#limerant

[lomofic]

When charachters have omo thoughts….

•A character that thinks ‘gotta pee’ or ‘have to go’ over and over again while holding

•Cursing inwardly as they leak

•A character that encourages themself to hold, to just keep it all in, just like that, don’t leak

•Characters spiraling when they think about water, then desperately trying to squirm themselves into not leaking

•Characters thinking they’re not gonna make it…

BONUS:

Their friend/SO/other character can read minds.

[fertilisedovumcell]

Passive dependency

Source: The Road Less Travelled - M. Scott Peck

Passive dependency has its genesis in lack of love.

The inner feeling of emptiness from which passive dependent people suffer is the direct result of their parents' failure to fulfil their needs for affection, attention and care during their child-hood.

It was mentioned in the first section that children who are loved and cared for with relative consistency throughout childhood enter adulthood with a deep-seated feeling that they are lovable and valuable and therefore will be loved and cared for as long as they remain true to themselves.

Children growing up in an atmosphere in which love and care are lacking or given with gross inconsistency enter adulthood with no such sense of inner security.

Rather, they have an inner sense of insecurity, a feeling of "I don't have enough" and a sense that the world is unpredictable and ungiving, as well as a sense of themselves as being questionably lovable and valuable.

It is no wonder, then, that they feel the need to scramble for love, care and attention

wherever they can find it, and once having found it, cling to it with a desperation that leads them to unloving, manipulative, Machiavellian behaviour that destroys the very relationships they seek to preserve.

As also indicated in the previous section, love and discipline go hand in hand, so that unloving, uncaring parents are people lacking in discipline, and when they fail to provide their children with a sense of being loved, they also fail to provide them with the capacity for self-discipline.

Thus the excessive dependency of the passive dependent individuals is only the principal manifestation of their personality disorder.

Passive dependent people lack self-discipline.

They are unwilling or unable to delay gratification of their hunger for attention.

In their desperation to form and preserve attachments they throw honesty to the winds. They cling to outworn relationships when they should give them up. Most important, they lack a sense of responsibility for themselves.

They passively look to others, frequently even their own children, as the source of their happiness and fulfilment, and therefore when they are not happy or fulfilled they basically feel that others are responsible.

Consequently they are endlessly angry, because they endlessly feel let down by others who can never in reality fulfil all their needs or "make" them happy.

I have a colleague who often tells people, "Look, allowing yourself to be dependent on another person is the worst possible thing you can do to yourself. You would be better off being dependent on heroin. As long as you have a supply of it, heroin will never let you down; if it's there, it will always make you happy. But if you expect another person to make you happy, you'll be endlessly disappointed."

As a matter of fact, it is no accident that the most common disturbance that passive dependent people manifest beyond their relationships to others is dependency on drugs and alcohol.

Theirs is the "addictive" personality.

"They are addicted to people, sucking on them and gobbling them up, and when people are not available to be sucked and gobbled, they often turn to the bottle or the needle or the pill as a people-substitute."

In summary, dependency may appear to be love because it is a force that causes people to fiercely attach themselves to one another. But in actuality it is not love; it is a form of antilove. It has its genesis in a parental failure to love and it perpetuates the failure.

It seeks to receive rather than to give. It nourishes infantilism rather than growth. It works to trap and constrict rather than to liberate. Ultimately it destroys rather than builds relationships, and it destroys rather than builds people.

[cillianmurphysdimples]

what is limerant?

Limerance (to be limerant) is the intense feelings, causing a sort of melancholic state of mind, of romance or love towards another person. Usually, the person who is limerant is so because their feelings aren't reciprocated. It's common for neurodivergent people to have issues with limerance - outside it can look like obsession, and perhaps it is, but it's more than that. It can be defining of everything the person does or says. It's a hyperfixation issue.

I've had problems with limerance since I was around 12 - it's often towards unattainable people, but it caused issues in a relationship too.

[necrobioticspidergripper]

I'm so fucked in the head, I got excited when I saw the piece of scratch paper I grabbed for a bookmark had his chickenshit handwriting on it

[bedupolker]

Limerence & Lust: Part 2.5: Limerence & Lust get divorced

Part 0

Part 1

Part 2

Part 2.5 (here)

[l1ttles3am0th]

Who else experiences limerent episodes so prevalent that you genuinely want to get close to your LO but know for a fact that your current level of infatuation with them is guaranteed to make them uncomfortable so you have to literally hold back just to not lose them? With my current episode, over the course of less than a week, I went from hating mine’s guts to being absolutely infatuated. I’ve experienced it at least 3+ times before, but now that I actually recognize it, it’s more hellish for some reason.

