#but those are the vibes my fatigued brain are fixed on

[alectoperdita]

part of me kinda wants to write a follow-up/remix of Between the Dragon and the Deep Blue Sea from Kaiba's POV 🤔

[gibbearish]

something kind of. bitter. abt tons of posts from about a month ago being like "anyone daring to even consider the words 'compassion fatigue/burnout' is a piece of shit for trying to assuage their own guilt over not paying as much attention as they should, much less telling OTHER people that it's ok to look away when it's not your place to say that because you're not the victims. 'wah wah my mental health' well at least you're not being bombed so you'd better be thankful you're not in their position. if you're not constantly tortured with graphic visions of genocide then you aren't actually doing your part" vs posts now being like "psa, if you're constantly being haunted by images you've seen and it's affecting your mood significantly, that's not normal and there's a word for that!" like. wow yeah damn if only someone had tried to warn people that this was a thing before it started to set in. such a shame no one did, oh well. and i know it's probably not the same people making those posts, but it still. Feels. and i know i've already made a post to this time before but idc the shift has put it back in my head so i guess take 2 on why i found this so annoying in the first place

it was always with a vibe of like, "this event is so horrible that the regular precautions to avoid compassion fatigue shouldn't apply, fixing it is more important." which. /is/ true in a sense, however those two things aren't actually related in the way that framing that way implies, paying attention doesn't actually /do/ anything concrete that would be lost by taking breaks from consuming news about this. there's the implication that the more people that pay attention, the more people in power will be forced to behave knowing that the world's eyes are on them. but like. this far in, they know everyone's eyes are on them by now, and have decided to proceed anyways. just kind of... looking at them harder isn't going to change anything. and also like.... "when the event is this horrible, why would you be thinking about that instead of putting them first"? because. the more horrible the event. the more. likely learning a lot about it will fuck you up? thats. that seems pretty obvious to me? like. there's more Shit For Your Brain To Torment You With 24/7 if more shit is being done and reported on. the worse something is, the worse it'll make you feel to spend all your time thinking about. yes, some people will be ignoring it because they genuinely don't care, but that doesn't automatically mean the ONLY way to care is to Pay Constant Attention No Matter What.

and like. yes, we should do all we can to help palestinians, but some people act like because we're not being killed and they are, we owe it to them to take on as much of that trauma as we can by proxy? like since we aren't having to go through the actual thing, any negative affects we go through can never compare and are therefore irrelevant, and we should instead only be thankful it's not happening to us. i've said this before but it feels very much like the old "finish your vegetables, there's kids starving in africa" thing parents would say, where it's like. ok, i get that the sentiment behind what youre expressing here is "you should take care to be thankful for things you take for granted, because there are people out there suffering without this," but theres always an implicit "and if you don't use yours right, you're hurting those people by wasting what they could've used" when that just !! doesn't actually follow after the first part, that is not the conclusion you should draw there!!! i would obviously give my leftover vegetables to someone else sooner than throw them away but until warp technology is cracked i am limited by things like distance and expiration dates and stable temperature zones, and i would obviously give my leftover Not Being Bombed to every palestinian if i could but until The Way Reality Works is cracked i am limited by. yknow. the way reality works. abstract concepts like that just arent transferrable without a LOT more direct involvement than just. looking at some posts or not.

and i think that's the crucial thing that bugs me abt both of these is not just that the conclusions they offer are wrong and manipulative, but that the /premise themselves/ are, and they take something HUGE for granted, which is "the thing i want you to do is Right and will Work, therefore i'm justified in forcing you to do it, regardless of any discomfort this causes as it will still have a net positive impact." eating your vegetables is Good for you, so forcing you to eat more when you don't want them is justified, and your reasons for not wanting them don't matter. palestinians have asked us to keep reading and sharing their posts because it helps them, so shaming people for not wanting to is justified, and their reasons for not wanting to don't matter. nevermind that overeating can be bad for you and children are indeed capable of telling when they're full or of having slightly smaller stomachs than the serving sizes their parents dish up, nevermind that they can have food sensitivities or even just /dislike the flavor of something/ and we don't force adults to finish foods they know they dislike, nevermind that compassion fatigue was already an existing concept long before this, nevermind that this is The Mental Illness Website, nevermind that reblogging a bunch of posts with graphic videos that will keep you up all night and be filtered by half your followers anyways doesn't stop fucking BOMBS. it's all we can do, nevermind that it's largely symbolic, therefore if you're not doing it for ANY reason, you are Bad. so do what i say in order to be Good even if it hurts you. it's just such a manipulative, PATRONIZING way of going about things that it just grates at me every time.

