Tw Self Harm - Tumblr Posts - Page 2
“The Rhythm of Pain” colored pencil, 19.5" x 25.5"
“The Rhythm of Pain” colored pencil, 19.5" x 25.5"
Murder Drones Drabble - Too Loud TW// Verbal Abuse and Self Harm
TW// beratement, verbal abuse, gaslighting, mild self harm, emotional distress, corporate jobs
Tessa sat at her repair desk in her bedroom, not chained up, but definitely locked in, and she was hungry because she missing out on mid morning smoko. The now 16 year old girl mulled over what had happened earlier.
--------------------
It was a practice run for when Tessa would start working next year part time. She was sitting at the desk in the small office off of her father's, surrounded by branded pens and stationary. Opening the work e-mails, she noticed one regarding a bigger company hadn't been read yet, and she had been the one who assisted the last time with it. Tessa looked through the database and found the records and certificates needed for the subcontractor of JC Jensen and sent it off attached to a politely worded email that read:
'Dear Avery Johnson of Qlean Flow Solvents,
I hope this email finds you well, please note the documents attached as we had sent them prior. Hope this clears up any discrepancies, Sincerely,
Tessa James Elliott Office Assistant'
She was pleased with her work, noticing her father's voice from the next room over, she paid no mind until her desk phone rang. She didn't understand the need to use a landline sometimes, but, she still answered it. "JC Jensen, Elliott Office, Tessa speaking," she greeted in the corporate tone she had practiced with J for hours on.
The Aussie man on the other end, James Elliott himself, greeted over the phone, "No need to concern the email in regards to the Qlean Flow company, I handled it already with a phone call."
Tessa hesitated at first, but was kind of glad he didn't just walk in to tell her that, because he would've seen the nervousness on her face. "F-Father, I... I may have resent them the documents, but I worded the email politely and-" the ebony haired girl explained until she was interrupted.
"And why would you do that?" James Elliott remarked sharply, the Aussie man sighed in annoyance before Tessa could even talk, "Didn't you see that it was marked read?"
Tessa had opened the email when it was still unread, perhaps even at the same time as her father. "I didn't mean to, I'm sorry, I must have opened it at the same time as you," the Elliott heiress apologized softly.
"What is it with your generation? All of you are daft dingoes. You don't build rapport with customers and business partners by 'emails and texts' you PHONE them."
Tessa tried to get in an apology but got interrupted.
"I mean, how would you feel if one of your drones didn't have the gall to tell you something important and sent you it through a text? Especially if it was something important," James rambled on and on over the phone, "It's like how people get divorces over text because they haven't pulled their head in. How disrespectful is that? And you SAW it was unread, right?" he was now starting to try to gaslight Tessa, not knowing the drone-adoring girl wouldn't be shaken that easily.
"N-no, I-I saw it was unread, I mean it, I'm sorry," she exclaimed in an apologetic tone, not realizing she was talking louder.
James lost his composure, even though this was his daughter, the only heir to his livelihood and someone he cared about when he had time to care or wasn't too busy or forgot, he yelled over the phone, "YOU DROP THAT TONE RIGHT NOW YOUNG LADY!"
Tessa dropped the phone, she out of instinct grabbed at her wrist and squeezed hard where it was already bruised. She hated herself so much in that moment, 'maybe the pain would teach her a lesson' she thought to herself as the man who had given her middle name shouted at her.
"WE BOTH KNOW HOW THIS WILL END, WITH ME TAKING IT OUT ON A LIBRARY DRONE AND YOU CRYING IN THE CORNER AS YOU WATCH, SO YOU BETTER NOT SHOUT AT ME ANYMORE!"
Tessa pleaded, her voice smaller now, just above a whisper as she picked the receiver up, "I-I promise... I w-w-wasn't yelling, s-sir... I... I was just afraid... I'm sorry, it won't happen again, I promise."
James responded sternly, but at least he wasn't yelling now, "I think you need to go take smoko in your room, come back when you are better behaved."
