#ocd mention

[six-of-cringe]

tumblr is to moral ocd what tiktok is to adhd and post

[number1greedlingfan]

saw a hc a while back and i spent ages looking for it (couldn't find it, not important) that was ling yao with ocd. all i have to say abt this is it adds another layer to his "eats anything" schtick—you mean to tell me he can overpower extremely heinous intrusive thoughts to clear his plate? multiple plates??

does "you're eating bugs you're eating bugs this is larva" or "you have an intestinal parasite it's IN YOU it's MOVING YOU CAN FEEL IT STOP EATING YOU'RE FEEDING IT" mean nothing to this guy???

[st7arlights-side]

Theorizing Pt 1: repression

UP AHEAD: so much rambling about Orange. written very late at night and not the most coherent, sorry. (also, all uses of Thomas are referring to c!Thomas)

okay everyone talks about the dark sides being their opposites, opposing colors, colors on opposite ends of the wheel, but wanna know another term for it? complementary colors. I think the idea of "totally opposing, entirely contrasting, nothing alike" is not really accurate to the lore that we have been given? It's clear that it's important that all sides are accepted, and that there is no "solely good" or "solely bad" trait. Everything has complexities and different aspects to it, and the sides are no different.

I've never been particularly fond of the idea of wrath/anger/cruelty being orange because it seems like a scapegoat? I am more in favor of it representing regret (as most appearances of it are present in scenes or conversations with regret present) [forgot where i saw the theory first :sob:] and passion (impulsive acts based in emotions, a contrast to Logan's character while simultaneously rounding him out and forcing him and thomas to accept the parts that aren't all logical) [theory from @/dillydallydove] as these have more dimension and seem to fill out the gaps in the sides a bit more, especially considering the general theme going with remus, janus, and virgil. These are aspects that Thomas represses, and he knows them by names that aren't really accurate to their full purposes. He knows Janus as deceit, while he is more accurately described as self-preservation. He knows Remus as intrusive thoughts, when he is more accurately described as his repressed creativity. He knows Virgil as Anxiety (which is fairly accurate, though it still minimizes his functions) though he might be more accurately described as caution? fear? an aspect of self preservation? Regardless, perhaps orange could be known as wrath or anger because that's what he manifests as, but that doesn't mean that this is accurate to who he is as an aspect of Thomas. Remus is intrusive thoughts because that is the only way he can get recognized, the only way he breaks through the suppression. Janus is known as deceit because he has to manipulate the other sides to get them to prioritize Thomas's self-interest (as well as his personal responsibility to protect Thomas from what he can't handle at the moment; deceiving himself, sure, but at it's core, preserving his presently fragile mental state).

What emotion, what passion, does thomas repress the most? he's clearly open to expressing love and joy and, more recently, stress and anxiety, even some hints of sadness showing. but what has he been repressing the most? his anger! his frustration! his (and his sides') sense of inadequacy!! Orange is being seen in these contexts because that is what he isn't allowing himself (and the sides) to express as themselves.

Sanders Sides' whole thing is accepting the different parts of yourself, with underlying themes of c!thomas's upbringing causing him to repress, deny, or otherwise have an unhealthy relationship with "bad" aspects of himself (which, boy do i have some ideas for possible explorations of OCD in this, especially with the prevalence of intrusive thoughts- and the ways Thomas and the other sides change their language around Remus to prevent him from "getting ideas"-). Orange could be treated as a character foil to Logan, or Orange could be like Janus, but instead of protecting c!T from things he can't handle, Orange is the result of that suppression. Like how remus formed from thomas (patton) forbidding Roman from having "bad" ideas, orange could be formed from thomas (logan) pushing down "bad" feelings, feelings of passion that don't directly help other people.

Of course, this brings me to how Janus (a "gatekeeper" of sorts for Thomas) would interact with orange. this is reaching more into prediction territory. I suspect that Janus wants orange to emerge, as prolonged repression is harming Thomas (which i'm pretty sure he alluded to at least once, though i'm blanking on when). (also, an aside, is it not concerning that during the christmas special, Janus, c!T's self-preservation, was increasingly inebriated?? ooh and the occasional gags about Logan drinking wine too-) Notice how Janus has been watching Logan? this plus the general willingness to exclude Logan (further pushing his frustration and feelings of inadequacy) makes me suspect that he (as per usual) knows more than the rest.

I... don't really have a conclusion. I think Orange isn't an embodiment of aggression, moreso a result of repression? I guess? And I'm concerned about... yeah everyone involved, but especially Logan and Janus.

[brandstifter-sys]

The Great Bitchin Bake-Off

Chapter 1: It's a Piece of Cake (Ao3)

Word Count: 3311

Rating: T

Characters: Roman, Remus

Warnings: Brotherly shenanigans, innuendo, blood, Remus has OCD

Roman and Remus have no internet, no cookbooks, and they have to make breakfast for everyone in the mindscape. Rather than work together, the creativitwins just have to make it a competition, if only so there's something edible in the end

---

This was the worst possible thing that could happen! Thomas was camping and away from the internet, and Roman and Remus were tasked with making cinnamon rolls for breakfast, as well as eggs and sausage, but those things were easy to prepare. 

“Where is it?!” Roman groaned as he scoured the cabinets. Patton had to have a cookbook somewhere around there! Remus was sitting on the stovetop, watching his brother tear the kitchen apart. 

“You know where it isn't!” he chirped, being as unhelpful as possible. 

