#projecting onto characters

[save-me-phantom-ghoul]

Had a break down and spiralled into some old insecurities, so why not comfort yourself through projecting onto your favorite lil guy :3

Content Warnings! : lots of talk of self deprecation, mentions and depictions of self harm, break downs

If I missed anything please let me know and I'll add it to the warnings for future viewers

Right anyways here's 1k words of phantom ghoul being mentally ill

Ah, Thats.. Not right

It wasn't supposed to have him do this, it was supposed to be quick and easy, just fill out the quiz and hit submit. This page shouldnt have popped up.

What happened? what did he do wrong? He filled everything out right, got almost all the answer right. He did it right, why was it wrong.

His face started to ache with the furrow in his brows and frown at his lips, his eyes darting back and forth trying to piece together what could've gone wrong, where did he mess it up. It was at the start wasn't it. He thought the prompt sounded wrong, but nothing else was popping up when he refilled the information.

An ugly feeling started pooling in his stomach, his throat felt raw. Quickly exiting out of the page, and opening it back up, he tried clicking on the test again.

Nope. He's officially, royally, fucked up. Unable to do anything or figure something out he starts to panic.

Why is this happening, he did it right. He was supposed to do it right. It was supposed to be easy. Everyone else did it just fine. Why didnt he. Why couldnt he do it right, he can't do anything right, always fucking up, always doing it wrong, always messing up someone else's day with having them help him, always angering people because he couldn't do a simple task.

It wasn't your fault.

He can't do anything right. why does he even try.

Trying is all someone can do.

He knew it would've messed it up and it did.

You did what you thought was right.

It wasn't right!

Shut up! it wasn't right and it's your fault!

Take some fucking responsiblity for once!

You couldn't figure out something so simple, it's easy, why couldn't you do it!?

...

He's tired of this.

Of here.

He grabs his phone from where it got tossed on his bed, opening Aurora and his' messages

Mr.Bug: rory I messed it up:(

Mrs.Bug: the test?

Mr.Bug: yeah, I don't know what happened

Mr.Bug: I struggled to sign in and then had to sit through the most mind numbing 30minutes of ai voice speach ever and when I finished the test it wanted me to pay like, 100 dollars :((

Mrs.Bug: pits Ant how did you do that 😭

Mr.Bug: Idk! D:

Mrs.Bug: I'm so sorry, phantom, we'll figure it out tomorrow with the group and stuff

Mr.Bug: okay 😞

The sound of his head hitting the wall behind him nearly echoes in the silence of his room. He feels his throat tighten, and his body tense. He doesn't want to cry, he hates crying. It makes his head hurt and his face swell.

He bites his lip in a useless attempt to stave off the break down crawling up his throat. And with the first few tears the carefully curated dam breaks, his hand coming up to rake through his black and white rats nest of a mane, the greasy feeling of unwashed hair making him feel worse. his body shaking, aching in the strain of being quiet.

The walls of the ghouls rooms were pretty well soundproofed, any inside noise thoroughly muffled to near perfect muteness. But he didn't want to risk the off chance that the others grew super hearing. Or his room specifically, just wasn't soundproofed. Knowing his luck one or the other would end up being right. So he kept quite, muffling his strained sobbing behind his hands and a blanket.

His mind goes on a whirlwind of self deprecating thoughts. This has happened to many times, he's been here for to short of a time for that many faults to stack so high. It towers over him, over Swiss, or Aether, even over Mountain, in his mind.

His mind quiets, his body relaxes and hands slide down his face. Deep breaths, blink back the tears, grab your phone and at least warn Aether of your fuck up.

He does so, shakely reopening his phone, this time to Aether and his' messages. The devices clock glaring an ugly 12:34am at him.

Mr.Bug: me when I break down over a silly little test because I managed to fuck it up and you'll have to help me fix it somehow tomorrow :,3

AetherEther: tbh, not that surprised 😅

AetherEther: I'll help you tomorrow

Mr.Bug: I'm so so sorry :(

AetherEther: it's alright

He was hoping for some positive, understanding words. Hoping the way he said it would ease the disappointment. Well, he got the understanding part.

It hated how his eyes swelled with tears as he read the responding messages. Throwing the headphones he had around his neck to the end of the bed and yanking at his smooth horns. Fucking Pits! Not surprised. Not. fucking. surprised.

