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dollya-robinprotector · 6 months

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FINALLY! DOLLYA CONCEPT

I'll have a little look back and remember how I came up with this current Sona design. The me of 2021 definitely would look at this and go "WTF???". When I search and place old drawings side by side for comparison, It's really been a process of changing my perspective on myself and constantly finding what I want.

It'll be very random and full of my old drawings, so if you don't mind a little rambling, welcome to go under the cut and go back in time with me!

Let's start with this design. As you can clearly see it was based on how I actually look irl, from the outfit, hairstyle to make-up.

Tbf this was not my first attempt to create a Sona, but it was a huge milestone because it's 2018, the year I got into my dream Art university and left home. My style completely changed, and this Sona showed it perfectly.

I drew this with my fingers, on my broken phone, to enter a Vietnamese clothes design competition, where we modernized some traditional clothes. What I did here is a modernized Nhật Bình. I won and got my design made into real clothes and sent to me. I'm still proud of it to this day XD

It was fun! I draw her almost daily, like how I do with Lya and Lyah in this blog. I used her to make friends with other artists. I even created a gender-bent version for her : D

But the uni life was stressful, especially when I entered my third year and tried to escape my parents' grasp. They were furious and threatened me, I started working extra and do commission to pay for my own living and rent, lessons were hard, and homework and projects were pilling,... As a result, I often use my sona to stress draw.

It didn't help much, my anxieties and insecurities kept adding to the molten fire inside me, and my overthinking got worse day by day.

But then at some point, I decided to separate myself from that sona. She turned into one of my many OCs, maybe more special but I no longer see my entire self in her anymore.

I have to thank my two besties for that. They pulled me out of my darkest moments and stayed with me. They remain to be my only two most important people in this whole world.

I started to "reuse" the sona appearance into creating many other OCs for many other fandoms I joined (Cookierun, HnK, FGO, KnY, Genshin,...). I had fun jumping between different styles lol.

The idea for the current design started to take shape when one day I drew her wearing a white delicate dress (I usually just do red) and a see-through sleep dress I just bought.

Something started clicking.

Then I became an assistant for an Ero Artist. Yup. I started to be exposed to more "sexy" character designs and tbh I just love those. I love drawing female characters already, but there's something something about cute and sexy girls in lingerie... If you know what I mean.

The design slowly became clearer. Cute and pristine-white, see-through lingerie, with little four petals flowers, and little bows, perfect.

The details still varied. They depended on the style I was using or my mood, whether I wanted to go into details or not. That's the fun of drawing your own design, let's keep it.

And here we are~ Maybe it's still not final, but I'm happy with it, and that's enough for me now!

If you've been reading this far, thank you and congratulations! I will send you a kiss and wish you a good day~~ Hope you're having fun scrolling on my blog~

#Dollya concept #dollya art #Just Dollya herself #cw self destruction #cw self doubt #cw self loathing #cw self deprecation #concept art #character concept #all in all this is a fun journey

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cjcroen1393 · 4 months

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This idea popped into my head this morning and I spent most of said morning working on it.

Kieran denies that he has depression by showing the League Club his vent art. Predictably, this fails to convince them and all it accomplishes is making them MORE concerned for him.

Edit: Forgot to color Ogerpon’s dot thingys

#my art #pokemon #pokemon scarlet and violet #the indigo disk #rival kieran #rival carmine #bb league #pokemon lacey #pokemon drayton #pokemon amarys #pokemon crispin #cw blood #cw self loathing #cw self deprecation #cw vent art #cw sui thoughts #cw sui ideation #cw death

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paladin-of-nerd-fandom65 · 1 month

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'Who am I to Complain?'

As part of my own contribution to this year's first day of Spring 2024, aka the in universe birthday of one Richard John Grayson-Wayne, the First Robin and the crime fighter known as Nightwing, I would like this opportunity finally....FINALLY...posting up for you all a fic that's been in my drafts for pretty much the better part of any entire year. Originally meant on being released last Christmas, various forms of delay, writer's block and other general distractions have prevented me from finally finishing such a project. Well finally after such anticipation at least on my end, I have managed creating a final form for this story I think can satisfy.