Roman's shoulders tensed and he said, “Then go check his room, or Janus' room! We don't have all night!” 

“It's already 3 in the morning, we clearly did have all night!” Remus jeered and jumped off the stove. 

“Will you just—” 

“Check their rooms for a third time? Ask Harlot's Web if he has it again? Scour the entire Imagination?” Remus asked dramatically, gesticulating like the prince, before he smacked his hands on the stove and laughed, “Of course not!” 

“Then what do you propose we do?” Roman hissed and spun on his heels to face the grinning duke. He absolutely loathed that sharp, twisted smile and the chaos it invited. 

“Wing it! What good is being Creativity if we can't get creative!” 

Roman sputtered and gawked at him as he skipped to the cabinets. Remus was all too happy gathering an assortment of dry ingredients that would coat his arguably plain clothes in white. There was no way this walking disaster could simply “wing it” with anything food related—the man ate cockroaches! 

“Working with you with a recipe is already more struggle than it's worth—I refuse to let you poison the others because you just had to be Eris incarnate!” 

Remus pouted at him and let his head drop over his shoulder. The unamused glare would have been disorienting for anyone other than Roman, but he was used to it. 

“At least I would poison them on purpose,” he scoffed, “You would manage it whether you want to or not, if you manage to make something worth eating.” 

Those were fighting words. Roman could see the impish smile fighting to unfurl below that infuriating mustache. There was no way he could let Remus get away with affronting his pride in such a crude manner! 

“In that case, leave and I will prove that I am capable!” the prince huffed and crossed his arms. A mistake on his part. 

“Prove this!” 

Slap

Roman yelped as a small square packet hit him in the face. That bastard was trying his limited patience. And what was worse, he was all too familiar with the size and shape of the packet. Knowing Remus…

"Was that a condom!?" Roman shrieked and whacked the packet away from his face. Remus howled with laughter. Of course he would be so crass! 

"That's dry yeast!! Way to prove you can't get laid Mr. Romance!" Remus wheezed, and set his ingredients on the counter. 

Roman fumed and stole forward, forcefully usurping the dry ingredients. He brought them to a different counter, the one with the stand mixer and seethed. 

“H—Hey! Wait a sec! You really want to poison your friends?” Remus gasped. 

“If I did, I’d leave the baking to you. And that is what I refuse to do.” 

“Now, I can take a hit, but you can't bake for shit. So gimme that flour back—Thank you!” Remus jeered and snatched the bag of flour while Roman was distracted by the limerick. He was such a prissy poet, he would have to analyze every syllable before moving on. 

Remus set the flour on the counter and pulled a large bowl and a measuring cup from the cabinets. He was able to pour a different packet of yeast into the bowl before Roman finished analyzing the poem. 

It was only when he skipped to the sink and turned on the water that Roman snapped out of it. 

“How dare you distract me with poetry!” he snapped and balled his fists at his sides. 

“Easily!” the duke jeered and stuck his hand under the tap. It had to be warm if he wanted things to work. And he would wash his hands, mainly because it would show Roman he was serious and set on baking. He was not about to leave everyone without a decent breakfast! 

Roman was sputtering more nonsense. Remus knew he was not going to convince the prissy princey to let him handle this, and if Roman didn't want to work with him, there was another way. 

“If you're so desperate to prove me right, the oven is big enough for two batches,” Remus taunted and conjured a bar of soap—one he wasn't allergic to. 

Roman seethed. He would prove that pest wrong! He would create the most perfect cinnamon rolls ever! And he would have Remus' disgusting batch to amplify his greatness. 

By the time he snapped out of his personal moment, Roman realized that Remus was no longer paying him any mind. The microwave was running and the idiot was bent over at the waist, staring at his bowl that he covered with a towel. 

“Wakey wakey my little babies!” Remus cooed, “It's time for you to get bakey-ed!” 

“What on earth—?” 

“I have to activate my yeast—I threw the instant at you, so you don't have to worry your pissy little head off! You know getting anxious brings out the spider!” Remus jeered and wiggled his butt for emphasis. 

Roman could pretend he was not grateful. He knew the sheer horror of waking Virgil suddenly, and he was not about to be the cause of such a threat. 

“If that's how you feel, you won't mind ceding the stand mixer,” he said and picked up his yeast packet from the floor. 

“Yeah, you need a fighting chance!” Remus laughed as the microwave dinged. He bounced on his heels, dancing to a song in his head, set off by the beeping. Roman did not want to know what that song was. 

Roman willed his hands clean and emptied his yeast into the bowl on the stand mixer. Since he really had no idea what he was doing, he took the measuring cup by the sink and filled it partially with warm water. 

“It’s a piece of cake to bake a pretty cake,” Remus sang to himself, catching Roman off guard, “If the way is hazy!” 

Roman rolled his eyes and added the water to his bowl. Surely he could start adding his other wet ingredients while Remus reminisced over a children's show. Was there milk in cinnamon roll dough? There was about to be! And of course eggs. The last time he tried baking without them was a disaster! 

He rushed to the fridge and pulled out the milk and eggs, careful not to drop them. A prince was not born to clean. And he was such a fortunate prince, setting down both ingredients before anything could startle him. 

“Then you'll have a—Break it down bitch! Lemme see you back it up!” Remus switched from singing to quiet shouting. 

Roman watched, completely flabbergasted as his idiot brother twerked and lowered himself toward the floor, still shouting: 

“Drop that ass down low and pick that motherfucker up!” 