[writingwithadinosaur]

“Under the Knife” - Part 7

“Under the Knife” - Part 7

Main Masterlist - Here

Story Masterlist - Here

My Tag List - Here

Hannibal Lecter x Reader, Will Graham x Sister!Reader

Word Count: 2,100-ish

Key: Chunks of text in italics are (Y/N)’s thoughts. Y/N = Your Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color

Warnings: Cursing, Violence

Summary: You are Will Graham’s sister who works with him at the FBI. When you get offered a job promotion, life starts to change. Some changes for the better; Some for the worst.

Author’s Note: This is my first Hannibal piece and I am proud of it. There aren’t too many stories for Hannibal, so I figured I would add to the collection.

This does take place in some happy medium where they are all alive and work together. Sort of a happier season 1 era.

This is beta-read by @theeactress​, but please let me know if there is something that we missed or that we should look at again! 

If you would like to be tagged in any of my future pieces, check out my tag list above and let me know! And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

<3

- DreaSaurusREX

Tag List

:

@fruitloopzzz

@theeactress

@melconnor2007

@ashenfallsof

@geeksareunique

@all-by-myself98

@sj-thefan

​

@fuck-your-bad-vibes-dude

​

@ntlmundy

​

@a-person-unlabled

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack was in the middle of a phone call when you opened his office door unannounced. He gave you an annoyed look until he saw something in your eyes that said that this was important. When he looked to Hannibal, who was behind you, he nodded slightly, letting Jack know that this was for sure something urgent. 

“I’m going to have to call you back.” He calmly said before putting the handset back onto the office phone base. “What did yo-”

“I think I finally got into this guy’s brain!” Jack gives you an expectant look.

“Well?! Go on then!” You take a quick breath in as you speak, making your way to one of the chairs in front of Jack’s desk. Hannibal stood off to your right slightly.

“Okay. So, we’ve been looking for a doctor this entire time, right?”

“Yes, we have.” There was obvious hesitation in his voice, worried that you would just widen the suspect list instead of narrowing it down. You continued.

“Right. But what if our killer was actually a patient of these doctors?” 

You watched Jack quickly think it over, preparing for exactly what you thought he’d point out. You pulled out a couple of print-outs from within your notebook and waited for Jack to speak. Hannibal peeked over your shoulder at the paper and read a little bit of the top page while Jack spoke.

“It would tie the doctors together, but it wouldn’t explain the method of killing.”

“It does if this patient was a former doctor himself. A plastic surgeon to be more specific.” You hand Jack the papers, letting out a breath that you hadn’t realized you were holding. 

The papers were from the initial suspect list you had gotten. You now had one person’s name and photo circled: Henry Urik. The second page was the basic information you had gotten on him early into the investigation. 

“Name: Henry Urik Age: 29 Height: 5’11” Weight (Approx.): 205lbs Hair Color: Reddish Brown Ethnicity: White Male Employment: Plastic Surgeon - Inactive”

As Jack read over the papers, you felt yourself slipping into your mental pictures. You found that missing puzzle piece that brought everything together. You could now see it all, feel what he was feeling, and truly attempt to get into his mind. Jack looked up and saw you seemingly phase-out, but he had seen something similar when your brother, Will, would be at crime scenes. He and Hannibal stayed quiet and let you do your thing.

 “Dr. Henry Urik started up his own practice relatively recently, but it failed. Probably due to some sexual allegations or misconduct or something. He popped up on the first few rounds of searches that I did, but then I saw that he wasn’t associated with any active practices or facilities, so I took him off the list. 

He lost his job, which means he is anxious and stressed, which then potentially and likely leads to a range of psychosomatic ailments; soreness, fatigue, insomnia, and most importantly, headaches. After long enough, frequent or maybe even constant headaches would drive anyone mad. Which is why Henry decides to finally go to his primary care physician: Dr. Everet. I’m sure if we get a warrant and pull a list of all of the patients that have seen our victims over the last 2 - 4 months, we will find Henry’s name on each of them.”

“That’s not a long time to plan out 4, or potentially more, murders.” Jack points out, seeing you come back to reality. 

