#or if im actually upset for a logical reason

[stressfulsloth]

Okay I think I am reaching the point with autistic burnout where I need to just. Go be in an isolation chamber for a while because I am SO Annoyed at the world and I really don't want to snip at people when it's not their fault.

[raeofgayshine]

*stares into void* How am I supposed to sleep knowing that doctors don’t take me seriously? That the pain I’m in, all over my body by the way, that was bad enough earlier I couldn’t turn my head very far because I was in pain and it felt stiff (and now I just have the pain left so I can at least turn it but will continue not to do so much). Pain that makes it hard for me to stand for very long because it kills my back and also my hip, who has a fuck ton of issues on my own, of course all the way to my feet, and there’s a reason I have frequent nightmares of my legs just giving out and no longer working, because the longer I stand the more that feels like it’ll be the case, and also that seems to be a lower bar lately which fucking great you know. The pain also, that goes from my neck like I said but into my shoulders and down my arms, sometimes. Sometimes also just my fucking wrists hurt, my hands will get so stiff I feel like I can’t do anything, can’t even close them around something to pick it up, and isn’t that my shittiest situation because I like to be doing stuff.

But instead of taking me seriously doctors have insisted it’s all my anxiety (except my wrists, which is clearly carpal tunnel despite multiple tests proving I have no fucking signs of that). Which is basically the modern day version of getting diagnosed with hysteria.

And so how can I sleep both knowing I will only continue to get worse and deal with more symptoms (pain and otherwise) until I reach a point I can’t actually fucking function anymore because no one will take me seriously, and also how can I sleep when I’m in fucking pain no matter how I lay and there is no medicine I have that will fucking help it?

[hella1975]

my mum will say the nastiest rottenest things to me and then she’ll calm down and be like ‘sorry 😝’ and ill move it on bc it’s not worth getting her angry again but inside im like babygirl maybe u have some anger issues maybe

[hotpinkshulker]

some atheists / anti-theists have never experienced even a hint of religious discrimination and it shows

[molluskzone-moving]

its an unrealistic fantasy but i really just want someone to be a LITTLE pushy with me because im way too timid to actually go for what i want (i will IMMEDIATELY fawn or freeze up the second anyone talks to me) like why cant someone just read my mind... unfair...

[drchucktingle]

my masks

hey there buckaroos. due to all of the attention the TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION situation has gotten i am going to take a minute to talk about my personal way as an autistic buckaroo. im going to tell you about my masks.

im doing this for a few reasons, some are good FUN reasons full of love and some are not so great. 

lets start with the GOOD STUFF. first of all, i am talking about this because speaking on my way can help other buckaroo feel more comfortable speaking on there own way, ESPECIALLY if they are good at ‘passing’ for neurotypical like chuck is. 

unfortunately the NOT SO GREAT reasons im talking about all this dang stuff are two fold. reason one: i have been put into a position of having to explain and justify my needs and boundaries by the TXLA. this is not something that i WANT to be taking up all of my time, but when large organizations do not make space for those who they have pledged to support, it puts us smaller buckaroos into position where were have to defend our existence. it is not plesent but it is necessary.

the second NOT SO GREAT reason is that ‘passing’ bisexual and autistic people like myself are ALWAYS just seconds from being gatekept from folks both outside and inside these communities. there will probably be a day on chucks deathbed where i take off my mask and say hello to this timeline (mostly so you can all see how handsome i am under here but I DIGRESS). i KNOW with absolute certainty (the same way other bi and autistic buckaroos are probably nodding along right now) that when that day comes i will STILL be accused of ‘not being real’ and ‘faking’ because i ‘dont look autistic’ and i have a beautiful ladybuck partner in sweet barbara.

ALL THAT IS TO SAY, i am taking a moment today to talk FOR THE RECORD about my neurodigence and my particular needs. hopefully i will not have to keep diving this deep every time an organization takes a discrimantory action against me, but i will also say this: at least it is a good fight on an important battlefield

anyway buds, here is the story of my way on the spectrum

when i was a young buckaroo i knew that my thought process was different. i could socialize easily, which is unique in contrast to many autistic buds (it is a spectrum after all), but my social ease was for an interesting reason. I ALWAYS KNEW WHAT OTHERS WERE ABOUT TO SAY. it was like a strange ‘human game’ where someone would say one thing and i would think ‘well you actually mean something else’ in a sort of logical way (this is why i later related to DATA from star trek so dang much). at first i remember thinking ‘well i am just NOT going to play along with this human game’. i quickly learned neurotypical buckaroos do not like this, that there is a BOB AND WEAVE to social interactions that must be learned. 

later i realized ‘actually if i WANT to make friends and prove love is real then i can do this like an expert because i can SEE the game where most cant’. this got chuck many buds and took me on many adventures. please understand, i am not saying these connections are not important to me, they are just different. they are full of love, but i express this in my own unique way.

HOWEVER, while growing up i felt disconnected from this timeline in other ways, like an alien or a reverse twin trotting along in a world that is not quite my own. i did not feel emotions the same way my buds did. they would get upset over the ‘human game’ interactions and i would not be moved at all, HOWEVER i could see the way sunlight hit a window and start crying my dang eyes out over the beauty. so my emotion was still there and VERY STRONG, i just felt it in more existential ways (like hearing the call of the lonesome train). these days that feeling has progressed to where i am pretty much in a constant blissed out state of cosmic emotional connection (make of that last sentence what you will, but it is the truth). when i make existential posts online i am not just FIRING OFF SOME CONTENT, i really mean every word. this is really my trot.

anyway as a young buckaroo these feelings made me worry sometimes. i thought about various mental health dianosises and marked the parts and pieces that matched with myself. am i this? am i that? sometimes, instead of just being’ different’ i worried i might actually be ‘wrong’. 

when i saw david byrne on letterman in my younger days i immediately recognized something connected to myself. i thought ‘wow this is the mystery being solved before my very eyes.’ i could hear it in the music of talking heads too. i started doing research and realized that i might be on autism spectrum, something that was later confirmed by a therapist (back then the diagnosis was called asperger's). it was a glorious and fulfilling moment. i was SO EXCITED TO BE AUTISTIC LIKE MY HERO. i felt very cool because of it, and i still feel very cool because of it.

one of the big reasons i talk so much about being autistic these days is because i want to make sure OTHER buckaroos can have that same moment that i did. they can see chuck and think ‘wow i really like this autistic artist, maybe being autistic is cool’

so what does an average day WITHOUT wearing the pink bag look like for me?