----------------------
And Tessa remembered as soon as she went into her room, the doors had closed behind her and locked, she laughed to herself somberly and looked to the window, seeing the rain outside, she decided she would sneak out to the graveyard. If she wasn't wanted at 'work' then she'd at least go somewhere that she'd be able to forget everything for a while.
She grabbed her sewing scissors, the keys to the mausoleum, and a couple granola bars from the stash J had put under her bed to stuff into her messenger bag, before she unlocked her bedroom window, climbed out, and snuck along the garden's edge until she got below the willow tree. "I may as well make the best of this," she said to herself, heading through the archway to the graveyard.
The End
Can I request some Strade x fem!reader with A LOT of self harm scars?
Totally understand if ur uncomfortable with the topic or just don’t wanna do it, and thank you in advance🫶🫶
a/n: i hope this is okay! thank you for the request noa :3
TRACING SCARS
{ strade x f! reader }
word count: 820
warnings/tags: self-harm, kidnapping, emotional/psychological abuse themes, light knife play.
The evening began innocuously enough; your chance encounter at a lonely pub seemed like nothing more than a curious twist of fate. Strade's charm was rustic and disarmingly inviting, drawing you in despite your better judgment. When he invited you back to his place under the guise of a few more drinks and good company, excitement chased away your usual caution.
It wasn't until you got into his car that you realized his allure was as dangerous as it was intriguing.
Now, as you lay groggily on his basement floor, the familiar scent of blood flooded your senses. He loomed over you, his silhouette outlined by the dim glow of the single overhead bulb. The air was heavy with the weight of impending dread, and the cold concrete beneath you offered little comfort.
As your consciousness began to trickle back, you became acutely aware of the ache in your limbs, the throbbing pain in your head, and the sharp tang of fear that lingered on your tongue. You tried to move, but found yourself restrained, your wrists bound behind you with rope. A chilling breeze against your skin made you suddenly realize with a jolt of horror: you were naked, every scar laid bare under his scrutinizing gaze.
"Look who's finally awake." He purred, a twisted smile dancing across his lips. You struggled against your restraints, panic bubbling up like bile in your throat.
"What do you want?" you managed to choke out, your voice raw and trembling.
"Why hide these?" Strade's voice was low and curious as he crouched beside you, his eyes tracing the myriad of scars across your skin. His hand was gentle, almost reverent, as he reached out with the tip of his knife, lightly tracing a particularly long, jagged scar that snaked its way down your thigh. The cold metal sent shivers through your body, not from pain but from the eerie intimacy of the act.
"You want to be seen, don't you? But you keep them covered like dirty little secrets." His words were tinged with a mix of fascination and mockery. You remained silent, your breath catching in your throat as the knife's point danced dangerously close to your skin.
He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your chilled skin. "I see you, liebling," he continued, his voice a mere whisper. "Now there is no more hiding, no more shame."
Strade's face loomed over yours, the shadows from the overhead bulb casting dark, elongated streaks across his features. "Most people, they scream and cry, beg me to let them go," he mused, tilting his head in contemplation. "But you? You've been enduring pain long before tonight," The knife paused on your skin, emphasizing his point without breaking the surface.
His knife skated across the edges of another scar, this time across your hip. "I wonder... Do they make you feel alive? Or are they attempts to feel nothing at all?"
You swallowed hard, the cold, damp air filling your lungs as you tried to steady your racing heart.
"I want to see how much more you can take when it's not by your own hand." Strade declared as he pulled back slightly, the knife still in hand. The shift in his demeanour was abrupt, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
Fear surged through you, a stark, visceral terror that you hadn’t felt even at your lowest. As he stepped back to admire the fear in your eyes, it was clear that he was revelling in this new game.
He circled around you slowly, the knife still tracing air near your exposed skin, as if drawing invisible lines connecting the dots of your scars. "Let's find out if the pain you've given yourself compares to the pain I can give you," he whispered, as if proposing a challenge.