For very quick context, this story is a component of my long running idea proposing and lore building of my own version of the DC Comics Universe. In particular, it takes within the long storyline both @thattimdrakeguy and I have crafted for the better part of two years, the first part being involved within the hypothetical Nightwing solo book, 'Clipped Wings' and its follow up crossover with Detective Comics proper, "Blue Hawk Down'. For more information regarding the general summaries of events, check out the links here and here.

I shall like to dedicate this story to my mutuals and friends @adalineozie @meara-eldestofthemall @nightglider124 @faesystem @confusedhummingbird @spider-jaysart @mothnem @lightdusk96 @camo-wolf @sbd-laytall @theredheaded-stuff @celaenaeiln @starlightbelle @shootingstarssel @avaraydrake @pin-crusher2000 @sillymanwithocs @batboyblog @bluegarners @tarisilmarwen @orange-s-mario @altinyns-multimedia-museblog @katmaatui and so many others

Constructive Criticisms are Generally Welcome; Replies and Especially Reblogs are greatly appreciated

The Following May Contain Graphic Scenes of Violence, References to Sexual Assault and other themes not suitable for a Young Audience. Viewer Discretion is Heavily Advised

As per usual, All Rights and Copyrights to Characters and Concepts seen in this work are owned by DC Comics, Inc, a subsidiary of DC Entertaiment and Warner Bros. Discovery

With all that....Happy Birthday Dick Grayson....Here's my gift of Grade A angst for you

Sigh. Cough Cough

Look at yourself. Just Honest to God, Dick, just look at yourself.

Take a good look at those cuts, that blood all over your ugly as hell face, that blood pouring out of your stupid, big fat hole you call a mouth. You wanna know who’s Goddamn fault it was for all this? You wanna know who's responsible for you being more pathetic and a freak than you already are? Cough Cough

You.

Don’t try to deny it. Why should you?

After all, you allowed this to happen to you, right? Not just with what happened tonight but over these last few weeks. You know what I’m talking about. Losing your home and failing to find out how despite insisting you paid for it. What will Kory Cough say now when she comes back and sees that home you wanted to allow her into isn’t even yours anymore? What kind of fiance are you to allow that?

Why stop there? Here you are, without any place to call a house, your face gushing and oozing red as it had been lately, broke, nobody likes you, not a single damn soul cares about you. You wanna know who’s fault it is? Yours. In fact, as you right now are flinging that bottle of peroxide into your ugly face and stinging from it as you deserve, how about we explore what even happened tonight that led to this, shall we?

I think I should…Cough

Three Hours Earlier….

BAM

“Ack!”

“Tell Us Goddamnit, You Blue Wearing Cunt!!”

As if I would. How do I tell these bastards where the hell Bruce is if I wasn’t even able to speak to him for weeks by now?

I know what you’re thinking, ‘but are you his…’

Stop right there right now. If you’re gonna pull that whole ‘you’re his son’ bullshit on me, for one thing, at the very most I was adopted, I ain’t his real kid. I never deserved being his real kid at all given who we are. Another thing too; if he were to come to my help, he would’ve done so about…God knows how many times by now lately. I would handle it anyways, what kind of person needs any sort of father or even friends when it was their own damn fault they wound up taking two bullets to the hamstrings?

Why yes, that’s what I’m going through and yes it was my Goddamn fault being this utterly stupid and an utter embarrassment with my training for getting caught by those sickos like I was. Now you are thinking, everyone has an off day and…

BAM BAM BAM BAM

Crap! Two on the calves and two more on my hamstrings, I can tell.

“Motherfucker….” Damn it all they weren’t supposed to hear that. Great, now they laugh at it.

The hell’s wrong with me? There’s no time to let them know what’s going with my nerves acting up.