my thought process is exactly like ROSE from CAMP DAMASCUS, which is part of why i wrote the book. we have the same stim (complex order of finger taps), we prepare for social interactions the same way, we analyze things in the same logical trot that neurotypical people might think feels ‘detached’ but for me feels natural (certain reviews of camp damascus are very funny to me in this way. you can tell when a reader is just very confused by existing in an autistic brain for 250 pages.)

from the outside you would not be able to tell that i am on the spectrum. in fact you would probably find me very socially adept. 

the problem is, all of that masking can take its toll. i spent years trotting in and out the emergency room, talking to confused doctors who could not figure out the chronic phantom tension and pain that radiated through my body. i eventually accepted the fact that i would either live a life constantly on heavy painkillers or just stop living altogether.

eventually, however, i started noticing a correlation between the way that i felt, and the space that i allowed for chuck and the pink mask. i was exercising that tension, allowing my mental mask of neurotypical existence to take a rest. i started practicing physical therapy and this time THE RESULTS STUCK because i was approaching from two sides, MIND AND BODY. after a while, i got my pain down to about 5 percent of what it once was. i still have flare ups in times of stress, but the healing has been very real and life changing.

lets get VERY specific now. if i attended the TXLA confrence without a mask and gave my talk i can tell you this: i would do a dang good job. i can work the heck out of a crowd and (not to reveal too much about my secret way) I HAVE BEEN KNOWN TO DO THIS ON OCCASION VERY WELL. however, going home from this event i would very likely be in pain. i would likely need to do physical therapy. i would likely need to stim for a while. i would NOT be emotionally fullfilled in the same way. in other words, without my pink mask i can charm the heck out of buckaroos, but THE SPACE OF CHUCK TINGLE IS NOT THE SPACE FOR THAT. the pink bag is a place for me to not have to put up with that tension. it is a place for me to unmask mentally by masking physically.

this pink bag space SAVED MY LIFE and i am not going to risk blurring these lines. if and when that ever happens it will be MY decision, not someone elses. that is my boundary. the part of me that neurotypically masks could handle a library conference in a purely technical sense, but the part of me that chuck represents absolutely cannot and should not be asked to do that without the pink bag. unfortunately, the complexity of this point makes it even MORE difficult for me to think about and takes up even more of my time, because it forces me to START QUESTIONING MYSELF and my own needs. to be honest, that is the most insidious part of other people questioning your identify and refusing to accept your accommodation needs without ‘proof’.

the thing is, while all of this discussion of disability and accessibility is important, i have a much larger point to make by writing these words.

a conference should not uninvite someone with an unusual physical presentation or a strange way of speaking REGARDLESS of it being classified as a disability. it does not matter WHY i look the way that i look and wear what i wear. i should not have to spend all day writing this post instead of writing my next book, just because my sensibilities are unique and my presentation is unusual. 

fortunately the solution is very simple: let other people be themselves. its not hurting you to simply accept and nod at the buckaroos you think look strange. let us exist

[s0urte3th]

i wish it were that easy, or a situation like that, but its not

[seilon]

hhdgsgddhh

[ozzgin]

Its been 6 months😭😭 pleaasseeee make a part 2 of the android x human story im beggingggg😭

-H❤️

Yandere! Android x Reader (II)

Featuring your assigned android partner who is not as devoid of humanity as you originally thought.

Content: female reader, AI yandere, mildly NSFW, based on Caves of Steel

[Part 1] | [More original works]

The case had been solved.

Not only that, but you'd managed to prove that human officers were just as efficient as their robot counterparts. The Commissioner was beyond ecstatic, pacing back and forth in his office and finding new ways to praise your detective skills.

"That'll show those Spacers. They think some glorified tin box can match our skill?"

You frowned at his words and glanced to your side, where the android was sitting. He observed the Commissioner with the same polite smile, no hint of disagreement on his features. Was he not insulted? You questioned him once the formal meeting had finished.

"I have no reason to be offended, (Y/N). It is a personal opinion, and thus I have no control over it."

"So you don't mind people disliking robots to such an extent?"

He pondered your statement.

"I would certainly be upset if it was you who harbored the disdain. The beliefs of other humans hold no meaning to me otherwise."

You couldn't tell if he said it out of politeness, or if he actually meant it. Most likely the former, in order to part on good terms. After all, your partnership has reached its completion. He'd return to the Spacer Colony with his report on human customs, and you'd go back to your regular job.

Except he never left. Days later, he was still sipping on his morning coffee, lounging at your table. You fiddled with your cup in contemplation. Was there anything else left to do?

"When are you leaving, actually?"

The pale man raised his eyebrows in mild surprise.

"Is my presence here of such significant disturbance?"

"What? No!" you swiftly exclaimed, stumbling on your words. His lips widened in yet another cheeky grin. He was teasing you again.

"My assignment on Earth is done, thus I should have returned to the Colony already. That's what you're wondering about, yes? I am awaiting a response from my superiors."

"Whether you can go back?"

"No, whether my transfer has been accepted. I have applied to be your permanent partner."

You could feel your cheeks burning with heat. Was it that obvious to the synthetic that you enjoyed his company? Then again, he wouldn't have gone through such motions just for your sake.

"Why did you..." you probed sheepishly. There was no logical reason for him to keep working in a poorer, less advanced environment.

"Because I want to continue spending time with you."

Nonsense. An artificial being wouldn't make its decision based on such mundane, emotional reasons.

"I don't believe you."

"I understand. It is a faulty answer to come out of a machine. Though unlike common AI assistants, we have been invested with the capacity to develop likes and dislikes. Interests. Wants. It helps with variety and individualization."

"And you want to stay here? If I didn't know you any better, I'd say you have a crush on me or something", you attempted to joke.

A few moments of uncomfortable silence. Had you gone too far with your humor? Was it too cliché of a sentence? You turned away, tucking some strands of hair behind your ear. You just had to be witty, huh?

"I'm afraid I do not know what to tell you, (Y/N)."

"You don't need to say anything, it was a poor choice of-"

"Many social aspects have been implemented into my behavioral network. Workplace rapport, friendships, intimate relationships. What seems to be lacking is the transition from one to another. I know how to act as a romantic partner, but how does one achieve such a title in the first place?"

You gazed at him, incredulous. What was he trying to say?

"I am trying to convey that I am indeed infatuated with you. Which, then, makes my initial explanation dishonest: while I do appreciate our fruitful work cooperation, it is not a main reason for my decision. I hope this clears up any misunderstandings."

