#cutting mention

[inaris-pokemon-world]

Hey Inari how would you react to a hyper realistic cake of you?

#munday ask #inari mew #realistic cake #cutting mention #cutting a cake anyway #she wants food but the food is too real

[blurryeyeswhump]

When I hear the knock at the door I know it’s him immediately. Even the sound of his knuckles against wood is weak, hesitant, terrified.

It’s after 11 pm. He isn’t expected, and apparently couldn’t even be bothered to call or send a text first. He’s just hoping I’m awake and not busy and in the mood for him. I am. I set down my third glass of whiskey I’ve barely had a taste of and walk to the door in no hurry.

I open the door to him pocketing his hands quickly, no doubt wringing them just seconds ago. There’s a warm wind whipping through his long, messy, dark, hair. He’s uneasy.

“Hi, Milo,” I say. He’s looking behind me expectantly, hoping to be let in.

“Hey,” he says quietly, “I was hoping- I mean, if you were up— I just wanted,” he stops and tries to swallow down the anxiety gripping his throat before wincing a nervous smile at me.

I’m going to make him say it.

I lean against the door frame and cock my head a little. I say nothing. I want him to do it by himself. He’s a big boy despite the way he has to look up to meet my eyes.

“Silas,” he says, defeated, and it’s a plea all in itself. His stormy eyes now staring straight through my chest. Those eyes are something else. Like pitted cross-sections of steel.

“I need you,” he says.

“To what?” The words leave my mouth before he finishes.

“To hurt me,” he says before sucking in a shuddering breath. He’s looking at the ground now.

I let the silence sit between us just a few moments longer and then I speak.

“Alright,” I say. I step back and hold the door for him to slink inside. I shut and lock the door and watch him stare at the now closed exit. Reconsidering?

He looks back at me and I start walking wordlessly toward the cellar door. I whisk the glass of whiskey from the table and down it on my way down the hall. He follows me. When I open the door I gesture for him to go first and he does.

It’s been a little while since I’ve seen him. He’s only ever come here. I’ve never been to his place and the only time I ever saw him out in the “Real World” was when I unknowingly showed up at the restaurant he works at. He looked like he’d seen a fucking ghost. Taking mine and my date’s order, beads of cold sweat forming on his temples, stumbling over his words, and still likely covered in bruises under his white collared shirt. I ran him ragged that night and the uppity, blonde bitch I was entertaining was all too willing (or too engrossed in her phone to care,) to allow me to abuse the waitstaff. I haven’t been back and he’s never mentioned the fact that I stiffed him.

I follow him down and when he’s three steps from the bottom I plant my hand between his shoulder blades and shove.

A cry rips through his throat and stops abruptly when he hits the ground. The sound is replaced by coughing as he gags against the the dust wafting up from the impact and gasps to find the air that was knocked out of him. I step around him and set my now empty glass on my workbench.

“Jesus, Silas,” he sounds almost annoyed.

“Undress,” I say.

“What?”

“Take your. Clothes off.”

This is new. I’ve never made him do this before. I’m feeling adventurous. He might act shy but he’ll do it. I find it hard to imagine something he wouldn’t do for me. He’d lick the dirt off my shoes if I told him to, I’m certain of it. I’ll tuck that idea away.

He’s pulling himself to his feet. Nothing broken from the fall it seems. He turns and looks at me, maybe gauging how serious I am.

“Do you need help?” I ask.

He huffs through his nose and turns his back and starts unbuttoning his shirt. While he’s busy I grab a pair of cuffs and hook them through a latch I drilled into the wall. I did it just for him. I pop the latch shut and turn around to see him standing now in his underwear and socks.

His cheeks are red hot.

“Everything?” He asks.

“Everything.”

He looks down and uses his heels to drag down and step out of his socks, and then he looks up at me once again. It takes no more prompting and his thumbs dip into the waistline of his boxers. He peels them off and I steal a glance at the dark little trail of hair and his nervous cupped hands hiding the rest. I meet his eyes and smile a little.

“Knees.” I say jingling the cuffs attached to the wall.

He sighs through pursed lips and walks over to his spot.

“Back facing me,”

He kneels facing the wall and rests his forehead against it after offering his hands up to me. I lock him in and step behind him. He’s got a cute, fat little ass. Almost girlish. I never would have guessed.

I crouch down and he shifts uneasily. My fingers trace down his back, up his arms. I’m searching for evidence that I’ve been here. Some already yellowed bruises are still just barely visible. Like I said it’s been a little while. Some thin shimmery scars as well. What to do?

