bruises t

Trust Me (ch10)

olicity || ao3 || explicit || smut || 30,152 || more fics

summary: When a prostitute meets the perfect client, she has to remind herself that there’s no room for getting close to someone in her line of work.
chapter word count: 2331
chapters: 10/?
a/n: happy (sexy) sunday….  i think y'all are going to like this one ;)

[ch1] [ch2] [ch3] [ch4] [ch5] [ch6] [ch7] [ch8] [ch9]

Felicity knew that she should have covered up her bruises. It didn’t matter that any make up would have rubbed off throughout the night…. at least if it was near the end of their session he wouldn’t notice right? Ugh. She just didn’t want him to see. Didn’t want him to know and worry. He worried about her so much. She could see it in his eyes. It still confused her, but it also made her heart flutter. She couldn’t understand why someone would genuinely worry and seem to care about her. But she liked the way it felt.

She wasn’t supposed to.

Her life was too complicated for feelings to get involved. And now it was about to get a thousand times worse. She pulled away from Oliver and grabbed her dress, tugging it back on.

“Felicity,” he begged, “If I hurt you I deserve to know.”

Keep reading

Gem Store Commissions! :D

Decided to make a more proper looking post. Two slots, one for makeover kit, one for Job-O-Tron backpack:

For a Total Makeover Kit, single character head shot in full color. Example:

For Job-O-Tron backpack, single character, waist up, in full color. Example:


What will I draw: Any race, doesn’t have to be GW2. Minor nudity (topless) is fine, as long as character is 18+. Minor Violence (cuts, scrapes, bruises)
What I won’t draw: Porn, gore.
How to go about it: Message me on tumblr via ask/chat. Provide clear references of character’s face. If sylvari, provide an image during night time as well, so that glow is visible. I’ll start working as soon as I receive the items.
Others things: Allow couple of days to complete. I’ll send you watermarkless version, for your personal use (icons, RP profiles etc) as long as it’s personal use and you don’t profit from it :U

anonymous asked:

I want Jin to punish me so hard I'm bruised and can't walk

i don’t have my computer right now so i can’t react with photos but just picture that one screenshot of the christmas livestream where jin was yelling alot

Aries: Sometimes forgiveness is easy. Living with the consequences will always be the hard part.

Taurus: Learn to stop regretting your choices, or start making new ones. Because this misery doesn’t suit you.

Gemini: You’re worth more then that. Start holding people to the standards you hold yourself.

Cancer: Learn to enjoy the winter, they can’t take away the snow from you too.

Leo:  Some bruises just weren’t meant to heal. Learn to work around them.

Virgo: going back to old habits will never solve any problems, just quicken your walk to a shallow grave.

Libra: stop clinging to the people who are trying to destroy you. They aren’t worth it.

Scorpio: Never stop looking over your shoulder, you can never be too careful these days.

Sagittarius: welcome home. Now to settle down and have a drink with old ghosts.

Capricorn: recovery is never going to be pretty. Learn to love your scars.

Aquarius: You’ve won the war, why the fuck are you still trying to fight?

Pisces: Do you miss who you use to be some days when you look in the mirror?

—  This week’s horoscope
Autism self-care

Bright light autistics: Make sure you give your eyes a break every now and then, even if lights are just so pretty.

Dim light autistics: Do what you need to feel happy and comfortable, but make sure there is enough light if you are reading/writing. You can cause eye problems such as nystagmus if you strain in the dark.

Pressure autistics: I know how calming it is and how good it feels, but make sure you are not cutting off circulation when you pressure stim. Also make sure you don’t bruise yourself and that your rib cage can expand properly. Try not to squeeze yourself somewhere unsafe that you could get trapped.

Olfactory autistics: Try to stick to smelling natural things or things designed to be smelt e.g. Soaps, perfumes,candles. Avoid sniffing cleaning products such as bleach, as they can give off dangerous fumes.

Taste autistics: Think to yourself before you put it in your mouth ‘Is this safe, could I choke?’ It seems mundane but I have choked on a toy car wheel because I got too into mouth stimming. Baby chews are always a safe bet, and they are small (for babies) so they are discreet.