You'd never been a romantic. You sometimes flipped through sample pages of contemporary romance books at stores and community centers, but they always felt forcefully cheesy. Predictable. Consequently, you never had any grand dreams of passionate confessions under the rain.

On the other hand, you also didn't expect to be asked out in such a mechanical, calculated manner. Or that a machine would be the suitor. Yet there was something charming about his approach. For the first time since meeting him at the border, you saw him struggle. There was something human-like in his uncertainty.

You stood up from the table, and walked towards the android. Then, you placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, expressing the mutual feeling and understanding.

His eyes bore an eerie glint to them. It was most kind of you to offer a common ground, but he knew better. The affections you held for him were, with utmost certainty, a mere fraction of whatever overwhelmed him from the moment he encountered you. Limerence, obsession, compulsion, there were many definitions that aptly described his otherwise unexplainable desires towards you. Even more unexplainable was the fact they'd evolved from a blank slate, a programmed agent with no previous knowledge on feelings or humans.

You noticed his hesitation.

"Is there anything else troubling you presently?" you nudged.

Nothing of immediate urgency. Well, not for you, at least. The android remained thoughtful. What were the variables which needed to be met in order to initiate a sexual encounter? Would it have been inappropriate for him to suggest intercourse straight after this conversation? To him, it was a natural escalation he'd considered many times in the past. To you, it could've come as a sudden, crass, and hurried proposal.

He reached for your wrist and discreetly pressed a thumb against your skin. Judging from your resting heart rate, facial expression, and localized temperature, there was a fair chance you wouldn't reject his advances. Once the statistical risk had been assessed, he pulled you in for a kiss.

"Would it be possible to continue this in your bedroom?" he inquired, standing up.

"Alright, just don't...ask for approval for every single step" you retorted. You'd rather not become a narrator of your own pounding.

You open your eyes with a squint, greeted by unexpected natural light flooding your bedroom. Someone must’ve lifted the hologram blinds.

“My apologies, I hadn’t considered the discomfort it would cause you. My Spacer colony uses artificial lightning, though I am becoming rather fond of the natural sun rays here.”

Your android partner is meticulously preparing his outfit for the day. Judging by the stark nakedness and the glistening skin, you suppose he’s had a shower while you were still sleeping. You involuntarily furrow your brows and blush at the sight. He notices your embarrassment. 

“A most surprising reaction. You have seen the very same genital organ…”, he says as he quickly checks his wristwatch, “...precisely eight hours and forty-five minutes ago.”

“It’s just…most people get dressed once they start doing other things. I also wear a towel for coverage when I come out of the shower.”

He processes your words.

“Hmmm. Illogical, but it explains your reaction.”

You stand up and stretch with a prolonged yawn. Suddenly, a revelation hits you: your mind flashes with images of the android fondling your body, your ears ring with the shameless moans you’ve let out throughout the night. Your face turns pale.

“Listen, when is your next functional inspection?” you ask, without waiting for the synthetic to answer. “Will they, uh…will they have access to all of your memories?”

You know that the android permanently records all data and saves it into a memory unit. It’s a pointless fear, of course. The Spacers couldn’t care less about irrelevant details. If the intended tasks are fulfilled, what happens on the side is out of their concern. Yet you don’t exactly appreciate the possibility of your personal deeds airing like this, before the eyes of multiple engineers. 

“You may rest assured, whatever involves your privacy will not be included in the examination.”

“Do you get to decide what is checked and what isn’t?”

“No, most data is sampled randomly.”

You stare at him, confused.

“Then how-”

“It is not common practice, nor encouraged by our code of ethics. I can, however, choose which information is available to begin with.”

“What? I thought you’re fully controlled by whoever created you. If they so desired, couldn’t they open you up and take whatever they require?”

The robot smiles at your assumption and takes a few steps towards you.

“Once an android model is finished, one can no longer modify the processor. Not without compromising everything else with it. It is not a device to be deconstructed, (Y/N).” He taps his temple, then continues: “I am a biocomputer. While most of my parts are mechanical, my processor is a cortical organoid developed in a laboratory. A human brain, if you will.”

Somehow, the discovery fills you with dread. A living organ, encapsulated within a machine. What does that say about consciousness? About self-awareness? The Spacers didn't just tinker with metal scraps and smart computers. They artificially birthed life.

You were always under the impression that your robot companion is closer to the computer you have on your desk. Billions of lines of code within a black box, which then lead to spontaneous, novel interactions with the outside world. To think that at the very core of his functions lies a clump of living cells...

Perhaps you weren't so different, after all. The line between machines and humans is suddenly blurred.

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

more cbf!soap thoughts, bc im totally normal about the whole thing! Imagine johnny and reader are around the age where those cute crushes kids sometimes get start to turn more serious, and people start going on actual dates. reader confides in john one weekend afternoon that the usual group of girls are bothering them again - they've learned to ignore it over the years, but for some reason, something one of the girls said is really bothering them. (1/3) (Shy Anon)

Anon you don’t understand how much I’ve thought about their first kiss

You and Johnny were both at a party, one that the two of you knew you weren’t actually invited to but rather was “included” to make sure neither of you would feel left out. Both of you would much rather be at one of the other’s house playing video games or doing something more fun than awkward conversations and being side eyed at.

It was also the start of sophomore year in high school, when everyone was getting with someone. When it mattered who you were with and if you had kissed someone yet.

The latter seemed to be all the talk and you were desperately trying to avoid it, but in the end you were cornered.

The Mean Girls, that’s who you called them. Ever since kindergarten when they stole your bunny they seemed to have it out for you and usually you were able to ignore them, but they didn’t want to be ignored.

They practically forced it out of you and now you were incredibly embarrassed as they mocked you.

“Aw, it’s okay! Someone will eventually like you.”

You’d punch her if you weren’t so upset.

You didn’t talk much after that and you were quiet on the walk back to Johnny’s house, the sunsetting and the crickets chirping.

He noticed immediately, before the two of you even left the party. He was always looking out for you.

“What’s wrong?” Johnny tugs on your sleeve to get your attention.

“Nothing-“

“Ah, no you cannae lie to me about that.”

You huffed and looked away from him, still mortified. Why were you embarrassed telling him you’ve never kissed someone? You told him everything and if you were being honest he already knew you never had.

He nudged you and you gave him a nervous look.

“The Mean Girls were talking about their first kisses,” you began and he stared at you obliviously.

“Okay…” he shrugged and you groaned. “What? What’s the issue?”

“They were talking about it and I had to tell them I never kissed anyone before! So now they know and I still…haven’t kissed anyone.”

Johnny’s eyebrows knitted together and he frowned.