I could take a belt to his back. Open his skin up with a box cutter. See how red I can turn his ass.

Maybe I should keep him forever this time. The thought is amusing enough that I say it out loud. He huffs out the ghost of a laugh that’s bound up tight with a nervous apprehension.

“Would you like that?” I ask, and before I reconsider, I press my lips against his spine and goosebumps erupt down his back.

“I bet I could get really creative if I had you here all the time. Maybe I could even out-crazy you, hm? How long would it take for you to have enough pain that you get sick of it?” I speak against the back of his neck and then bite down hard on the spot where it meets his shoulder. He chokes down a whine and pulls weakly at his restraints.

“Hey, Milo?” I coo softly.

“Yes?”

“Would you ever want me to fuck you?”

It hangs in the air and he seems to hold his breath as the chills down his back reignite.

This has always been one thing. Since the moment I met him, he wanted pain. He wanted to hurt and cry and scream and be denied the mercy he begged for. Nothing else has ever come up.

Maybe it’s the liquor, maybe it’s not but I’m tired of wondering if he wants more and imagining the sick, delicious ways I can use it against him if he does.

“Speak, Milo,” I slide a hand around him just let it rest on his thigh. He leans back against my chest, gasping when I touch him.

“Yes!” He says as if I reached down his throat and dragged the word out myself.

I snicker against his ear.

“For how long?” I ask, and he answers immediately.

“The whole time,” he’s breathless.

“Oh you fucking little pervert,” I say and I kiss his neck while he squirms, “I have an idea,” I continue.

“Maybe, one day I’ll bring you upstairs, I’ll tie you up and gag you and throw you in the bedroom closet. Then I’ll fuck someone while you listen. That might be fun.”

I hear him sniff and I grab his hair and crane his neck back so he’s looking up at me. Tears. Just barely, but they’re there.

“Awwww, no? You don’t like that? You want me all to yourself? I was thinking about the blonde girl I brought to the restaurant. Remember her? Gorgeous, right?”

He nods weakly.

“Yeah, I thought so too,”

If this was going to work, it worked by now so I decide to check. I slide the hand on his thigh closer and closer to the center. He starts to whine and I cover his mouth with my left hand. My right hand inches closer and closer to its destination between his legs and ah! — there it is. He’s hard, painfully so. He winces and closes his eyes. I give him a little squeeze.

“Ohhh. You are really fucked up, huh?” I say before kissing the back of his head and letting him go. I stand up and he presses his forehead to the wall again. I cannot even begin to imagine the humiliation burning in his veins right now, let alone imagine enjoying it.

I’ve had my fill of psychological torment tonight. We’ll revisit this next time. I want screams now.

Without another word I grab the belt I left draped over a chair down here last time, fold it on itself, and start in on him. He screams and starts crying immediately since he was already so close to begin with. After ten or so consecutive strikes to his back I pause and he’s wailing out something nearly unintelligible. I can only tell from spending so much time with him in this state that he’s begging for me to keep going. He’s shaking violently and his arms are yanking at the cuffs hard enough to leave marks but he’s begging, so I oblige. I can feel myself hitting harder than normal but he’s really inspired me tonight. A few more and I pause only long enough for him to hear me speak.

“Tell me thank you,”

He does and I can tell he really means it.

#whump #whump blog #whumpee #my post #whumper #intimate whumper #masochist whumpee #masochist #asking to be hurt #non-sexual sadomasochism (gone sexual???) #silas and milo #nudity #psychological torture #belting #cutting mention #improper restaurant etiquette

[hunters-trashblog]

To anyone who thinks sending "kys", "you should cut yourself", or other derogatory messages to people, specifically minors, on here is funny?

You need to shut the fuck up and get off the fucking Internet. You are a literal waste to society if you think that's cool or funny.

I don't give a fuck if you're a kid or an adult. You are fucking idiotic and it's not cool, or cute, and I'm sorry that you think that its the only way you'll actually get attention from people.

Get the fuck off the Internet, you no life having pussies.

#parker rants #anon hate #kys mention #cutting mention

[resentful-reads]

The Art of Starving by Sam J. Miller

#resentful reads #the art of starving #sam j miller #the art of starving rulebook #bookblr #book quotes #book excerpt #self harm mention #cutting mention #addiction mention #suicide mention #disordered eating mention #control

[seepsthroughhiscracks]

pro tip: don't cut and then stick your arm in a pringles can. it's a bad time.

