of remaining chain to the collar.
In the end, Shea had to strain forwards to keep from hurting his neck. The chains on his wrists gave no slack.
“I’m having company over in about half an hour.” Nicholas said, standing. “My father kept you for the visual appeal and for the mark of status you show. He didn’t take advantage of it often enough.”
—
By the time a half an hour passed and guests started to file into the sitting room, Shea’s muscles were burning. The guests ignored him as they entered the room, saying hello to Nicholas and the other guests.
After another half an hour it was getting difficult for Shea to breathe.
Shea squeezed his eyes shut as he heard the conversation turn to him— people remarking about his wings and asking questions about his behaviors.
“Well, he’s not particularly well behaved.” Nicholas said at one point. “My father treated him too well— like a human, really. Not like the disobedient animal that he is. We’re dealing with his disrespect now, though.”
Shea gasped and bit back a yell as Nicholas pressed hard on a particularly bad bruise.
“Shut up.”
“Y-yes, sir…” Shea breathed. He could still feel the pain radiating outward from the bruise. He heard a few more sets of footsteps approach him.
“May I?” Said a new voice— one that Shea only vaguely recognized.
Nicholas didn’t give a verbal answer, but Shea guessed he must have either nodded or shrugged because this new person pressed their hand down Shea’s bruised arm, eliciting a whimper from Shea.
Nicholas pulled Shea’s hair, forcing him to look up as much as he could, straining his neck, spine, and arms. “Didn’t I tell you to shut up?”
Only a few minutes later, the group left the sitting room. As soon as they were gone, Shea started to cry. He couldn’t help it. He knew Nicholas could be back at any moment, but it hurt. And it was unnecessary.
The thought occurred to Shea that Nicholas might be jealous or upset by the words his father had spoken to Shea… Was this all out of anger?
Hours passed. Shea was shaking from the effort of holding his position for so long. The floor beneath his face was damp from both tears and sweat when the door again opened.
Shea braced himself.
But it wasn’t Nicholas. It was someone else. A voice that he had never heard before.
“Hey.” The person knelt next to Shea and immediately unclipped all three chains. It took less than ten seconds and Shea felt the relief in his arms and back instantly. “Are you okay?”
“What are you doing?” Shea whispered, his face going pale.
“Do you know where the keys for the cuffs are?”
“Don't— I mean— I— N-no, I don’t. Please put the chains back, sir…” Shea bowed his face to the ground, trying to resist stretching. Was this a test?
“Put them back? Why??”
“Master Nicholas— h-he’ll be livid… please don’t take them off…”
A hand brushed against Shea’s cheek and he flinched, but the contact was gentle. The hand gently guided Shea’s face up to look at the man who had released him from the chains. Shea avoided eye contact, but the person searched his face intently.
“I want to get you out of here.” The man said.
Shea hesitated, unsure of what he was supposed to say. “… Please put the chains back, sir…”
“Just look at yourself…” The stranger’s voice was gentle. “You’re bruised everywhere. I can tell your nose is broken. Please just come with me? You never have to see Nicholas again.”
“I-I could never— you— please forgive me— you don’t understand. I belong to Nicholas. Even if… even if I don’t like the way he treats me, I have to stay.”
The man let go of Shea’s face, reluctant. “… You really want me to put the chains back?”
Shea nodded, letting his face fall back to face the ground.
The man replaced the chains and traced a finger across a line of bruises on Shea’s back. “Sorry.” He said, pulling his hand away abruptly. “What’s your name?” He asked.
“Sh-Shea…” Shea was already trembling again from the strain.
“Shea? I’m Killian. And… I’m going to find a way to take you away from Nicholas.”
Shea discarded the promise and forgot it before Killian even left the room.
CW: Dehydration, refusal of care, questionable Caretaker, kicking, bruises, restraints
“Whumpee? I brought you something to drink.”
“Go to hell.” Whumpee spat, kicking at Caretaker before they even got close.
“Whumpee, let me help you. You need to drink something. You’re dehydrated.”
“I’d rather die. Go fuck yourself.”
Careful to stay out of Whumpee’s reach, Caretaker set the cup on the nightstand. “Aren’t you thirsty?”
Whumpee didn’t answer.
With a sigh, Caretaker braced themself and sat on the edge of the bed again. As they had expected, Whumpee continued kicking them.
Caretaker simply sat quietly, enduring. Again, Whumpee kept at it for about two hours before they finally stopped. Caretaker was sore.
“Whumpee, may I please change your bandages?”
“Go away!”
“Will you at least take a drink before I leave?”
“No!” Whumpee kicked Caretaker one more time.
Caretaker gave a curt nod. “Fine. But I’ll be back later to try again until your answer is yes to one of those requests.” And Caretaker left again.
—
“Whumpee?” Caretaker returned an hour later. “May I change your bandages?”
“Damn you, no!”
“Will you take a drink?”
“I said, no!”
Caretaker sat on the bed once more, biting the inside of their cheek as Whumpee kicked at their already bruised body. “I want to help you— I’m going to help you. I don’t care how many times you kick me, I’m not giving up on you.”
“Why won’t you just leave?? I don’t want your help! I don’t trust you!” Whumpee kicked Caretaker in the head.
Caretaker saw stars. “I know you don’t trust me, but I can’t just let you go. You’re going to get an infection!”
“I don’t care— just stay away from me.”
Caretaker closed their eyes and sat in silence until Whumpee stopped kicking them. Maybe it was all in their head, but they felt like it was a shorter period this time. They allowed the silence to hang in the air for a long moment before speaking.
“May I change your bandages?”
“No.”
“Will you take a drink?”
“You’rereallynot going to leave me alone until I say yes to something, are you?”
“Nope.”
Whumpee was silent.
Well, it wasn’t a no.
When Caretaker held the cup to Whumpee’s lips, they drank, glaring at Caretaker the whole time. Despite Whumpee’s glare, they drank the whole glass of water.
“Thank you.” Caretaker said softly before leaving the room.
![[For Rent]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/avatar_675ebebd2664_30.png){kind=avatar}