“You know, guys” (Cough) Keep it in, Grayson! You got something to say these assholes need to hear Damnit! “ You’re getting absolutely nowhere right now. If I knew where Batman was, I still wouldn’t tell you. So what the hell makes you think I do then after an hour and…”

“Shut the fuck up, Birdfreak!”

BAM

A kick right to my face? Yeah, another in my long line of failures and that one was justified; I should’ve seen that one coming. Hey, compared to the bullet holes though, it’s nothing really. Besides why even be hurt by that when I have this lowlife staring directly at my ugly mug of a face right now?

“You know him, more than us here! You have to know where he went! We got a sweet little gig here and I ain’t rushing to see that pointy eared son of a dick trying to ruin it! ‘Sides, you’re in our hands now, so you see; once we’re all done here one way or another, we can get that dough from the cops since they’re looking for you more than us! Now you tell us if he knows about this place and if he’s coming, will ya?! We ain’t got all night and I’m missing my game!”

Sweet little gig? As in the child trafficking operation they got here right now? Some of those children right behind me behind a cage like animals, forced to see me pinned on my torso and face, taking crap in many ways from them? They call that ‘sweet’ in mine and their faces?!

“You calling that a game? Selling kids to sexual slavery? I really hate to see what’ll be your idea for a movie if that’s what you.re saying” That quip, I couldn’t help, it was damn true and these creeps needed to hear that. It was about as much a fact as Bruce hates me right now and rightfully so.

Yet all they do is laugh even harder than before. They’re really….really starting to get on my nerves.

Their ringleader grins ever so much in my face. His disgusting and unbearable cigarette smoke billows in my face. “So what?”

So what? So what?? Is that really your best retort to me? It’s unbelievable, just what kind of devils and evils dwell in this city. But it’s evil I hunt for every single night. No one around me sees what I have to or does what I do around these parts. Not Bruce, not Tim, not Kory, no Donna….no one. On that note, no one should have to. Maybe it’s my failure to stop evil like this and everything I do, everything so wrong and never good enough, that’s why I’m certain Bruce decided just to cut me off.

No job, no place I can call a house or a home to stay in, no money, no spare clothes, no answering my calls, nothing. It’s been about three months of this so far, a three month test to see if I break if I had nothing, only for the big bad bat wanting me to literally cry my way back home to him. You know what? Screw you too, Bruce. Or whoever was doing all this. I know that, even for you Bruce, ins outs of everything, even you normally won’t stoop this low. It’s not just nothing I’ve been trying to figure out suggests otherwise. Maybe it’s just this….paranoia….no I can’t be paranoid. What’s happening is real and I need to deal with it and…

“Hey Cockscuker, you listening to me??”

Oh right, this asshole.

Looking at him, I can’t help myself but make my eyes go towards his own. What does he think would work now to make me talk?

In his hands was some sort of object. It looks bladed, I can tell based on the glistening of the steel coming from the moonlight coming in through the window. Once he gets a bit closer, I see it now….oh of course….a damn pizza cutter. Oh and just my luck too, in his other hand is a goddamn cheese grater. I guess either this warehouse is for kitchen tools or just my karma telling me how much I fucking suck and rightfully so again. Maybe the latter.

The asshole only grins at me. “Okay then, maybe some…slices can get ya to talk. What do you say?”

I take a deep breath and brace my teeth within my mouth. No use crying out, screaming or any of that weakness than I already showed earlier . This frankly I deserve, and come on.

I’ve taken a few swings from a baseball bat from Two Face, got injected with Slade’s nanoscopic probes that were shredding my cells inside and out, got blasted by an alternate Luthor, forcibly swallowed a heart paralyzing pill by Slade and the actual Luthor (that bald cunt)….and now just a circular blade and a metal sheet with blades on it on my forehead and face?

Seems fitting enough to take; whatever I’ve done and didn’t do in my vow to protect the innocent and never strive off the path of justice, being a terrible friend, never good enough for Batman as I had always been, letting the only two people that actually had any right to care for me fall to the sandy and hard floor, shattering almost every bone in their bodies when I had only one job to do which was catch them….yeah this is appropriate. This is exactly what I deserve after all of that. Losing my home, my job, and my means to do basically anything for myself, I deserve that.

