#OCD sounds dreadful.

[depraced]

@softichill

(Shaking my brain like a jar of coins) hey man what’s going on in there

[okkennymay]

Speaking of said dad, he went on a lil mini 10 day holiday across the country to Perth to sight see nature and go on a boat ride to see some Orcas (he's retired, it's his way of getting out the house and not turning into an old man potato, and comes back with hundreds of photos of landscapes, plants and flowers and points of historical interests to show my Mum and I, with cool facts and stories in a slideshow~)

Unfortunately i was still sick at the time and didn't get the chance to join my mum in dropping him off at the airport, let alone the chance to give him a big 'ol hug before he left- so I drew him this 💖

You can't escape the 'Ken hugs.

[heartshattering]

they should invent a nighttime that doesn't make OCD worse

[hugcollector]

one of those days (long tags)

[entitled-fangirl]

Horrid thoughts.

Cregan Stark x OCD wife!reader

Summary: the reader suffers from OCD, and Cregan tries to calm her.

Warnings: If your OCD is easily triggered, maybe shy away from this one.

A/n: my credentials you ask? I actually have OCD. And this is a short and sweet one cause it was a bit triggering for me I won’t lie😅

Masterlist

................................

She let out a small gasp, prompting Cregan to look over to her. 

"Something the matter?"

She stared down at the floor, a furrowing in her brow. 

He sighed and set his writing aside. He spoke her name out loud, almost begging for her attention.

And she heard it that time. Her head snapped up so her eyes could meet his. "Hmm?"

"The thoughts are coming back, aren't they?"

He knew he was right by the way her eyes watered. 

"You were doing so well. What changed?"

She shrugged, tucking her hair behind her ear and moving back to staring at the floor. 

He should have known that the weather would affect her so badly. 

It had been the first fight in Winterfell that Cregan didn't have the advantage for. 

Only a few moons before, she had began to open up about these thoughts that appeared in her mind. They were always harsh and sometimes gory, an obvious thought she didn't want to have, but she couldn't stop it from slowly morphing into an obsession. 

And now that she had pointed it out, Cregan began to notice just how often it happened. 

"What is it? Tell me," he pressed.

She shook her head. She never did quite tell him, for fear that if it left her mouth, it would either come true, or he'd finally be convinced that she was mad. 

He stood and walked around the table to sit on the sofa with her. "Will you let me help you?"

That was usually his response. A soft assurance that he always wanted to help her, it was up to her to tell him how and to let him do so. 

"I want to leave," was her soft confession. 

He was confused. "The room? Or Winterfell?"

"The room. The room." That answer was much faster, an obvious feeling about the room getting to her.

Cregan grunted an acknowledgement before standing and offering his hand. "We'll take a walk. How does that sound for my brave girl?"

The idea didn't resonate with her as well as he had hoped, but she took it nonetheless, grabbing his arm. 

…

Additionally, the bad thoughts didn't just come and go. Some were more permanent. 

So permanent, that Cregan practically recognized her compulsions before she did. 

He stopped at the top of the staircase, knowing she would as well. 

Her eyes roamed over the stairs, counting them before doing quick math in her head. Then she stepped out with her left foot. 

They walked again like nothing had occurred until the next staircase neared. 

Before they could stop, Cregan's soft voice echoed in the corridor. "Right."

Her head snapped to him. "What?"

"Your right. C'mon," he said with a small tug to her hand. 

She hesitantly obeyed, stepping out with her right foot first this time. Honorable Cregan never lied, and he didn't then. For she finished the last step on the foot her mind told her to, and she felt instant relief. 

"How did you-"

"-I know you better than I know myself, sweet girl. Do not underestimate me. That," he tilted his head back and forth, "And I know the stair count for every set in Winterfell. Perks of being raised here."

Not long after that, she saw single chiseled letters by every staircase in the wall, either an L or R. A normal person would miss it, or not think twice about what it meant, but what had always filled her with dread now made her heart grow warm. Staircases weren't as frightening anymore. 

Especially when she knew he did that himself, not trusting another to count it just right. 

…

"What's that in your hand, lovely?" Cregan asked so softly he worried she didn't hear it. 

She looked down at her hand and back up, "my dagger."

"Why?"

She shook her head, just as she had before.

It always made Cregan rub at his forehead when he was meant with only more confusion. 

"Go back to bed," he quips softly. 

"Can't sleep."

"I'll walk you back," he offers.

She shakes her head again. "I couldn't if I wanted to."

A horrid thought must have occurred for her to abandon her bed to come to him. 

He rubbed at his hands in thought.

"If I guard you with Ice tonight, will you hand me your dagger so you may sleep peacefully?"

She contemplated his offer. "You'd do that?"

"Sweet girl, I'd do anything you need. You know that."

She looked down at the dagger and back to him. "I do."

"Alright," he said with his hand out, expecting the blade to be given to him.

She hesitated, then placed it in his large hand.

He threw it onto the desk then stood, taking her hand instead. "Let's get you to bed."

"What about-"

"-What about it?" He asked softly. "I'm here. Let me ease your mind."

"You're sure?"

His other hand rubbed at her bicep. "Very. C'mon."

…

"Cregan?"

He looked up, "Hmm?"

It was the early morning and he didn't think that she'd be up yet. 

"Love? What's wrong?"

She frowned. "I-I'm going to the Godswood."

He rubbed a hand over his chin. "You went yesterday."

She hummed.

"But you're going again today?" He questioned. 

She stared.

"This is the third day."

She stared.

"And it's too early."

She stared more.

"Sweet girl. You know what I'm going to say."

"Cregan-"

"Forgive me. I can't let you. I won't let you give in to this one."

She sniffled, "Why not?"

"This one is dangerous, my love. I can't let you go to the Godswood every day."

"Cregan, I have to."

"I'm sorry."

She sniffled again. "W- Please."

"That look causes a pain in my stomach, my heart." He grimaced at the sight of her tears. 

She reached up and wiped at her cheeks. "Oh. I-I'll go then. Forgive me for bothering you this morning."

"Wait," he commanded, standing and stomping to her. "Wait, my love." 

When he reached out for her hand, she flinched away from him, terrified of their skin touching. 

Cregan froze. "Sweet girl…"

Her hands shook. "I'm going to just… go back to my room."

"I didn't mean to upset you, my love. I know how your mind tends to-"

"I'm going to my room," she said firmly. But the firmness fell away just as quickly. "Do you think the gods can hear me from there?"

"I'm sure they can," he assured.

She wiped her hands on her skirt, as if rubbing off a bad feeling. "I'll be there then."

"Don't be angry with me."

She hummed and moved from the room.

…

A few hours, Cregan finally found time to go up to their chambers to make up for his behavior before.

That, and her handmaiden had told him that she refused food at supper.

So he entered their chamber with a small tray of food. 

She laid in the bed, a sullen look on her face. Her eyes were closed as her head rested against the headboard.

"Spent your entire day like this?" Cregan asked kindly.

She looked up at him, then relaxed again. "Yes. Is that bad of me?"

He sighed. "No. Not for you. Though, I heard you didn't take your usual walk in the courtyard. And denied food."

"Can't leave."

He set the tray on the bedside table. "I wish I could make sense of your mind."

"Me too."

"Want to tell me?"

"I'm not sure."

"That's alright." He sits down next to her, careful not to touch her. "Can I sit with you at least?"

She nodded.

The two sat in silence for a while.

"It started when I was younger," she finally said. "It felt like I finally had control of something. But… I don't feel like I have control anymore."

He listened vigilantly, careful to not interrupt her in any way.

"I get these thoughts that I can't force away. Horrid ones of things I don't wish to think of. Pain or death…"

"Ah."

"Do you think me mad?" She asked softly.

"No, sweet girl. I don't. Can I…?" He reached his hand out and let it hover over her leg. 