A smirk spread across his face as he stood, tucking the knife into his belt. "Stay put, sweetheart," he teased. He turned and strode toward a cluttered workbench obscured in the shadows of the room. The sound of drawers opening and tools clinking filled the air, each noise sharpening the sense of dread pooling in your stomach.
You craned your neck, watching his back as he rifled through his collection. With your heartbeat loud in your ears, the reality of your situation sank in deeper with every passing second, each thud a loud echo in the chilling silence that followed his movements.
Finally, he found what he was looking for, turning to face you with a heavy-duty drill in one hand, its bit sharp and gleaming under the light. The casual way he handled the drill, with his finger already on the trigger, and the confident thud of his boots on the floor as he walked back toward you, filled you with terror.
"Ready for some real fun?" he asked, his voice low and menacing as the drill started to whir softly in his grasp.
but you can't keep holding on like this.
TW: SELF HARM
Me when the most minor inconvenience known to man (Im gonna start cutting myself over it)
Me when hurting myself hurts
Sometimes at night I can't help but think about the fact that all my ancestors lived their lives with swathes of people wishing for their death, hating them for who they are and than I think about the fact that I will live my whole life with large amounts of people wishing for my death and seeing me as subhuman simply for who I am, and than I think about how if I have children they will have to live their whole lives knowing that many people wish for their death and don't see them as people...and what can I do but cry. I love being Jewish I love it so much its who I am its who my ancestors were its who my children will be. And yet I feel sick to my stomach on nights like these. I will never hate being Jewish they could never make me hate it. But I mourn it. I mourn that my life and the life of so many people I love and the lives of my genetics, the people who gave me the face I have now will always be stained by this. My head aches and my eyes water and my stomach turns and I want to tear off my skin because I know that the lockbox with all legal documents necessary to flee the country at any time is there for a reason. I am a culmination of people living through hatred and yet I myself can not escape it.
What the fuck is wrong with people?? Please go report this account!
Hola a todos, quiero que por favor se tomen un momento para ver estás capturas y que por favor vayan a denunciar está cuenta.
English: Hi everyone, I want you to please take a moment to look at these screenshots and please go report this account.
No solo eso, también me escribió y me mandó fotos de sus cortes
English: Not only that, she also wrote to me and sent me photos of her cuts.
Translation: Hi, I know you speak Spanish. Please tell X that I miss her plss
I know I've done bad things but I'm trying to improve, I know she talks to you about me.
RESPOND Sorry, okay?
I didn't get rid of my Groomers but I know she didn't get rid of me either
Translation: She loves me, right? I'll stop cutting myself just for her, I'll quit marijuana, I'll quit everything and I'll come back
I just want to see her again in my torn arms
Translation: If you don't answer me...I'm going to send you a little gift ;>
Translation: I have more if you like, hehe
This one is kind of old
Esto estuvo pasando en el transcurso de 2 días, en dónde su primer post es un Sketch de mi personaje o Oc (de ATHF) Cream.
English: This was happening over the course of 2 days, where the first post was a Sketch of my character or Oc (from ATHF) Cream.
Me harían un favor si denuncian la cuenta, quiero que sepan que el acoso no es solo hacia mi persona sino que también hacia @clowndestruccion
English: Would you do me a favor if you report the account, I want you to know that the harassment is not only towards me but also towards @clowndestruccion
like the only thing that will ever be posted on tjis acc apparently but STILL OH MY GOD ILL NEVER GET OVER THIS /POS
I JUST KEDP LOOKIGN AT IT ITS SO GOOD BRO IS MOT DOING GOOD
I read an amazingly well-written DBL fic by @tired-sunny , and I just HAD to draw some fanart for it✨
Artwork and link to fic under the cut for the following trigger warnings!!
TW: CHARACTER S3LF H4RM AND BLOOD!!
- Fanart for The Saiyan In Blue -
To spoil the ending, Shallot’s ok, he’s alive, someone helps him, he’s ok 💙
Sunny, I’ll say it again, your fic made me incredibly emotional, congratulations 👏😭 Totally gonna read it again
