(no subject)
Who: Gaara noeyelinerhere, Maito Gai gohardwork
What: B( MASOCHISM.
When: Mid event? Ish.
Where: The room.
Rating: I NEVER KNOW WHAT TO PUT HERE.
Gaara knew a lot about pain.
Not necessarily what it meant to experience pain (actually, he knew practically nothing about that), but what pain was. Not wasting 1/3 of every day sleeping tended to give one a good deal of free time, and after learning that he couldn't find any way to feel any pain for himself, Gaara had fixated emphatically on the concept of it.
So he researched pain, while everyone else was busy sleeping, or working, or doing whatever it was people did when they were staying out of his way. He knew how to define pain, how to cause pain, how to tell when someone was in pain by the way their body reacted even if their face did not. He knew that inducing pain released endorphins in the brain and he knew that that was the technical reason why digging a knife into the side of his forearm felt so good. He also knew he probably shouldn't be doing it, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He'd live. He wanted to feel this.
Gaara swallowed down a grunt between quietly labored breaths as his arm involuntarily jerked and pushed the cut nearly a centimeter deeper, knife lodged garishly into the skin while an odd light fixed dangerously in his eyes. Blood dripped down around the self-inflicted stab wound and soaked into the sheets where he sat on the very edge of the bed. He had only been waking up for the past two or three days to check the journal (to make sure no one from Konoha had gone and gotten themselves killed) and to eat, but he had woken up suddenly a few seconds ago with the dawning realization that nothing was stopping him from discovering pain for himself. Shuukaku was gone, and it wasn't like people were going to need him to protect them any time soon, useless as he was now.
"... ah," he jerked the knife out, toes curling involuntarily and breath hitching in the back of his throat, before he slid the blade an inch closer to his hand and stabbed his arm again.
What: B( MASOCHISM.
When: Mid event? Ish.
Where: The room.
Rating: I NEVER KNOW WHAT TO PUT HERE.
Gaara knew a lot about pain.
Not necessarily what it meant to experience pain (actually, he knew practically nothing about that), but what pain was. Not wasting 1/3 of every day sleeping tended to give one a good deal of free time, and after learning that he couldn't find any way to feel any pain for himself, Gaara had fixated emphatically on the concept of it.
So he researched pain, while everyone else was busy sleeping, or working, or doing whatever it was people did when they were staying out of his way. He knew how to define pain, how to cause pain, how to tell when someone was in pain by the way their body reacted even if their face did not. He knew that inducing pain released endorphins in the brain and he knew that that was the technical reason why digging a knife into the side of his forearm felt so good. He also knew he probably shouldn't be doing it, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He'd live. He wanted to feel this.
Gaara swallowed down a grunt between quietly labored breaths as his arm involuntarily jerked and pushed the cut nearly a centimeter deeper, knife lodged garishly into the skin while an odd light fixed dangerously in his eyes. Blood dripped down around the self-inflicted stab wound and soaked into the sheets where he sat on the very edge of the bed. He had only been waking up for the past two or three days to check the journal (to make sure no one from Konoha had gone and gotten themselves killed) and to eat, but he had woken up suddenly a few seconds ago with the dawning realization that nothing was stopping him from discovering pain for himself. Shuukaku was gone, and it wasn't like people were going to need him to protect them any time soon, useless as he was now.
"... ah," he jerked the knife out, toes curling involuntarily and breath hitching in the back of his throat, before he slid the blade an inch closer to his hand and stabbed his arm again.