She grabbed his hand, making a warmth spread through him. "I'll spend the rest of the night with you, hm? We'll eat here and let the rest of the world be."

"You're probably busy-"

"I'm not. Now," he grabbed the tray and set it onto the bed, "Eat."

A genuine smile came to her face.

…

When the sun managed to appear in Winterfell after the season, so did her cheery disposition. 

Her horrid thoughts were gone. 

He noticed that she didn't even look at the walls of the staircases, stepping on either foot with no worry.

It made his heart burn with pride. 

She had control.

…......................................

Taglist: @twinkletwinklenotastar, @kidd3ath,@yujyujj, @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne, @ethereal-athalia, @ashovertheriver, @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom, @dozcan123, @wangjiangelangel, @kamitargaryen, @aegonswife, @lv7867, @helpmedecideaname

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Ok, I'm gonna preface by saying I am being brave and REALLY stepping out of my comfort zone asking this. Also, this is a bit hard to phrase, so bear with me. Every time I do anything remotely sexual I feel Dread. Like, if I masturbate I will feel a sinking feeling in my stomach as if something bad is going to happen. This happens as well if I touch my nipples or get aroused. I don't get aroused often, (asexual) but I hate when I do because of this.

I don't know what's causing this, and I don't know if it's normal or if you know of this happening to anyone else. I don't expect you to know exactly why I'm dealing with this, obviously, but I'm really just confused. I don't miss masturbating or anything, Its not as if I've lost my libido and want it back. I just want to get read of the Dread! Have you heard of this happening to anyone else? Is there something wrong? If there is, I'm a minor and I really can't bring this up with a therapist (I have bigger fish to fry.) Do you have any advice, or is it a "don't do that if it hurts" situation? I'm perfectly fine just waiting to see if it goes away and I'm not super worried about it, but I am curious. Thank you!

(P.S: I can confidently say that me experiencing this feeling of dread is not linked to any sexual trauma. I really haven't experienced anything close to that.)

hi anon,

so I would like to. very gently. push back on the idea that this isn't something that should be brought up with a therapist, because this is absolutely a mental issue that is absolutely 100% impacting your quality of life and does not seem likely to go away on its own.

I fundamentally do not believe in attempting to diagnose anyone with anything on my blog, because I'm not qualified to do that and it would be irresponsible to pretend otherwise, but what you're describing sounds a lot like my own experiences with extremely bad anxiety and the experiences some close friends have had with OCD. that's not to say that you necessarily have either of those things! but it is a good indicator that what you're experiencing here is something substantial enough to be worth addressing with a professional who can help you worth through it.

so to answer your questions: yes I've heard of something like this and yes there's something wrong; the answer to both is "mental illness, babe." please take that seriously, babe; you deserve to live a life in which you don't experience Dread just from touching your own body.

[roe-and-memory]

was thinking about it and realized another Lovely idea for sally !

ocd, right. shes got it. a lot of her intrusive thoughts surround other people, but when her and lightning starr dating nd get married and everything, everything just gets.. so much worse.

every race, all she can think about is him crashing and dying. it’s an impossible thought for her to avoid - i mean, obviously, its an intrusive one - but even after the race is over she Cant shake it. instead, her mind moves onto “what if this is just a hallucination and he really Did crash and die during the race, and im just so grief stricken that i dont realize this isnt real?”

she never brings these thoughts up to him - maybe after he eventually chooses to retire - but she already struggles with the fact they just exist, she couldnt have him being Aware of their existence too.

all race, every race, she sits in the pits with her headphones on and her stomach fills with dread while she watches him drive. she puts her head down, closes her eyes, presses her hand against her heart, and takes deep breaths, and nothing makes them stop. in reality, they just get a hundred times worse as time passes, and she’ll get very physically distressed about it. she taps Her Pattern into anything that makes noise, whether it be the metal of the pit box or just tapping hard into her own skin on her leg, and she Counts. and she does it over and over again because Sometimes it brings her peace knowing that doing this means shes “lessening the chances” of him crashing and getting hurt.

but, like i said, these dont go away easy. after a race, later that night when theyre dozing in the motorhome, she’llmpress her head against his chest and cling to him like a lifeline. sally will fall asleep to the sound of his breathing and his consistent heartbeat, and she Cant bring herself to let go of him.

eventually she does bring these thoughts up to doc, and hes understanding. he tells her theres nothing wrong with it, theyre just Thoughts, and she isnt manifesting anything. it doesnt help much again, but doc wasn’t necessarily trying to tell her its impossible. instead, he picks up on her distress in the pits and teaches her car-lingo so she can understand if lightning is saying somethings wrong with the car. he’ll wrap his arm around her shoulder in that Dad way and promises her nothings gonna happen to him, he’ll be Fine.

imagine when lightning crashes in cars 3 and doc Isnt there to console her.

:3

[bkaulitzz]

𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐒𝐚𝐯𝐞?

more like this on my wattpad @/b_kaulitzz

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genre: horror + angst

infos: femx2009 dreads bill

synopsis: there’s been a murder in your town

a/n: i didnt proofread so there will be mistakes, this is also fast paced, ALSO i am NOT demonizing mental illnesses in any way, BILLS CHARACTER DOES NOT POTRAY PEOPLE WITH OCD ACCURATELY, this is purely for entertainment, i DO not condone what bill’s character does

more under cut :)

I zipped open my backpack as it sat on my lap, rummaging through it to look for my English notebook. Our teacher wasn't even here yet, no one was prepared. I groaned as I had every notebook but English.

"What's wrong?" Bill spoke softly amongst the other students. I frowned as I looked at him.

"I'm missing my English notebook, " I placed my pen down. He didn't respond, only making me more frustrated. I clicked my pen onto the desk, resting my head on my backpack as I groaned.

"This English notebook?" He reached over, sliding the composition book onto my desk. I raised my eyebrows, reaching down to flip through the pages.

"How'd you find it?" I looked through the pages, my chest feeling less tense as it was the notebook. He crossed his arms, laying them on the desk, and rested his chin on his arms.

"You forgot it in my room before you left yesterday, " He took my face, pinching my cheek. I winced, rubbing my cheek once he pulled away. "You need to be more careful with your stuff."

"I try-"

"Not hard enough, " Bill looked away from me, his attention going onto the teacher as she closed the door. Everyone went silent as she looked like she was in shambles. She quietly placed her items on her desk before returning to the front of the class, her heels clicking against the tiled ground.

"One of our students..." She inhaled, her face turning red as she looked down. "David Stevens...passed away. He was brutally murdered, no one knows by whom yet, " Her voice was shaky as tears began to form. My heart dropped to my stomach as I clenched my backpack, turning my head towards the only empty desk in the classroom. I felt my breath go uneasy as my heart raced. It was as if the whole world went silent from the news. I breathed heavily as the whole classroom had a collective panic. I glanced over at Bill, but nothing. Not a single wrinkle on his porcelain skin. David Stevens was an asshole to me, but him being murdered is too much. How could I not react? Bill always told me he struggled with his emotions, I never believed him until now. He slowly looked over at me with widened eyes as his lips formed a straight line, almost robotic-like.

"Are you okay, dear?" He reached out to hold my cheek. I breathed heavily, feeling my stomach turn. Even his lips looked robotic as they moved. I shuddered, clenching my eyes as I felt my face heat up. I leaned over my desk, feeling him move his hand down my back. His chair scraped against the floor as he scooted closer to rub my back. "It's okay...what's wrong? Nobody will hurt you, okay? The murderer won't get you, " He whispered into my ear as his hand traced circles on my back. My breath hiccuped as I teared up. A loud ringing filled my left ear as I slowly turned to him. I hardly even noticed that his hands were shaking.

