#emotional attachments always get me in the feels

[lover-of-mine]

soooo 👀 the fit of buck's clothes in that bts video 👀 👀 would love to know your thoughts 👀 👀 👀

I know, right? The way his clothes keep getting more oversized is making me vibrate. Usual shoutout to @stagefoureddiediaz, Kym talked about the fit of Buck's clothes changing back in season 7 and we were talking about it earlier, so Kym 🫶🫶

Okay, so before season 7, Buck's clothes were too tight a lot of the time, we all joked about how his buttons were about to pop off or how his arms would rip through his shirts, or how we can see the outline of his muscles perfectly. Like, sometimes it would honestly look like he was one wrong movement from ripping those.

But they changed to putting him in more oversized stuff for season 7 (and started shortening his pants, but I digress) and gets more obvious in s8.

It is partially attached to Tommy and how tommy gives him the right path but isn't the right person, since his clothes start to get looser when he starts dating him. The shirts don't fit right on his shoulders, they don't sit right on his chest, they have the wrong fit in his arms. So his overall aesthetic still doesn't fit exactly right.

The whole thing with the changing the way his clothes fit in the other direction is very indicative of how Buck still doesn't fit in his own skin, he thought dating men was the answer but he was Buck dating Tommy, he didn't look further than that, and he is spiraling further with what we know, spinning like a top one would say lol, and both scenes we saw of his clothes (yesterday's uniform possibly included), include VERY loose shirts.

I keep being drawn to the fit around his arms because my god, for a shirt to look that big on Oliver's biceps it has to be BIG lol. And while his shirts have been looser, they haven't been this big yk? And today's video, with the cropped fit, how lose it is, like, Buck is GOING through it, which makes me think this fit is from 810, just to add the emotional distress of the kidnapping to his abandonment issues being extremely triggered between the breakup and Eddie leaving.

It's all about the way Buck still hasn't gotten it right. We know Buck is on his way to figuring his feelings for Eddie out, and therefore finally understanding the final piece of the puzzle that allows him to stop over-correcting. But he's not there yet. The choices he's making don't fit exactly right. And his clothes will be the wrong size until he's ready to fight for Eddie.

But Anna what makes you think all this means buddie and that Buck's clothes will fit when Buck is ready and buddie is coming?

Well, I believe there are clues about the general idea behind buddie going canon hidden in the coming out scene. I have talked extensively about the blue and yellow elements, the way I believe this is Buck's shade of blue. I think all of it is indicative of what's to come.

And that includes how perfectly that shirt fits. The seams are resting on the right spot on his shoulder, they are the perfect length for his arm, they're not overly tight around his chest or biceps, nothing looks too big or too small.

And this isn't an accident, everything about the show is very intentional, so the clothes getting looser as he lets Eddie go even though he doesn't want to? It makes me very !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Because the oversized fit also plays into the way we haven't exactly seen Buck in his signature jewel tones, the bright reds and blues, this season yet. And I think that once buddie happens he will be walking around with his brighter colors in shit that fits right lol.

So we are on the lookout for Buck in clothes that fit right and in this shade of blue.

As always, if you read all this I love you 🫶

[drdemonprince]

really appreciate everyone adding their stories to the "what being gay was like in the early 2000's" thread. and to the zoomers etc who are taking it in and are interested. if you'll indulge me a second, i'd like to make a small plea to keep this background in mind when something that us millennials say seems really toxic, edgelordy, or frustratingly unascended. a lot of us have learned how to hide our early social conditioning in the right language and we fear stepping out of line and reproducing the harm we endured, but this stuff is bone deep inside a lot of us and it comes out in ugly ways. it shapes what we're most comfortable with, and what we're biased about, our emotional reactions to things, our compulsive behaviors. a lot of us are still back there, a little bit, no matter how much better we get over time. still a little stuck in the era of low rise jeans with whale tales and anorexia blogs and getting drunk in the park with 29 year olds when you're sixteen and just kind of letting them do whatever to you while thinking about something that you really want that feels impossible to get, nonsensical and alien almost, even to you. i'm pleaing for you to show a level of compassion i never showed to my boomer parents and their faults really, but maybe you'll be able to extend a little of it since i'm not like, your dad, i'm just some guy who has learned a couple of things, and so when i fail you i'm not failing you in that way. i dont know. i feel kind of affectionate and protective toward the shitty totally fucked up younger self i was who lived in that world. it's a strange thing to be both nostalgic about and to know was completely wrong and fucked you up. but it's the only past you had, so there's always some attachment there, and it's hard to let go of even if you can't see us grippin it.

[shyamanuensis]

Echoes & Emotions - m.r

Part two to - Showers & Scourers. Part three coming soon xo

Three weeks. It had been three weeks to the day that you found Mattheo emotionally distraught in the shower and it had taken almost just as long to try and push the image to the back of your mind. Three weeks of curiosity. Three weeks of friendship. Three weeks of being attached at the hip like old times. Three weeks of confusion. Your friends had asked if you were together again. You had never given them an answer. You weren’t entirely sure of what this was exactly. You don’t think you’d ever be. However, you were certain that it wasn’t a relationship. Not in the true sense or meaning of the word anyway. Laying in the middle of his bed; dorm room darkened – the only light filtering through being that of the lightning storm outside, you kept silent, trying to make sense of the single thought you had racing around inside your head – why were you here.