[comatosebunny09]

First time in a long time sex.

That yearning sex. That “I’ve pined for you for years” sex. That “I’ve missed you” sex.

Hot, heavy, sweaty. Ugly. Mouths open, panting. Raw. Unfettered. Breathless chuckles and goofy grins throughout. Intense eye contact. Groans slipping through parted, kiss-swollen lips.

Been at it for hours. No sense of time.

“Take me, take me, take me,” he praises like a mantra, the curl of his voice making your walls hiccup around him as he rubs your clit.

A hand wrapped around your throat. A thumb drawing your lip down, pushing into your mouth. Tongue jutting out to taste it.

Open-mouthed kisses, sighing each other’s names. Your nails embedding waning moons into his traps. His grip bruising, body mooring you to the bed.

He won’t let you get away—not this time. Not like you’d want to. Waited so long to feel him like this.

He pounds into you so good until you’re both soundless, yet you can’t look away. Skin slapping. The headboard smacking against the wall. Bed threatens to give way.

Like he can’t buy another one.

Tears stream down your face, and he furrows his brows. He leans down to pour every emotion he’s held back into your body with a kiss.

Your fingers twine together. Squeezing. He pants against your lips, hips stuttering. The world slides into a blissful shade of white. Toe-curling, mind-numbing, tongue-lolling sex.

I need that.

[moved-to-gottishttot]

i don't wanna work!! i wanna be kidnapped and treated like a pet!! turn me into your brainless little obsessed doll!!

[terrorbeauty]

[lomofic]

Okay while coaxing a shy charachter to pee is cute HEAR ME OUT…

A character that needs to be coaxed not to pee in inappropriate places. Like a character who, at the drop of a hat, will absolutely pee in that bush over there. They get desperate and will let it out into just about anything. And then there’s there friend/lover/whoever who has to scold them about public indecency laws.

[limeartichoke]

set post-never let me go (fic)

(forgot to mention but masky is using ASL here, the exposed hand was originally intended to be drawn doing a "wasn't me" sign (or the closest translation) but i forgot completely until posting this)

[another-0ddity]

No sanity or stability here, just a delusional emotionally unstable person who feels too human or not human at all.

[necrobioticspidergripper]

I'm so delulu, I love it when he sits in the chair I draped my jacket over

[bedupolker]

Limerence & Lust: Part 2, Limerence and Lust practice self care

Part 0

Part 1

Part 2.5

[gottishttot]

' fix you '? no sweetheart. i can love you as you are. i can worship everything you perceive as a flaw until the idea that you're perfect gets burnt into your brain.

[comatosebunny09]

carpe noctem [ preface ] | sylus

— summary: whatever they have is cosmic. which is why you quietly bow out, thinking you never stood a chance. — cw: reader is not mc, assassin!reader, unrequited feelings, mentions of burned bodies, mentions of blood & injuries, jealousy, stream of conciousness, mdni — notes: shout out to @alfredosaws, @cheshireworld, and @midiplier for inspiring this! thank you for reading! here's a playlist to keep you entertained! edit: part 2 can be found here. — now playing: abracadabra - brown eyed girls

“Did you see that?!”

A smirk crooks your lips. 

You watch the source of excitement in your periphery, her mirth infectious. You pat the space between her shoulder blades, the other hand stuffed in your pocket, pride swelling in your chest. The SUV eases into focus, a sleek outline of black, haloed by the sun’s deceptively innocent glow.

“I did.”

Her eyes brighten like stars shining in the inky night. She punches at the air—a reenactment of the moves she displayed during your scuffle inside the warehouse. It burns a pretty blend of orange and yellow behind, flames licking a cyan sky, smoke billowing from squealing metal. Carnage you left behind after a deal gone sour, structure and bodies turned to cinder, courtesy of one nefarious mafioso with a bomb fetish. 

She flexes her bicep, fixing you with a grin that’s all canines. “I was pretty badass, huh?”

You quirk a brow, quietly giving her props. 

A chuckle erupts from behind you both. You don’t look back. His presence is ever-looming. Imposing, towering over your shoulder, oozing smugness. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, kitten.” 

He says it to humble her. To keep her head from overinflating, but you don’t miss the affection surfing in the undercurrents of his voice. It always lives there when he chides her. 

You can’t blame him. She’s come a long way: Ms. Hunter. 