#self harm #tw self harm #memes #depression memes #dark humour #cutting mention

[harlequinhovers]

vent. do not reblog, read at your own discretion.

i don’t think i want to interact with anyone ever again tbh. i don’t know where the “kick me” sign on my back came from, or how to get rid of it. i don’t know why my existence is inherently seen as an inconvenience. i never wished i was born! hey, i’ve been cripplingly suicidal since i was 10! what more do you want from me?!

don’t answer that actually. i know what people want. for me to have gone through with everything. they never say it, but i see it in people’s eyes. i see it in how they treat me compared with others.

burden. inconvenience. undeserving of the air they breathe. should’ve just offed themself when they were 10. before they could’ve insulted you by knowing you.

i’m this close to cutting again. i’m this close to slitting my wrists. or my throat. or taking all my advil and all my benadryl at once. i’ve already done a lot of damage by being here, what more could a simple suicide do?

i’m sorry for having been here this long.

#suicide tw #vent #suicide mention #cutting mention #overdose mention #ableism mention #i’m just done.

[lunocura]

Ok, he and Kakashi are in competition for who's the coolest.

#naruto #momochi zabuza #luno reads #luno reads naruto #how did he survive two pins into his neck tho #blood mention #cutting mention #scissors #knives

[page-2-ids]

ID: A flag with nine horizontal stripes, all the same size. The colors are, from top to bottom, very light red, light red, red, dark red, dark maroon, dark red, red, light red, and very light red. END ID

Selbstverhelpic: A gender related to self harming as an attempt to get help, because you’re too scared to actually reach out to someone and would rather deal with possible institutionalization than rejection or mockery

The name is a combination of the one of the German words for self-harm, Selbstverletzung, and Help

The colors are ones that I associate with self harming (especially methods like cutting and burning) and desperation

No suggested pronouns

#selbstverhelpic #tw sh #tw self harm #tw sh mention #sh mention #sh ment tw #cutting tw #cutting mention #tw cutting #burning tw #burning mention #tw burning

[randomwriteronline]

Klavier Gavin has his eyes on the man and a smile on his lips.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he smiles and it looks sweet and nice and fake beyond recognition but he is honest when he speaks. “I thought you were busy defending every single accused of an entire country.”

Apollo Justice has his eyes on the man and does not smile.

His shoulders shift in some kind of uncoordinated shrug, he avoids the other’s gaze for a moment: “Law schools are booming,” he explains in that way that he speaks, so matter-of-factly and dry. “I’ve gotten some time off to come back.”

Klavier Gavin hums and nods: “A little vacation must be nice.”

Apollo Justice is not in his screaming red suit, which is jarring but makes sense since he is not working. It’s still an insane amount of whiplash, because they are colleagues so to speak, and it feels like he is either naked or a completely different person who was mistaken for the screaming attorney. It feels like it’s not a state a colleague is supposed to see him in.

Apollo Justice looks back at Klavier Gavin in the eyes.

“How are you?”

Klavier Gavin turns his smile bitter and tilts his head.

“You know I do not like this game of yours, Herr Justice.”

Before Apollo Justice can unfurl from his own shoulders where he has recoiled defensively and argue about the statement, Klavier Gavin gives a vague wave at the large golden bracelet on his wrist.

“I cannot be honest with you and I cannot lie to you. So when you decide you want to play your little spot-the-differences game you get me in a nice little cage where no matter what I do you get your pie and you eat it too, and I don’t like that in the slightest.” he says.

“It’s not a game,” Apollo Justice replies.

“And what is it then, worry? Concern? I know you’re a clever boy who reads his news of the legal world, you know enough. Didn’t you even call me? Yes you did, I remember that.”

Klavier Gavin has a voice like ice and a stare that’s like slowly pushing nails into the hands of his interlocutor. He wants him to feel uncomfortable.

He wants him to leave.

“It’s been a while since then,” Apollo Justice mutters.

“And what do you care?” Klavier Gavin gives him the most beautiful smile he’s ever given a man and tilts his head to the other side with a practiced airy laugh, looking as charming as a prince. “What have we got in common, hm? Aside from a few cases? Verdammtes Nichts, as far as I remember. Oh, but you are sweet.”

Now the words drip molasses, but Klavier Gavin doesn’t bend down teasingly.