Recent time spent with Mattheo was nostalgic. Sweet yet dangerous. You knew his faults and he knew yours, but you had never expected them to become so entangled within each other again. Despite not having moved for hours; the bedsheets still felt cold. It was as if they were a reminder that you shouldn’t let yourself get too comfortable or let yourself fall into an insecure sense of love, want and need. Your mind knew better than your heart at this point but that wasn’t the way the game was meant to be played – surely. And this was a game. A game of survival, a game of lust, a game of winner takes it all. A game the both of you had enough experience in to know that the final score would cause nothing but suffering for one of you and so you prolonged it as best you could.

“Why are you still here?”

His question cut through the silence like a rough diamond against glass. You blinked; the gesture not doing much as your hand resting firmly against his chest, covered by his own clawed in on itself gently. His heartbeat that you had been feeling; listening for; keeping your breath in time to quickening. His ribs had begun to vibrate from the pounding that stupid muscle was capable of and yours now, following suit. You bit your lip; chewing at the soft flesh as if it were tasteless candy hoping to buy yourself enough time to come up with a suitable answer. Something that would appease the both of you; or at least, answer the question.

“Because I care about you.”

Mattheo chuckled; the sound however devoid of any humour or integrity. His gaze up at the ceiling remained distant before he turned to face you; shifting on the bed with a swift single roll onto his side – the thoughts you knew he had playing on his mind, swimming behind the cold and darkened veneer of his eyes. Care. There was that word you had always mentioned during your relationship. A word so easily thrown around it seems, yet so rarely, truly felt. Your eyes fixed upon his; the frangibleness of you both – your proximity, your anxieties, your devotions hung swinging like a pendulum of doubt as the gaze you both held. Boring into the depths of each other’s souls unsure of what you’d stumble across.

“..and this is what you call care?, his voice was laced with disdain. “Care. You care for me so much that you left me behind before like I meant nothing.” “I’m here now.” “Why – out of pity or convenience?”

You knew where this was going. You knew exactly how the conversation was going to pan out. Every night since you had begun spending time together again it had been the same. As if scripted by the devil to be played out as a duologue which never saw the scenes end. He’d ask you your feelings on the mark. You’d dance around the subject not wanting to upset him. He’d get upset anyway. You’d argue. Never just bicker or squabble; a full blown, ‘this is why we broke up in the first place’ cacophony of sorts which meant nights ended abruptly; without resolution to anything which had been said.

“No, you idiot – because I love… because I loved you.”

Mattheo flinched almost imperceptibly at what you’d just said. That cold, calculating mask that he was wearing; inherited clearly from his fathers’ side, was beginning to crack under the weight of your confession. He was expecting it. Well; not those words exactly. You had managed to correct yourself and he felt the knife you metaphorically had twisted within his heart dig in deeper; slashing away at the layers of anger and resentment he’d build around himself, exposing that small part of him that craved what he truly believed only you could offer him. Love and acceptance.

“Love is a weakness. A plaything.”

You’d heard that phrase before. This time it had hit you like a bludger and you’d have rather thrown yourself into the Whomping Willow than hear it again. It was said by his father; the night you disclosed your relationship to your families. It had resulted in nothing but tears. The same tone. The same hiss. The same scorn contempt.

“Matty, love isn’t a weakness. It’s not a plaything. It’s not something to be toyed or manipulated.”

Your whisper was soft; light and subtle. You gave yourself permission to gaze into his eyes; lean in to rest your forehead against his and stroke his cheek with the most tender of touches your fingertips could manage as you tried to get through to him. Boring deep past the surface layers of hesitation he’d built up to hide behind like a fortress of reservation. The admission which came next one that you’d forever hold onto.

“Your love may be Riddle; but don’t ever, ever think that mine is.”

Mattheo stiffened as your breath ghosted his jaw; the unexpected heat sending a shiver down his spine as his eyes began to darken to a rich espresso stain of emotion caused by a mixture of both defiance and vulnerability. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to argue with you. To dismiss your words. To call them out as naïve and helpless, but he couldn’t. The raw passion held in your gaze, gave him pause.

“Then prove it.” His reply that of a challenge. “Show me of this ‘love’ that you claim to feel. Get marked. Let’s be together again.” “Why? Is that what you want? What you’re craving? Proof of love? Proof of ownership?”

He paused. You fell silent. The questions had caught Mattheo off guard. His gaze turned cold again; turned sharp as another defensive mask that he was so used to wearing slipped back into place across his expression; yet even as words left his tongue, there was a hint of overall uncertainty that was beginning to betray him in ways, he hadn’t expected.

“I don’t crave anything.” A lie. “Least of all not love.” Another lie.

Tilting your head; you let your lips brush against his own with almost a barely there softness, as you fixed your gaze back into his own for a moment; contemplating if this should really have been done before locking lips with his own into a tender kiss.

“…I, love you.”

He gasped against your kiss; body instinctively rolling in towards your familiar touch and although he wanted to push you away, to uphold this sudden cold demeanour he’d been portraying all night, his heart was louder and won the fight against his mind. The kiss for the both of you, ignited a whirlwind of emotions; a tangle of memories and feelings which threatened to consume you both if not acted upon carefully.

“Don’t…” The murmur against your lips, a vibrational mix of both protest and plea.

“You didn’t let me finish...”, you spoke up against his lips; fingers delicate, near subdued in their movements to snake through his curls and then race down with a faint trace along his neck, shoulder, collarbone, chest, waist. Dancing at his belt – the soft supple leather acquainted against your skin for all the wrong reason. “I love you, but I can’t be in love with you.”