Food issue autistics: I am one of you, I understand. As much as the funky textures of the world are gross, veggies can be gross, foods that touch can be gross but you do need your proteins and vitamins. Try and find some chewable kids multivitamins (like candy, but vitaminny). Make your food look cute, research kids bento boxes and don’t be ashamed if you have one week where you only eat chicken nuggets.

Soft noise autistics: I am also one of you, it is PHYSICALLY PAINFUL sometimes, so block out as much noise as you need, but try not to totally deprive yourself of stimulus. Listen to some quiet music. Make sure you change earplugs regularly if you wear them,to avoid infection. If you wear ear defenders, take them off when you are in a good place to let your ears breath, and try not to wear earrings with them.

Loud noise autistics: as much as the stimulation is needed for you, you need to make sure you don’t damage your ears. Intervals of loud noise are okay, but constant bombardment can cause hearing loss.

Stim safely lovely people

Okay but Rogue One and how they’re hugged and how they hug back headcanons. Hug headcanons. I live for platonic hugging, anything I like must have headcanons or fic for it.


  •  Baze hugs Bodhi by picking him up and squeezing him super tight.
  • Chirrut holds his arms open and waits for Bodhi to come over. (The first time, Bodhi was a little unsure. “What? What are you doing? Is this some Jedi guardian thing?” “It is a hug so come here already. Are you really denying a blind man, I can’t see you to hug you so get over here.” Baze laughed and laughed and laughed.)
  • Jyn hugs Bodhi like she wants to be covert. She’ll hug him fiercely and quickly and then act like she didn’t just bruise him.
  • Cassian pats Bodhi on the shoulder first, like a warning, and then gives him a one armed hug.


  • Baze just puts an arm around her shoulders and lets her turn into him for a hug. Chirrut usually shows up a moment later to make it a group hug. (If she shrugs them off at first they’ll let her be for a little while before trying again.)
  • Chirrut just tells her to hug him when he senses she’s nearby. (“Come here little sister, and give me a hug.”)
  • Bodhi hugs her nervously. He’ll do it impulsively and then stammer and try to explain until she tells him he doesn’t have to explain wanting to hug her.
  • Cassian hugs her like he never wants to let her go. Even when its just a one armed hug he holds her tight.


  • Chirrut just leans into him mostly. Or drapes himself over him.
  • Bodhi is too scared to straight up hug him so instead he pats Baze on the back or shoulder. (And then Baze grabs him in a bearhug.)
  • Jyn just leans against his side, puts an arm around him.
  • Cassian, much like Bodhi, is a little unsure about hugging Baze and usually waits until Baze is sitting so he can squeeze his shoulder, or prop his elbow on him and just lean on him. (Cassian also gets bearhugged.)


  • Baze just leans against him. Unless he did something that made Baze scared for Chirrut’s safety, in which case he wraps his arms around him like a shield and hugs him tighter than anyone else.
  • Bodhi always asks first if Chirrut wanta a hug, and then hugs him gently. (At least until after the first couple times Chirrut hugs him back with more umph than Baze. After that Bodhi just hugs him normally.)
  • Jyn does the same thing to him that he does to her; when she sees him she tells him to give her a hug.
  • Cassian hugs him briefly and reassuringly around the shoulders at random.


  • Bodhi hems and haws for so long before hugging him that Cassian hugs him instead.
  • Baze and Chirrut always tag team Cassian and hug him from either side. They usually do it because he’s overworking or stressed so they make him hold still and breathe for a moment. (He doesn’t actually mind.)
  • Jyn likes to hug him from behind, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her face into his back.


  • Hugging him is irrelevant to him since he can’t feel and uncomfortable to the humans because he’s made of metal. So instead they pat him or, in Jyn’s case, rap their knuckles against him. Eventually he starts patting them back too, sometimes.

*Bonus* Group hug:

  • If Chirrut and Baze are hugging Cassian, Jyn will squeeze in to hug him too and drag Bodhi along. When K2 walks by and sees them he sighs, and points out to Cassian that “the odds of this happening every day keep becoming higher, you know.”
hickies wash off your body as if they were watercolour paint and you are the wrong side of the canvas. I am so stubborn they turn purple on my tongue but by the time I have let you go you are pale again. and nobody has ever been so proud to say they were mine because everything I hold turns bitter but I really did try to make it easier to love me when it came to you. I really did try to accept your apologies and trust you fully and treat you as if you were fragile but you are so mighty, my love. I’m sorry it scares me when your skin doesn’t bruise.
—  a.m
Worried - Request

Requested by anon:  can you do one where Sherlock comes home from a long case which he finally solved but is beaten up and and bruised and he doesn’t understand why is reader is so worried because Sherlock + human emotions = ?