“Getting worried for me. Is it Fraulein Wright who sent you? Is it Herr Edgeworth? Is it Herr Wright? Is it that friend of your co-worker, that judge-in-training? Woods, was it?”

“I came here by my own volition.”

“Of course you did.”

Apollo Justice glares at him angrily.

“Would it kill you to believe I really did come just to check on you?”

“Interesting choice of words.”

Apollo Justice bites his tongue and glares harder.

“I’m fine,” Klavier Gavin laughs, hands in the air, “I’m not fine at all, but considering I used to think of killing myself thrice a day I suppose that just once weekly is far better, ja? Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Don’t say things like that,” Apollo Justice mutters.

“Why not? Is it not the truth? What does your bracelet say, am I lying? Will you have to press on and cross-examine me?”

The bracelet is perfectly unresponsive.

Klavier Gavin smiles.

Apollo Justice glares.

“I don’t like you at all, you know,” Klavier says suddenly.

His smile drops.

“I don’t like you in the slightest. I truly cannot stand you.”

Now he looks at Apollo like he’s some kind of specimen to study, with a face like death, and the younger man seems to make himself smaller.

“I have nothing against you and I don’t like you at all,” Klavier continues remaining perfectly still.

Apollo doesn’t reply.

“Did you know I tried to kill myself four times?” Klavier asks. Of course he doesn’t know. Even Herr Edgeworth only knows of one. “The first time I wanted to bleed out in a bathtub after Kristoph got convicted.”

Apollo sinks in his shoulders, uncomfortable.

“The second I tried to defenestrate myself,” Klavier continues, looking at him to see how far he can go to make him shrivel and leave. “For Daryan. Because I couldn’t stand getting reminded of all that. You remember Daryan, don’t you. Don’t you? You were right there. I bet you remember him.”

Apollo does but says nothing.

“The third time I tried to… Well, the third time was pathetic.” Klavier notes. “Hanging myself with a tie. Not even hanging. I tried choking myself with a tie. Can you believe that I thought tying the loose ends to a door handle and kicking the door away from me would have just snapped my neck in half?”

Apollo recoils.

“I was so certain of that. But it came undone and I just knocked myself out on the floor. Must have been hilarious to look at. Absolutely pathetic. It was Miss Corte’s tie, my teacher, the one who got murdered? She got it for me. You can piece this one together yourself, can’t you? You’re so clever. So verdammt clever. Ein verdammt klug Kaninchen, bist du nicht, Herr Justice. Doch du bist.”

Apollo doesn’t even look at him in the eyes anymore.

Klavier wants to kick him in the stomach and ask him what is taking so long for him to fucking leave.

“Do you know for who I wanted to kill myself the fourth time?” Klavier asks. Apollo shakes his head slowly. “Guess. Come on, guess. I bet you can’t. Guess.”

Apollo doesn’t guess. Klavier keeps himself from slamming his fist against his shoulder with all his might.

”Guess, I said. We did your little bracelet game, now do mine. Guess.”

Apollo doesn’t guess.

Klavier takes one step forward, watches him close a little tighter in his shoulders.

“For you.”

Neither speak. Both just wait.

“For you,” Klavier repeats slowly. “I tried to kill myself for you.”

Apollo looks at his own feet. He can catch the tip of another pair of shoes about to enter his field of vision.

“Don’t you think that’s weird?” Klavier muses. “That all these people I loved couldn’t get me to die, but you almost did?”

Apollo bites his lower lip.

“It might have been the time it happened, du wisst. I would have split my head right open, the ambulance would have been there in fifteen minutes to get me to the morgue… All nice and clean. My only mistake was calling Herr Edgeworth to send the ambulance instead of my manager, or the Paynes. Or Blackquill, even. They don’t have the same power over me that the chief does, you understand…”

Klavier trails a moment. Takes him in.

“And I would have died because you were never coming back.”

He listens to his own words as they leave him slowly.

Apollo listens to them as well.

He looks back up, eyes pointed directly into the ones before him.

Klavier looks so fucking tired.

“You wanna sit for a while?” Apollo just says, also suddenly tired. He gestures vaguely to a nearby wall, to the pavement near it.

Klavier follows his hand with his gaze: he leans against the wall and drops so heavily there’s no way he didn’t get hurt. Apollo crouches before sitting next to him, elbows on his knees, and looks far away from him.

For a minute or so they don’t speak.

“Who gave you the right,” Klavier says, toneless. “Who gave you the right to do that to me. To make me like that.”