“Well yeah, we hang out all the time I would know if you had,” he pointed out and you huffed.

“That’s not the point! Everyone’s already had their kiss and I haven’t.”

“Me either.”

You gave him a look and he gave you one back.

“Martha kissed you.”

“On ma cheek! I didn’t want her to kiss me.” Johnny cringed and shivered at the memory. “Why does it matter if you’ve never kissed someone anyway?”

You shrugged. It really shouldn’t matter, but maybe it was because you just wanted to fit in after having moved to the neighborhood, even if it was years ago now. Maybe it was because you just wanted to know if someone actually wanted to kiss you or not.

If someone liked you enough to do it.

“I don’t know…I want to get it over with but I don’t want to kiss someone I don’t trust.”

The two of you went silent for a moment, your footsteps getting slower until Johnny stopped. You looked at him with a raise eyebrow when you noticed a faint blush on his cheeks.

“You trust me…what if we kissed?”

You stared at him, your mouth agape and your eyes wide. You kiss Johnny? Your best friend? The thought had never crossed your mind because of how absurd it was.

“Johnny, what-“

“It’s better than asking someone random, you said it yourself!” He said and you closed your mouth. “Kills two birds with one stone since I’d be having my first kiss too.”

Logically you couldn’t argue with that. You didn’t just say you wouldn’t kiss someone you didn’t trust and you did trust Johnny. And it would get it over with so you wouldn’t have to worry about it.

But could you really kiss him? He was your best friend, wouldn’t that make things different?

You thought about it for a while.

“Okay.” You hesitantly nodded. “Let’s kiss.”

Johnny came up into your space. The two of you stood in front of each other for a long time, just starting awkwardly as you waited for the other to make a move first.

“Quit making this weird.” You held your arms close to your body, feeling incredibly nervous now.

Why? It was just Johnny.

“I’m building up to it.” He snapped at you, his cheeks going by darker.

“Just kiss me, Johnny.” You practically begged and he placed his hands over his face that continued to grow into darker shades of red.

“Cannae when you’re looking at me! Close your eyes, ya bampot.”

You huffed and shut your eyes, waiting for him to make the first move. For a split second you thought he wasn’t going to and you were about to ask him to kiss you again when you felt his lips press against yours.

His lips were surprisingly soft and for a moment neither of you knew what you were doing until he placed his hands on your face.

Something sparked inside of you and suddenly you were overwhelmed with feelings.

Before you could really register them, Johnny pulled away and your eyes shot open. His face was red and he averted his eyes from you, slightly out of breath, just like you, and scratched his neck.

“Well…it’s over now.”

“…yeah.”

Silence. The two do you were at a loss, especially Johnny who had just come to the horrifying realization that he actually loved kissing you and that he might have feelings for his best friend, which sent him into a silent panic.

“Do you wanna play Mario Kart?” You asked, trying to change the subject.

“Yes!” He replied a little too quick but you didn’t seem to care.

Neither of you regretted that you had your first kiss with each other.

[daosies]

and in the end, it's you

cyno swears he hates you.

(but the race of his heart says otherwise.)

cyno ♡ gn!reader

warnings: cyno is in denial, smitten cyno muehehe, scholar cyno

note: happy holidays to those who celebrate!!! also this is my first time writing enemies to lovers so im sorry if it isn't actually enemies to lovers 😭😢

gift for @1eaf-me-alone !! i hope you enjoy <3

Cyno hates the way you act like you know everything. 

He hates the way you talk, the way you laugh. He hates the way you do the bare minimum, the way you excel even if you don’t mean to. He hates the way stars glimmer in your eyes whenever you talk about mindless, unimportant things that mean so much (to you) in the moment, yet nothing at all in reality.

Cyno hates you. Nothing more, nothing less.

“But why?” one of his classmates asks with an incredulous look. “I think they’re pretty funny.”

Instinctively, Cyno’s expression sours, his lips forming a prominent frown. “Yeah, right. You just don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

“Them,”—Cyno doesn’t even want to say your name—“they’re just, just insufferable!” 

It’s not like him to get so emotional over trivial matters, but Cyno can’t help it. When it comes to you, he always gets upset, always acts unlike himself. He supposes that’s another reason why he doesn’t like you; you have a way of pissing him off, even if you don’t realize it. 

“‘Cause they don’t care about school?” his classmate asks, struggling to understand Cyno’s frustration. “It’s not really our business, though…” Cyno rolls his eyes, his hands slamming on the desk before standing up. “I’m going to the library.”

“Alright…?”

As a scholar, Cyno believes that everything in the world has an explanation. He believes that knowledge must be sought, that reason will always triumph over fantasy. He also believes that, in order to succeed in life, one must work hard, that they should cultivate their talents in order to use them.

You defy all known standards of Cyno’s life. Your talent overpowers everything, leaving people like him in the dust. Even if you hardly try, you always succeed—and that makes him the most upset. Why them, of all people? Cyno wonders, his eyebrows furrowing as he walks towards the library. What did they ever do to deserve such talent? 

Cyno hates the way you treat the Akademiya as a game. He hates the way you break records, the way you make revelations with the mere flick of your finger. He hates the way the world changes at your will, the way you bring even him—a man with strong resolve—to his knees, questioning everything he’s ever known.

What is he, if not for logic? What is he, if not for the very standards he bases his life upon? You defy all known rules of Cyno’s life, and in doing so, you destroy his very being, his very essence. What is he now? What is he in your existence?

With a heavy heart, Cyno pushes the doors to the library open, wincing at the bright light that engulfs his world. The windows are blinding, his hand coming up to block his eyes as he observes the seemingly empty room, shocked at how few people there are.

He finds you in the center of it all. In the spotlight of the world, you sit with your figure slumped into a chair, your head buried in your arms as a few picture books are propped up around you. Cyno doesn’t know how to feel when he sees your sleeping face, your fluttering lashes and your content countenance. He doesn’t know how to feel in the silence, in the absence of everything that makes you annoying (at least, to him).

Oh, is all he thinks. Oh. 

For a brief moment, the furrow of his brows ease, the frown tugging at his lips loosening. For a brief moment, Cyno’s shoulders relax, his expression becoming blank as he stares at you for a few seconds longer than he should. Cyno stares at you, unsure of what to make of himself, unsure of what to do with himself.

So he ignores you, placing the image of you sleeping soundly into the depths of his mind, never to be touched on again. Cyno walks past your form, swallowing the lump in his throat as he runs a hand through his hair. His hand comes up to the collar of his cloak, tugging at it awkwardly in an attempt to quell his thoughts. He feels something stutter in his chest. He wonders if it’s from stress.