“What the hell are you doing?” Roman scoffed. 

“Obviously I'm waiting for my yeasty babies to wake up!” Remus laughed and straightened his legs, “And singing a classic song to time it!” 

“A classic?” 

“Don't tell me you never heard ‘Cooking by the Book (A Lil Bigger Mix)’ before!” Remus laughed, only to realize that Roman had certainly not. This uncultured swine! 

“I don’t need to be familiar with a meme like that,” Roman scoffed and stole the sugar from Remus' counter. 

“Boo you whore!” Remus jeered, “Or should I say ‘priss’ instead? A whore would know the difference between a yeast packet and a condom!” 

Roman’s face decided to match his sash as he set the sugar down and turned on the mixer. He kept grumbling to himself as he added two eggs, some milk, and some sugar, accidentally spilling some milk on the floor—a humble mistake that wouldn't ruin his creation. Remus decided not to comment on his lack of measurements. Roman wanted to do this without his help, so Remus wouldn’t offer. And he wouldn’t sabotage his brother either, not that he needed to. 

What Remus would do was make some tasty cinnamon rolls! He peeked under the towel and saw a lovely little foam on the top of the mixture, which meant he could get to work! 

Without much thought, he stole the sugar and pulled out a measuring cup. He was not about to let his OCD act up if he could help it. He always liked to bake when his thoughts were too loud, since it was soothing and ritualistic. Roman had no idea how much experience Remus had, but he was about to get a glimpse. 

Once he was satisfied with the amount of sugar in his cup, Remus pulled out a rubber spatula. He was careful, slowly pouring in the sweet crystals and mixing them in the yeast goo. Roman caught sight of him and a pang of dread filled him. 

Roman was supposed to be the good Creativity. Something as sweet and adored as cinnamon rolls should have fallen under his domain! How dare Remus look like he knew what he was doing! 

Sabotage was so petty and underhanded, something Janus would do, so naturally Roman was repulsed by the idea. And sorely tempted. But he was better than that! He would just move things around, where they belong. If Remus forgot about them with that scatterbrain of his, it was his own fault. 

The duke was busy getting his stuff from the microwave when Roman gathered the eggs and milk. He paused when he saw the contents of the Pyrex measuring cup in Remus' hand. 

“Is that milk?” 

“Yup!” Remus laughed as he began adding it to his bowl, stirring it in with grace. 

“Cow's milk?” Roman pressed suspiciously 

“Yeah.”

“Why is it yellow, and with that clearish layer on top?” 

“Butter,” Remus shrugged, too focused on his task. Roman’s face blanched. How could he forget about butter!? 

With the milk and eggs in hand he moved to get to the fridge to get butter. 

At least that was his plan. 

Eek!

His foot slipped out from under him, thanks to his spill, and he fell on his back. All of the eggs escaped the carton and splattered on and around him, coating him in goop and shells. The milk, fortunately, was closed and did not spill. 

Remus glanced over his shoulder and sighed, “Did you do that on purpose?” 

“What? Why would I fall and willingly ruin my jacket with raw eggs? I'm not some saboteur with a pain kink, like you!” Roman snapped and got up. He could at least put away the milk and get some butter with some dignity. 

“I haven't done anything to ruin your rolls, Pissbaby,” Remus scoffed, “You did it all yourself. And now I don't have chicken eggs! They're the most essential part of any baked good! And oviposition! And cockatrice eggs are terrible for baking!” 

“Figure your own shit out,” Roman huffed and put the milk away. He went to the sink and tried to wash off his face and as much of his hair as he could. 

Remus tapped his chin with his knuckle. He needed the binding power of eggs, but without eggs. He made dog biscuits for his puppies, Winnie, Sarah, and Mary, and all his other critters, without eggs. He always used blood for his babies, maybe he could get away with it this time. There was only one way to find out! 

Remus summoned an ornate glass jug filled with a deep red liquid. He held it up and swirled it, eyeing it closely. Yeah, he could work with this. 

Roman could not. He dried his face with a paper towel and gawked at the jug. There was no way he was seeing what he thought he saw. Remus was deranged and feral, but he wouldn't actually put something so vile in his cinnamon rolls when he was trying to prove he could make something edible, if not better than Roman’s. 

“What is that?” 

“Huh?” Remus paused and looked at Roman curiously, “This is pig blood—It’s already been boiled to hell and back, so it's safe to eat—I wouldn't feed my sweet little babies anything dangerous, so it won't be dangerous for anyone else!” 

“It's—It’s actually blood,” Roman gawked, only capable of focusing on that detail. 

“Yup!” Remus laughed as he measured out the amount he needed. He was not going to waste any of his preciously purified resource on cowards like his brother! 

Roman, for all of his disgust, suddenly felt much more confident about his own dough. He pulled his shoulders back with pride and pulled a stick of butter from the fridge. This was child’s play! 

Remus paid him no mind as he microwaved his butter. The duke was in the zone. With all of his wet ingredients mixed, he was ready to add a pinch of salt and a fuck ton of flour. So he set that bowl aside and pulled out another one, just to make his life a little easier. 

He busted out a dry measuring cup and carefully scooped out some flour. He made sure it was packed carefully and leveled before dumping it into the clean bowl. He repeated the process a couple times until he was satisfied. 

Roman pulled his melted butter from the microwave and tried not to laugh. Remus' dish was ruined already, yet he was still trying, foolishly whisking his flour. How admirable, yet so futile! 