His body quivered and shivered beneath your touch – that gentle caress you stained his skin with leaving a trail, the feeling akin to fire, in its wake. Mattheo’s mind was at war with himself; with itself – torn between the need for you and the need for self-preservation. The familiar ache you had bestowed upon him with your touch a juxtaposition to your words. This was all like a dagger again straight to the heart.

“You – love me; but can’t be in love with me?” The echo of Mattheo’s words against the walls of the dorm were laced by an anguished laugh that barely had time to be processed before escaping him. He knew where this was going just as much as you did. It was the reason you’d decided to call it quits in the first place. Your heart not aligning up with what was to be expected of him.

“I know it doesn’t make sense right now; but trust me. As we grow apart again – you’ll see my reasoning, you’ll begin to notice why. It will all come together. I…” “..don’t want to be associated with a guy like me.” “It’s not that. You have a future Mattheo that I don’t agree with. A legacy, a name, a path to live up and follow and I just – I don’t agree with it. I never have and I never will.”

He wanted to argue with you; to demand answers – to hold onto your fiercely and not let you out of his grasp but the timing of all this couldn’t have been worse. His mark; it had begun to burn. He itched at the scar. He hated this as much as he hated the tonality of your words. He felt irritable; hopeless. His voice grafting into a symphony of resignation and frustration as he sat up on the bed and began to scratch at his arm vigorously.

“Fine”, he spat, “I’ll trust you.” “Good.”

You pushed yourself to sit up also; leaning in as if it were common practice and having Mattheo meet you halfway; one final kiss shared that was fuelled by a lingering want, a desire, of hope. Your lips moved against one another’s with a hunger that bordered near on desperation. Mattheo wanted to so desperately memorize the taste of you; the feelings you conjured up within him. You wanted one last final farewell; surprised as he pulled away as quickly as the kiss had begun, the expression on his face hardening into something emotionless.

“Good..”, he managed to echo in response; the word dripping with a hint of bitterness and perhaps, turmoil.

“I’ll see you round Matty. If you need anything…”

As you shifted off towards the edge of the bed to stand and find your sweater thrown to the floor from earlier in the night; Mattheo fought the urge to reach out and pull you back, knowing that it would be pointless. That he had been called for. Summoned. That if he didn’t show up – the unreliable son; there’d be hell to pay. Watching as you got ready to leave the dorm, he ground his teeth against each other, feeling a release of anger with the sound and scoffed before commenting.

“…I can manage on my own.”

You turned back to look at him; head in his hands, not quite a boy, but not yet a man.

“I know.” “You should go.”

Without restraint, you whimpered; tears pooling into the corners of your eyes at his suggestion and paused, wondering if Mattheo would do anything more, but as the seconds turned into the better half of a minute, you gave up waiting; gave up wanting something you knew wouldn’t happen. His heart was breaking. Mattheo didn’t reach out for you; not the way he usually would that you were perhaps expecting him to. His pride, or there lack of it, and anger; warring within him. He was at battle with himself, with his anticipations, with his now formalised expectations that that stupid mark had brought upon him and yet he wanted you to feel the same pain that he was feeling. He wanted you to regret your decision, however deep down – he couldn’t bring himself to hurt you. To harm you. He knew the only person he was hurting was himself in the process.

“Just … go.” He managed with a voice barely above that of a whisper. “You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be near me.”

You took no more than a few steps before your tears kicked in. Trying to blink them away; everything that had happened tonight finally began to sink in. Weeks, days, hours of blissful retreat within each other’s company torn to shreds within minutes; but perhaps this is how it was meant to be. You hated this. You hated yourself. Why couldn’t you just be there for him. Properly. In whole. With light footsteps you wandered away back to your own dorm, and Mattheo watched you with an expression of indifference until you were well and truly out of sight. Only then did he let his facade drop – his breathing become ragged; his body tremble as he fell back against the bed. Mark still burning but not enough to overtake every other demon he now had fighting inside of him. He fought back tears; feeling them swell within his eyes but refused to let them fall. The pain was palpable. He was alone again – and yet this time, it was unbearable as his final confession danced off the tip of his tongue.

“I’ll get you back my love.. just you wait and see…”

[yanderelovebites]

More isekai batsis because I love it so much.

So mine in particular doesn’t go by Y/n to the bat family since it is an isekai but when she’s by herself she will refer to herself as Y/n. Her Isekai name is Illia Birdges-Wayne.

I didn’t go too deep into the details of Damian’s obsession yet, just vague stuff so that’s what this post more or less is.

I’d like to say that Damian has a somewhat emotional-incest connection to her. He will not get physical as he’s been raised better, but there are signs-blatant signs I’ll add, that if they were not half-siblings he’d try. Once it’s obvious to Damian she understands he legitimately cares for her as I do feel Damian could tell her walls were still up, he’d be over the moon in his own lack of enthusiasm way.

When Damian and her start going to school together, it’s definitely more clear as well. Damian deals with her ‘friends’ at first to be close to her. He doesn’t like them and batsis isn’t truly friends with these ‘friends’ either. Their use is to keep her social standing up and Damian can see it.