“I don’t think these killings were really thought about or planned to every detail. He didn’t want to just kill them out of anger; that was for whoever else was in the house. He was angry and upset, but we can see that he took his time with the doctors. Maybe focusing on them and using his old medical instruments was a form of relief for him?”

“What kind of relief are we talking about here, Graham?”

“By shifting his focus from himself and his ailments, he’s distracting himself from his anxieties and stressors. Thus seeming to make his headaches dwindle.” 

“In other words, pain relief?” You and Hannibal nod in agreement. Jack continues. “Okay, but what makes him so upset that he goes out and murders four doctors and their wives?”

“We’d have to double-check with the notes in his files from each doctor, but I can bet that he wasn’t happy with whatever test results or diagnoses they were giving him.” Before Jack could say anything, Hannibal finally spoke.

“I believe I can confirm that theory.” Both you and Jack turned to Hannibal with confused looks over your faces.

“Is there something you’d like to share with the class, Dr. Lecter?” Crawford had a hint of annoyance in his tone but kept it mostly neutral. You, on the other hand, were trying to look into his mask and see if he was being serious. As far as you could tell, he was.

“Dr. Urik was a patient of mine. I say ‘was’ because I only ever had two sessions with the man. He was referred to me by Dr. Everet. He showed signs of incredible anxiety over the idea of not being able to be in his profession after a patient accused him of sexual harassment during one of their appointments. He also showed signs that could be tied to bipolar disorder or something more severe. Unfortunately, I couldn’t form a full diagnosis after only those two sessions. I haven’t heard from him in roughly 4 months.”

“Which all lines up with (Y/N)’s profile.” Hannibal nodded.

“I tried to explain the possibility of his headaches being a manifestation of his anxiety, but he did not like that answer. Saying that it must be something tangible; something he could fix with medicine or a procedure.”

“Well, that explains why you are potentially his next target.” You spoke your thoughts out loud, which came out slightly snarky. 

Hannibal turned his attention to you. You were slightly staring off. To anyone else, it would look like you were zoning out, but Hannibal knew that it was a sign of your mind working hard.  

Somehow hearing that Hannibal had a possible solid connection to the killer, a wave of fear hit your heart. You cared about Hannibal, and you knew he cared about you. You weren’t sure he could tell, but one could say you had grown to love this man. And it only took being threatened by a serial killer to let that thought process in your mind.

“So it seems.” 

“Aren’t you glad you joined the case now, Dr. Lecter?” You poked fun at Hannibal, the sharpness in your voice only evident to him. You thought you hid your true feelings well enough, but Hannibal could see right through your facade. He knew you were scared. Not only for his well being but your own as well; using humor as a way to make the situation seem a little less harsh.

Before Hannibal could respond, Jack posed a question.

 “It doesn’t explain you, (Y/N). Why does this guy want to get to you?” You all pause for a beat. You try to get into Henry’s mindset and see any possible reason as to why you would also be targeted.

“I don’t think there is a reason. Maybe he read the TattleCrime article, saw that I was with Dr. Lecter, and then associated me with him. Or maybe he is following us and knows that I have a role in his case. Whether that means I am actually important to Urik or not, I can’t say for certain. He could just see me similarly to the wives of the other doctors. We won’t know for sure until we can ask him.”

As Crawford makes some decisions in his head, you can’t help but start to twist your ring. The idea of yours and Hannibal’s lives being in danger was a terrifying thought. You didn’t know what you would do if something happened to him and he wasn’t a part of your life anymore. Yes, there was still a ghost of confusion and uncertainty with him at the moment, but that was pushed to the backseat after today’s findings.

You looked away from Jack for a quick second to see if Hannibal showed any signs that he was scared. Much to your surprise, he was not only already looking at you, but through his stoic face, his eyes showed something. You looked away as you heard Jack lean forward in his chair, but you couldn’t figure out what that emotion in Hannibal’s eyes was.

After what seemed like forever, Crawford explained his plan of action.

“Alright, I’m going to get started on getting those files and getting a team out in the field looking for this guy. You two are going to have an armed agent following you until we get Henry in custody. They will be hidden, but know that you two will be protected.” You let out a small sigh of relief. “After you compile all of your notes and initial thoughts on Urik, have them sent to me. Then you two are dismissed for the night. Go get a drink or two. We are going to finally catch this son of a bitch.” 

You nod and start to stand up to head to the door. Before you could step away from his desk, Jack got your attention.