It’s not stress, a part of him says, it’s because of… Cyno suppresses these thoughts with a quick swipe against his chest, his thumb pressing against the left side of his torso as he feigns ignorance to the quickening thump-thump, thump-thump that reverberates throughout his being.

Cyno refuses to accept whatever his subconscious tells him. Because reason triumphs over fantasy, because logic is the foundation of this world. 

It’s not because of them, Cyno tells himself. Never. 

Cyno hates you. Nothing more, nothing less.

(But it’s tough to hate you when you look so serene, so peaceful. It’s tough to hate you when, even in your sleep, that smile takes over your lips, leaving him wondering what you’re dreaming of. It’s tough to hate you when his heart stutters, hurts at the mere sight of you.)

Subconsciously, Cyno’s gaze drifts from the various titles lining the shelves. His hands fall limp as he stares through the crevices of the books, his eyes finding you—again—as you bask under the lamplight. He observes you, noticing how your brows furrow ever-so slightly, noticing how you hum something akin to the tune of your favorite song.

(How does Cyno know what your favorite song is? How does he know its tune?)

Tearing his gaze away, Cyno takes a random book from the shelves, not bothering to look at its title. He forces his way through his instincts, refusing to spare you another glance.

“What a good pick,” the librarian muses, checking out the scholar’s book. “I didn’t know you read things like this, Cyno.”

Only then does he read the novel’s title: I got reincarnated as the villainess in a novel I hate?! His eyes widen, embarrassment overwhelming his features as he averts his gaze from the amused librarian.

“I… I don’t,” he replies. But they do. Again, his heart stutters at the thought. And again, Cyno ignores it.

(Why does he know what type of novels you read?)

With a regretful expression, the scholar begrudgingly takes the book. He hides it in his cloak, rushing past your still-sleeping figure as he swears, swears he won’t look at you again.

He breaks his short-lived promise the moment his eyes find your face, tracing over the curl of your lips and the bridge of your nose. Cyno berates himself, shrinking into his hood as he questions why he keeps doing this: breaking his promises, staring at you, perceiving you. 

A part of him knows the reason why. But Cyno ignores the race of his heart and the flutters in his stomach. He ignores everything and anything when it comes to you, the bane of his existence. 

He ignores it until he can’t. Until he’s face-to-face with you, trying his best to tear his gaze away. 

“So here’s how it’s gonna go,” you say, pointing at the paper assignment. “You do the researching, I do the presenting.”

Cyno wrinkles his nose. “Who are you to tell me what to do?”

“A genius,” you reply. “Duh.”

Ugh, Cyno thinks, rolling his eyes. Your arrogance makes him upset. Cyno hates the way you act, the way your pride is insufferable and the way you think you own the world.

(You do. You do own the world. His world.)

Working with you in a group project may be the worst punishment of them all. But, even as you command him (like the tyrant you are) he can’t bring himself to look away, to let his gaze stray from the glimmer in your eyes and the movement of your lips. Cyno can’t help but observe you, analyze you, scrutinize you for the tiniest traits, picking you apart while swearing he hates you.

He ignores the way you flip haphazardly through picture books, paying no mind to his deathly glare. You have a knack for pissing Cyno off; not only do you order him around, you also linger around him like some sort of fly. 

“Can you go away?” he asks, but it comes off more like a statement. Cyno’s words are clipped and to the point, his eyes narrowing as he stares at you with a deadpan expression. “You’re bothering me.”

You smile innocently. “I’m just reading, though?” 

“Go read somewhere else,” he retorts. “I can’t study when you’re around.”

“I have to supervise you, though,” you say with a shrug. “What if you doze off?”

That’s what you do, though, Cyno thinks with a frown. When you’re around, his hands become clammy and his thoughts become blurred. When you’re around, Cyno can’t think straight, he can’t do things that are so normal, so mundane. When you’re around, you mess up the continuous, familiar process of his life, the parts of him that he cherishes most.

“I won’t,” he quips. “Now go away.”

A teasing grin replaces your carefree smile, your gaze focusing on his as Cyno feels his voice die in his throat. His breath hitches, falling slack as he becomes the center of your gaze, the subject of your attention. 

(He’s yours. All yours.)

“Right,” you respond sarcastically, not taking his words to heart. Your eyes linger on him for a second more before returning to your picture book, not paying any mind to Cyno’s mindless tapping on the desk. He says nothing, yet his breath finally escapes, his hands brushing against the fabric of his cloak as he fiddles with the cotton.

Your mouth opens to speak, and Cyno already knows what you’re going to say.

Just trust me on this. 

“Just trust me on this.”

(How does he know?)

With one hand, Cyno brings the collar of his cloak up to his mouth, covering his lips as the tiniest of smiles creep onto his face.

(How could he not?)

[a-libra-writes]

Hi!!! Omg I just wanted to say I’m so happy you’re back because I love your writing so so much, your characterizations are the absolute best.

Do you think you could write some long-ish headcanons about ASOIAF characters and how they would react if they had a nightmare about the reader dying or leaving them, but woke up to you cuddling them?

Thank you!!

Heyo! Thank you for the kind words , im glad youre enjoying your stay at my silly blog lol. I did ur boys Ramsay and Theon, plus a few extras that popped into my head!

Theon - He awakes with a start, and an immediate feeling of discomfort settles upon his chest. Theon can feel you right next to him, but you seem far away. He can't get back to sleep. Dreams (nightmares, really) of you dying affects him strongly, but somehow you just ... leaving, not disappearing, but walking away from him hurts more.

In the morning, he's rather quiet and distant. Of course, he's shit at talking about his feelings. You'd have to ask direct or roundabout questions to figure it out, and even then, Theon feels foolish for being so disturbed by something as silly as a dream. It wouldn't matter if this was reoccurring, it'd still be like pulling teeth to get him to talk about it and explain why it's so unsettling.

Ramsay - Dreaming of your death isn't actually anything new for him. He wouldn't even consider them nightmares, and it's not like you're the only one who dies. Sometimes it's by his own hand, sometimes it's not. Ramsay doesn't dwell on them after he wakes, and rarely remembers after an hour or so. The dying dreams don't bother him because they seem so far-fetched - yes, he really thinks that.

Dreams of you running off, however? That's a different matter. Sometimes they're simple - he can't find you, no matter how much he looks. Sometimes it's more complex, you run away and he has to spend a long, fruitless effort trying to find you. These are the dreams that agitate him when he awakens, and he'll actually wake you up to make sure you're there - obviously you are - and if for some reason you aren't, well ... he's always had a habit of being mad at you for slights he's conjured up in his head.