Oh he knew the older quint didn't mean it like that, he really did, but his mind read the words and all of his insecurities roared. He clenched his teeth and pulled his horns harder.

The ache was a nice distraction from the horrible feeling of crying, but it wasn't enough. He needed more, he needed something sharper, stronger, longer lasting. He wanted-... No

No you can't do that, you promised her you wouldn't, you're better than that. It's been so long, you've done so well you can't ruin that over a stupid test.

Something else then, his nails, his fingers. His hands fall from his achey head to his bare shoulder, digging right above his shoulder blade and scraping up. His nails were to dull in this half glamoured form to break his skin, but the pressure on the muscle paired with the gritting of his teeth was close enough.

He hoped it'd bruise

He wants it to bruise

Do it on your forearm so they see

He digs his fingers into the back of his shoulder, next to where they had ended their journey up.

His nails dug in a bit more than the pads of his fingers this time, a sharper, more welcomed pain

Yes that was a bit better, he wanted more of that, needed more of that kind of pain

A rather harsh sob broke past his clenched teeth, and he curled in on himself. He digs his thumb nail, longer than the other due to a nail picking habit, into the underside of his upper arm. The sting of it was sharper and longer lasting than the previous tries.

As he dug the nail in, anger filled his body. He couldnt do anything right and they all expected that of him. It was expected. Lords below he really was useless. He was tired of this, he wanted to go home.

Wherever that was.

He doubted it was here. He didn't know where else home would be, the pits definitely weren't, here wasn't.. So where did he belong.

Did he belong?

What use was he to the world if he couldn't even do something so simple?

Please, he wanted a home.

Lords please, he needed to belong somewhere.

Let me be needed.

[kavalyera]

projected so hard onto the marquis de gramont i have started to write him getting fucked up physically, mentally, psychologically, spiritually, and even beyond death

anyways how are you? good evening/morning to everyone

[nichyevosobachka]

Projecting onto characters (making them all queer and highly-masking depressed/ADHD/autistic with an ungodly deep need to be loved and to love)

[nyenyel]

[Image description: a comic of Mabel from Gravity Falls. She looks sad at first, saying: "Whenever my crushes like me back it feels wrong."

Perking up, she says: "I guess I'm losing feelings! Time to choose a new crush!"

She looks through binoculars, and continues: "Which boy should I have a crush on? I want an epic summer romance!"

In the last panel, she's in front of the aromantic flag. She's staring blankly, saying: "What. What do you mean that's not how crushes work. What is comp-het?" End ID.]

I propose: Mabel is aromantic she just has comphet

[teamdarkdaily]

day 329: cramping once again

[teslacoils-and-hubris]

no one understands him like I do

[yellowflowrs]

when u think bae is ignoring u but turns out theyre just autistic

[lonesomenecromancer]

havent posted anything isat related in a while. have this

[arelliann]

For @stevieweek : Sports

I love preppy ethereal goddess Stevie, but the other part of Steve's character is very much the big beefy barbarian jock archetype and I think we need more of the best of both worlds (p.s. fuck yeah buff trans women)

[bluepandadraws-log]

"Feeling like you're nothing is..."

"...kinda normal"

The Amazing Digital COMIC #27-"I'm Sorry"

☕Ko-Fi | [❤PREV] | [🧡START🧡] | [NEXT💙]

[sunny-sourzii]

I'm having period cramps and feel like saSHIT so I'm making sun suffer too☺️☺️

[theepicestmonkey]

[kabsey]

you just know that thedas has a thousand and one romance books about the antivan crows. they're antivan, they're assassins... if zevran and the warden got together, leliana probably hit the number one spot on the thedas top 100 charts with her song about it

and poor lucanis, romance reader that he is, is probably hyperaware of it all. so when rook starts flirting with him (especially a rook who is not a crow), he's probably thinking, "ok. this is what they're expecting. i can do this. i can be this for them"

and then he just... can't. it's not in him. it's not who he is. and you just know he beat himself up over it. he'd see it as just another failure, just another way that he isn't what he is supposed to be

he has spent his whole life walking the razor's edge of caterina's expectations, and now he is plummeting to earth. he failed to kill ghilan'nain. he failed a contract. and now he can't even manage to forge a romantic connection with someone, even when he wants to

(it makes me wonder if caterina even pressured him to take a partner, to have children, to carry on the dellamorte name. and did anyone in that family model a healthy relationship? were his parents in love? did caterina's expectations lead her children to marry whomever she deemed fit? or was she more forgiving when her legacy seemed more secure? does lucanis even remember his parents? and what about caterina's spouse? what were they like?)