“Graham.” 

“Yes, sir?”

“Good work.” You couldn’t hide the proud smile that you tried to smother off your face as you said a quick “Thank you, sir” and made your way out of his office, Hannibal behind you.

Hannibal escorts you back to your office. Once you get inside, you and Hannibal spend a solid 20 minutes working out every detail that you could about Henry Urik. You quickly type it all out and send it through to Crawford’s email.

“Alright. Everything is sent and I am ready for a glass of wine and then passing out for the night for some much-needed sleep.” You started to get your bag together as Hannibal sat in one of the office chairs and watched you, trying to get you to be comfortable with him again. 

“A well-deserved rest, my dear. You did incredible work today.” You quickly looked up to see him staring at you, a rare smile crossing his face as you two briefly made eye contact. You tried to hide the small blush that you felt creeping its way onto your face. 

Hannibal didn’t smile often, and when he did around you, it always made your heart flutter. Getting to see that rare treat and have him compliment you on your work was an unexpected but appreciated way to end the day.

You let out a small “thank you” as you gathered the last of your things. Hannibal stood up and grabbed your coat from the back of your chair. He offered it out for you to slide into, but you didn’t want to wear it, so you took it from him and draped it over your arm. Another small thank you and you two were out the door, headed to your car. After being called out by your killer, Hannibal felt a bigger need to make sure you got to your car safely, even if you were going to have a guard watching you from afar.

He opened the car door, but before you could sit down, he finally asked what had been circling in his mind for the last 30 minutes. 

“Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow? I understand that you have your reservations about talking to me recently, but now that you have done a marvelous job at putting a name to the Virginia Scalpel, I wonder if now would be a good time to try to talk personally. Perhaps even get back to how things were before this case.”

You stood there, the car door being a physical barrier between you and Hannibal. You instinctually fiddled with your ring, mulling over his offer. You can’t help but feel your heart hurt at the lack of time you’ve had with Hannibal. Letting yourself have time to just focus and work on the case over the last week was beneficial. You could now think about more personal things clearly and see that you weren’t as upset with Hannibal as you had been.

You look back up at him and see him observing you, trying to figure out what was going on in that wonderful mind of yours. A small smile grew on your face as you finally spoke.

“What’s for dinner, Hannibal?”

[lesbianmulcahy]

Tent flap, Gravy, Fatigues, Jealousy, Swamp, Bathtub, Chopper? 💛

Ooh thank you for all of these!!!

Trapper or BJ?

Ooh I think I might have to be terrible and say BJ. Partly because I've been watching mostly the BJ-era right now, and partly maybe because BJ just got so much more developement than Trapper did. Like I love Trapper but BJ's relationships with the characters other than Hawkeye are just more interesting to me than Trapper's 😔 This doesn't mean that I don't like Trapper, please don't unfollow me

Which cast member would you like to share a meal with?

On one hand I'm like Alan Alda pspsps I want to ask you so many questions!! But then also Jamie Farr seems really fun and I think I could Fix Him (convince him that golf is evil). But then ALSO also Loretta Swit I want to bake pastries for you so bad!!!!

What got you into Mash?

The show was never really on TV here, at least on on the free channels we had? So it was a mix of those "Hawkeye gay moments" compilations on here, this really good youtube video essay about it, and me socially distancing and needing something to feed all the worms that live in my brain

Which character do you have the most gender-envy for?

Father Mulcahy, hands down. There's just something about the black turtleneck and big glasses that makes me go nuts. I want to look like him so bad!! And like he looks very non-threatening and kind which is. I wish I did as well! His look and vibe just is SUCH a gender, like butch lesbian but a very specific type.... Sir your gender hand it over!

Also Klinger! Like not only is Jamie Farr SUCH a handsome man, but he has some looks that make me just. I can't stop looking at them. If I had that gender I would be happy for the rest of my life I just KNOW it!

If you could go anywhere, where would you go?

I'd love to properly get to visit Vyborg/Выборг! I've been there once but it was during a school trip whrn we were driving back from St. Petersburg so we just visited a McDonalds 😔 I'd also love to go somewhere up north like Murmansk/Мурманск! I've never been over the polar circle! BUT mostly I'd like to go meet up with a friend so we could marathon TV together but...... y'know....

I already answered Swamp and Bathtub!

[gay-ray2000]

PLEASE TAKE THE TIME TO READ!