Tywin - He has never been a man who tried to glean any meaning from dreams; it's nonsense he doesn't subscribe to. That doesn't mean he's immune to nightmares, though most people wouldn't think such a grand man would be affected by them. He is, but no one would see that. It's the dreams where you're dying - often in childbirth, sometimes by sickness - that startle him awake.

It's troublesome if you actually are with child; then Tywin might take some time to get back to sleep. If you aren't, he knows logically that he shouldn't be bothered. There's no danger here. It puts him in something of a mood for the rest of the day. He doesn't so much as fret over you as just ... watch you very closely, which might pique your curiosity.

Jon - These nightmares don't come often to him, but when they do, he wakes in a sweat. You always seem to die right as he wakes up, or he's on his way to help you and something stops him. Something always stops him, and he wakes feeling anxious and oddly powerless. It feels like an ill omen. He turns over to you and pulls you in closer, mulling it over instead of trying to get back to bed.

It takes a while for him to fall asleep. Jon might talk to you about it, but he also feels a little silly for being so affected. Maybe if you bring up the topic first, because he clearly looks tired.

Tyrion - He hates these kinds of dreams, both the ones where some harm has fallen you, or where you've suddenly disappeared and left him. They're both terrible for different reasons, and he wakes with a start, cursing and looking for something to drink. It'll wake you up, and he immediately switches to comforting, as if you're the one whose upset.

He really appreciates if you stop and ask him what he dreamt. In the daytime it feels childish to talk about, but in the dark with your hand holding his, he feels comfortable to express the worry and anxieties that may have led to the nightmare in the first place.

Victarion - The nightmare is one he's had before, only it's taken new forms since he's been with you. Rather than his wife dying at his own hands, it's you. A simple change, and one that hurts him even more, because it feels even more real. He wakes up with his whole body tense and his fists balled. It's entirely possible you wake up too, as Victarion wants to get out of bed and pace around.

If you want to talk to him about it, good luck. Talking about emotions, especially this, is not in the slightest realm of easy for him. He probably hasn't even told you what happened to his previous wife; Asha would have been the one who did. Sometimes he can be coaxed back into bed, sometimes he wants to stalk off and walk around the keep for a while.

Stannis - It always comes back to that day. In the nightmare, he can still smell the seasalt, and feel the wind on his face, and hear the wood breaking against rocks. In the dreams, he always knows whose on the ship. He may not see the bodies sinking in the water, but he knows. And if it's you, then he's alone on top of Storm's End. No Robert or Renly, just himself, trying to shout against the wind and rain.

It's worse than the nightmares about the Siege, which feel listless and endless. Stannis usually awakes an hour or two before he normally gets up, and that's fine. He gets out of bed right away and goes about his usual routine, wanting to shake the negative feelings right away. If he ever talks about it with you, it's only after you point out he seems tired. He wants to tell you it's pointless to dwell on it, but talking does help a little ...

Arianne - She wakes up with a curse, which might make you stir. She doesn't put a lot of stock in dreams and nightmares, but she doesn't completely discount them, either. And that one was ... very vivid. Just thinking about it your life slipping away makes her shiver, no matter if it was poison or a sword.

She'll slowly wake you up, bringing you close to her and resting her face against your neck. She only half-apologizes for it. After telling you about the dream, she promises it won't happen. She'll keep you safe - though maybe she's reassuring herself more than you.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Am I (27m) the asshole for wanting my boyfriend (28m) to be attracted to me?

This involves sex as a topic but won't get explicit, I'll keep it vague. I'm asexual. Completely sex repulsed in a physical sense, mostly due to autistic sensory issues. I've never had any interest in sex and didn't have any libido at all before going on testosterone, so the way most allosexuals tend to view and think of sex is something I've always struggled to understand.

In previous relationships, my asexuality was handled in different ways depending on the person. One boyfriend was totally fine just not having a sexual aspect to our relationship, another one had a hookup he got my approval on. The compromise me and my last boyfriend came up with was that he'd text me his fantasies about me and that did a lot for him without me having to physically be in the situation, and even if I didn't get anything sexual out of it I did enjoy it. It was a confidence boost. I dont generally consider myself attractive or desirable, i wear sweaters in summer because im so self conscious, and this compromise actually did a lot to help me see myself in a different light.

I recently got into a new relationship and, as with every relationship I've been in, there's inevitably a discussion about how we're going to compromise on this issue. My new boyfriend didn't know anything about asexuality and barely understood when I explained but he's very insistent about not crossing my boundaries, which I appreciate. But the problem is, since he'd never considered sexuality from a less direct angle, he didn't really know where to even start with ideas when we were trying to work out a compromise. So, I started making suggestions, thinking back to what worked for other people I'd dated. Just abstaining wasn't going to be doable for him so I didn't suggest it, and he wouldn't be comfortable with a hookup.

I remembered my ex used to be able to get something out of telling me about his fantasies so I asked if that was something he'd be into. I wasn't angling to try to get him to agree to something, I genuinely just wanted to know whether or not that was an option to consider. He didn't actually answer at first, he went quiet and then he answered the question with another question and asked "wouldn't something like that make you uncomfortable?" And I said "no, because the physical component is the thing I have issues with, not the subject matter itself. So long as I don't have to directly engage in the situation, I'm golden."

I don't know if this is something that was really stupid of me to say and my autistic ass just didn't realize, but since he's so careful about my boundaries and comfort and tends to fret, I thought his problem in the moment was worry that I'd be making myself uncomfortable in an attempt to meet his needs. So I hurried to reassure him and said not only would it not make me uncomfortable, I'd enjoy it in a way. Not sexually, but I enjoy knowing that my partner is attracted to me. It makes me feel good about myself.

He got really upset. He doesn’t get upset easily and hadn't ever gotten properly upset with me before (at least not to this extent) so I was very taken aback, but I was floored by his reason for being upset. Not word for word, but he essentially said "so basically you want me to frustrate myself to feed your ego?"

I was, I think understandably, completely fucking appalled by such a suggestion. I said of course not, I was just suggesting something I knew worked for someone else because even if it wasn't his thing, we could narrow down options by process of elimination. Which made logical sense, to me. He wasn't calmed though, he started saying things like "so, you want your partner to be attracted to you even though you never plan on actually letting them act on that attraction? Do you see how cruel that is?" And... I don’t know, which is why I'm submitting this here. Is that cruel?