While in a lot of fanfics Damian would egg the others on, as do they in turn, I don’t think Damian would exactly agree with any academic manipulation. If anything Damian thinks it’s the stupidest thing in the world because he doesn’t see it as just affecting her. As I’ve mentioned, he sees her friends as to keep a social standing. He sees them not as her friends, but pawns. As far as he’s concerned, her pawns are his too. So it legitimately upsets the little dude. I can just see the family trying to fuck with it and Tim back tracks because Damian put a venomous snake in his computer chair. They fuck off when it came to school after that because who wants to fuck with that.

Also this attempt would be without Bruce’s knowledge. He actually shuts Tim and Dick down on these attempts. Also scolds Damian in his perspective but it literally does nothing in regards of convincing him that his sister’s friends aren’t pawns.

He would tell his mom about her too. He won’t shut up, to the point she jokes about it sounding like he’s telling her his crush rather than a sister, but Damian disregards that statement.

If they were older, Damian is the brother who scared off any boyfriends since he’s always with her in public. If she somehow snuck it behind his back yes he’d be upset, but he would take it out on the partner. Now, Damian doesn’t worship her—even if he sometimes comes off like that.

These two would at some point using Arabic, Japanese, Korean, Irish and mandarin would make a code language that no one else in the house understands. At first Bruce thought it was just Arabic so he learns it and realizes it’s not just Arabic. So he figured out some of it is Japanese and mandarin, but can’t figure out what the other two are. It’s also the fact the two learned all of these, of course some they already knew, just so no one else could understand what the hell they were saying.

And just as he doesn’t want anyone dating her, he also gets offended when guys don’t won’t to. It’s even worse if they have an actual reason that doesn’t involve him. How dare they claim you’re too skinny? Too fat? The list could go on.

I can also imagine once Damian and her are comfortable enough, Damian would help “Illia” train in the martial arts she’s taking since Damian would have been trained in them from a far younger age. One day they come to dinner with bruises and gives everyone a panic attack and they’re like “What’s wrong? Damian was helping me train.” Followed by Damian complimenting an improvement but then going straight into what she needs to improve next.

He’s so damn attached. Sure he cares for the rest of the bat family but she has a different place in his life than them. They’re the people who mentor him, they’re the people he fights crime with—she is who he can go to and just be his age for damn once. They can only teach him how to be a Robin, her? She shows him what a Wayne is. There’s a difference whether they’d like to see it or not.

Next person I’ll get into (and how their obsession evolves) is Bruce. This is in order of who gets obsessive first to last btw.

[deezee112]

The worst ending 20 : A Cage of Crimson Chains

The worst ending 19 | The worst ending 21

Yandere!Lilia Vanrouge x GN!Reader

A/N : I just had a chance to sleep at 9pm!!?? for the first time in two weeks after 2am every day! ( sometimes 4am.. ) I think it's better now. Hope you enjoy it!

Warning : Yandere themes , obsessive behavior , emotional manipulation , confinement , stalking , psychological horror , possessiveness , violence , character death , unsettling themes.

Tags :

@iris-arcadia @yuu-twisted

If you want me to tag you please tell me.

English is not my first language.

The child sat in front of you, his legs tucked beneath him, long strands of dark hair falling over his shoulders. His crimson eyes blinked up at you curious, unreadable, but eerily silent. No matter how many questions you asked, he never answered. He only stared, his gaze sharp and unwavering, like he was waiting for something.

You exhaled, pressing a hand against your forehead. " You can't just sit there forever without a name, you know. "

The child didn’t respond.

You studied him carefully. His hair was wild, too long for a child’s, but it suited him. His expression, though void of words, was oddly mischievous.

" How about Lilia? " you suggested.

For the first time, his lips twitched. His head tilted ever so slightly, the smallest hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. He didn’t speak not yet but that look told you enough.

" Lilia it is, then... " you murmured.

From that moment on, everything changed.

Lilia was not an easy child. From the moment he learned how to speak, he became a force of nature willful, stubborn, and endlessly energetic. He had no concept of personal space, constantly clinging to you, whether it was grabbing onto your waist, latching onto your back, or resting his chin on your shoulder while you tried to cook.

" Fei, get off " you muttered, shaking him off for the tenth time that morning. ( You can immediately figure out whether you are taller or shorter. )

" But I’m comfortable! " Lilia whined, arms tightening around your waist. " And I told you to call me Lilia! Fei is too serious! "

" You are serious. " you deadpanned. " You nag like an old man. "

Lilia gasped, feigning hurt. " Nag? Moi? " He placed a hand on his chest dramatically. " I only lovingly remind you of things. "

" Yeah, yeah. " you sighed, prying his fingers off you. " And lovingly get in the way of everything I do. "

Despite his antics, he was oddly perceptive. He knew when you were tired before you even said a word. He knew when to be silent, when to watch, when to slip into the shadows like he had never been there at all. It was unsettling at times how his eyes would linger, how he always seemed to know things.

" You don’t like people very much, do you? " Lilia asked one evening, hanging upside down from the couch like a bat.

You shot him a glance. " What makes you say that? "

" You always look tired after you talk to them. " he said, his voice light, but his eyes dark with something unreadable.

You scoffed. " And you? You act like you love people, but you’re always watching from a distance. "

Lilia grinned, his sharp teeth flashing. " Maybe that’s because I only need one person. "

As the years passed, Lilia’s attachment to you only grew worse. He never liked it when you spent too much time with others. His complaints were subtle at first pouting, whining about being bored whenever you left but over time, his discontent took on a more sinister tone.