October 1, 2017, my 12-year old brother, Lucas, began falling down at random. It was a Sunday. My family and I all just thought he was trying to get out of church and chores. We were all wrong. The next day he woke up dizzy, but not like the world is spinning dizzy. You know how you feel on one of those full body rafts in the pool? Yeah, that’s how he felt, constantly, for over a year now. He was falling in the halls at school, out of his bed at night, downstairs, out of his chair. He wasn’t sleeping, and when he slept, he slept for way too long. His body was in a state of constant fatigue. He had to use a cane or wheelchair to get around anywhere so that way he didn’t fall or could at least control his falls, and it’s still this bad.

Eventually, after about a month, my mom set him up for homebound school, and she took a 3-month long leave of absence from work. Those 3 months were a living hell for her. About 2-years ago she had tachycardia. It took doctors over a year to diagnose her with it. She was in a constant state of dizziness, much like my brother's state, and her heart had an extra palpitation. So, her knowing what she went through, she got Lucas into a pediatric cardiologist. All of his tests came back negative. The cardiologist said to see a neurologist. The neurology tests came negative. Off to an infectious disease doctor. Test results negative… and on, and on, and on.

Finally, we’re at Detroit Children's Hospital. He spent 3 nights there. My mom never left his side. My Dad and I went out one night and brought them a meal that wasn’t hospital food. It was awful, seeing my brother with wires to his heart, brain, stomach, everywhere. My 12-year old brother, pale, bags under his eyes. He didn’t deserve this. He was such a happy kid. Sadly, no doctor saw Lucas fall, so they said his anxiety was causing it, and to see a psychiatrist. We are never going to that hospital again.

Well, he saw the psychiatrist. She diagnosed him with depression, mild anxiety, and OCD. He was given a prescription for Prozac and was sent on his way. My brother also went to a sleep specialist and a neurological chiropractor. He was given a sleep-aid and an anti-seizure medication to help with his dizziness- I know, weird right...- by the sleep specialist. Coming on March 2017, mom was back part-time at work, and her boss was aware that if something were to happen at home with Lucas, that my mom would leave. My mom took off a few days as they had finally gotten into Children's Hospital in Cincinnati, the best pediatric hospital in the country.

They were there for 3 days. Again, my Dad and I were back at home in a sheer state of agony, wanting to be with them, and desperate for answers. The end of the second day we got a call from my mom. He had been diagnosed with a Neurological Disorder, mild narcolepsy, and POTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardic Syndrome: blood volume changes when standing up). We were so happy we knew what it was and how to fix it. Although, when we received all the forms from their visit, it never mentioned any of those things. It only said Anxiety…

We were pissed, but we were going to go off of what the doctors said to my mom and brothers faces. My brother started going to Neurological Therapy once a week in Troy. Then my dad found someone with a similar practice in Burton. So we went to check them out. They had him on a sensory table for 1 hour a day for 10 days. He had music playing in one ear, was in a dark room, and had to watch a light that changed colors while the table moved up and down. Following this, he had to do something similar(without the table) at home, 20 minutes a day for 8 days. It seemed to help. There was another practice below this doctor. It is something called vision therapy. They treat kids who have sight disabilities. This doctor believed that Lucas’ eyes and brain weren’t communicating, so Lucas started going to vision therapy as well, once a week. Throughout the following months, Lucas started going to neurological therapy more than vision, and in August he started going to vision therapy more than neurological.

Summer months were his good months. He ended up going to summer camp with his boy scout troop and came back practically like his old self. He was getting outside, riding his new bike that was lower to the ground than his previous one (I can’t remember what it is called), he was swimming, and honestly practically his old self. Then, he broke his foot jumping out of the pool. That was a huge setback, but he still managed our family trip up north. He still cliff dove off of Presque Isle, he hiked back to the large falls of Canyon Falls, he was able to walk around all of Northern Michigan Universities campus(the trip was to hunt down 4-year universities for me), and he jumped through waves when we went on our family trip to Lake Michigan.

Up until October 1st, 2018 his dizziness level was in between a 2 and a 5, maybe a 6 if he was really bad. But, on the one year mark, he fell 5 times before it was time to leave for school, his dizziness was at a 9, and my mom kept him home from school. He hasn’t been to school since. He’s failing all of his classes, and practically ready to file for homebound learning services, again. He’s 13 now. His life has practically been taken from him. He’s extremely depressed, rarely leaves the house, has gained weight. 13-year old boys are supposed to be worried about puberty, video games, school, and girls. Not whether or not they’re going to be “special needs” for the rest of their life.