Apollo knows he turned his face to look at his, but holds his stare away onto the end of the corridor.

“I don’t even like you.”

Well.

“I think you’re fine.” Apollo says. “As a person.”

Klavier still looks at him: “Was ist das,” he mutters, “Ein Lob? Eine Art Liebeserklärung? Tu mir ein Gefallen und geh dich ficken. Ich habe keine Lust, diese Scheisse zu hören. Du denkst sowieso das nichts.”

“I think you’re fine.” Apollo repeats a little louder. “As a person.”

“Ja, sag das.” Klavier hisses. “Sag das lauter. Dann können alles hören, wie echt das ist. Bessischene Kaninchen vom meinem Arsch.”

“I think you’re fine,” Apollo says much louder over his insult. “As a person.”

Klavier desists and looks into nothingness with him.

They don’t talk.

For a long, long while, they don’t talk.

Thank anything and everything that those who do see them sitting miserably like that make no comment or barely even register them.

Klavier slams a fist into the wall.

“Why you?” he croaks. “Why was it you?”

He sounds in pain.

Apollo thinks it’s pretty clear. He convicted his brother; he convicted his friend.

He didn’t kill his teacher, but he was there for the trial and for the investigation, and he played courthouse with him in the same school the body had been found, with the same fucking script, forcing him to feel everything longer.

Somehow, if something horrendous happens to Klavier Gavin’s social sphere, Apollo Justice is always there.

“Did you talk to anybody?” Apollo asks. “About… The people?”

“No,” Klavier answers.

Ah.

That explains it.

Apollo Justice is the only person who knows Klavier Gavin barely has a social sphere anymore.

And once Apollo Justice flies to a fuck-off country on the literal other side of the world and just does not come back, Klavier Gavin feels the weight tenfold and lets his knees buckle horrendously and cracks his head open on the cement.

And you don’t call some guy who has worked with you a couple times for help with something like whatever all of that can be called.

Apollo Justice has people he can talk to about losses.

Klavier Gavin doesn’t, and he goes to therapy, and it’s not working that well it would seem. Or maybe he never got to consider the possibility of the last person because of whom he tried to die coming back and so his first response was vitriol and anger and some kind of something else that Athena Cykes would pick up in a moment if she could just hear him speak now once.

(Apollo might ask her if she wants to check on Klavier. She could help.)

“We can be friends,” Apollo says gently.

Klavier doesn’t look at him: “So I have a better reason to kill myself?”

“So you can call someone who cares about you to say ‘hey I feel like fucking garbage do you want to talk about how you’re the only person who knows I’m completely alone in this bitch of a world’ instead of just some fucker from work,” Apollo snaps. “And next time you say that I’ll beat you in the head. Don’t even joke about that.”

Klavier pulls his upper lip up in a snarl until his face doesn’t even look like it’s his anymore, like any moment he will turn around and tear him apart with his teeth, make him a bloody mess of gore, cannibalize his corpse.

“I hate you,” he says, and the bracelet tightens.

“That’s a strong word.”

Apollo watches him huff and bare his teeth first, then hide them.

“It is.” Klavier concedes.

Now Klavier fidgets. It’s not something visible like a physical tell or other stuff like that. There’s just a tension about him that fucks him up, it’s plain to see.

“I don’t like you,” he repeats. “I don’t even like you.”

He yields; his body leans to the side heavily, his head falls to rest on brown hair.

“I don’t even like you,” he sobs.

Apollo listens to him breathe.

He leans into him as well.

God.

“Do you want to be friends?” he asks like he’s fucking three years old and they’re kindergartners at the park or something.

The answer comes weak and honest and frankly tearful: “Yes please.”

Apollo swings an arm behind the tanned neck and over the shoulders and gives him a half hug, tugging a couple times to get him a little closer, to make him feel welcome and held enough. His mouth presses flat on blond hair and neither of them makes a deal out of it or out of the fingers combing through the wires of gold, not even a sound or a strangled cry.

“I’ve got you,” he just says against the prosecutor’s head.

Klavier believes him and feels like puking his guts out on the floor.