" You shouldn’t trust them so easily. " Lilia mused one evening, sitting cross-legged on the counter while you cooked. " People are fickle. Weak. "

You frowned. " That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think? "

Lilia swung his legs lazily, smirking. " Maybe. But I’m right, aren’t I? "

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the stove. " You don’t get to decide who I talk to. "

"Hmm," he hummed. " Maybe not. But it’d be easier if you only talked to me. "

You paused for a split second, feeling the weight of his stare on your back. When you turned to look at him, he was still smiling but something in his expression felt off.

" Lilia… "

He tilted his head, waiting.

" You’re not being serious, right? "

A beat of silence. Then, he laughed.

" Of course not! " he chirped, hopping down from the counter. " I’m just messing with you, y/n! "

But the way his fingers grazed your wrist as he walked past you light, lingering, almost threatening told a different story.

At first, it was little things. Your phone would go missing when you planned to meet up with someone. Strange rumors spread about people you knew, just enough to make you hesitate before reaching out to them.

Then, it escalated.

Your door was always locked when you tried to leave. The windows never opened quite right. The outside world felt like it was slipping further and further away, and Lilia was always there watching, smiling, waiting.

One day, you finally confronted him.

" Lilia. " you said, voice firm. " What have you been doing...? "

He blinked at you innocently. " Whatever do you mean? "

" You know what I mean. " You took a step closer. " The locked doors. The missing phone and The— "

Lilia chuckled, shaking his head. " Oh, y/n " he sighed, as if he was the one who was tired of you. " You really don’t get it, do you? "

" Get what...? "

His crimson eyes gleamed. " That I’m the only one you need. "

You felt your stomach drop.

" Lilia... " you whispered. " This isn’t love.. "

He frowned, pouting like a child who had been scolded. " But I do love you! " he said, stepping forward, hands reaching for you. " And you love me too, right? "

His fingers curled around your wrist gentle, but unyielding.

You swallowed hard. " Lilia, let me go... "

He smiled. " No. "

One night, you managed to escape. The door had been left unlocked careless, unlike him. You didn’t stop to question it. You ran.

The wind was cold against your skin as you sprinted into the night, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Trees blurred past you. The world outside felt strange, unfamiliar after so long.

Then, you heard it.

A soft chuckle.

" Running away from me? "

Your heart lurched. You turned and there he was.

Lilia stood in the middle of the path, his long hair swaying in the wind. He wasn’t smiling anymore. His crimson eyes were eerily calm.

" You weren’t supposed to leave. " he murmured.

Your body was trembling. " Lilia, this isn’t— "

A sharp pain bloomed in your chest.

You staggered, looking down. His knife was buried deep in your stomach.

Lilia sighed, pressing his forehead against yours as he held you upright. " You should have stayed. " he whispered. " You should have only looked at me. "

Your vision blurred. The last thing you saw was his eyes, watching you, waiting, even as the world faded to black.

Lilia never left your side, even in death.

He carried your body back home, humming softly as he cleaned the blood from your skin. He dressed you in your favorite clothes, brushed your hair, and tucked you into bed as if you were only sleeping.

" You’ll never leave me again. " he murmured, kissing your forehead. " Now we can be together forever. "

And in the quiet of the night, under the soft glow of the moon, Lilia curled up beside you smiling, satisfied.

Because in the end, you were his

[noriimura]

namgyu headcannons !

content warning: dark! namgyu, drugs, thinness, eating problems, addictions, family issues

a/n: my thoughts on how I see namgyu outside the game, it's okay if our ideas about him may differ. english is not my first language, so if there are translation problems, don’t judge harshly. this is my first post of this kind, so I hope you enjoy it

part 2 is coming soon…

i think he grew up without a father, with a cold, distant mother who didn't need him. he always tried to get her love and attention by doing housework, drawing her pictures with the caption "mommy, I love you" or "mommy, you're the best," then finding the drawings in the trash. he tried to study well at school, achieve heights in the classroom and be better than his classmates, thus receiving the excellent student syndrome. however, as he grew older, he realized that it was useless, his mother would not love him, the imaginary interest that was present only out of a desire to please his mother disappeared altogether. he gave up on his studies, and in high school he periodically skipped school with friends, drinking alcohol and smoking cigarettes one after another. after finishing school somehow and passing the exams with a low score, he gave up on education and decided not to go further to study, he went to work in a nightclub on the advice of his friend who worked there

due to the fact that his mother was often absent from his life, he developed an anxious type of attachment. he is not sure of himself, he is afraid that he will be abandoned, that he can be intrusive, constantly demands confirmation of love, but without saying so directly, he considers it humiliating and shameful even in front of his partner.

speaking of his anxiety, his partner will have a hard time, he is the most anxious partner who will be jealous of every pillar, will constantly write and ask who his partner is with, will constantly suspect infidelity, check the phone for suspicious correspondence and make scandals from scratch.

there is also a theory that namgyu has an avoidant type of attachment, it is difficult for him to get close to people, show his emotions and trust, which is why he does not enter into a relationship in principle, trying to avoid any obligations, responsibilities and the opportunity to get attached, when he wanted to have fun, he met another girl in a club with whom he was rude, animal, dirty sex without any feelings. in the morning, deleting the phone number without giving a chance for something more.