"I don't wanna die, " My voice shook as Bill stared at me, lifelessly. He shakingly took my hand as his breath got stuck in his throat, kissing my knuckles.

"I'll protect you, " He swiped his thumb over my knuckles. The rest of the class coped in their own way as our teacher held her face. "Breathe, " His gaze softened, running his lips against my knuckles. I took a deep inhale, my stomach only turning more.

***

The hallways were full as I tried to make it to the front lobby. The sun lit the area through the glass walls. My face brightened up as Bill was already there, waiting for me. I pushed past a few people, wrapping my arms around his neck. The sounds of buses starting up came from outside as people exited. "Can you please take me home today?" I looked up at him, holding on tight. He leaned down, moving his hands on the lower of my back.

"Of course, " He slid his hands away, taking one of my hands as he led me to his car. I watched where my bus usually was, where he would always walk me. He brushed his thumb on the back of my palm, the distance from the lobby and his car being short as we made it to the black vehicle. He opened the passenger door, allowing me to slide in.

"Could you also...stay the night?" I asked as I watched him get into his seat. He raised an eyebrow as he started the car.

"Will your parents let me?" He buckled his seatbelt, waiting for the other people to get out of his way. I felt a lump form in my throat as I imagined sleeping alone.

"Just hide in my room, please?" I frowned, leaning my head against the car seat. He sighed, backing out of the parking lot.

"Okay, but if they catch me, I have to go. They already don't like me as is, " He kept his eyes on the road as he made it out of the school. I felt slightly guilty for even asking him, my parents never approved of Bill. My mom always said something was off. But, I think she's crazy. I looked out the window, feeling so stupid for asking him. But, I needed him, especially now. I was pulled out of my thoughts, feeling Bill's cold touch through the leggings of my thigh. I placed a hand over his, my heart fluttering as I admired his side profile. "Love you."

"Love you too, " I felt his hand grip my thigh gently as he took the directions to my house. I sighed in satisfaction as my eyes traced his body, watching him drive. He always looked so peaceful, I often wonder what he thinks about. His hand began to shake as he held onto my thigh, I furrowed my eyebrows as I grasped his hand. "Bill?..." I watched as his face twisted, turning into my neighborhood. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, " He shook his head as he got closer to my house, pulling away from my thigh. He pulled up to my driveway, grabbing our backpacks before opening his car door. My face twisted as I got out as well, the door opening with a pop before I closed it.

"Bill?" I frowned as I followed behind him to my front door, pulling out my keys. He hummed in response as I unlocked the front door. "Are you alright?" I twisted the warm doorknob, opening the door to let him in. It was quiet, not even the slightest creaking could be heard.

"Everything's fine, " He walked in, slipping off his shoes as he placed our bags down. I watched him carefully, slipping my shoes off as well. I closed the door behind me, and the lock clicked as I turned it.

"Are you hungry? Let me see if my mom made anything, " I walked to the kitchen, looking through the fridge. My feet were cold as they made contact with the granite tiles of the kitchen. I flinched a bit, feeling Bill's hand on my lower back, his hand still shaking. "Are you cold?" I furrowed my brows as I took his hand, closing the fridge. His hooded eyes met mine as I looked up at him. He only shook his head, coming closer. My heart fluttered as his cologne filled my nose, I reached up to his face, caressing his cheeks. "Bill?..." I tilted my head.

"Don't worry about me, " He whispered, pressing his lips against my forehead. I slid my hands down to his chest, watching him lean back.

"All I can do is worry, " I pursed my lips. His hands moved down to my shoulder and he took a deep breath, rubbing them. "Are you stressed out about the...David situation too?..." I asked. His face froze for a second as if he needed to load the information.

"Yea..." He nodded, wrapping his arms around me. He rested his head in the crook of my neck as he rubbed my upper back. His hands glided down to my waist, pulling me closer as he harshly dug his nails through my shirt. My breath hitched as I wrapped my arms around his neck, feeling his heart race against my chest. I felt my heartbeat in my throat as Bill's hands inched to the curve of my back, his hands continuing to shake.

"Bill?..." I felt him squeeze me, all of the oxygen in my body, leaving. His breathing became heavy, causing me to shudder as it was hot against my neck. I felt his hand move up to my back and I clenched my eyes. "Bill-"

"Stop it, stop, stop, " He hushed me, his chest heaving against mine. I let out a small squeal, pushing my head into his shoulder. "Everything will be okay, " He whispered harshly, kissing my neck. I didn't know whether he was comforting me or himself at this point. I opened my eyes, looking out the window behind him to ease myself. The sun shone on the wooden floorboards of my dining area. It looked so peaceful out, maybe we should take a walk. I watched as the grass danced against the wind, my breathing easing. I widened my eyes, watching Bill pull back. My mouth hung low as I reached back, feeling warm thick, slimy liquid seep through my thin t-shirt. I slowly moved my hand into my view as he stepped back, the sight of my blood spreading on my fingers. I let out a shriek, followed by heavy breathing as my legs grew weak. It felt as if a thousand needles were poking into my legs.

"Bill?!" I let out as my back throbbed, slowly dropping to the ground. Every breath I took felt like another stab coming back in. I looked up at him as each breath slowly shortened.

"I didn't mean to, " His voice echoed in my head as a ringing filled my ears. His eyes were wide as he leaned down. I let out a cry of pain, reaching back for the wound again. My arms felt so numb, too weak to plug my own wound. I held onto the floor, trying to scoot back, but getting nowhere. He continued to step closer, his brows curved inward. I blinked my eyes, trying to rid of the white light in my vision. My vision was so tainted, it looked as if he had a wide smile on his face. God, his pupils...they're so huge.

"Bill?..." I felt for what seemed to be his face, dragging my blood down his cheek. "Why...why would you ever..." My breathing shortened as my vision slowly caved in.

***

I fluttered my eyes open, raising an eyebrow as I heard the heart monitor. I shuddered as I ran a finger over the needle in the back of my palm. My mouth was dry as I continued to look around, the crispy bed sheets shuffled under me. I reached around the bed, feeling for the call remote before pressing it. All I could hear were cries and moans from the other room as I waited for the nurse. After a few minutes, the door gently slid open, and a nurse came in.

"Are you feeling alright?" She asked. I gave her a small smile, looking at the TV on the wall before turning to her.

"Yea, I feel...okay..." I curled my fingers into the blanket. "Just a little thirsty and can you also change the channel, please?" I swallowed hard as all that was on was the news. She nodded in response before grabbing the remote from my bedside, making me feel stupid that I hadn't seen it. She switched it quickly before placing it down.

"I'll be back with water, " She turned around and closed the door behind her to leave. I leaned against the soft pillow, running my fingers against the cold railing. Is this real life? I shifted in the bed a bit, pulling up the thin blanket as I watched the channel that she put on. I hummed as I watched the door slide open, raising an eyebrow as the same nurse before didn't step in. A few seconds passed before I watched the dark-haired male walk in with a bottle of water. I felt chills down my spine as goosebumps formed, the realization hitting me of where I was. I gripped the sheets as I scooted close to the emergency remote, watching him close the door as he kept his eyes on me.

"You're awake, " Bill gave me an innocent smile as his face was bare, his eyes red. Why was he crying? He's not the victim. I trembled as my heart pounded, my face heating up as he stepped closer. His footsteps were so loud, that my ears began to ring as he was right by my bed. He twisted the bottle open, leaning over my bed as he brought the bottle to my lips. I breathed heavily, feeling my diaphragm expand in my stomach. "Aren't you thirsty?" He tilted his head. My hand shook as I snatched the water bottle, taking a sip.

"Where are my parents?" I felt my whole body heat up as sweat began to form. He frowned as he held onto the railing.

"They're on their way, babe, " He reached out to hold my face.

"Don't, " I glared up at him as I clenched the remote with my free hand. My eyes followed him as he walked over to the side of the remote to get closer to me.