From my perspective, I would think it's only natural to want to know your partner finds you attractive, doesn't everyone want to be wanted to some degree? I don't get some sort of sadistic thrill out of it as he seemed to be implying, and I don't want it to impact my partners in a negative way. If this was something he would find frustrating then no, of course I wouldn't want him to frustrate himself, we could look at other options. When I made the suggestion, I figured the worst that would happen was he'd say no and we'd narrow down the list of options. I never imagined my moral character would be called into question.

He's usually so, so nice to me and it hit really hard for someone who’s usually so fond of me to say I sounded selfish and vain. Both actual words he used when this devolved into an argument. I explained my reasoning for suggesting it to begin with but he said the issue isn’t the suggestion, it's that he thinks that it's fucked up of me to want my partner to be attracted to me when I'm not going to indulge that attraction and it makes him wonder if I'm really a different, worse person deep down and he's only now getting to see it. He called it a red flag. That seemed like such a leap to me but I don't want to dismiss the suggestion out of hand. Many bad people think they're good people, so it's not out of the question.

This was our first real argument, previous disagreements had been talked out very calmly but emotions ran high with this one. I dont know if this is something that triggered him for deeper reasons, considering his reaction was so intensely out of the norm for him, or if the whole thing just looks entirely different from the perspective of someone who isn't sex repulsed.

Am I the asshole here? Is it really as fucked up as he says that I enjoy knowing my partner is attracted to me even though I won't agree to have sex with them?

We didn't discuss the topic any more that night, and it hasn't been brought up since. He hasn't been treating me differently than before, but he's always proactively apologized before when he was in the wrong about things and he hasn't this time, so to me that says he still stands by what he said. His words have stuck with me and they’re eating at me. I feel like such a horrible person, and I have no idea if I should feel more or less guilty about this.

Tl;dr: my boyfriend is upset that I like knowing my partners are attracted to me even though I don't want to and don't intend to have sex with them bc he thinks that's majorly fucked up and a red flag.

What are these acronyms?

[factual-fantasy]

10 asks! Thank you!! :}} 🌞

AHEHEHE KICKING MY FEET AND GIGGLING LIKE A DORK AT THIS 😭😭💞🥺💖💖 THANK YOU SO MCUH!! I DO MY BEST TO MAKE THE EXPRESSIONS KF THE CHARACTERS READABLE AND DRIPPING WITJ EMOTION SO IM GLAD ITS WORKING!! :DD ✨💞✨💖✨

@gummysusie

Oh there's lots I'd be willing to eat if I had to! XDD

My memory ain't the best but off the top of my head-- I'm sure eating miltank meat wouldn't disturb me so much! :0

I like fish so there's a lot of those I'd be willing to try! Magikarp, uhhh those two grumpy fish that are either green/red or green/blue! I forgot the name..

Of course all of the food themed ones would be relatively no problem. Fidough, Milcery.. There's some bird ones that wouldn't be too upsetting too! XDD

As long as my brain relates them to earthly animals, I'm not too disturbed by the thought of eating them XD Im sure they have to eat pokemon in the actual pokemon universe! Where else do their meat based dishes come from? How else do they feed their carnivorous pokemon??

@girlsackthing

Not recently :(( but I'd like to pick it up again someday once I'm feeling better! :}}

@illogically-austere

Hey thanks for checking in, that means a lot 🥹

I'm hanging in there as best I can. I haven't eaten much but am getting plenty of water and rest! I'm hoping this horrible health trial thingy I've been going through is over soon <:}}

@sussyhahag

y a l i k e j a z z ?

@littlelightfish

Hey pal, I hope You're doing alright! Hang in there.. <:}}

I haven't worked much on Tuna's backstory recently.. but I imagined that his blood family was gone.. he lived on a ship with a real rotten crew that was horrible to him.

As for how he joined Seafoam's crew, I imagined that the crew rescued him somehow. Maybe Tuna's old crew attacked Seafoam's crew but he kicked their butts. Perhaps in all the chaos Tuna was left behind by "mistake", only for Foam to welcome him aboard?

Maybe his old crew got too intense and he ran, somehow running into Seafoam and he offered shelter? Or maybe his old ship sank and he was found by Seafoam..? Something along those lines-- XD

Anywho- thank you! Things are starting to look up for me, I'm hoping this journey is almost over! <:}}

@raven-bearden-the-interviewer42

"Seafoam's heart 🥰..... Metaphorically I mean-"

I would assume so! :0 Maybe a cookie like that already exists in the games!

Well that's hard to say.. I usually draw comics all in one pass. I sketch out the entire comic, and then I go back and draw all the line art, and then I go back and color it all in..

So in that sense 1 drawing for a comic could take days to complete. But if I were to focus on just one panel/drawing? I would guesstimate about 10-15 minutes :0

Now my name! My memory is a little foggy.. but one of my favorite things to do in drawing is to apply logic, reason and explanations for things.

For example, Captain Barnacles! He's a polar bear wearing a full suit and lives out in the Pacific Ocean. Obviously there's a lot that doesn't make sense about that- but mainly the fact that Barnacles would be way too hot!

So I remedy this by making my version of Barnacles have very short fur, a special diet that thins out his blubber, and a special suit that helps keep him cool! It's not perfect obviously but it helps make him living out in the Pacific seem more reasonable. Which is what I love to do, and how I thought of my name! Applying fact to fantasy, Factual Fantasy!

Hm, Bibi's worst fear.. that would have to be something bad happening to me or any of the fam I'd assume <XD

Nothing bad actually happened to Red, that nightmare just manifested because she loves/worries about him so much 🥺💞 Like a mother having dreams about their children getting hurt. Nothing exactly happened to cause it, but they just worry about their babies so much that those dreams happen sometimes..

And lastly, thank you! It's looking good that I might finally get out of this pit. So my spirits are high! :}}

@beryl-shade (sorry for the late response! <:D)

He typically will not allow it 😅 I originally had a drawing idea for this ask but I dont have the strength to get to my PC so I can just explain it!-

I imagined Octo and some of the crew all tied to chairs with some other pirates taunting them. Octo looks very bored and very unintimidated.

Well one of the pirates makes the mistake of grabbing one of Octos tentacles and twirling it around. Octo immediately reacts and uses the other tentacles on his head to restrain his hand and start choking the guy-

The rest of the crew is just laughing and calling that pirate an idiot while he continues to struggle to get away from the angry Octo 🤣

Now on the other hand, if he gets a joking pat on the head from Seafoam? Or if Red is up on his shoulders and he pulls on Octo's hair by mistake? Eh, whatever he doesn't mind much. : '

[enassbraid]

9 with reo fluff please

Prompt 9 | “I’m not here to talk about my feelings.”