it seems to me that he grew up in a family full of violence and debauchery, even as a child when his mother and father communicated but were not married, his father often came, they drank, smoked and then quarreled, he beat her, they hated each other, he saw it, he grew up in it, he absorbed such an attitude between parents this became one of the reasons for his cruelty and problematic nature, later his mother went into fornication, she began to bring new men to their house, they had fun, had sex, and drank, little namgyu saw all this, he hated her for it, this also became one of the reasons for his consumer attitude towards women.

he does not like to contact people, even though he works in a profession in which communication skills are extremely necessary. he never starts long dialogues with visitors unless they arouse special interest or are beneficial to him. if he is not interested, he shows it with his whole appearance, gaze and actions, he never tries to look interested, which is why he is not very respected at work. if he finds the dialogue not interesting, he will not say a word from himself in an attempt to maintain the dialogue, except for a couple of clear phrases that his work requires of him.

for namgyu, drugs are primarily a way to forget about all his sins, problems, and debts. It is in his hallucinations that he lives happily. before using drugs, he was trying to find himself, something that would save him. he stayed up late at computer clubs, draining money for an extra hour in the game, his hometown club and attempts to forget himself in new acquaintances, alcohol and cigarettes, which to this day help him relax. It was his first time trying drugs with his friends. hallucinogenic trips in which he could stay until morning, complete relaxation and loss of touch with reality, this was what he had been looking for for so long, only this state allowed him to smile and feel in his place.

although namgyu found an outlet in drugs, however, his gambling addiction remained, most likely he would have played some kind of strategic team games in the MOBA genre like dota 2, I'm sure he screams all over the apartment when he is killed or someone else's team demolished their throne.

namgyu prefers sportswear, usually a size or two larger, it seems to me that he would not wear fitted clothes in principle, making a choice towards slightly baggy T-shirts and wide trousers.

I think namgyu would have eating problems, he often has no appetite, which is why he refuses to eat or intentionally does not eat, plus due to drug use and lack of physical activity, the guy has a rather thin build.

he's a misogynist, which is already canon. i think as he gets older, he just gets disillusioned with women. perhaps he liked the girl who rudely and shamefully rejected him and he remembered it forever. Indifferent, strong, wayward and cold women remind him of his mother, which is why he literally wants to kill them so that the metaphorical death of his mother would happen. yes, he won't kill every woman he meets, but passive aggression towards them is clearly present.

[sunshine-and-moonshine]

Conversation Hearts

Requested: No

Warning(s): Implied nsfw, mentions of condoms and lube, mention of nightmares, humping, biting

Summary: Little blurbs for CoD men based on some conversation heart words

Characters: Simon “Ghost” Riley, Johnny “Soap” MacTavish, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick, Alejandro Vargas

Ghost - All Mine

“All mine.” You whispered in his ear, your hands crawling over his skin, a blessing. The touch of a god of love, something so pure and beautiful caressing his mangled flesh. He wasn’t worthy of it, but he craved it all the same. Your touch, your scent, your presence, your love. He wasn’t worthy, but he’d kill everyone else who got close, so that he could keep your attention for just a little bit longer. Ares with his Aphrodite, war and brutality against the soft and beautiful, the disgusting against the perfect.

“Yeah, Luv, I’m all yours.” He echoed, his hands gently cradling your hips, desperate to keep you as close as he could. Aching for your touch like an addict, like he’d die without you so near to him. He didn’t know how he survived before you and he knew he could never do so again now that you were in his life. “Always yours. This heart of mine is yours, til the second it stops beating. When I’m nothin’ more than a pile of ashes and dust in your hands.”

“My my, quite the romantic today, Mr. Riley.” You say with a chuckle, and it rings in his skull like wedding bells. Mr.Riley. He never much cared for his name, not the name that he shared with scum like his father. But you made it sound almost…pleasant. He wanted to hear it more, wanted you to never stop saying it. And maybe, one day, you’d call him by your last name instead. Your name attached at the end of his. He sounded it out in his head, loving every meshed syllable. Wanted to engrave it on his skull so that whoever eventually killed him knew who to send his raw bleeding heart back home to.

Gaz - Cutie Pie

“Cutie pie.” Your voice coos in his ear as he starts to wake up, scratching an itch he didn’t know he had, just by speaking to him. Calming him from the lingering panic of his nightmare before he could even get himself any more worked up. “Angel boy, love of my life.” You whisper again, peppering kisses against the rounded apples of his cheeks, along the line of his jaw, on the bridge of his nose. “Come back to me, Sweetheart. It’s all okay.”

“I’m here.” He whispers, his lips twitching into a smile when he feels your hand slide into his, linking your fingers along his own. “I’m right here, Lovey. I’m okay. Sorry to worry you like that.” He says, running his thumb over your knuckles, feeling the pulse in your palm beat against his own. He could almost convince himself that they were perfectly in sync, as they were meant to be.

“Ain’t gotta be sorry, Sugar Cube.” You tell him, your voice as soft and delicate as the baby feather of a dove. Tickling at his heart, at his soul. Every syllable from your mouth like a love spell made just for him. Perfect in every way that he could think of. Irresistible. More tempting than the secrets of Pandora’s box, and even more satisfying to indulge in. He would die happy, if you were there to talk to him until his eyes shut forever, and he slipped into the dark abyss. “It’s what I’m here for, Baby. Here for you, whenever you need me to be. Now and always, you got that?”

Soap - I Love You

“I love you.” Soap whispered against the curve of your throat, trailing his lips down your clavicle, over the slope of your shoulder. “I love ya so much, mah bonnie darlin.” He ran his hands down your sides, in the dip of your waist and over the arch of your hips, over your trembling thighs, your body shaking with emotions that you couldn’t even begin to place. Couldn’t begin to put names to. You weren’t sure you’d even be able to place them if you had a perfectly clear mind.