Roman poured his butter into the mixing bowl and let it incorporate. While that happened, he stole the flour from Remus and tried to be a good sport. 

Remus knew Roman was fighting off laughter with his petty snickers. He could laugh all he wanted. Whisking his flour was less tedious than sifting it in some doohickey! And it was easier to mix sifted flour by hand! 

Not that Roman was going to sift his flour at all. Remus watched with bated breath as Roman poured it in, straight from the bag. Without turning off the mixer. The disaster looming over the prince was too good to miss!

The cloud of white particulates exploded in Roman’s face and flour spilled out around the bowl. Roman stumbled back and miraculously set the bag of flour on the counter without much more mess. 

Of course, while Roman had some restraint when it came to laughter, Remus did not. He keeled over, cackling at Roman as he tried to dust off his face. The poor prince still had some water on his skin from washing off the egg, and the flour soaked it up into a gummy mess. 

“If you want Elizabethan makeup, use lead like a good cosplayer!” Remus wheezed, “Or are you trying to be a clown? You don’t need makeup for that!”

“If I wanted to look like a clown I would grow a mustache!” Roman snapped and rubbed the flour off his eyes. 

“You’d look hot for once if you did!” Remus wheezed and dipped his finger in his wet ingredients. 

Roman was far too irate to notice that slight movement. And he only got more irate when Remus bopped him on the nose and beamed. 

“Now you really look like a clown!” 

Roman's eye twitched when he realized what Remus had done.

“You revolting cretin!” he snapped and shoved Remus away from him. Remus laughed and got back to work. He could have his fun later. He had a task to complete! 

“You're the one who got covered in salmonella!” he jeered and slowly added a third of his flour to his wet ingredients. 

“You put blood on my face!” 

“Purified blood, milk, butter, water, and yeast!” Remus corrected and mixed his dough, “Safer than anything in your bowl!” 

Roman grumbled under his breath and checked his dough. The flour was mixed in but he would need more. He poured more in, much more carefully, lest he waste more. 

By the time he was satisfied with his dough, Remus was done mixing his monstrosity and setting up the counter to knead it. Roman would probably have to knead his dough as well. 

But first he would have to come to terms with the fact that Remus' dough looked like someone's insides as he scooped it from the bowl. Roman watched in abject horror as Remus slapped his reddened dough on the floured counter. He began to knead it roughly, slapping it with glee. The worst part was his grunting. 

"You close? You close?" he gasped with a twisted grin, as if he would get a response. 

"Yeah, you're a bad bad boy," he said and slapped his dough a couple times, "You close?" 

Roman wished he could be anywhere else, doing anything else. He was really set on proving this perverted lunatic wrong, enough to endure this idiotic display. 

“You know you need to knead that, right?” Remus asked when he realized Roman was just gawking at him. 

“Are you finished practicing for your next pornographic film?” Roman huffed and crossed his arms. He hated how filthy his jacket was. 

Remus laughed and shook his head. It was better for his thoughts if he didn’t get suggestive with only Roman there. He got back to kneading his dough, digging the heel of his palms into it. 

“Where's the money, Lebowski?!” he shouted as he continued to work. Roman could live with that. 

There was plenty of flour left on the counter from his mistake, so he simply plopped his dough on the counter and got to work. He was not pleased with how sticky his dough was, clinging to his fingers. Remus' wasn't sticking to his! 

What was worse, Remus finished kneading his dough before Roman could get it into a single mass. Roman growled to himself and got to work, ignoring the world around him. That was the perfect chance for Remus to strike. 

The duke conjured a pair of rubber gloves that completely covered his arms, and he stole Roman's bowl and mixing paddle. Granted they joined the two bowls he used, and the measuring cups, and the tiny bowl Roman used for his butter, so it wasn't sabotage. He just needed to wash the dishes. 

Remus was either very quick or Roman was struggling a lot, because he got all of the dishes done and even got the two bowls he had used greased for the next step. 

“Well, Pissy,” Remus said and set one of the bowls by Roman, “It's time to cover these and let them rise for like an hour or so!” 

“Why are you helping me?” 

“Because I feel like it,” he shrugged, “And you really need any excuse to shower and change faster!” 

Roman really couldn't deny that. He was a hot mess, and princes were supposed to slay. So he chucked his dough into the bowl before sinking out without his usual flourish. 

Remus took pity on him and covered his bowl with a warm, damp towel. Roman would absolutely need help whether he wanted it or not. He was so fortunate that he had a brother who didn't want to win because of his own stubborn stupidity. 

Once he was done covering his own dough he pulled out three sticks of butter to soften for the filling. Then Remus left the kitchen to get his hand mixer, since he would need it if Roman refused to share the stand mixer. He knew his brother all too well. But he would show that prince what happens when pride clouds the mind.

--

(2)(3)

[fkitwebhaal]

As a person with OCD, it’s very nice to see all the companions respond to Durge’s concerns about their intrusive thoughts with empathy and kindness.

Also, as a person with OCD, I am playing the game going “NO, MY DUDES, THIS IS SOME SUPERNATURAL SHIT, I APPRECIATE THE INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS UNDERSTANDING BUT THIS IS SOME DEMON THING”

It’s an experience!

[dreamingthroughwords]

ocd is like a constant game of ping pong in my brain....bouncing back and fourth whacking the ball around between the normal and ruminations......would like it to land on normal and stay there <33

[knife-dad]

.