Initially, she feared being roped in with the lot of you. Rejected the lifestyle of doing very bad things to equally bad people. She eventually found her niche, and you unconsciously took her under your wing, treating her like something of a sibling—a friend.

You knew she wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. Sylus made that clear. Cryptic as ever, forcing her onto you, refusing to tell you everything. Only that she owed him a debt, and he brought her around to collect.

At first, you despised the arrangement. She was a thorn in your side, the bane of your existence. Her very presence threatened the hodgepodge life you constructed with your makeshift family—Luke, Kieran, Mephisto, Sylus.

She was too nice. Reckless. Too self-righteous, where you were calculative. A manipulator, a killer. Your hands dripped red while hers were delicate as orchid petals. But she had Sylus wrapped around her finger—a feat you struggled to conquer for years. The man was playing Kitty Cards and sneaking plushies into the manor, for crying out loud. Besides, you couldn’t deny how she squirmed her way through the fissures of your own heart, nestling between atriums and ventricles like she’d always belonged there. 

You found yourself quietly rooting for them—your big, bad wolf of a boss and his precious little lamb. The affection blooming between them was palpable, like datura petals drifting in an errant breeze. Though an official title never revealed itself to you, you sensed whatever bond they shared was cosmic. Something you couldn’t touch or disrupt no matter how hard you tried. So you wordlessly conceded, bowing out of a competition you constructed in your mind. 

You were content with protecting her. Showing her the ropes, knowing in the back of your mind she would one day replace you. You were slowly becoming old news, no longer the center of Sylus’ orbit. It was fitful, but it was nice to see him smile like that for a change. To see this side of him, smitten with his defenses buried beneath the rubble, and you supposed that was enough for you. 

At least this way, you could remain by his side. Fulfill your own obligations, continuing to serve him, even if it means watching the world you’ve grown so accustomed to slowly fall away from your feet. 

“You did a good job,” you say, disrupting the slurry of your thoughts, a fond hand ruffling her hair, eyes creased at the corners. 

You usher the hunter into the passenger seat of the SUV. She’s still buzzing in the aftermath of your fight as you shut the door, a chuckle roiling in your chest. You turn to ease into the backseat, but Sylus is there, wearing that customary smirk, holding the rear door open for you instead. 

“You both did well.”

The look you toss at him is suspicious. Raised brows and a sardonic curve to your lips. There’s more to his praise than he lets on, handing it out like a rare bouquet, usually reserved for her. Sylus merely shrugs, feigning innocence, his intentions shielded behind dark lenses. You ease into the chilled leather seat, the swell of noise from the fire traded for Ms. Hunter animatedly recounting the day’s events when the door shuts beside you.

You lapse into monotony, watching plumes of smoke fade in the rearview mirror as the three of you ease onto the highway. Sylus’ hand is tight on the steering wheel. Long, spindly fingers wrapped around coarse leather. His voice is bold like black coffee, warming your innards on a wintry day, as he and Ms. Hunter exchange words you can’t be bothered to follow up front. Occasionally, scarlet eyes catch yours in the mirror. It’s as if he’s keeping tabs on you, ensuring you’re still here. Like you’re poised to tuck and roll out the backseat, driven by how comfortably they speak with each other.

Physically, you’re present. Mentally, you’re drifting off. Watching power lines skate by, blurring with the skyline and mountains as the vehicle slides downhill. Maybe you’re more exhausted than you initially thought. You’d taken a hit or two in the fray earlier. Have blood speckling the ivory collar of your shirt, a scrape lining your jaw, and you’re sure you’ll have pretty splotches of blue and purple staining the corner of your mouth come tomorrow. 

Pain is usually an afterthought. You’re so used to shielding, so accustomed to recklessly throwing your body around, and the adrenaline’s ebbing, making way for the dull throb of a migraine and sleepiness dangling like sandbags from your upper lids. You lean against the door, propped on your elbow, temple roosted on swollen knuckles. You blink slowly, your heart beating steady until the scenery beyond the window makes way for darkness. You won’t be at the hotel for another hour. A little catnap won’t hurt. 

Before you fully relinquish yourself to the pretty girls of sleep, an enthusiastic voice peels through the inkiness. Static against a violet backdrop, tugging a quiet smile onto your lips. Ms. Hunter.   

“We should celebrate!”

We should, you muse, sinking below the shadowy depths of sleep, lured there by the bumping of the SUV against the road and Sylus fondly teasing the source of your envy.

masterlist | conflict