"Please? I was worried about you, " He leaned down to me. I could nearly vomit as the smell of his cologne tainted the bleach smell of the hospital.

"Worried? Did you forget why I was in here, to begin with?" My nostrils flared as I felt tears form. I flinched as he held my face, wiping the corners of my eyes before the tears could even roll off my cheek.

"We talked about this...my mental health is getting worse, " His lip quivered as he looked at me. I snatched my face away, my thumb moving over the call button.

"You're mentally ill. You make me sick to my stomach. I want nothing to do with you anymore, Bill. Get out of here, I'm gonna give you five minutes before I press the button, " I watched as his whole world was getting ripped apart. "You're fucking delusional if you think I'd stay with you."

"Be quiet, " He sniffled as he teared up. He pressed his fingers into my face, causing me to wince. Before I could even press the button, he took my wrist, using his free hand to cover my mouth. "I don't wanna hear it, " He wept as if he was the one getting hurt. I let out a groan as he forcibly pulled my wrist off, squirming under him. But with the injury and my state, he was far too strong to fight against. I sobbed into his hand, closing my eyes as I shook my hand. "I never wanted to hurt you, " He bawled out. He was not letting go anytime soon, his face turning red. I watched as he sobbed, only making me cry more. When will I ever win? I bit at his hand, only causing him to press harder into my cheeks. I let out a moan of pain, flailing my legs. He slowly climbed onto the bed, using his whole body weight to hold me down. I widened my eyes, hyperventilating as my whole body was still under him.

"You're hurting me!" I muffled. He took his hand away from my mouth, pinning me down by my wrist. I continued to hyperventilate, letting out small sobs in between. "You're insane, " I wept, throwing my head back into the pillow. I hardly even recognized him anymore. Bill slowly climbed off of me, pulling me into his grasp. He held my head in his chest as I sobbed, shuddering as he gently rubbed my back. "You need to get serious help and I don't want nothing to do with it, " I muffled, my tears staining his band tee.

"I know, " He said. I felt his heartbeat against my forehead, the only thing that eased me only caused fear now. "I love you, just listen to me, " He stroked my nape.

"Just get out, " I leaned back and looked up at him with a tear-stained face. His grasp was still on me.

"Please, just listen to me. That's all I'm asking, " He wiped my tears. My breath hiccuped as my face was heated. I shook my head, narrowing my eyes.

"Listen to what? You're pathetic excuses? You're fucking crazy, that's what I know. I can't live like this, " I felt my head pound. He frowned, caressing my cheek. My stomach turned with each fingerprint he left on me.

"I never wanted to hurt you, " He reiterated, his chest heaving. His eyes watered up once more.

"The look on your face when I was on the ground...I thought I was gonna die and all you did was smile, " I hoarsed, it nearly came out as a growl.

"It wasn't like that, " He brokenly let out as his tears fell sideways, our head resting on the same pillow.

"Then what was it like?" I felt a warm tear roll down my face sideways, my mouth being filled with the salty taste.

"I panicked. I would never want to hurt you. I couldn't stop myself, " He sniffled as he rubbed my upper arm. "I never...want to lose you, " He leaned in, kissing my nose. I felt my heart clench as I watched him shake.

"Bill..." I gulped. He let out a small hum as tears fell, leaving a stain on the pillow. "You scare me, " I spoke softly, my chin wrinkling as I let out a small weep. His eyes clenched as he sobbed in response.

"I don't want to scare you, " He sniffled, grazing his fingers against my cheek. His rings, cold, against my skin. I reached up for his wrist, caressing the back of his palm with my pointer finger.

"When you first told me about everything, I thought, 'Yea, everything will be fine.' I thought that I could save you, " I pursed my lips, gently running my nail against the back of his palm. "But I don't know anymore...how can I save you if I can't save myself?" I grew silent as his lips stayed shut. I moved his palm to my lips, gently kissing the inside as I kept eye contact. We just stared at each other. His eyes looked so dead, it was almost like we were looking into a mirror.

"What can I do?" Bill mumbled, breaking the silence.

"I'll spend every penny I have for you to get help, " I felt a lump form in my throat as I let go of his wrist, reaching out for his face.

"Will you go to therapy with me?..." He grasped my hand, feeling me caress his cheek. I felt my heart sink as I looked away.

"Bill..."

"Please, " He pulled my hand off his cheek, kissing my knuckles. "I'll heal. I'll become better."

"I don't think I'll heal, " I looked back at him and he slowly pulled my hand down.

"What do you mean?... We'll still be together, right?" His voice was desperate. I slowly shook my head, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear. "What about all the plans we made?"

"Maybe you'll find someone better-"

"No! There's no one better, " He clasped our fingers together. "You're all I want. You know, " His voice grew shaky. "I wanna spend every last breath with you. Just everything, you're my everything, " He spoke quickly.

"I can't do this, Bill. I'm so...drained. Even before, " I looked away. "I tried my best to stay strong for you and support you. Even then, I felt like I was dying. It felt like a war between me and your battles. At times, I felt like I wasn't dating Bill. I felt like I was dating OCD, " I moved my hand down to the side of his neck.

"But, it's a part of me, " His face scrunched as his tears continued to flow.

"I can't promise to be there for you, Bill, " I scooted close and kissed his nose. He took my cheek as he looked at me with bloodshot eyes.

"I love you, " He kissed my nose, down to my lips. "You were the only love that I've ever known, " He said between the kiss. I teared up as I reciprocated, closing my eyes as our lips melted. I moved my hand down to his chest, clenching the fabric as I pulled him close. "Please."

"We can't, Bill, " I breathed out, our kiss growing sloppy as our tears mixed. He sniffled as he turned his head, holding my nape.

"I can't move on, " He sniffled as he pulled away. I kissed his tears, wrapping my arms around his neck.

"It'll be the only way to save both of us."

© bkaulitzz; do not steal :(

bill, bill kaulitz, kaulitz, angst, bill kaulitz angst

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

☠️ Something Dread, Something Red: Chapter Twenty-Two

Something Dread, Something Red: Stuck in a proposal to a Marine Commodore, you escape minutes before your wedding in one last ditch effort to avoid getting married to a tyrant. Barely making it to the port of your town, you stumble across a ship just starting to leave and beg for passage off the island. You fail to notice that the people you beg for help, are pirates.

Warnings: Explicit Language, Explicit Material.

To Note: “Red Haired” Shanks x FemReader

Word Count: ~2.5k

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The ship docks at Hotaru Island, the air thick with the scent of lavender and the distant hum of fireflies waiting to start their nightly dance. You step onto the gangplank, your simple dress fluttering in the warm breeze. Everyone had their own tasks to complete before meeting up at the local tavern for dinner. Everyone but you. You hadn't really decided who you wanted to accompany, but at least you did know one thing: You need space from Shanks, yet again.

Your eyes scan the men, and land on Hongo, who sits on a crate, scribbling in his notebook. His brow is furrowed, lost in concentration.

You approach him quietly, standing close enough to see the list of medical supplies he’s noting down.

“What’s on the agenda today, Doc?”

Hongo looks up, surprised but not displeased. You had been off, yet again, because of your arguments with Shanks. It would be good to get you away from the ship. “Aria. I’m making a list of things we need to restock the infirmary. Care to join me?”

You nod eagerly. “Sure. I’d like that.”

He stands, tucking the notebook into his pocket. Together, you navigate through the market streets, stalls bursting with colors and scents. The vendors call out their wares, but Hongo seems focused, knowing exactly where to go.

“Do you always know what you need off the top of your head?” you ask as you weave through a throng of people.

Hongo chuckles. “Years of practice. Plus, I like to keep my supplies well-organized. You know how OCD Benn is, he'd mutiny if the medical supplies aren't in order.”