Who am I to complain, really?

Back at the Present Day….

Sssszzzz….

“Ah Fuck!”

Peroxide…it never fails to emit any sort of sting on any sort of cut, don’t it, Dick?

Oh but you gonna start cussing and feeling it now? What the hell’s wrong with you? You can’t handle just a tiny sting of this shit without any yells?

Suck it up, will ya? You’re acting like a spoiled brat.

Who are you to complain about really?

Oh and by the way, there goes the last of our Peroxide, just circling down this old bathroom sink drain into God knows sewer pipes along with the blood it splashed off. You're gonna have to fetch some more, Dick. It’s not like Bruce is gonna get us anymore.

Fuck Him.

We’ve been putting up with his shit every since we lost are damn place to stay in, then our jobs all over this city, villain after villain breaking out, us being blamed for the Mayor, his wife and girl getting ripped to shreds and blood all over one day with one of your Wingdings, making you hunted down from pretty much everyone (for what only $1.5 Billion Alive? Oh c’mon that's too generous of a bounty for you. I’d put myself at about only 25 cents given your piss poor track record); You know for sure Bruce did all this, all behind the scenes, pulling every string he can to get us like this.

And why? Letting him know that you can take care of ourselves that one time and him being this offended by it? Well, fuck it, You’ve been showing him alright! Things are shittybut maybe that’s just how he likes it for you. Nothing gonna change that anytime soon; might as well make it the best for you, because it’s all you can do by now.

So now, no shoes, no fucking good socks at all, only one pair of torn sweats, that black tee, suit and toothbrush in your bag, here in this damn blizzard….every breathe getting…heavier….kinda….getting hard to stay awa…Cough Cough Cough

Hey! Cut it out, Dickface! Cough Keep going at least somewhere! Anywhere out of this snow…so much of it….Wait, that spot there, in this alley. That’ll work for now.

You hear that, laying on this backpack now….yeah this’ll work….at least not being out in that wind, though…..so much snow….it’s everywhere. It’s been everywhere these last few days. Fitting really, since well you do hear that right?

C’mon pick it up, Dick, your ears can’t be that piss poor

Cough

“May I, as your new Mayor, wish us all in this dear Bludhaven…..”

Yeah, there it is…..old Mafia boss now politician giving his speech for what today is.

“A Good…Merry ... .Christmas…!”

Okay, you get the idea. At least that’s one thing you got right….

Getting sleepy now….

…...pretty cold…..tomorrow might be better….

But at least that’s one thing, Dick….

…this damn city….all of its people….they got a good Christmas….

Gotta close your eyes now…..

Wait….that the Redbird….isn't that….can’t be Timmy…..

Cough Cough

Heh…looks like he tripped…Not real though….can’t be…..Bruce doesn’t care….you don’t need him…..but yeah….need rest…..you gave them a good Christmas

Who…am….I….to….Cough…..Complain?

#dick grayson #my posts #first day of spring #fanfic #content warning #cw violence #cw self loathing #cw gore #cw blood #cw self deprecation #cw child abuse #sfw #viewer discretion is advised #cw language

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curioscurio · 2 years

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A comic about self loathing and weird metaphors that may or may not make sense

#artofcassafrass #original comic #i struggle a lot with expressing my negative emotions so nonsense 3 am comic time babey #mental health #cw self loathing #cw self deprecation #cw depression #i guess?#ask to tag

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stardust-maple · 3 months

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Oh cool. I love a good blast of self hatred about my disability. I love hating how my disability affects what I can do, so much that I hate myself. I love how I cannot mentally separate myself from my disability. So when I am disappointed by what I cannot do, I hate myself.

I love that while I wanted to think about improving things, I was interrupted by thoughts of how much that improvement would cost in time and effort.