#klavier gavin #apollo justice #ace attorney #suicide mention #suicidal thoughts tw #cutting mention #defenestration mention #asphixiation mention #random writing #a continuation of my previous aa fic #klav continues to be not ok feat (thinks abt a post pointing to how hes flirty at first but then shows he doesnt like pollo that much) #the theme in my current works seems to be men in misery arguably because i myself am currently a man (debatable) in misery #hopefully it will stop tomorrow once i either pass or fail the next exam #if i fail im dropping tf out of uni <3 ive already failed one and im not taking any fucking chances babes!! #if i cant get it right at first then theres no fucking point trying again!!! #dont be like me kids. #other works of my men in misery series include uncomfortable weirdly hateful-but-not-really sex with murder kink(?) apparently #and two ace lads forget about asexuality existing and have miserable sex as a replacement for physical affection and romantic love #(and one of them is aromantic so the other isn't even getting what he's doing this wretched thing for) #both are in italian so good luck finding them

[kitschywitsch]

Describe what you think an "emo band" is lol

I think you are referring to this post.

I would personally define it as anything I listened to off my iPod in the lunchroom in 2006 while watching my hot(skinny) guy(?) friends make out to each other, getting "glomped," and fending off "preps" who walk by our group pretending to cut themselves with plastic picnic knives.

Even back then, people used to argue over what emo was. It's actually probably more clear now, looking back, and it was definitely bleeding into the mainstream and influencing everything, even Katy Perry. But Cobra Starship fit in well with the other pop-punk emo shit we were listening to. They were emo enough to tour with Fall Out Boy in the 2007 Honda Civic Tour (then again, somehow Paul Wall slipped in there too).

So while you may not define CS (or were you referring to MCR?) as "emo," we did, and that made them emo enough for the weird little emo cult I was in, which was good enough for me.

But you're right. Even Saporta probably doesn't define their music as emo, but his band prior to CS was Midtown which was undoubtedly emo and had a big influence on the music that came after.

#cutting mention #cutting cw #emo #thank you for the walk down memory lane

[pezpenser205]

yo i saw your one thing about the whole bodily autonomy thing and it resonates so hard with me. like, if you believe in bodily autonomy at all then go all in. if someone wants to do something to their body you don't like then guess what!!! That's not your problem!!! and i mean this about drug users & gainers & cutters if they don't want help/to stop & about fat people in general & people who want to be rid of a limb & literally anyone who wants to do anything at all with their body i cannot stress enough bodily autonomy should be, like, the ONE THING where it's no holds barred ty for listening ilu

YES THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I MEAN!!! you should listen to modify by lemon demon. like a few years ago when i first heard it i was like "wow thats so crazy haha. imagine if people were allowed to live like that and have no social consequences. thatd be insane." but now i kind of agree with it.

also ty anon hehe ^-^

#cutting mention #sh mention #op #asks #unsorted

[terracottahearted]

My parents are gonna think I’m cutting again bc my cat fucked me up when I was putting her in her harness

#bleh #my girl scratches deep #i can’t blame her #cutting mention #tw #txt

[conellu]

Tonight I have cried because

-my best friend told me she hates me and never wants to see me or hear from me again

-my crush probably let me down gently but I'm too big of a coward to ask "would you ever want to try anything more than friends in the future" to confirm

-i relapsed

-my best friend apologized

-i let myself spiral too far into "I am unloveable because the way I was raised has fucked me up so bad I will never be able to heal or unlearn everything" thoughts

-fictional people aren't real so alas I will not be swept away into a new life where I'm not in pain all the time

-a guy I don't have a crush on and knows that I don't feel that way about him told me that I'm his favorite person

#relapse mention #self harm mentiom #sh mention #cutting mention

[necodrop-archive]

Sometimes I wish I had a vent blog but also that shit is so unhealthy sorry for putting everything on main

#HEROS ROAR! #self harm mention #whatever. boxcutter or da razor #cutting mention

[seltzer-tastes-pretty-good]

I really hate having a fear of razors

So here's the thing, I'm genderfluid

and I really hate facial hair on myself. I just feel so gross and 'off' whenever I do have it and my face grows it stupidly fast

and at the same time, I actually can't hold a proper razor for fear of cutting something

So my choices are either just have it taken off with my once every three month haircut or try my hands at a really dull, painful electric razor, that even then I get super nervous using

all just so I can look at my face in a mirror without feeling off!

#Shaving #genderfluid #lgbt #cutting mention #tw pain

[macabrevampire]

having one of those days where relapsing would immediately fix my mood and i know it's not worth it but god i miss the feeling of blade on flesh

#txt #self harm #self harm mention #cutting mention #let me know if this needs more trigger tags im not trying to upset anyone ! but i need to vent