lucanis managed for more than thirty years to be the perfect assassin, to be caterina's perfect grandson, the perfect dellamorte. he has kept any doubts, any imperfections, any spite locked tightly away inside himself. and now it's all spilling out into the open

as much as he fears people being hurt by spite, i think he also fears people even seeing spite. spite is messy, spite is emotional, spite doesn't care about other people's expectations. and lucanis can't enter into a real relationship with rook until he can let go, accept spite, and come to peace with all the messy, emotional, imperfect parts of himself

[numbuh424]

it's ok guys I got this (takes poison damage so he doesn't have to)

[ginnyluna]

It's 2024 and my girl Piper would rock those buttoned short-sleeves shirts

Finished version of this sketch

[inthedarknessofnight]

Steve Harrington has OCD. There are days when he can barely hear his own thoughts. Days when he can't focus on anything else but whatever is triggering him. Days when he just wants to crawl out of his own skin.

No one around him gets it. Like, really gets it. He loves having everyone over at his place, loves filling the empty house with joy and laughter he never experienced as a child. But over and over again, he feels like he can't really be present in the moment. Because he gets stuck in a never-ending loop of mental checklists, pinpointing every single item that will need to be cleaned or put back in its place after they leave. Crumbs all over the couch. Henderson touching everything in his general vicinity with greasy, pizza-stained fingers. People walking straight into the house after swimming in the pool. Rug on the bathroom floor always wrinkled and askew. Tiny specs all over the kitchen that only he seems to notice. He knows they're little things. Unimportant, right? A little mess can't hurt you? He knows... He just wishes his brain would get it, too.

And it doesn't just impact him, either. His incessant bitching sets others around him on edge. That's probably the worst part of it all. Nancy used to get so annoyed with him whenever he'd ask her to not sit on his bed in her 'outside clothes'. He's pretty sure Robin hates cooking with him because of all the rules he has in the kitchen, but she usually just sighs and rolls her eyes. Dustin deliberately misunderstands his requests or, better yet, pretends he doesn't hear him at all.

Not Eddie, though. Because Eddie notices. The way Steve seems unfocused at times, like he's somewhere far away. The way his eyes tend to dart around the room. The way his posture changes when someone unknowingly does something that triggers him. He makes little mental notes of all the triggers and makes sure to remember them. So he starts taking off his shoes at the door, placing them on the rack. He cleans up after the kids, quickly wiping the kitchen counter and floor as Steve's busy walking everyone out of the house. He straightens the bathroom rugs. He wipes the floor after taking a shower at Steve's, so that there isn't a single droplet of water to be found anywhere outside the shower cabin. He changes his clothes before lounging around on Steve's bed. It takes Steve some time to notice everything Eddie's been doing to help out with his triggers.

It's a little after midnight, and Steve has finally managed to kick the little dipshits out of the house. He walks back into the kitchen where he is met with the sight of Eddie crouched down, a whisk broom and dustpan in hand. Something clicks then, stopping him in his tracks.

"Wait... How long have you been doing this?"

Eddie freezes then and glances up quickly, looking every bit like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Oh, sorry, it's just- I noticed the stuff on the kitchen floor makes you kinda uncomfortable, so I thought I'd help out a bit," Eddie says softly, like he's scared he's done something wrong. Steve feels something warm spread around in his chest, followed by a familiar burning sensation behind his eyes.

"And the rugs? Was that also you?" Steve's voice is shaking now. But he can no longer prevent it. He's about to have a full-on breakdown in front of Eddie Munson.

Of course, Eddie, the perceptive bastard that he is, has already picked up on what's about to happen. He quickly sets the tools aside and straightens up, taking a few strides towards Steve, ducking his head to catch Steve's downcast gaze. To make sure he's okay.

"Hey, Steve, look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I shouldn't have overstepped. I'm so sorry," says Eddie, gently placing his hands on Steve's shoulders to offer a reassuring touch. There are now silent tears rolling down Steve's cheeks, but he brings himself to meet Eddie's gaze nevertheless.

"No, no, Eddie, you didn't. It's just- How did you know?" Steve asks, somewhat hesitantly.

"Because," Eddie moves his hands up to cup Steve's face, looking at Steve like he's trying to see straight into his soul, "because I see you, Steve Harrington."