#cw self loathing #internalized ableism #chronic illness #chronic pain #disability #chronic fatigue #disabled #chronic condition #chronically ill #spoonie #cfs/me #amps #startdust maple

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meadow-dusk · 3 months

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thinking a lot about how much time in the past I spent hating myself. judging and punishing and berating myself for not being smart enough, or pretty enough, thin enough, or fun enough, thinking all that meant I wasn't enough. that I didn't deserve to be included or loved. that I didn't even deserve to want to be loved.

thinking a lot about how that is time I can never get back. resentful that I can't teach my past self the lessons I'm trying to learn now. but what a fucking waste of life that was. don't let yourself subsist on self-hatred. sure, you may accomplish things (even great things). you may meet goals, you may keep "improving" yourself, but none of that will EVER satisfy. perfect isn't real. there will always be some deficit you find staring you plainly in the face.

trying now to cultivate love and kindness in every direction, including inwards.

#cw personal #cw self deprecation #cw self loathing #i am doing the strike but this is important too

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tomscryingcorner · 7 months

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webweave for sl!tom

sources : [adding l8r]

#🔆#web weaving #my art #<- it counts #cw blood #cw gore #cw religion #cw dead animals #cw animal neglect #cw self loathing #cw organs

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trainerlynda · 4 months

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Friendship’s just… I don’t know, anyways. It’s a gamble. You have to juggle what they feel and how you feel, you can be yourself, but that’s just facing the parts you hate too and if they accept it or not, that’s hardly controllable. Being patient gets on my nerves, I’m not patient, but I’m supposed to expect that from other people if they choose to be? I am not making anyone give me a pity party. And who made all this arbitrary back and forth? There’s gestures and a whole bunch of other nonsense, not just talking, but that’s just another can of worms on its own…

I’m wasting your time, never mind.

( @sevencolorspasserby )

...

Not a waste of time, none of it is. I... I don't see it as a waste of time at all.

... it's all really complicated, and I only really starting trying to figure out all this... like... 13 years ago, around when I met Silver(Feathers).

Mainly because I was self isolating, cuz I thought I didn't deserve to be cared about.

That was a long while ago, but I sometimes find the thoughts creeping up at me.

It's... hard, but the friendships are worth it.

You've been doing good from what I've been seeing, really good.

... so, I uh... I wouldn't worry so much.

At least, try to, I know first hand that it isn't easy to get your head to shut up.

#pokemon irl #pokemon rp #pokeblogging #ask game #cw self doubt #cw self loathing

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yourlocalabstraction · 7 months

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average tapestry yourlocalabstraction vague vent post

#taps art #overlayposting #vent art #cw eyestrain #cw self loathing #might delete later #hypersexual vent #(??? somewhat?)#fuck im sorry #i should go to bed

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revelisms · 10 months

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Fate is a Sundress, Ripped at the Thigh

Silco is gone. Piltover is imploding. Jinx is trying, slowly, to find direction.

Rating: High T | WC: 8k | Oneshot | Jinx POV Features Jinx finding connection with Sevika and Singed in the aftermath of Season 1, Sevika and Singed being somewhat surrogate parents, glimpses into Silco raising Jinx, plenty of dry humor, and Jinx being a little science genius. CWs: Major character death, grief, smoking, implied/referenced terminal illness, dysfunctional relationships, psychosis. Full list of tags and warnings can be found in the overview and a/n. Full story on AO3

Preview:

She comes to the Pilt so often, these days.

There's no magic in the waters: nothing left of the color and the chaos of their city's oil-slick lifeblood beating her bloodied fists on and on (the world's dead and gone and he's dead dead dead again, dead and gone with it—)

It's only her, her tattered fists battered open: kicking rocks from the shores and pitching fits and wailing with their city's eerie, misplaced mourning: standing like a wraith at the edge of the water where he'd been rebirthed, and rebirthed her, and where she'd let him go.

She hadn't wanted to let him go.

She'd carved her sooty nails through the stains in his waistcoat, as though her claws were the needles to stitch him back together. Held the shattered edges of his broken body, trying in vain to reseal the cracks: to will him to cough out blood and bile and breathe again, to blink his good eye open, squeeze her hand back: to croak out something to her—anything—one more time.