You stop at a stall selling herbs and medicinal plants. Hongo inspects them with practiced hands, picking out a few bundles and exchanging some Berries with the vendor.

“These are for antiseptics,” he explains as he hands them to you.

You cradle the herbs carefully, feeling their rough texture against your fingers. The simple task makes you feel useful.

Next, Hongo leads you to an apothecary’s shop filled with glass jars and vials. The air inside is heavy with the smell of spices and tinctures. He greets the shopkeeper warmly before discussing various remedies and ointments.

“Grab that bottle of iodine,” Hongo instructs, pointing to a shelf above your head.

You reach up on tiptoes, fingers brushing against the cool glass before securing it in your hand. You hand it over to Hongo who adds it to his growing collection of supplies.

As you leave the shop, arms laden with packages and bundles, you can’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment. “Thanks for letting me tag along,” you say.

Hongo smiles warmly at you. “It’s good to have company. And extra hands. But something tells me that you needed an excuse to get away from the ship…”

You take a deep breath, adjusting the bundles in your arms. “It’s Shanks. Things have been…tense between us lately.”

Hongo nods, waiting for you to continue. Everyone had been noticing the off and on tension between you and captain.

“It’s about me staying on the ship,” you say, the words spilling out faster now. “Shanks doesn’t want me to feel trapped or like I’m missing out on exploring the world because of him. But I just want to be happy, and right now, being with him and all of you makes me happy.”

Hongo listens intently, his expression thoughtful. “That sounds complicated. Have you told Shanks how you feel?”

You shake your head, frustration bubbling up. “I’ve tried, but every time we talk about it, we end up arguing. He thinks he’s doing what’s best for me by pushing me away, but it just makes things harder.”

Hongo stops at another stall to pick up a few more supplies, his movements deliberate as he considers your words.

“He cares about you a lot,” Hongo says finally. “Maybe he just needs time to understand that your happiness is tied to being with him.”

You nod, appreciating his perspective but still feeling the weight of uncertainty.

As you near the edge of the market, you see the tavern where the rest of the crew is supposed to meet up later. Hongo turns to you with a gentle smile.

“Why don’t I take these supplies back to the ship?” he offers.

“No,” you interrupt quickly, shaking your head for emphasis. “I’ll take them back myself. You go ahead and get us a table at the tavern. I could use some time alone to think.”

Hongo studies your face for a moment before nodding in agreement. You needed to sort your relationship problems out by yourself. “Alright then. But don’t hesitate to come find us if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Hongo,” you say softly.

You make your way back to the ship, lost in thought as you navigate through the bustling streets of the port town. The weight of the supplies in your arms serves as a reminder of your place among the pirates, but your mind is preoccupied with your unraveling relationship with Shanks.

As you approach the pier, you see the massive shape of the Red Force towering over the water. The sight of it brings a mix of emotions: happiness from being a home, but also sadness as you're reminded of the tension between you and the captain. You climb aboard, greeted by the familiar scent of salt and wood.

You carry the supplies to the medical room, each step echoing your mixed emotions. The room is cool and smells faintly of antiseptics and herbs. Carefully, you place the bundles of medicinal plants on the counter and start sorting through the vials and bottles Hongo had chosen. Each item finds its place on the shelves, lined up in a precise order that you’ve come to understand from watching Hongo.

Each shelf has a metal cover that gets closed in between uses so the bottles don't fall from the shelf and break. When you place the last bottle on the shelf, you pull down the metal cover and lock it in place before turning to the various packages of suture needles, i.v.’s, and other assorted sharps.

You kneel to check the crates, making sure they’re secure and won’t tip over during the next voyage. Your fingers run along the rough wood, tightening the lids and securing the latches. It seems secure enough.

As you stand and dust off your hands, you turn around and freeze. Shanks leans against the door jamb, one foot crossed over the other. His eyes lock onto yours, a mix of frustration and longing swirling in their depths.

“Aria,” he starts, his voice low but steady.

Your heart skips a beat at his tone. “Shanks.”

He pushes off from the door frame and takes a step into the room. “We need to talk.”

You cross your arms, more for comfort than defiance. “About what?”

“About us.” His eyes search yours for understanding. “I know things have been rough between us lately.” The again went left unsaid.

“You think?” The sarcasm slips out before you can stop it. "I am beginning to think I should just move my ass to the crew quarters!"

“Watch your language,” Shanks warns, his voice a growl that vibrates through the room. "And I’ll continue to pretend you haven't been getting lessons on how to curse."

You can’t help the smirk that tugs at your lips and raised an elegant eyebrow. “What are you going to do, captain? Spank me?”

The challenge in your voice hangs in the air between you two. For a moment, he stands still, eyes darkening with a mix of frustration and something else entirely. Before you can react, he strides forward, closing the distance between you in two long steps. His hand grips your arm, spinning you around so fast that your breath catches in your throat.

He pushes you against a stack of crates, the wood cool against your flushed skin. You feel his breath hot on your neck as his fingers grasp at the skirt of your dress and rake it up to your hip. Then without pause, his hand comes down on your backside with a sharp smack. The sting sends a shockwave through your body, making you yelp.

“You think this is a game?” His voice is low, dangerously controlled.

You barely have time to process his words before his fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear. With one swift motion, he yanks them down to your knees. The sudden exposure makes your heart race even faster and your fingers dig into the wood you are pressed against.

Before you can utter a word, he positions himself behind you. The sound of his belt buckle clinking open and the rustle of fabric are the only warnings you get before he thrusts into you with an intensity that leaves you breathless. A whine tears itself from your throat and your head drops back against Shanks' shoulder.

Shanks thrusts into you with a raw, unyielding force that leaves you breathless. Each movement sends shivers up your spine, your fingers digging into the rough wood of the crates for support. His right hand grips your hip tightly, pulling you back against him with every stroke forward.

The intensity of his movements leaves no room for words, only gasps and moans escaping your lips. The sounds of your bodies colliding echo in the small, enclosed space, mingling with the creaks of the ship around you.

Your mind races, caught between the overwhelming sensation and the flood of emotions coursing through you. The tension that had been building between you two finds its release in this raw, primal connection.

Shanks' breath is hot against your neck as he leans in closer, his grip on your hip tightening. You can feel the power in his movements, the pent-up frustration and desire pouring out with every thrust.

You push back against him, meeting his rhythm with equal fervor. The pleasure builds rapidly, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge. Your nails dig into the crates as you fight to keep yourself upright.

Shanks' voice is a low growl in your ear. "Is this what you wanted?" His words are punctuated by a particularly hard thrust that makes you cry out.

You nod frantically, unable to form coherent words. The intensity of the moment consumes you both, leaving no room for anything but this raw connection.

The heat between you builds to a fever pitch, every nerve ending alight with sensation. Your body trembles under his relentless pace, each thrust driving you closer to release.

Finally, with a strangled cry, you feel yourself shatter around him. Your muscles tighten and convulse as waves of pleasure crash over you. Your legs tremble and shake beneath you, lasting ripples of your orgasm washing through every part of your body. When you suck in a deep breath, trying to calm your breathing, Shanks lips find your neck and begins to place elongated kisses there.

Shanks’ lips trail down your neck, his kisses deliberate and lingering. Each touch of his mouth sends electric jolts through your body, making you squirm against him. Your breathing comes in ragged gasps as his hand holds you firmly in place, preventing any escape from the intoxicating sensations he’s eliciting.

You can’t take it any longer. The need to feel his lips on yours overwhelms you. With a sudden burst of energy, you turn around to face him, your eyes locking onto his with a fiery intensity.

Before he can react, you grab the front of his shirt and pull him toward you. Your lips crash together in a fierce kiss, all the pent-up emotions and desire pouring out in that single moment. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you even closer as the kiss deepens.