Summary: Everything from above, I suppose.

Pairing: Sherlock x reader.

Word count: 2,222

Warnings: Bloody, bruised Sherlock?

A/N: Fluffy Sherlock, I hope I got this correctly, my Sherlockness is sleeping today.


221B was only quiet when neither Sherlock nor John were around. No shooting, or shouting, no stomping across the room, no violin playing, no rants, no nothing… Just pure silence. And even when (Y/N) enjoyed said silence, she was worried. They were out on a case – a very dangerous one – and they had been out for a long while without even calling like they used to.

She tapped her fingers anxiously over the fabric of Sherlock’s chair with one hand while the other was holding a cup of tea Mrs. Hudson had prepared for her. It was now cold and she hadn’t even tried it, although it looked like it because she was trembling, causing a few spills over her jeans.

(Y/N) heard steps. Not Sherlock’s, not John’s and definitely not Mrs. Hudson’s. Limping steps. Yes, it was a limp, maybe a police officer or a client. (Y/N) set the cup of tea aside and got up from the seat. She walked confidently to the door to open it up.

She was like the secretary. She would receive the clients, attend the calls and help Sherlock during his research. Since Watson got married, Sherlock had needed someone else to help him through the process of investigation while John couldn’t, and even so, she wasn’t allowed to go on cases.

Sherlock wouldn’t admit it, but he really liked her. She was clever, efficient and she wasn’t an idiot like everyone else. She didn’t interrupt him while being on his mind palace; she didn’t get scared of the many body parts spread around the apartment and she made brilliant observations when required, if not, she would stay quiet and do her job.

It wasn’t a surprise either that she didn’t take him for an arsehole. She knew his “condition” and she was fine with it. In fact, she was almost a bit too fine. She cared for him, and she was always there; kind of like Watson, except she wasn’t a married person but rather a single one who just so happened to enjoy Sherlock’s company.

She didn’t worry to cover the tea stains from her jeans – perhaps she hadn’t even noticed them – and so she opened the door with her client smile. A bloody Sherlock appeared in front of her.

His hair was covered in blood and sweat, as well as his face and his clothes. His eyes were tired, and he was breathing through his mouth. (Y/N) noticed a few bruises over one of his cheekbones, under the eye, on his hands and she was certain there would be a lot more under his clothes.

“Thank God you’re here, I forgot my keys.” He breathed out. He was tired, and his voice sounded as raspy as if someone had tried to asphyxiate him.

“What happened to you?” She inquired in shock.

“I caught the murderer… I told them it was the grandfather but nobody believed me.” He replied nonchalantly and tried to step inside. However, he was too injured and ended up falling over (Y/N).

Thankfully, he didn’t let all of his weight on her and she was a tad bit strong so she managed to help him inside.

“A grandfather did this to you?” (Y/N) asked as she led him to his seat.

“Oh no, it was the grandmother. She’s a real ninja.” And so he flopped on his seat, “You were sitting here.”

“Is it because it’s warm or because of the tea cup at the side table?” She asked, turning her back on him to look for the first aid kit.

“That and the tea stain on your jeans.” He chuckled. (Y/N) returned with the metal box on her hands, kneeling in front of him. She set the box on the floor by her side and opened it. “You look worried.”

“Of course I’m worried.” She hissed, “You and John leave for hours, no calls, no texts… A murderer on the lose…”

“My phone’s battery died. Why were you worried?” (Y/N) gave him a dumbfounded look.

“I just told you.” Sherlock tilted his head and couldn’t help but to complain. Everything hurt him. (Y/N) sighed and proceeded to clean up his wounds as much as she could. “You’re going to have to shower.”

“I’m afraid you’re right.” Sherlock groaned and tried to get up in vain.

