Scraped Knuckles Novels & Stories

Such a charming example of the male species. I extend my hand and shake his, relishing the way he gently, but firmly, encapsulates my hand with his. His touch is warm, almost electric and I notice faint scars across his knuckles which would indicate he’s torn them on more than one occasion. Either he likes to work out with bare knuckles, or he enjoys crackling skulls in his free time. I have to admit, I find the latter somewhat enticing. “Medea Sarondonedes,” I introduce myself with a quick shake of his hand.

ALEX’S POV ‼️‼️‼️Warning!!!!!! Skip it if you can't handle torture!!! ‼️‼️‼️ The pliers slipped from my blood-slick fingers and clattered to the concrete. Kanye’s scream turned into a wet, choking gurgle. The sixth fingernail lay on the floor like a tiny pink seashell. I stared at it for a second, detached, the way you stare at something you’ve seen in a nightmare and can’t quite believe is real when you wake up.

she announced. I furrowed my brows at her. I knew that I had no scars on my shoulder. I would prove her wrong. "I'll show you that I'm not your Issa because I do not have that scar!" I exclaimed and pulled the long jacket I was wearing off my shoulder so that the world would see. The crowd exclaimed and this made me actually look down at my arm. I gasped when I realised that there was a scar there. My heart skipped a beat. Queen Nineveh smiled as she approached me. "You have a burnt scar on your ankle too," she added.

Killian’s tan work boots land on the mushrooms, crushing them into pulp, as he bounds to loom over the human, fangs bared, claws unsheathed. Screams pierce the air. There’s the scent of piss. ShroomForager3000 scrambles backwards like a crab. My mushrooms are brown goo. There are a handful intact, but they glitter with glass shards. Morels have so many ridges, even if I soak and rinse them, I can’t be sure to get them clean. They are all ruined.

All the joints are broken and just hanging on the skin. Nicko immediately said nonchalantly, “With your present hand, I thought you created paper shapes naturally. If you want to make rock, you must make a fist with five fingers; if you are making scissors, make your fingers look like a V, do you understand?” Julia sobbed and said through the pain, “Young Master, all ten of my fingers have been broken. How can I make a rock and scissor shape?”

“Then let me be the first to teach you how to properly lose!” The way his nails darkened and shined, I knew this wasn’t just some regular extra strong nails. In order to hit Vale, Oran needed to go over me. I took the chance and as he made a move to swipe at Vale, I clawed his wrists from below. It pushed his attack off but both Vale and I watched in surprise as the knifes edge was shorn right off. There was something far more devastating about his nails. Taking another swipe, I managed to break off a few of them but not all.

With his free hand, Raphael grabbed a glass jar full of pickled eggs from the display rack. He brought it down with absolute force straight onto the pervert’s right knee. The glass shattered into thousands of sharp pieces. The heavy liquid mixed with the blood on the floor, and the man let out a high-pitched scream as his kneebone split completely apart.

He again tried to cup her cheeks but she slapped his hands away and at the same moment she noticed his healed knuckles. She paused, her eyes met him before she looked at his knuckles, cold engulfed her form as she took a stumbling step back. She had seen his knuckles all bruised just two hours ago but now there was not a single hint of a wound on his hand. "H-how?" She stuttered in disbelief, taking yet another step away from him. "Y-your knuckles..." She stuttered and the pale shock on her face made him understand what she was thinking. He has healed which wasn't normal for a human being.

"What I said was I don't need *you* to be afraid." Cain's hand did not move beneath hers. Her fingers pressed down one by one on the back of his hand. As if counting something. His knuckles arched slightly under her palm. The second joint of his index finger bore the thick callus of a sword grip. The third joint of his middle finger carried an old blade scar. The edge of his pinky held a thin patch of chilblain scarring. In the same position as the faint red mark on the webbing of her thumb.

The instant Kade and Piper left, Dona grabbed my right hand. "Ow!" I jerked back, pain shooting through my knuckles. Dona narrowed her eyes at me, then grabbed my hand again. I tried to pull away again but she held on tightly. We scuffled for a second, her pinching and slapping at my hand until I finally gave in and let her have it. She turned my hand over in hers and examined the bruises on my knuckles. Ugly purple and yellow marks spread across the skin. "So, would you care to tell me why you have bruises all over your knuckles?" She asked with a tone of sarcasm.