You kiss Shanks with a fervor that borders on desperation, mouths open and tongues tangling in a dance of raw need. The taste of him consumes you, a heady mix of salt and something uniquely Shanks. His favorite whiskey perhaps? Your fingers clutch at his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer as his hand finds the small of your back, pressing you against the crates behind you.

Without breaking the kiss, Shanks' lifts you effortlessly and you feel yourself being placed on the crates. The feel of his muscles flexing beneath your hands makes you moan in appreciation. His hand soon moves with purpose, shoving your skirt aside with a sense of urgency that matches your own. The cool air hits your wet, exposed skin, heightening every sensation as his fingers trace a path up your inner thigh.

Then he’s there, filling you again with a force that makes you moan against his mouth and arch your back. The rhythm he sets is relentless, each thrust driving deeper than the last. Your nails dig into his shoulders, holding on as waves of pleasure roll through you.

The crates creak beneath you with each movement, the sound mingling with your breathless moans and the raw grunts escaping Shanks' lips. Every stroke sends sparks of electricity coursing through your veins, your body responding to him in ways you’ve never experienced before. Not even with him. It's just not enough, you'll never have enough if him to be fully satisfied. Some part of your body will always long for his touch.

Shanks thrusts into you with a relentless rhythm, each movement driving you closer to the edge once more. The intensity of his pace leaves you breathless, every nerve in your body alight with sensation. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, desperate for something to anchor you as the pleasure builds.

“Shanks,” you gasp, your voice barely more than a whisper.

He responds with a low growl, his grip on your waist tightening as he pulls you even closer. His lips find yours again, and the kiss is hot and demanding, a perfect mirror of the fervor between your bodies.

The pleasure mounts rapidly, each stroke pushing you higher and higher until it feels like you might burst from the intensity of it all. Your nails dig into his skin, leaving marks as you cling to him.

You feel the coil of heat in your cunt tighten to an almost unbearable degree. Shanks seems to sense it too, his movements becoming even more focused, each thrust aimed at driving you over the edge.

With one final, powerful stroke, the coil snaps. Your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave, every muscle in your body tensing and convulsing with the force of it. You throw your head back against the crates and scream out his name as pleasure rips through every part of your being.

Shanks continues to move within you, drawing out every last tremor of your climax until you're left trembling and breathless beneath him. His own breathing is ragged, and you can feel his heart pounding against your chest once again.

As the last waves of pleasure ebb away, you're left feeling utterly spent but profoundly satisfied. Once again you have fucked out all your frustrations. But simply expelling these emotions will not solve the problem existing between you. Your cheek drops to his shoulder as you tiredly close your eyes. The raw passion that exists between you is undeniable, but it can't erase the reality of your circumstances.

Date Published: 6/28/24

Last Edit: 7/29/24

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[cheerfullycatholic]

Hey I’m really struggling with my faith right now. Growing in holiness and becoming closer to God used to fill me with so much comfort and peace, but now it fills me with anxiety and dread because always trying to be holier feels like an impossible standard that I’m called by the Church to do but I’m never going to achieve. I struggle with going to church regularly for a variety of reasons, but now I feel that struggle is especially prominent because anytime I think of listening to a homily or hearing the word of God I get filled with more anxiety because I’m constantly getting called to do better and be better and strive for heaven all the time when I just want to be ok right now. I just want to appreciate the mundane aspects of life in the moment without worrying about achieving a certain standard that’s so high I can’t possibly reach it. I just want God to meet me where I am without feeling like I’m doing something wrong. I could really use some guidance or some help.

I know this is kind of a word vomit, I’m sorry. I don’t know who else to talk to about it.

I think what you feel is very common and normal. It honestly sounds a bit like religious OCD, if what I know about that is correct, but don't quote me on that (though it's worth looking into)

Something very important to remember is that it is impossible to gain perfection in holiness while on this earth, and that's okay :) all we can do is our best, and our best looks different for everyone. A faithful life can look like so many things. It's okay to just do what you can, even if it's not what you used to do. Our faith and how we live according to it naturally isn't going to be constant. It's going to change, like how a river flows more or less, the water level rising or lowering depending on the circumstances that it finds itself in. Just breathe, figure out what you realistically can do, and try to trust that God understands where you're at and has mercy for your situation. He calls everyone to the Church, not to all be exactly the same, but to bring their own unique gifts, experiences, and thoughts into full communion with Him. The wide variety of saints is proof of that. Just look at the huge differences between St. Francis of Assisi and Joan of Arc. Two very different people who lived two very different lives both made it to sainthood! Why can't we?

[legacyshenanigans]

Random Marvolo and Rowan things🐍🐺

Rowan suffers from sensory overload if too many things or sounds are happening around him all at once in an environment he isn't used to.

Marvolo sometimes has feelings of self-dread and hates himself, but due to his more narcissistic tendencies those thoughts are quickly ripped away from him.

Rowan sometimes soft howls in his sleep, especially if he has dreams about his past and his family.

Marvolo has a private therapist who realistically SHOULD have contacted the authorities when Marvolo first started seeing him based on things he has said to him. But they've formed a bond over the years, and he finds Marvolos' mind fascinating and enjoys their sessions too much to do so.

Rowan will touch, rub up on, sit on etc. things people he's not that fond of have touched, masking their scent with his own, even if they don't know he's done it. For example if Marvolo has had a meeting with people they don't like, and then those folk leave, Rowan will sit on the chair THEY were sat on, or touch the desk where THEY touched the desk.

Marvolo is OCD level picky when it comes to drinks, like water to juice ratio needs to be PERFECT or how many ice cubes he likes in certain drinks, and temperature and what not, if something is off, he won't drink it.

Rowan has severe attachment issues. Feeling abandoned or disregarded makes him overly angry and puts him in A LOT of extreme distress.

Marvolo is terrible for feeling underwhelmed by things. Like if something isn't exciting enough, he'll go out of his way to make it so. And that's not necessarily a GOOD thing when you know the things Marvolo finds exciting.

~

[deliciouskeys]

@cozycornerkinktober ‘s prompt #29: Sex doll

Cloth Mother (Homelander, pre-canon, lab days)

Warnings: Um. Underage person discovers masturbation. No sexual abuse, but general Vought abuse of human rights warning. Agalmatophilia. I was going to finally skip a day of Kinktober, and then I didn’t, cause, OCD. But probably skipping tomorrow. AO3 link

After John kills his second tutor in a very similar fashion to the one two years prior, something had to be done.

“We’re training him and teaching him all manner of things, except how to touch people without hurting them apparently. We need to fix it before it gets any worse. Vought wants him to give firm handshakes, not take senators' hands off. We need formal training put in place here.” Vogelbaum looks around at his staff, expecting suggestions from the more enterprising members of his team.

The medical team all look askance, apparently only dreading where the unlucky volunteers would be recruited from to run this training.

Vogelbaum rolls his eyes. “No, we’re not going to have any more casualties in that room. It’s not good for anybody,” he adds. “John’s been traumatized every time, not to mention it’s a huge headache for the company.”