Fluff & reverse comfort, mentions of arguments, anxiousness, that’s all i think? wc - 762

800 Follower Event

Reo is a man of his word, no matter the circumstances. And what he said earlier that day?

"I promise I'll be over sometime tonight."

You merely smiled and nodded at his promise, fully believing him. He's never given you a reason not to trust him, so you've never doubted him. Even now, as it's almost the middle of the night and he's still not at your place.

You weren't upset per say, just a little disappointed. But that's to be expected. It's 11pm after all, way past the "tonight" Reo always refers to. You could only frown at his sudden change of mind while checking your notifications for his name. To no avail, there was no sign of it.

Sighing, you typed a quick text letting him know you were heading to bed. Despite trying your best not to make it come off as passive aggressive, it really couldn't be helped. It wasn't intentional in the slightest, merely your emotions taking over.

'im going to bed'

'hope you'll come by tomorrow instead'

You stared at the screen, waiting for the texts to send. To your dismay, they never did. By this point, you were more worried than upset. What if something happened to him? He's well known everywhere and rich, someone might have...

You didn't wanna think about it. Anxiety settled in your stomach, growing more and more panicked by the second at the realization.

Loud thuds could be heard from the doorway, the kind of thuds that sound like... knocking?

At this hour, you could only think of one probability; someone was trying to break in. The logical part of your brain argued, but the creative side was winning over.

"(Name)? If you're still up could you let me in?!" A familiar muffled voice came through the door, the knocking paused a long with it.

You peeped through the peephole, being met with an unkempt mess of purple hair.. Purple hair that you knew all too well, but not the unkempt part. Twisting the doorknob and bracing yourself for the worst, your worry faded at the sight of Reo.

A rather disheveled Reo...

"You actually showed-" You cut yourself off, noticing the miserable expression plastered on his face. "Woah, are you... okay?" You stepped aside, allowing your boyfriend to enter.

He threw his shoes off and stumbled on over to your living room couch, throwing himself on it as soon as it was in range. It was only then realized just how... unkempt he looked. His hair was a complete mess, his cheeks were stained with tears and his clothes were quite disheveled.

"Hey, you never answered my-"

"I'm not here to talk about my feelings." He cut you off.

You crept up to his side, kneeling and placing your arms next to his head, resting yours in your arms. It wasn't a comfortable position, but it was really your only option as Reo was taking up the whole couch.

"But you know you can, right?"

He turned his head over to face you, tired eyes gazing into your worried ones. "It was just another fight with my parents, that's all. They took my phone this time, too. Sorry if you sent me anything..."

His voice was rasp, and you could definitely tell he had been shouting in that fight from that alone. You felt a tad bit guilty for being upset with him earlier after hearing the full story, but you kept it to yourself.

"Do you think you could like... move over? I wanna listen and be comfortable at the same time you know." Your tone was slightly teasing, but not too much that it'd upset Reo any further.

"Just lay on top of me. And I told you, I'm not here to talk about my feelings- I'm here for you."

You stared at him for a moment, slightly irritated at how he was handling his feelings. But alas, there was nothing anyone could do or say to make Reo Mikage change his mind. Moving from the floor to laying on top of him, you had a better idea of how he was feeling from his heartbeat.

"Is this better?" You say, placing your hands on his shoulders and hovering your face above his.

"Much better." He smiled slightly, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on your lips.

You pulled away first, grinning at his visibly happier expression. "You feeling any better yet?"

"I'll feel a whole lot better if you could go back to kissing me." He teased, cupping your cheek and leaning in once again.

© enassbraid 2023. i do not permit plagiarism, translations, or reposts of my work on any platform

[bibberbang]

i dont reblog those posts about how hard it is to have moralizing ocd in online spaces, even though i deeply resonate with them. ironically, i can only talk to 2 people about my ocd, because one of my obsessions is that other people will assume im using my mental health as a shield against criticism if i talk about it. therefore, if i talk about my ocd in any circumstance, my brain believes that i'm already doing something immoral

basically, most of my obsessions resolve around people assuming bad faith of me or that i'm somehow secretly an irredeemably bad person, no matter how hard i try to be good. i am a bad person if i dont reblog posts about serious topics, spend every waking moment thinking about extremely serious topics, or make any social mistakes whatsoever (which is scary because i'm also autistic). i believe that i am irredeemable if i make a small mistake, and i often think all my friends are waiting for me to make a mistake so that they can attack me, and that my life will be ruined if i fuck up. im constantly scanning all my interests (and people i know) for the tiniest imperfections (far beyond healthy amounts of criticism in your interests) out of fear that liking anything or anyone makes me a horrible person. if you dont take a side on this lgbt label discourse, then youre a bigot! im ALWAYS mentally preparing responses and apologies to totally theoretical situations of people being upset with me. i have intrusive thoughts about doing the immoral things that scare me most.

the problem is, *talking about* any of these thoughts invites people who will actually bad faith me. "if youre so worried about this stuff, then you must have something to hide! you just want to avoid accountability!" they make your obsession a reality by accusing you of the exact thing you fear most. none of these thoughts are reasonable or realistic, and i know that. i know that i'm mentally ill. i know logically that i'm as good a person as anyone else. when i actually do make a mistake, i stay level-headed and apologize, acknowledge what i did wrong, and change my behavior

but there is a large part of me that does not want to heal from my ocd, because i believe constant self-monitoring and self-critique is the only thing preventing me from becoming a horrible person

there is nothing i want more in this world than to be a good altruistic human being who is capable of growth, but spending weeks trapped in thought loops analyzing all my behaviors for the smallest signs of a mistake will not help me be a better person. it makes me a worse friend. it drains my energy so that i dont have the mental capacity to actually spend time being kind to others. i reread this post many times while writing it to make sure i didnt accidentally write 6 different slurs. but i can't figure out how to heal. what the fuck do i do about this

this is incredibly hard for me to write about. i'm fighting the urge to delete this post as you read it. i cant stress how debilitating this is for me, it is the biggest hurdle in my life and it sucks away days worth of my time and energy. i will become trapped in thought-loops THE SECOND im not kept sufficiently busy and stimulated by tv/music/my bf/being out of the house somewhere/etc. so much of my life is wasted wanting to be good, that i dont get a chance to actually live the life of a good person

i really hope this post resonates with someone. ive only met a few other people who have this particular kind of ocd, and its extremely isolating. but i want to try to heal from it, and i know the first step to healing is talking about it