Don't cry, he'd told her, smoke and iron on his breath—but she'd cried and cried like a wretch, cried like she had into the puddles of the cannery yard, hard enough to crumple her in two.

She hated that he'd never looked as peaceful as he had then.

That filthy water had wrapped its tendrils around his hands and shoulders: became one with the silvering ink of his hair: pulled him down and away, away from her, and she'd hung on. Squeezed her nails through his sleeves, bogged down by the waves, by whispers and screeches and little gray hands and she'd cried—

"Jinx."

Sevika's voice. Rough, quiet.

She'd been with her. Helped her carry him. She was the one who found her, blue-fire lightning a hurling star through the red, rubble and flames eating Piltover's skyline to a shrieking demon, and her shaking fingers trying to cut through the bindings she'd tied around him: to peel through the hemp with his own knife, Vander's knife, Vander's—

"Let him go."

His bad eye always glowed, even when he was sleeping. It was flat and dull, then; dark as stained wood.

"I don't want to." She hadn't been able to stop her hands from trembling: from smoothing out the wet creases of his collar, over and over again, the way he used to. "I don't—I don't—I—" killed him killed him again "—I—" didn't mean to didn't want to—

"Listen to me." And Sevika had sloshed through the waters right with her, her severed arm wrapped in cloth, leaking shimmer through the seams and fuming. "He was a dead man, either way." She'd laid a hand, heavy and burning, over Jinx's shoulder, and squeezed. "Janna knew that damned rot was going to eat through his head, or one of the barons was going to put a bullet in it, first. Better you to do it, than anyone else."

She might have been trembling. Jinx couldn't remember.

"He would have wanted it to be you," Sevika had gristled out, quietly.

She'd called him a betrayer, a deserter, and he'd called her his daughter.

She'd punched three bullets through his heart, and he'd told her she was perfect.

"Let him rest."

She'd lingered at the ochre-stained knot of his tie, the gold-capped cuff of his sleeve, while the river swallowed him whole. Clung to his cold fingers, roughened at the edges, from a lifetime of mine-work and murder and shuffled pages. Skimmed her thumb over the scar hooked across the curve of his palm, and sobbed.

Slowly, so slowly, she'd pulled her hand away. Let the waters take him. Devour him, again.

It was the only time Sevika had shared a cigar with her.

It was one of his own. Bittersweet with that woody earthiness that would stick in his clothes for days; that lingered still in the walls of his office, like the spice was part of the paint.

"Canary for the coal," Sevika'd muttered, after she'd bitten off the edge of the casing, lit the tobacco to a smoldering flame, "another sow sold." She'd taken a drag, staring hard, silent at the waters. "Old miner's saying. Means you get out, and you keep on. You keep living."

The cigar felt like a shackle between Jinx's fingers.

It wasn't like before—when she'd let a rebellious streak get the better of her, swiped his hand-rolled cigarettes from his drawers and coughed out nasty plumes from the staff kitchen's old balcony, where he'd found her with weary eyes and glared: held out his hand, in silent demand.

It's not a habit I'd wish on you in a lifetime, child.

He'd known she still snuck them, now and then. That it'd turned her throat drier, over the years. An incriminating whiff of evidence on her hair, when she'd scurry in from the roof, swish her mint-water and grin, playing none the wiser to his lingering stares.

He wasn't there to chastise her, then.

#arcane #arcane fanfic #jinx arcane #silco arcane #silco & jinx #crime dad daughter duo #sevika arcane #singed arcane #i did not expect to crank this thing out over the course of a weekend but man #we're in sad hours folks #might have cried through editing the whole thing might not have who knows #cw grief #cw death #cw self loathing #fate is a sundress #writing

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videoaux-a · 2 months

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The manifestation of grief is so interesting when it comes to Vox.