(Y/N) kicked the kit away so that Sherlock could walk freely and helped him up. She guided him to the bathroom and turned on the shower for him. She had to help him to take off his shirt as well, which allowed her to have a look on the multiple bruises over his ribs.

“No broken bones, though.” Sherlock commented, he obviously noticed her staring, “Grandma isn’t as good as she used to be.”

“And yet she beat you.” (Y/N) mumbled.

“But I got them in jail,” Sherlock added cockily, “guess we know who the winner is.”

Keep reading

Helpless: Part 1

Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Reader

Summary: You feel the same pain your soulmate feels.

Warnings: slight mentions of torture

Draco sat slouched in the bathroom of the manor, crying out silently as another strike went against his cheek. He raised his pale hand, cradling his own cheek.

Why the hell was his soulmate getting hurt so violently? He’s never experienced something like this before and he was frightened. Were they okay? What was happening and why was it happening? Why did it have to happen now?

“Draco!” Lucius scolded from the other side of the door as another hit landed against his head and he felt as if he was gonna pass out from it. He’s lucky the pain his soulmate felt, didn’t leave bruises on him, but it definitely wore down on his heart.

“What, father?” Draco hissed back, attempting to stand up as another blow went into his stomach, he coughed, the feeling too much.

“We need you.” Draco listened as his father’s footsteps walked away and Draco gingerly opened the door, a headache forming in his head.

He hoped they were okay, but the pain he felt from them, said otherwise.

He lead himself back to the living room, Bellatrix, his mother and father, the Carrows, standing around someone he couldn’t recognize, just yet.

Not until he stepped forward and saw them. Y/N, he recalled her from Hogwarts, never really haven spoken to her before.

“Perhaps you’ll listen to someone you might know.” Bellatrix said, grabbing Draco’s shirt as she pulled him to stand in front of you. “Draco.” She seethed.

Draco looked at your beaten and bruised state, he didn’t think much of it. Just another person they tortured for information on the whereabouts of Harry Potter.

“Do you think you can tell us now?” Bellatrix walked around your small frame, stalking around you like a predator would. You lay curled up, clutching your stomach before Bellatrix pulled out her wand, running it over the skin of your cheek.

“Draco, why don’t you do the honors?” Bellatrix laughed, venom seeping from her words.

Draco swallowed, looking at the person he once would see around the halls, smiling, laughing, and now he stood above her, his own wand in his hand as he was directed to inflict pain on you.

“She’s a filthy blood traitor, Draco. Do it.” Bellatrix got tired of waiting for him to start, she stood behind the boy, the broken boy. She grabbed his hand, forcefully raising it to point down at your body. “Do it.” She whispered into his ear before laughing, wickedly.

Draco gazed up at his parents, his eyes silently pleading, but they didn’t notice. He gazed back down at you, you looked up at him. You watched his eyes, the sadness showing through and part of you felt bad for him. His eyes filled with sorrow, grief, regret, remorse.

You nodded your head, trying to tell him it’s okay, that you understood. Then you shut your eyes and waited for the pain that was about to come. You wanted this to be over. You wanted the old halls of Hogwarts and the hard essays and the big feasts. Not this. You wanted everything you used to have.

“Crucio.” Draco said, mustering up as much courage, he know he didn’t have. He said the curse as if he meant it and maybe, somewhere in him, he did, but not now, not as he watched your body convulse and listened to your cries.

It was almost immediately after he heard your cries that the pain started again in his own body. His body started twitching, much like your own as he fell to the floor. Draco cried out in pain, his body lying next to yours as it twitched, the pain traveling from his head down to his toes. His vision began to blur, the confused yelling of his parents the last thing he heard before he blacked out.

heck idk about the title i was just listening to hamilton but i’d appreciate any feedback on this! it’s part one of idk how many. i’ll post this to my ao3 as well

Summer of smoke and dust, and maybe something we will never forget
All we did was drink,
trying to find the answers at the bottom of a bottle
We made others handle our burning bodies, too tired to care, too busy finding the nearest party to take care of our bruised limbs
Don’t get me wrong, we succeeded—
Tell me about your problems so I can forget mine, simple
All the boys carried us and wanted to kiss the burn marks on our hands and cheeks
Fire burns bright, I guess that’s why they saw us, but fire turns to ash

Soon enough you are left with only the memory of something warm, and a strong smell of smoke, that will make you sick to your stomach

—  From “sixteen candles burning” - knight
12.04 coda


Her breath doesn’t even stir the dust at her feet. She holds it, and holds it, until she hears the kickstart of a raucous engine that eventually fades into nothing. Until there is nothing in the air but mist and cicada song.