He looks at the CCTV and sees John still sitting on his bed, hugging his legs and rocking ever so slightly. It’s these kinds of repetitious behaviors that worry Vogelbaum. The child starts to engage in them when stressed, but it’s maladaptive, and more importantly, it won’t look good if it persists into adulthood. The executive team will scrap the entire project if they can’t obscure the fact that John’s been raised in an unorthodox environment. Of course, Vogelbaum sometimes wonders what scrapping would mean in this case. John is already twelve, and a formidable force, who stays in the room out of obedience. He could probably break his way out with his fists if he was motivated to. How do you scrap a project that is a human being whom there is no known way to kill? He watches John on the cam screen, faintly hears the child mumbling something to himself, another bad habit in the making, but Vogelbaum smiles. He just needs to tweak all of this, nip it in the bud. He needs John to please everyone on the board, and be allowed out to be free once he’s of age. He’s not his son, but it still feels like someone he’s been raising. Probably with more attention than his own children at home, if he’s honest. He’s personally invested in this one, and they’re not going to just scrap him, dammit.

~~~

“Good morning John, you awake?” Dr. Weiss asks over the intercom. Vogelbaum watches the cam as John turns over under his bedcovers and shakes his head, listening to the laughter over the intercom and smiling at having a joke succeed with the adults. He sits up abruptly when he hears that they have something new to show him. Maybe the monotony is getting to him, but he’s always very excited at the prospect of anything new being introduced to his room.

He watches as the orderlies wheel in an unassuming looking female mannequin, mostly a torso, sporting neither a head nor any legs below the knees, just a uniform beige color, made of what appears to be stiff foam, with approximately as much give as human skin and flesh. Must have picked it up cheap at some local mall, Vogelbaum sighs with disdain. But perhaps the less human resemblance the better, for the time being.

“Is that a statue of a lady?” John asks hesitantly, tilting his head.

“Not exactly. She’s the Hug-Trainer,” Dr. Weiss announces in a voice Vogelbaum finds a little too patronizing—John is twelve, not six. “I rigged her up so if you squeeze her gently, she won’t make a sound, but if you’re rough and squeeze too hard…” Dr. Weiss lets out a straining sound as he demonstrates, and the mannequin emits an annoying high pitched alarm. John claps his hands to his ears, even though Vogelbaum is fairly certain that despite his exquisite hearing ability, his cilia should be more resistant to any damage from deafening noise than anyone else’s.

“I have to train to hug her correctly?” John verifies.

“Yes, we expect you to be an expert hugger in no time,” Dr. Weiss continues to use the same grating voice, like he’s hosting a kid’s TV show. Vogelbaum’s hand pulls down his face in impatience, but John seems to be impressed at least, eyes wide.

John doesn’t bother to change out of his pajamas and goes straight to the mannequin standing in the middle of his room. It’s perched on a metal pole on wheels, and there are wires that run out of the torso and plug into the wall. Not a very elegant design, but Vogelbaum won’t complain when they’ve MacGyvered the thing to order in less than 24 hours.

John looks up at it, and he seems a little intimidated. The way it’s set up, John’s head is about at chest height for the hugging dummy. He reaches for it tentatively and hugs the foam body gently, not triggering any alarms. But Vogelbaum knows neither of the tutors were killed instantly. John tends to start out unsure, slow, cautious, and then at some point forgets himself and starts to get overcome by emotion and that’s when the trouble starts. It’s not that different from his earlier years when he couldn’t control his eye lasers adequately, especially if he’d become upset or even mildly irritated.

The alarm goes off, and John startles backwards, releasing his arms immediately. They must have rigged it pretty sensitively. That didn’t look like he was getting particularly rough with the dummy.

“It’s okay. This is for practicing! It’s okay to make mistakes,” Dr. Weiss reassures him.

No it’s not, Vogelbaum grits his teeth. Not when you’re a superhuman capable of such destruction.

~~~

They left the hugging dummy to stay in the room and Vogelbaum sees John practicing quite a lot in his downtime. He masters it quickly, just as Vogelbaum knew he would. Now they just have to wait for muscle memory to cement itself so anyone he embraces will be safe. But something disturbing started to happen at some point over the past week. Vogelbaum ends up reviewing tapes until he pinpoints when it started. They put John under particular strain one day in the other larger testing room, and the session ended with him feeling like he’d failed to hit targets with accuracy while moving through the air. Failure to achieve something was already stressful enough in this boy’s mind and they shouldn’t have pushed him further, but some impatient genius decided to test yet another neurotoxin on him at the end of the session. John’s body handled it, but Vogelbaum can see on the footage that he was fatigued, and on the verge of tears. Vogelbaum follows by watching the footage in John’s sleeping room, and sees him lie face down on the bed, shoulders shaking, probably crying although no sound is picked up by the mics. Then John gets up and walks over to the mannequin, wrapping his arms around it gently, not triggering the alarm, petting his hand against its back, and mumbles something the room’s microphones don’t quite catch either. And that’s when he starts to squeeze harder until he hears the alarm and stops. Then does it again. And again. He squeezes just enough to elicit just a short chirp from the alarm. John ends up doing that for about half an hour, and Vogelbaum is once again worried if confinement indoors and alone is going to manifest as these bizarre coping behaviors and fixations.

So that’s how it started. But John seems to have made a much more elaborate game of it every day since. And there’s added behaviors. He makes little noises to go along with the mannequin’s plaintive sounding chirps. He rubs his face into the mannequin’s chest. They’re stylized breasts, relatively small and nondescript lumps in the foam, but Vogelbaum still thinks this isn’t appropriate. And sometimes he walks around the room, dragging the mannequin around with him, talking to it.

“This is where I live. I don’t get so many visitors here. That’s my bed. And that’s my desk. And here’s the toilet, and here’s the door where people can come in, or they can give me stuff through the slot without coming in.”

It’s mundane, boring banter, but Vogelbaum wonders if he’s missing interactions with other children for proper development.