It’s not obvious, it never is. Like a slow build up of everything going on in his head and around him, piling on and on and on and on. You’ll see little signs of what will happen - because it WILL happen, he cannot stop himself from breaking down once he’s physically aware of the backlog of tears behind his face - impatient tapping of fingers, leg bouncing subtly to rapidly, the subtle shake of hands. Like a glass cannon there’s only so much he can take before he SHATTERS. And when he does, it all happens in waves / falling to hands and knees as they hit hard, enough to leave bruises for days. He’ll cry and scream and screech like a banshee to the background of a giant workroom. On top of a world of his own doing / cursing its creation with each breakdown. He claws at the ground now, claws at his arms, only slowing down to choked sobs and a desperate attempt to think straight. But the cold pain of skin breaking and bleeding does nothing to ground him ; Vox continues, until his voice dies down. Sniffling, mouth pulled taught at his best attempt of a neutral look - even with those furrowed brows and waterfall tears. The static in him begins to sputter out as a last ditch effort for- for something, ANYTHING TO TAKE AWAY THE PAIN. Eventually, the room falls silent save for the humming of monitors. Vox lays on his side to use the freezing, metallic surface below as some sort of bed. And like the last dying embers of a star, the man curls into a ball in hope of disappearing. Vox prays, as he drifts off in a puddle of his own blood and tears, that numbing weight of grief in his chest will finally leave; for good, this time. It never will.

#cw blood #cw self loathing #cw self destruction #aka the episode where Opal gets her feelings out through talking about a fictional man #* ⌁﹕📺 ↯ SWEET DREAMS THAT LEAVE ALL WORRIES BEHIND YOU ╱ 𝐨𝐨𝐜.#* ⌁﹕📺 ↯ AND AS HE GREW‚ SO DID THE TECHNOLOGY ╱ 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭.

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taskforcedistortion · 6 months

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What did Giovanni do?

Was he behind the traitor?

Is he the traitor?

WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST SAY!?

WHY THE HELL WOULD I HURT THE PEOPLE I LOVE LIKE THAT?!

DO YOU THINK I'M SOME MONSter-...

...

Of course you do. No one ever believes that I do good right...?

I'm just no good Giovanni.

Can't do anything without hurting someone he loves.

Of course.

I was stupid to think otherwise.

-G [Red G for Giovanni]

#pokeblogging #pokemon irl #pokeblog rp #pokemon rp #rocket division responds #cw self deprecation #cw self loathing #//He sees the other Gios and feels guilt btw~#cw caps

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warrenwaskilledbyadeer · 5 months

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Why can't I believe that people care about me right now

I feel like giving up

#vent #cw vent #cw self loathing

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carnivorousyandeere · 11 months

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OOOOO

Kurtis x self hating darling PLEASEEEEE <333

-Moodie 🫶

MOODIEEEEE THANK YOU writing for Kurtis is so fun 😭

CW: depression, self-hatred/self-loathing, angsty, implications of suicidal ideation or at least a lack of self-preservation

Kurtis thinks you’re actually joking, the first time you make a self-deprecating “joke” in his presence. It’s not very funny, in his opinion— he thinks the world of you— but he laughs anyway so you don’t feel bad. It is just a joke, after all… right?

Even if you outright tell him that you dislike yourself, it still takes Kurtis a lot of time to truly accept that’s how you genuinely feel. Sure, he’s noticed you’re not the best at remembering to eat, or look both ways before crossing the street, but— shit. How could he have missed this? How could you possibly feel that way about yourself?

You’re mesmerizing, enchanting… in Kurtis’ eyes, you’ve practically hung the moon and stars and sun in the sky.

The more you try to protest, tell him you’re not what he thinks— not a good person, or good enough, anyway; you’ve done this, or failed to do that— the more Kurtis is forced to reveal his hand.

He knows everything about you. And he likes you anyway. Kurtis will do whatever it takes to prove it, whether you want him to or not. Whether that’s revealing that he’s read your diary and looked through your phone and computer, or killing any other person who’s contributed to your lack of self-worth in front of your very eyes. Or more fluffy options, obviously— helping with day to day tasks like laundry, prolonged cuddle sessions, getting you in with the world’s finest psychiatrist and therapist. Anything.