It was like a reflex - she held the bullet right in front of her heart like she held the knife above her mother’s chest. Its point dug into her sweater, grazed the skin enough to bleed, to bruise, but it wouldn’t break her. She should have stayed in the basement. At least she knew what to expect down there. She had less than a second to react to this new kind of threat and the truth of it was that she got lucky just now.

When the man in black’s murderous thoughts have faded into nothing, she picks herself up off the floor and dusts herself off. She picks the tiny bullets out of her sweater and hurriedly dumps them into the trashcan with shaking fingers. That’s when her knees start to buckle.

Her phone is by her ear before she even remembers taking it out. (Old habits really do die hard - she’s always been quick with one of these. Just like riding a bike.)

“Sam?” she croaks.

“Hey! Hey, hold on,” a gentle voice says back. She already feels a little calmer. There’s some rustling and a low murmur in the background, but Sam is back on the line in the next instant. “Where are you, are you ok?”

Magda shakes her head. She’s starting to hyperventilate a little. “I just got shot.”

“What?” Sam yells.

Keep reading

the boy with the bloody teeth and bruised fingers doesn’t come back from the battle.

instead, he becomes something too heavy to carry. he becomes unsent letters. he becomes the air, thick with burning corn husks. he becomes the crunch of sand under bare feet, the waves carving the rocks into smoother shapes. he becomes the red mud painting the boots of his fellow soldiers. he becomes the first fistful of dirt across his own casket.

six years of comfortable silence and casual touches become an absence of comfort and an overabundance of silence.

it’s a tragedy. war is a tragedy. the lack of control, the lack of soft love, the lack of choice over when to say good things, when to hold each other close is a tragedy. it’s a perpetual state of mourning over soft parts left unexposed, over hardened knuckles and hardened faces and tenderness left unexpressed and unfelt. it’s a cheery song in minor. without the lyrics it’s just noise.

there’s parts in the story, parts that take place in the weeds, that take place in the hidden clearings, in the waterfall slosh and white-hot toned silence, in the sway of the shadows, parts where bones collide and teeth collide and then there’s hands, and they’re always rough, and it’s always guilty, parts of it almost aggressive, almost angry, desperate for anything soft to break and get those hands on, hungry for the release of pent-up love, hungry for something more.

freedom. words have meanings. sometimes the freedoms we get aren’t freedoms at all.

the boy with sharp eyes and a tender heart collects anger while his heart collects dust. it’s hard to love like this. it’s hard to properly verbalize affection that shouldn’t be there when the war drags on and it’s easier to just pretend that rough hands on already bruised skin mean anything more than want.

anything passes as love these days. against the backdrop of death and gore anything with softened angles looks like love. doesn’t even have to be genuine, and even when it is it doesn’t have to be properly voiced. it can be invisible. it’s allowed to exist without a form.

the boy with the ink splatter wrists isn’t invisible. he walks into a gunfire and he doesn’t come back from the battle.

in his head, before he walks into it, he sings -

oh freedom oh liberty i’m tired of loving like a martyr i want to love like i’m still alive i think i’m burning alive, oh let me love like i’m still alive -

—  the tragedy of invisible love

The most beautiful hearse                 I have ever seen
is parked in front of my stoop
Perched          hands folded for six to eight weeks
twinkling like a siren                           a new idea of love

Trees are planted but don’t exist yet
They are leaning non existent             into us
A trough of hearts meets me in the anxious sun
I could rot here

Something like            the holy spirit
pours you over bruised ice
There isn’t anything              more to say than holy
Beautiful men never looking upon me

I take music self-stirred        and sleep
alone           curve into the morning like an almond
My shoulders                      lush as romantics
You wash up on a barstool
smooth heartache                black sand

Morgan Parker, “Lush Life,” There Are More Beautiful Things Than Beyonce