[ed-recovery-affirmations]

Tw just in case 🩷

I'm so scared of getting sick, particularly having high cholesterol and having a heart attack or heart disease. And I want to lose weight so fucking bad but every time I try I just fall back into my disorder. And I know that my fear of getting sick is part of my OCD which caused my ed to begin with. But I can't get out of the mentality that I WILL die if I don't lose weight. Even tho my doctor has told me that I'm currently fine and healthy and young. I'm just so scared but I'm gonna try to get help. Thank you for listening/reading 🩷

Anon, I'm so glad you're taking the steps of trying to get help! OCD is a bitch, and OCD around sickness is particularly terrifying I think because even though the fears take place to an irrational degree, certain illnesses can be terrifying and it's okay to acknowledge that. I hope you're able to find a way to live your life without being controlled by these fears, because as I'm sure you know, ruminating about possibly getting sick now does not eliminate all chances of getting sick in the future. It just ruins the now.

That's a scary thought, I know. I hope you're able to work on it with a professional. From what I've heard, OCD is rooted in trauma/anxiety around trauma, and an instinctive desire to enact total control over your situation because your mind feels so desperate to avoid scary things. So it can be hard and scary to acknowledge that sometimes you can do everything "right" and scary things still happen. But I think it can also set you free when you reach a place of being able to process it properly.

Because sometimes, scary things happen that are not your fault. While it's reasonable to live your life with a certain degree of good-judgment cautions - and a therapist may help you work out what these may be - it is not your responsibility to personally foresee and prevent all possible bad outcomes. You can't do that, no one can. And it's not your job.

Perhaps you could gently remind yourself, when times get tough, that OCD and eating disorders are illnesses too, illnesses that you do in fact have in the present. They're scary and debilitating, and you're not alone in feeling that. But there's help for them. And you deserve that help. I hope you're able to find healing.

[weirdo-from-bonesborough]

i also just grunt in response to things because sometimes you need to acknoledge a person has spoken but you have nothing to say. also i eat hamburgers with a fork and knife for ocd reasons so i don't think that's weird.

[beetlesayz]

Hello! You've probably noticed I haven't been on here a lot recently,,

I'm going through the worst OCD spikes of my life right now. I haven't been able to do much tbh besides go to work. I'm not really sleeping or eating and it's been hard to push myself to do anything. While I love this website a lot, it's really bad for my compulsions. Because of this, I'm going to log off all social medias for awhile. I might come back every now and then, but I really think the internet is not helping. I will come back eventually though! Maybe in a week or maybe in a few weeks. Please take care of yourselves! I'll see you later :'3

[six-of-cringe]

"If I just exact perfect and absolute vengeance against Pekka Rollins, then the voice of Jordie will be satisfied and disappear forever" WRONG. Obsessive compulsive disorder.

[oldastronomer]

it's so fucked up that for ocd treatment you genuinely have to win the idgaf war a hundred times a day

[oatmealaddiction]

In light of RQ drama, I'm seeing a lot of kids on tumblr out here wondering if they can listen to TMA or not, or if they should feel bad for supporting the kickstarter and asking things like "can I still like Rusty Quill?" and like as someone whose struggled with Obsessive Compulsion, that's honestly really sad to see and I need to make this clear. Nothing that Rusty Quill as a company does, reflects on you as a person. You are not enabling abuse of employees by liking Magnus Archives and being excited for the sequel. There are allegations out right now, and there still needs to be time to substantiate them and there is zero pressure on you as a fan to come to a conclusion right away. It's okay to be unsure and it's okay to shrug and say "well I don't know what the truth is and frankly I'm probably not going to be the one to untangle this" and continue to post your TMA fanart. If it turns out your kickstarter money did end up going to an unethical company, you do not need to feel guilty about that given the information that is available right now. You guys are all looking for a way to label yourselves good or bad, and too often that label comes from what we consume. If I buy this I'm bad, if I like this I'm bad, if I have a parasocial relationship with so-in-so I'm bad, and like, no. What you like or dislike is honestly pretty nebulous, and you are not responsible for other people's actions. It is not your job to keep corporations in check and if a spooky gay podcast gives you joy, I promise you it is okay to still find joy in it while also acknowledging that unfortunately the company that produced it may have treated its employees unethically. There is no media produced by perfect individuals and liking Magnus Archives and other RQ products does not mean you endorse employee abuse. And by all means, if the allegations make you uncomfortable and you want to support workers, go ahead and support indie podcasts and pull your money out of the kickstarter campaign. If the knowledge of possible employee abuse makes it difficult to engage with TMA, feel free to move on. But don't just do that because you're scared you're a bad person and you feel like you need to come to some conclusion right now about all of this. Anyone who needs that kind of response from you is being unreasonable.

And to the people out there telling other people the correct moral way to react to this news, seriously, it's fine if people need time to come to their own conclusions on this and there is no reason to accuse anyone of some kind of moral failing for not knowing how to react to this frankly confusing and opaque controversy. It's okay to just be uncomfortable and not know what to do. I think more of us should do that all the time, and be forgiving of others for trying to do their best with the information that they have. But in my opinion, Fifteen year old Magnus Archives fans do not need to be making abusive labor laws and bad company practice their responsibility. Literally no one besides the relevant parties involved should be feeling any kind of guilt or shame.

[brandstifter-sys]

The Great Bitchin Bake-Off

Chapter 2: You Close? (Ao3)

Word Count: 3215

Rating: T+

Characters: Roman, Remus

Warnings: Innuendo, blood, gore, food, intrusive thoughts, Remus has OCD

Roman and Remus have no internet, no cookbooks, and they have to make breakfast for everyone in the mindscape. Rather than work together, the creativitwins just have to make it a competition, if only so there's something edible in the end.

