Just Another Roid Head Pumping Himself Up To The Brink Of Exploding!

MetalGarurumon BT17-027, Omnimon Ace BT17-078, WarGreymon BT21-015, WereGarurumon Ace BT15-026, Agumon BT17-007, MetalGreymon Ace BT14-014, Garurumon BT15-024, Gabumon BT17-019, and Greymon BT14-014 Alternative Arts by Tonamikanji from the PB-19: Omnimon Binder Set

Maksim Trzin

Do it!!!

Time to draw og frank west on a leash hehe

That man has a degradation kink fr fr

Nick passed the remnants of a luxury dealership showroom, its glass façade cracked but intact. Inside, bathed in golden light, stood a red car.

Sleek. Shiny. Perfect.

Nick stopped in his tracks.

The world around him faded a little bit.

He walked forward slowly, as if pulled by a string. His boots clicked softly against the tiles.

It looked like something out of a dream. Low to the ground, curved in all the right places, the kind of car that whispers to you.

He touched it.

Fingers brushed against the glossy hood, and a spark ran up his spine.

“I wonder how your engine runs…” he whispered, voice hushed like a confession.

It wasn’t the first time this had happened.

Back at the Wrench-O-Rama, Rhonda had caught him completely fixated on a customer’s custom motorcycle. He wasn’t just admiring it, he was, running his hands along the pipes, talking softly to it, murmuring improvements and redesigns.

She had to pry him away. He’d been breathless then too. Eyes glazed; heart racing, mind churning.

Machines and vehicles didn’t just fascinate Nick. They spoke to him.

Not literally, but in some intimate, spiritual way.

He could hear what they needed. Feel what they lacked. It was strange, more passion, less obsession.

But to those who saw it happen, it was unsettling to say the very least.

Nick stepped away, finally, his heart thumping madly as if he’d just run a sprint. He felt himself getting excited down there as well.

Ways I Show a Character is Emotionally Burned Out (Before They Even Realize It Themselves)

I love writing characters who think they’re fine but are actually walking emotional house fires with bad coping mechanisms.

They stop doing the things they used to love and don’t even notice. Their guitar gathers dust. Their favorite podcast becomes background noise. Their hobbies feel like homework now.

They pick the path of least resistance every time, even when it hurts them. No, they don’t want to go to that thing. No, they don’t want to talk to that person. But whatever’s easier. That’s the motto now.

They’re tired but can’t sleep. Or they sleep but wake up more tired. Classic burnout move: lying in bed with their brain racing like a toddler on espresso.

They give other people emotional advice they refuse to take themselves. “You have to set boundaries!” they say—while ignoring 8 texts from someone they should’ve cut off three emotional breakdowns ago.

They cry at something stupidly small. Like spilling soup. Or a dog in a commercial. Or losing their pen. The soup is never just soup.

They say “I’m just tired” like it’s a personality trait now. And not like… emotionally drained to the bone but afraid to admit it out loud.

They ghost people they love, not out of malice, but because even replying feels like too much. Social battery? Absolutely obliterated. Texting back feels like filing taxes.

They stop reacting to big things. Catastrophes get a blank stare. Disasters feel like “just another Tuesday.” The well of feeling is running dry.

They avoid being alone with their own thoughts. Constant noise. TV always on. Music blasting. Because silence = reckoning, and reckoning is terrifying.

They start hoping something will force them to stop. An accident. A missed deadline. Someone else finally telling them, “You need a break.” Because asking for help? Unthinkable.

Yoru wa Neko to Issho Season 3; Nights with a Cat 3 - Episode 20

Not to be emo but

Ways I Show a Character Is Falling Apart While Pretending to Be a Perfectionist

Some characters don’t collapse in a blaze of glory. No, they disintegrate politely, with color-coded planners and a frozen smile that says, "Everything’s fine, Susan, stop asking."

They cling even harder to routines. Morning jog, 5 a.m. journaling, bullet-journaling their dog’s bowel movements. Because if they just keep checking boxes, they can pretend nothing’s crumbling underneath.

They hyperfixate on weird tiny details. The report can be on fire, but by god, they will die on the hill of choosing the right font. ("If I find the perfect serif, maybe my life will stop feeling like it's slipping through my fingers!")

They say "I'm just really busy!" like it’s a badge of honor, when it’s actually a giant red flag made out of calendar invites and suppressed emotions.

They can't finish anything anymore. They start 14 different projects, convinced each new thing will "finally get them back on track"…and end up ghosting every single one like a bad Tinder date.

Their compliments to others are laced with self-hate. "You’re so talented, I could never pull that off" they say, smiling while beating themselves bloody on the inside.

They apologize. For everything. Late by two minutes? "I’m so sorry." Sent an email? "Sorry if that’s annoying!" Existing? "Sorry for breathing the same air!"

They're "fine." Always "fine." It's said with the same energy as someone duct-taping a broken chair and inviting you to sit on it.

They self-medicate with "productive" coping. Organizing their spice rack at midnight? Totally normal. Redesigning their resume for no reason while crying into a box of crackers? Absolutely fine. Nothing to see here.

They get defensive about the dumbest things. “Of course I’m okay! Look at my to-do list!” (Sure, babe. Tell that to your bloodshot eyes and the way you just called your boss "Mom" on Zoom.)

Their version of self-care is making another list titled “How to Fix Myself” and then immediately feeling guilty for needing it.