“I lo-love you too, Baby.” You whine, hips jerking against the soft pudge of his belly when he squeezed the fattest part of your thighs and runs his teeth over your collarbone in the faintest imitation of a bite, so unlike the deep feral ones he usually left along your body. Your legs kicked uselessly against his thighs, your back rising in a perfect arch, mouth agape with a soft choked noise that made him chuckle against your flesh.

“I love you more.” He says, grinding his throbbing cock against the bed, so violently that the whole mattress shifted up, just a little. His lips rolled up, baring his teeth in a facsimile of a scowl. A beast in the midst of a rut, and you were the prey he’d chosen to pin beneath the weight of his paw. “Love you more than you could even dream, my darling. My love. My perfect little fucking minx.”

Alejandro Vargas - Kiss Me

“Kiss me.” You giggle, eyes peering at him like you could find the secrets of the universe resting in his eyes. He smirked, tilting his head and arching his brow at you, staying silent for a long moment just to make it seem like he was thinking about it when you both knew that he was just going to dive in anyways. “Ale, kiss me.” You say again, with more force in your tone, grasping at the collar of his button down shirt and pulling him closer. “I need you to kiss me, Tesoro.” You whisper, brushing your lips against his.

“Te amo, Mi Corazon.” Alejandro snarled against your lips before fully leaning in, his teeth knocking against yours for a moment, your noses squished together before he righted himself, turning the action more pleasant, more sweet. Moans and gasps shared between you, out one mouth and into the next. Eyes squeezed shut until he pried himself away, making your whine. But he didn’t go far.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” He whispered, making your eyes flutter open just in time to see him pull out a tube of chocolate flavored lube and a thick stack of condoms from his back pocket. “How about we celebrate this day the right way, huh?” He says with a wink and a dirty grin, barely even giving you a chance to process his words before he was grabbing at your arms and herding you to the bedroom, laughing the whole way there.

[thevolpin]

One of the stranger parts of being Bi-Polar is how severely and tangibly it affects my creative process.

I have been incredibly stunted in my emotional development. Expressing aswell as feeling emotion is something that does not come easily to me. I had a rather rough upbringing and nothing was taught to me in a healthy way, wich as a result made me harshly supress everything I could as an act of self preservation.

A circumstance I work very hard to fix.

Art has always been my go-to tool for /feeling/, for /expressing/ - even before I was aware of it.

I create to feel and I learn to create.

That has always been my guiding phrase.

Up until about 3 years ago art always had me on the backfoot - my manic and depressive episodes were a backdrop of my creative efforts, complete with the common feelings of invicibility and the pitfalls of wanting to tear my environment and myself apart in my frustration.

It helped me.

It helped me to cope and deal with life outside of art, because I feel safe in my art and I have a place to express my emotions - even if it felt awful and the worst thing to do in that moment a lot of the time.

3 Years ago I realized all of this and I made a conscious descision to move on, to heal and to re-imagine my art as a vessel to reshape my emotional facilities, to create with the /intent/ to express and not the necessity to vomit out whatever I could not express otherwise.

I turned a frustrated and self destructive mess into a self-caring and patient frame of mind.

But that does not take away my Bi-Polar tendencies.

I have been rather down mentally in the last week and now that I am able to observe that, I can observe my own being.

When I am in my manic state, I still barely eat or sleep, I take risks and make descisions, I splurge on things and I move fast, I want it all.

When I am in the depressive state, I slow down, I bunch up and curl into myself. Suddenly days come to a crawl and I get this odd quality of viewing my own mental goings on like a removed observer. And when I draw then I slow down too - I start to examine and observe, I start to crawl through my own process and watch it dissolve infront of me - both artistically, but also mentally, emotionally.

And curiously, some of my most successful images happen in that slow, depressed, exhausted state.

I heard of the term /Depressed/ as /Deep Rest/ - as in that is what you need. That is what your body tells you to do.

So I lay down, I sleep in, I check out. I sit down and I listen and I listen well what my mind needs to tell me, what I need to feel.

I do not believe in the idea of "great art comes from suffering" - great art comes from /emotion/ - suffering is just one of them and it is no more or less valid than the others.

The attached image was finished today - as an expression of appreciation, of beauty because that is what i truly crave most in my lowest states of mind. Stopping to look and admire something just for the fact it exists. Of understanding that I need to indulge into the things that make me feel at home with myself, rather than marinading in the pain i have accrued when I swing to the lowest lows.

Would it not be great if we could always see ourselves in that light?

I feel a little better, surprising myself with what I am capable of if I just grant myself the space to be whatever I need to be in that moment, and let it speak.

So, ironically, accepting the ungovernable swings of mood and flowing with them made them manageable.

We as human beings experience the world by comparing things - both biologically and emotionally. Hot and cold, high and low, near and far.

Exuberant and Devastated.

Depression and Mania.

We define what something is by understanding what it is not.

And so somehow now, I feel like if I was "cured" of my condition I would miss it.