--

Roman returned to the kitchen before Remus, and checked his dough. There was still some time before it should have been ready. It had risen somewhat, even with that stupid towel covering it. He was not looking forward to making the filling or glaze for his cinnamon rolls now that he was clean and wearing his Mickey Mouse pajama pants and an old American Eagle t-shirt. His pajamas were not meant to get dirty, so he also borrowed one of Patton's aprons. 

At least he could get started on his filling in peace. He went to the fridge and grabbed a block of cream cheese, thinking that it would suit his needs. He placed it in the clean mixing bowl and turned the mixer on to the highest setting. Whipping the cream cheese seemed like the right thing to do. He also needed to add some cinnamon, so he went to the cabinet for the spice.

“Aw! You started before I got back!”

Roman glanced over his shoulder and pouted at Remus. The duke was pouting back at him, leaning against the oven he turned on, and holding an electric hand mixer. Good. Roman was not about to give up his edge. 

“Last I checked, it’s not a race,” Roman scoffed and casually dumped some cinnamon in his cream cheese. It was just enough to give it some color. That's what he told himself. 

“It’s not!” Remus laughed and bounced to the counter where his butter was waiting for him. He immediately grabbed a bowl and put the butter into it. 

“Then why are you complaining?” 

“Because I want to spend time bonding with my pissy little brother!” he laughed and grabbed his blood jug. He needed to add some more holding power to his filling. 

Roman scowled and turned to his mixer. Would he need to add anything more? He hoped so, if only so he could pretend that he couldn't hear Remus. Unfortunately he couldn't think of anything. 

“Of course I would rather not have to fight or compete every time we get to hang out! But you think I'm evil for some reason,” Remus continued and turned on his mixer. 

As soon as the beaters met his cursed concoction, a crazed laugh leapt from his throat. The rapid spinning was spraying the blood all over the bowl. Some of it even splashed onto the counter top. 

Roman turned off his mixer and guarded it from any potential splash damage. He was horrified by Remus' deranged, wicked cackling and his unnaturally wide eyes, locked onto his bowl. 

Did he really have to wonder why Roman was convinced he was evil? That laugh could freeze the fires of hell! 

And then he stopped. Remus turned off his mixer and grinned at Roman as if he hadn't unleashed an inner demon or two. 

“It matches your face!” Remus giggled and held up the beater. Roman would have been more offended if the whipped butter was a darker shade of red, but it was a rather light pink that matched his favorite blush. 

“You didn't add any cinnamon,” Roman commented dumbly. Granted, he still had the powdery spice next to him. 

“Of course not! That goes on separately! Don't tell me you didn't know!” Remus jeered and grabbed a rubber spatula to clean the beaters. 

Roman fumed and tried to ignore the smugness hidden in that chipper tone. The least Remus could do was acknowledge his budding ire! 

But nope! Remus was happily cleaning up his mixer and gathering yet another bowl and a measuring cup. He didn't even look Roman's way when he pushed his butter mixture aside and pulled out the sugar. 

“What are you doing?” Roman huffed.

“Making cinnamon sugar for the filling!” Remus responded and carefully measured out the sugar he would need. He had a feeling Roman would want to copy him somewhat. 

He was right! Roman snatched the bag of sugar from him like a greedy little goblin and grabbed a bowl. The rude little prince could keep it, as long as he shared the cinnamon. 

Remus knew better than to expect that much from Roman. He stole the cinnamon while Roman poured some indeterminate amount of sugar into his bowl. Hopefully it wouldn’t bite him in the ass later! 

Of course, being a nosy little bitch sure would! Roman just had to see what Remus was doing. He had to fight back the urge to laugh, Remus added so little cinnamon to his sugar, surely no one would be able to taste it! 

He swiped the bottle from Remus with a scoff and dumped half of it into his sugar. Remus mixed his sugar and bit his tongue. He wasn’t going to ruin Roman’s “perfect” cinnamon rolls with any decent advice! 

“And now to pull a Frankie!” Remus cheered and grabbed his resting dough. He tore the towel away with a flourish and grinned. It was so puffy and red, like his lips after using them on someone's—

He cleared the counter and pulled out two baking dishes, mainly so Roman wouldn’t get in his way later. This was the second most fun part, right after kneading the fresh dough. Then he sprayed both pans with cooking spray and broke out the flour again. 

Roman set his fillings aside and checked his dough. It rose somewhat, but it looked dense. Surely it would become fluffier after baking. He watched Remus coat the countertop with a dusting of flour and then let his dough slowly drop onto it from his bowl. It was disgusting. 

Remus laughed and set the bowl in the sink. He was far too pleased with his creation for Roman’s comfort. He was so pleased that he slapped the red mass with a giggle. 

“It’s even softer and jigglier than Virgil’s butt!” the duke cheered and grabbed a rolling pin.

“What?” Roman gasped, affronted that Remus would dare talk about his best friend in such a lewd manner.

“Yeah! He’s got a booty to die for! That’s the one spider trait he can’t hide!” Remus jeered and coated his rolling pin with flour, “Remember this, Ro hoe bro, spiders have the fattest asses in the animal kingdom!” 

Roman sputtered indignantly and stole the flour. He had to finish this task so he could get away from this twisted disaster! 