He starts to eat all his meals standing next to the mannequin, phantom offering it spoonfuls of whatever they served him that day before having it himself. Vogelbaum resolves to have the thing removed from the room by the end of the week.

~~~

There’s a panicked voice over the intercom at 10pm, after lights out. “Dr. Vogelbaum! Please advise on how to handle this situation with the subject!”

Vogelbaum hasn’t gone home yet. He lifts his head from his notes to look at the nightvision cam in his office. He gets up woodenly and walks down to the labs floor.

“Dr. Vogel-”

“Who taught him this? Who showed this to him?”

Everyone is silent.

“No one? Not even as a joke? Maybe some movie?”

A nightshift orderly whose name Vogelbaum doesn’t remember has the gall to say “He might have figured it out on his own?”

Vogelbaum puts up a hand to shush everyone. “I’ll handle this.” And he flicks the button for the intercom into John’s room to say “John I’m coming in” just before opening the door and flicking on the light with the switch outside the room.

John is sprawled in bed, the mannequin, metal stand and all, is tilted on its side, laid out on the bed next to him, facing him. He’s got one leg wrapped around the truncated thighs, and he’s humping the foam torso quite vigorously, triggering the alarm briefly with each thrust of his hips, and shaking the entire bed. Vogelbaum was hoping John would stop his motions as soon as he’s in the room, but John just looks over at him, not even guilty.

“John, stop that at once!” Vogelbaum says sternly. John blinks at him with a dazed, downright stupid facial expression. His cheeks are red but he’s not blushing. It’s effort. He’s panting. Vogelbaum just thanks the stars that at least his pajamas are still on.

John does obey and instantly comes to a halt, but now slowly grinds his crotch against the mannequin. “It’s heavy,” he laments.

“What’s heavy,” Vogelbaum asks with some irritation.

John touches himself through his pants. “It’s swollen and heavy, and it gets like that when I’m with her.”

“You mean this hug training mannequin?” Vogelbaum sits down on the bed, deciding that not overreacting to this behavior is key, but finding his tone wavering. “That’s not a person. Don’t call it a she.”

John looks sad and shifts uncomfortably. “When I’m near it I want to touch her- touch it all the time.”

Vogelbaum shakes his head. “That’s not appropriate.”

John’s eyes are glistening, and he squirms his legs. “What’s wrong with my…” he hesitates, knowing it’s a word Vogelbaum hasn’t used much if at all. “My thingy.”

“Just say penis.”

“Yes, that. What’s wrong with it? It’s so swollen and all I want to do is to rub it against her. I mean, it.”

Vogelbaum stands up and takes the mannequin to stand upright again, noting John’s bereft gaze following it, and then covers John up with the sheet and bedspread. “When that happens, you ignore it and it will go away. The more you touch it, the more you’ll want to touch it. And it’s very rude in public.”

“What about private?” John asks, but his voice is smaller and smaller, as he senses from Vogelbaum’s withering gaze that this is not a favorite topic of conversation.

“Don’t do it in private either. It’s not good for you. All the staff watching out for you, they were worried tonight.”

John’s eyes get rounder and Vogelbaum regrets escalating the stakes. “Is it dangerous? Can I… kill someone like that or something?”

“Yes,” Vogelbaum says tersely, very eager to end the conversation. “Yes you certainly can, if you’re not careful.”

John looks stunned and starts rubbing his legs against each other until he remembers himself and stops. But when he sees Vogelbaum unplug and wheel out the mannequin he falls into despair.

“Wait, please don’t take her! I promise I won’t put her in bed with me ever again!”

“You don’t need this anymore, you’ve learned everything this was supposed to teach you,” Vogelbaum says dismissively over his shoulder as he wheels it out the door and shuts it behind him.

And then some, he thinks as he watches John on the monitors, curled up in a fetal position and weeping quietly. He’s under the covers, but there’s definitely some kind of motion his hand is doing near his crotch. This child just doesn’t listen sometimes.

[thevioletcaptain]

.

One of our dogs, Danni, is really sick and in the animal hospital with issues after surgery, and I was entirely unprepared for the way that this is mentally putting me right back into the days before my dad died. Just this constant dread in the hollow of my throat and the pit of my stomach. And literally every day since February my harm ocd has already been on overdrive with the intrusive thoughts of dad’s dead dad’s dead on a loop just refusing to stop, and that’s still there but now it’s combining with extremely vivid memories of the phone calls we got when he started crashing and then after he died and the sound of my mum’s voice when the doctor told us. And before Danni went in to have surgery I just fucking dissociated every time everyone started talking about her condition and the surgery risks and everything because it was putting me back into the dad-in-the-icu hellscape. And now she’s having complications and it’s just. Too familiar. And I feel like shit because it’s like I’m not even processing what’s happening now I’m just reliving what happened in February. So I can’t even properly comfort my wife about their dog because it’s like my brain isn’t even in the current moment.

[oidheadh-con-culainn]

hi! we dont know each other but ive stumbled upon your posts in which you describe your anxiety brain and borrowing trouble from the future and i can totally relate to that. and it sounds a lot like ocd, which i know i have... idk if this would be helpful

sometimes i do see things about ocd that i relate to. i think a lot of the underlying thought patterns and fears are probably similar. i don't think i respond to them in the way that somebody with ocd does, though -- i don't experience compulsions and don't find any relief from behaving in certain ways or performing certain rituals, i just experience profound dread and physical discomfort until i'm able to forget about the thing that triggered the anxiety or i move on to something else

my sister has ocd, which i only learned recently (we don't live together and aren't super close), but again, although i see overlap between our experiences, i think we respond to those triggers differently and find different things helpful/harmful. obviously everyone is different so that doesn't rule out the possibility that i'd also have it, but i think it makes it less likely

generally i think my issues are largely attributable to generalised anxiety disorder, some kind of brainweirds (not sure if autistic or have adhd or both), and a solid dose of complex trauma that contributes a fair amount of hypervigilance and fear to the proceedings which make standard anxiety tactics less helpful

i think all mental health diagnoses are labels we give to certain groups of symptoms rather than like. firmly grouped Conditions between which there can be no overlap, though. some aspects of anxiety and ocd are very similar, and some are different -- the same stars in different constellations. i think i score more points in the anxiety chart, so that's where i am for now, but doesn't mean i'm not experiencing some of the same things, if that makes sense (and it also doesn't mean that some coping mechanisms designed for one condition won't work just because i don't think i fit under that label -- sometimes they do)

[theemperorsnewfanblog]

this is gonna sound weird to the 40 ppl that follow me but I have OCD and I went through this traumatic event a few yrs ago where my mind connected it to this cartoon show I was watching at the time, and so I've had this issue where I can't interpret cartoons like I used to because my mind associates enjoyment of cartoons with immense fear & danger.

I found the emperor's new school after this happened and it's frustrating bc this cartoon has everything I logically look for in a show and Kuzco x Malina have my fav ship dynamic. And I've been using exposure therapy this past year to break down that wall of anxiety & dread so I can literally just percieve and enjoy the dang show like normal cuz I know I would be obsessed with it under normal circumstances, but right now I just like it.

I keep breaking down that wall and am percieving the show clearer and enjoying it more every single day. I'm a perfectionist who used to get deeply attached to cartoons and overanalyze them and write fanfic n stuff, which I want to do when I can watch new school with the mindset of my sane self.

But for now if I mostly post pictures instead of text posts it's because I haven't been able to take in the full picture of the show and I want my thoughts to be accurate to that experience. But again I keep making progress undoing this weird ash trauma response so and I will be a full on fanblog of the emperor's new school soon enough. The show is criminally underrated from even just what I percieve it to be now. ❤️

[papermint-airplane]

I haven't had an intrusive thought that has caused actual panic in a long time. I've gotten really good at facing my intrusive thoughts and being like "you're an intrusive thought and I'd like you to go ahead and shut the fuck up". That sounds unhinged af but that's an actual legitimate strategy that therapists tell people with OCD and anxiety (like me) to use. And it works well after a certain point (getting to that point is its own battle though). Now I can shut them down fairly quickly so they don't cause as much distress as they used to.

Sometimes, though, some of them slip through my defenses and make me have A Very Bad Time™. This is one of those times.

Hit the cut if you're interested in how I combat these.

Last night, as I was laying in my bed trying to sleep, my OCDemon was like, "I'm going to ruin this bitch's whole life". I knew, I just knew that a car or low flying plane or something was going to crash through my bedroom window and game-end me right then and there. That is extremely unlikely to happen for multiple reasons I don't think I even need to enumerate to people whose brains don't hate them, but I was so sure it was going to happen and I was going to die.

I fought it the way I've been taught. Facts and logic, baby. "My bedroom does not face the road". Check. "In order for a plane to hit my house, they'd have to be flying so low that I would hear it coming and have time to respond in some way". Check. "I need to sleep. I have work tomorrow and there's nowhere else for me to sleep. I have to be here." Check.

It didn't work right away. It never does. I had to keep going over and over it in my head while forcing my body to lie still. At this point, the fight or flight mode had already kicked in. I was shaking, feeling irritable, feeling scared, heart beating super fast and skipping beats, sweating, all your classic physical symptoms. I wanted to get up and get as far away from that bed as I could, but I held myself down. I kept repeating the facts. "You're not in any danger. Nothing is coming through that window."

Eventually, I relaxed enough to sleep but it must have been fitful. I don't remember anything because I was zonked out but I woke up to my sheets and pillows halfway on the floor so I must have thrashed around like a dying fish all night.

I am exhausted and I'm still feeling a heightened sense of anxiety, but it's way more manageable right now. I just keep wanting to check the news which is unfortunately an OCD compulsion of mine whenever I'm feeling anxious because I guess my brain wants a reason to be anxious. Wouldn't ya know it, this shitty world loves to give it those reasons. Lucky me. I am fighting it as much as I can. My rule is no checking more than twice a day (I will literally do it hundreds of times during a bad flareup) and if it gets too bad, I have to text my therapist. I'd rather not bother him off-hours so this means I'm fighting my existential dread with my fear of being a nuisance lmao.

This is rough and anyone else going through this, I am right there with you. It sucks not being able to trust your own thoughts. It sucks having to fight your own body. If I had a cure, we'd all be fucking cured right now. But all I have is an arsenal of techniques that work just barely at best and not at all at worst. All you can do is keep fighting.

I need a nap.