[enden-agolor]

H-hiii! I finally finished reading your Fic, and oh my God!! I can finally express my feelings!! I was struggling with the urge to write to you even in the middle of reading, I just want to say that you made me jump with trembling feelings, and sincerely worry about the characters!!!!! I am ashamed to admit, but I am absolutely not the kind of person who reads, I have some problems with this...But your work did not let me tear myself away! And your art inspires and overwhelms with emotions! I am also glad that thanks to your fanfiction, the fandom lives and delights with its works from other artists!! Sorry for the long text, I just really want to express my endless gratitude to you, your work helps me to cope with a difficult period in my life to some extent..I so love you!

Thank you a ton for reaching out <: )

It means so much to me that our work (and my own artwork) would bring you a feeling of peace during a rough time in your life. I know how that feels, and I have always been so deeply attached to the works that made me feel better when I needed it most. To know that our fic has done the same for you is extremely meaningful to me. That's all I could ever want, is for what I myself or what Andy and I both create together to spark joy or inspiration in others. It's a really beautiful thing that keeps us motivated to keep creating, and its people like you who keep us feeling positive enough to work on these long chapters and have them out weekly.

I love making this small part of the mcsm fandom that we're in happy. I love seeing everyone's creations and their own interpretations on jesskas and the love that they share. I think it's honestly amazing so many of us share the same headcanons for them, that it makes our little community feel all the more welcoming and close together. Asks like this make me feel extremely thankful for what I have and what I get to share with you all.

Sorry this turned out really gay. You caught me in the midst of my emotions writing chapter 29. Uh oh.

[wr-n]

Nightmare has such a complex about owning things, i love it so much. Just the fact that the people he chose to keep with him have significance to him and people taking them away is more of an atrocity to him than anything else.

That's why he was so upset when Cross decided to be more loyal to Dream because he saw him FIRST. He was supposed to be HIS.

He knows Dream isn't trying to intentionally goad him into rage-filled tantrums, but he still hates that, yet again, everyone loves Dream over him.

It's why he clings to Killer and Dust because they want him. They try to get closer to him even when he hurts them.

They're so special to him.

With Horror it's... complicated. Because he knows that what they had could never get any further than a boss and employee relationship and that was sufficient. But it does sting him sometimes when he can feel Horror's thoughts of leaving and never coming back.

[halfbaked00q]

but yea I feel like you get a lot of either Bond tries to pursue Q, or Q has a hopeless crush on Bond and then Bond at some point realizes. (and yes sometimes Bond has the crush, and/or some permutation of they both are pining and don't know the other has feelings)

but a niche I still feel is underfilled is the like. Q pursuing Bond niche. Not in the he has a hopeless crush kind of way, but in the like. way that often Bond pursues Q. which is the "I find you intriguing and would like to get to know you better" kind of way. Q giving Bond fun and ridiculous gadgets but not bc he's got a hopeless crush & is being kind of a pushover about it lmao, even tho that is rather how it plays out in canon, but in the way Bond will bring back presents & trinkets for Q.

Like, it's not the acts one character or another is doing, it's about the framing.

like, I want fics where Bond is the skittish cat one that Q is persistently luring in emotionally with food and treats and toys and character-appropriate Gestures of trustworthiness & bonding etc, and gradually (or not, lol) winning over lol. But also ofc I want the "I know you are trained to be adaptable and outwardly affable and in many ways this IS who you are, but also I want to get at that like secret core of you, that soft underbelly that you let few see, let alone touch."

[the-kipsabian]

its 1.15am, im having coffee and im emotional about chrissy b and the hope he gives me about being able to be me and survive this life

gonna be a long one tonight fellas

[thepenultimateword]

Prompt #167

Villain smiled at the squeal of the door hinges. Hero was always so polite. No breaking walls or kicking down doors for them. They entered through a proper entrance every time.

They took a deep breath before spinning around on their heel. “Ah, Hero, so good of you to— Who are you?”

The figure standing before them was definitely a hero. They had the agency emblem embroiderer into their orange and black suit—a fire gifted then. But they weren’t their hero.

“Oh!” The hero ceased cranking their head all around the room and gave a weak wave. “I’m Other Hero. You’re new assigned nemesis.”

“B-but what happened to Hero? Are they ok?”

An entirely forced smile graced Other Hero’s lips. . “They’re fine. They’re just…creeped out by you…aaaand they don’t want to see you anymore. Anyway, moving on, what’s that scary looking thing the corner? Maybe you oughta give me a monologue?”

“I-I don’t understand,” Villain said. “I only said I liked them; I didn’t do anything. I didn’t even touch them unless we were fighting. D-did they give a reason? Can you tell me what I did? Maybe I can apologize and—“

“Villain.”

Other Hero’s stood mere feet away, their expression dropped serious.

“Hero’s asked for a reassignment. And they’re not coming back. And whether they discomfort they felt around you is deserved or not, that was their decision. Pursuing them further isn’t going to change how they feel about you. Now. If you’d like some time to process this, I can just smash that whatever-it-is and leave. But if you want to fight, let’s fight.”

[werewolfdog]

M is gonna teach me how to make spicy hotpot to serve for the clients and us tomorrow and aaaaa

[microwavetoaster-selfships]

I've been thinking and. Should I just. Merge my blogs and put everything here. Cause at first I made seperate blogs because I didn't want to bombard everyone with nonsense every couple of months about some new characters I found so I kept making seperate blogs especially cause I didn't anticipate it happening again and again but now I'm like. Should I just stick everything under this blog. Or at the very least cut it down to two blogs where I have this one and the second one can just be for my every couple of monthly nonsense where I spew about whatever I found.

[whenthegoldrays]

oh god