The so-called twisted disaster was absolutely killing it, rolling out his dough and humming to himself. Roman immediately floured his counter and grabbed a rolling pin, not one to be out done. But when he turned his dough out, it landed with a thud that caused flour to puff up in a cloud and cover his shirt and apron.

“I’m looking down the hole, you’re looking up at me,” Remus sang to his bloody mass of gluten, “You’re cold and tired, that is easy to see.” 

Roman forced himself to ignore that off-key screeching and focus on rolling out his thick dough.  

“Lower the rope to you, a bucket and a light,” Remus kept going, “Your membrane will be soft and smooth, and your heart will be mine! It rubs the lotion on its skin! Or else it gets the hose again!” 

Roman gripped his rolling pin tightly, enough that his knuckles turned white. He was not hearing this. He was not hearing this while this imbecile made the kitchen look like a murder scene.

“The look inside your eyes drives me from control,” Remus kept singing as he carefully flattened and spread his dough, “Evoking visions of my favorite casserole! And if I eat your heart—”

“Will you stop that?!” Roman snapped.

Remus stared at him with wide eyes and an unnerving grin. He cracked his neck and waited for Roman to continue. He didn’t. 

“I look like an organ harvester, the least I can do is have fun with it!” Remus said through his teeth. The horrible thoughts flooding his mind about harvesting actual organs were getting too loud. The singing was helping him. Not that Princey ever considered that. 

“And whose fault is that?”

“Yours.” 

Roman frowned. He hated that Remus was right. But he could not concentrate when Remus was singing about Hannibal Lecter! 

“Could you find a different song, one that isn’t laced with questionable queer representation,” Roman sighed. He would have to make some sacrifices if he wanted to get this over with. At least Remus seemed to relax at that request. 

He set his rolling pin aside and grabbed his butter and spatula, dancing to the beat in his head. 

“Just a steel town girl on a Saturday night, lookin' for the fight of her life. In the real-time world no one sees her at all. They all say she's crazy!” he sang as he spread the butter on the flat dough, making sure to leave a thick coat. He was jogging in place and having fun with his little baking mess. 

Roman was not having nearly as much fun. His dough kept tearing and he couldn’t get it flat enough for his liking. This was not a task meant for a prince, but he would do it, and he would surpass Remus. He was sure of it. 

By the time he was satisfied with his dough and spreading his cream cheese on top of it, Roman saw Remus was finished adding his cinnamon sugar mixture. Instead of continuing to the next step, he just had to have a little dance break. 

It was impressive, watching him run in place on the balls of his feet, switching into fast pirouettes and flailing with timed precision. Roman was half convinced he could hear “Maniac” playing as his boastful brother went full on Flashdance. 

“He's a maniac! He just moved in next door! He will kill your cat and nail it to your door!” Remus sang, surprisingly well for how much he was moving. 

That's when Roman noticed that Remus switched from his Dread Pirate get-up to a black, strapless leotard and dark red leg warmers. Dark. Red. 

“You thieving wretch!” Roman snarled and abandoned his baking to throttle Remus. That bastard had the gall to steal his—wait. 

Roman didn't own a pair of leg warmers. 

Remus was too lost in his performance to pay him any mind. There wasn't enough room for any cool flips or sudden dips, which put a damper on things, but he was Remus, he could make it work! 

It was only when the duke arched back, stretching his torso over the island counter by the stove, that Roman realized what absolute hell could break loose. 

Remus reached up and grabbed a pull chain out of thin air. Knowing him, the fluid that was supposed to crash over him would not be water, like the movie. It could be urine or diarrhea or something else from that area. Or it could be blood. That was the most likely considering the course of the evening. 

Roman immediately tried to will the coming cascade into water. Or juice. Or anything that wasn't a bodily fluid. Just not blood. Not blood. 

Not blood 

Remus pulled the chain and opened his mouth wide. He was thirsty and he was looking forward to a mouthful of Gatorade. 

Blood rained down all over him, coating the counter top and splattering all over the floor. Fortunately it didn't reach the cinnamon rolls. 

Remus jolted upright and raced to the sink. He spit out the offending fluid and coughed like he was dying. 

“What the fuck?! Why did you make it blood?!” Remus whined and washed his face. 

“What were you expecting?” 

“A tasty beverage! Why did you change it on me? It's my job to be gruesome!” 

“I was trying to change it to not blood!” Roman huffed. He would not be blamed for Remus' mess. 

“‘Not blood?’” Remus laughed and magically changed out of his dance get-up, “You know you can't conjure a ‘not’ anything!” 

Roman shrank back and tried not to pout like a kid.  

“At least it was human blood! Can you imagine how much thicker it would have been if it was dragon blood!” Remus giggled and skipped to the fridge. He was still thirsty and he knew Virgil had some pomegranate iced tea in there. And if he didn't want to share, well Remus was a glutton for punishment! 

Roman shook off any embarrassment and got back to his cinnamon rolls. He sprinkled the cinnamon sugar on top of the cream cheese and realized he didn't have enough. So he grabbed the cinnamon and coated the whole thing so he couldn't see any cream cheese. 

Remus watched him amusedly as he drank a glass of iced tea. Oh, he was excited to see the end results of that! 

He put the empty glass in the sink and washed his hands again. It was time to finish the beast! 

He carefully rolled up his dough, making sure it was just tight enough. Roman blatantly copied him, but that wasn't a problem for Remus. He was fine with giving Roman some help. 