#Moodie✨#moot moot 💕#havenmoodz #mail 📬#oc Kurtis #cw self hatred #cw self loathing #my thoughts #yandere #yandere oc #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere cw

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egginfroggin · 9 months

Text

The same words can be said many different ways.

Ingo is very familiar with this.

(Notes for self-deprecation, self-blame, self-isolation, hints of minor self-harm in the form of coping mechanisms such as nail-biting, and grief below)

"It's your fault." That was what his thoughts whispered, hissing at him in a cacophony of angry Sevipers, as he cradled Emmet's head and shoulders, his little brother's ever-burning warmth chilled to embers, frost dusting his white-streaked hair. Guilt almost choked him half to death, nearly stole his voice as he screamed for their parents.

-----

"It was your fault," he told himself, even when his parents wouldn't, even though Emmet had almost died and had a hole in his memories surrounding that wretched incident.

-----

"It was your fault," he snapped at his reflection, lonely tears balanced on the edges of his eyelids, lip wobbling stubbornly. He wasn't a child anymore, but here he was, crying about missing his little brother when he had only himself to blame.

-----

"It was your fault," he thought silently, shoulders hitching as he sat on the floor, arms wrapped around himself in a facsimile of an embrace. He missed touch. He didn't want to be touched. He missed it. He shouldn't.

-----

"It was your fault," his thoughts tutted as he saw Emmet, halfway across the room at the banquet, his twin's face lighting up at the sight of him despite what he'd done -- of course, Emmet didn't remember, so he wouldn't know to hate him, would he? Instead of facing him, he excused himself and ran back to his room, where Litwick sat on her hearth, waiting for him.

-----

"It was your fault," the reminder said as he dug his fingers into his arms, listening to Emmet quietly cry on the other side of the door, wanting to throw the door open and hug him, tell him that it would be okay, that he was sorry for leaving him alone -- but he didn't, just like he didn't go to the funeral, still too scared and dangerous to leave.

-----

"It was your fault," his thoughts tittered, Nimbasa far behind him, snow soft against his legs and the icy mountain air a balm to his flushed cheeks. He couldn't go back. Not now. Not when they knew about him, not after he almost hurt people -- hurt Emmet -- again. Maybe he'd never go back, even if he could, because everyone knew how merciless the mountains were.

-----

"It was your fault," he reminded himself one last time, looking up at the Dragon that loomed over him, plates of long-undisturbed ice crackling as it lowered its head to his level. He couldn't forget it, even if Death was staring him in the face. He would never forget it, even though it was washed away briefly when Kyurem offered him a deal instead of ending his life then and there.

-----

"It was your fault," he remembered, Emmet's snappish, "Make me leave, then, if you do not want me here so badly," echoing in his ears like the creaking of ice around them. He could feel hairline cracks spreading, ice threatening to break like his emotions, and he reined them in, spat out ice along with a simple, "Fine, then."

-----

"It was your fault," he thought, unable to think much else as the reality sunk in and he stared at the gaping hole in the ice floor, leading down, down, down into a crevice between the cliffs. His fingers dug into his hair, uneven nails scraping his scalp, reopening every scabbed-over quick as he clung to the thought that the powder was soft, a cushion, and Emmet had been dropped into the middle of it.

-----

"It was your fault?" he said, inflection failing him, voice barely more than a breath. It almost died against the creak of Kyurem's ice before the Dragon fell still, head lowered in something approaching shame.

"This was your fault?" he said, voice mounting in volume, forced from his lungs -- something burned, seared inside his chest, a pressure that built and built and built until, like hot glass plunged into water, it broke and something approaching a scream tore from his throat, a demand for answers, for retribution, for everything he lost to be returned to him, an impossibility.

Ice shuddered in his chest, snapping the rapidly fraying tie between them, and he could see his eyes reflected in Kyurem's, silver touched with sulfur-gold as lonesome cold rushed and every fractal of ice around them shattered.

"You made me like this on purpose?"

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