Roman was quite pleased with how well he rolled his dough and pulled out a knife to slice it into perfect rolls. This was something he knew he could do! He was careful not to create any sort of tear with each slice. When he had ten rolls to bake, he was satisfied. 

And then the countertop shook violently. 

Roman glanced over at Remus and cringed. The duke was suspended in mid air, doing a split, with his hands around the handle of an oversized, double headed battle axe. The axe was jammed in the counter and covered in off-red gunk. 

“Are you trying to wake everyone?!” Roman snapped as Remus' feet met the floor. 

“Nope!” Remus laughed and swung his axe again, jumping up to deliver a comical amount of force. Roman had to wonder if his trembling on impact was just for show. Considering he repeated the process until he had twelve buns, and he was giggling, Roman assumed that it was an act. 

Remus banished his axe and dusted off his hands. And then the oven beeped, signaling that it was ready. Perfect! 

“Pick your pan, Princey!” Remus cooed and motioned to the baking dishes he prepared. Roman would suspect he sabotaged one, especially if he handed it over, so he had to give Roman the first pick. 

Roman swiped one with a pompous air and brought it to his rolls. He arranged them delicately as if he were arranging a bouquet and sighed once he was done. 

Remus was not so delicate, plopping them on his dish in three rows of four. He didn't take a deep breath to relax, but instead went for the cabinets again. 

“Can you put mine in?” Remus asked as he pulled a jar from the cabinets. Powdered sugar. 

“Why on earth would I help you?” Roman scoffed incredulously and brought his tray to the oven. 

“Why would you want to pass up the opportunity to ruin my dish?” Remus laughed and grabbed his mixer. He needed to clean those beaters for the final piece. He summoned his rubber gloves again and turned on the sink. 

“Am I nothing more than a scoundrel to you?!” 

“Nope! But don't heroic princes want to keep things fair? It's fair if they bake at the same time!” Remus countered and washed his beaters, “Plus my gloves would melt in the oven!” 

Roman relented and took both dishes to the oven. He set them inside on the same rack and closed the door before setting the timer. 

“Thanks Pissy!” Remus said and dried his beaters, “I'll get started on the rest of the dishes after I make my glaze.” 

Roman glanced at the stand mixer and pouted. He would have to wash the paddle and bowl before he could make his own glaze. He was not Cinder-Elias for Pete's sake! Baking was more than enough for him, cleaning was absolute agony! 

“Gimme your bowl and paddle while I still have my gloves,” Remus said, cutting into his spiraling, “I’ll make a double batch of glaze while you run to your side to get some eggs.” 

“Why didn't you ask me to do that before you used blood?” Roman gawked. 

“Because you told me to figure my own shit out before I could ask! And now I'm not asking because I need help, so you won't immediately say no!” 

“And why would you think that?” 

“Because you wouldn't be helping me! We still have to make eggs and sausage for everyone!” 

“‘We?’ You have already bastardized this breakfast enough!” the prince huffed and crossed his arms, “I shouldn't even let you make my glaze, seeing as how you'll ruin it with your demented ideas!” 

“Butter, powdered sugar, milk. That's all I'm putting in there. Nothing else. Even despite your cowardly sabotage, I haven't used anything you can't find in this kitchen,” Remus pouted. 

“The blood!” 

“It's still here, in the jug on the countertop, and then there's some on the floor and cabinets, and there's plenty rushing to your face, Pissy!” he jeered. 

Roman fumed as he gathered his bowl and paddle and put them in the sink for Remus. It should have been a red flag considering how the duke lived, but Roman couldn't be bothered. He was too frustrated with this menace. 

Remus shrugged and washed the dishes, perfectly content with the job as long as he didn't touch any dish soap. 

“Why are you so calm about cleaning?” Roman asked. He knew Remus was always raving about his filth and squalor.

“It calms me,” Remus shrugged and rinsed the paddle, “Don't tell me you haven't noticed!” 

“Why would I?” 

“Because you secretly care about your stinky big brother and his mental health. Or maybe you don't, but you need to know your enemy's weaknesses!” Remus teased. He had long come to terms with the fact that Roman didn't like him, possibly that he hated him. Remus didn't need Roman to like him, as long as he didn't live up to his namesake. 

“Do you honestly think you're worth my attention?” Roman scoffed. So what if he didn't pay attention to the duke? It's not like Remus was paying him any mind! 

“Yes, but I can be wrong,” Remus said as he set the paddle aside and washed the bowl. Roman was unnervingly silent. Remus decided that he struck a nerve. 

He most certainly did! Roman was a noble prince and he knew exactly where his attention was needed. Not some fiendish evil twin! Why would Remus even think he deserved Roman's attention? Because they were brothers? 

They were brothers. Maybe Remus was right, that he should care, or admit that he cared. 

“And now I'm ready to churn up some cinnamon roll cummies!” Remus chirped and set the clean dishes aside.

No, Roman did not have to give him any attention. 

He huffed and sank out to gather the ingredients for the rest of breakfast. If he were smart he would do all that cooking in his part of the Imagination. And he was feeling rather intelligent.

Remus mentally patted himself on the back. This was not the right time to get into deep stuff and get all emotional. He had work to do!

--

(1)(3)

[ghnosis]

Copia talking to you about your OCD

when you go to the mirror to pick your face bc you're stressed:

"Little bird, your unholy Father and your Papa think you are without flaw. Why do you search your face for imperfections that do not exist?"

[dreamingthroughwords]

hey i finally have a free evening wouldnt it be great for your best friend ocd to make its entrance