My Parents put together this fundraiser. We have paid 10 grand out of pocket as insurance covers basically none of his treatments. Now, we are going to see more doctors, so the costs are increasing. We aren’t asking much. Even prayers and good vibes work. Any help you can give us greatly appreciated. ❤️

[infpisme]

10 Life-Changing Pieces Of Advice For Empaths And Highly Sensitive People

“And those who were seen dancing were thought insane by those who could not hear the music.” ― Nietzsche

Highly sensitive people are too often perceived as weak or broken.  But to feel intensely is not a symptom of weakness, it is the characteristic of a truly alive and compassionate human being.  It is not the sensitive person who is broken, it is society’s understanding that has become dysfunctional and emotionally incapacitated.  There is zero shame in expressing your authentic feelings.  Those who are at times described as being ‘too emotional’ or ‘complicated’ are the very fabric of what keeps the dream alive for a more thoughtful, caring, humane world.  Never be ashamed to let your feelings, smiles and tears shine a light in this world.

Of course, that’s easier said than done, because it can be so confusing, right? … Why you get overwhelmed by run-of-the-mill tasks that others take in stride.  Why you mull over slights that ought to be forgotten.  Why subtleties are magnified for you and yet lost on others.

It’s like you were born missing a protective layer of skin that others seem to have.

You try to hide it.  Numb it.  Tune it out.  But the comments still pierce your armor: “You’re overthinking things.  You’re too sensitive.  Toughen up!”

You’re left wondering what on earth is wrong with you.

I know, because I was in my mid-40s when I stumbled across the term ‘highly sensitive people.’  This led me to discover how delicious it feels to be one of thousands saying, “You do that?  Me too!”

Since then, I’ve learned that many sensitive people feel isolated from others.  They feel misunderstood and different, and they usually don’t know why.  They just don’t realize that they have a simple trait that explains their confusing array of symptoms and quirks.

There’s even a scientific term for it: Sensory Processing Sensitivity.  Dr. Elaine Aron, a psychotherapist and researcher, estimates that 15-20% of people have nervous systems that process stimuli intensely.  They think deeply.  They feel deeply (physically and emotionally).  They easily become over-stimulated.

According to my research several successful historical figures were highly sensitive, such as Albert Einstein, Martin Luther King, and Steve Jobs.  I see this as great news, because it means us sensitive types aren’t inherently disadvantaged.

But when we don’t realize how to handle our sensitivity, we end up pushing too hard to keep up with everyone else.  We try to do what others seem to handle with ease, and try to do it better than them.  And this leads to problems.

For a time, we do a first-rate job of using our natural gifts: we’re creative students, conscientious employees, and devoted family members.  But when we hammer on beyond our limits, doing so can eventually take its toll.  It shows up in things like unrelenting health conditions, muscle tension we can’t get rid of, and being endlessly fatigued or on edge for no good reason.

If you resonate with any of this, here are 10 actions you can take to stop struggling and start thriving:

1. Quit searching for someone or something to fix you.

Sensitivity is a temperament trait, not a medical disorder.  So nothing is inherently wrong with you.  Sadly, though, many certified health practitioners don’t understand this because sensory processing sensitivity is a recent area of health research.

Sure, highly sensitive people are more likely to have allergies or sensitivities to food, chemicals, medication, and so forth.  And they’re more prone to overstimulation, thus quicker to feel stress — which can lead to other health issues.  But sensitivity in itself is not something that needs fixing.

Successful sensitive types realize that they’re not “broken.”  If your mind is exhausted from busily researching yet another solution to take away your “flaws,” know that the answers to living in harmony with your sensitive nature lie inside you.

2. Tell yourself, as often as necessary, that you are not a fraud.

Impostor syndrome isn’t exclusive to highly sensitive people.  Many conscientious and high achieving people fall victim to this nagging fear.  But the simmering discomfort about being found out is often constant for a sensitive person.

Why wouldn’t it be, considering you’ve spent a lifetime of feeling different from others and trying to fit in?  Maybe you blame your tears on dust in your eye during that cheesy TV commercial; or you sign up for the company fun run, even though you hate running and you know you’ll feel ashamed of how long your body takes to recover.  But even if you grew up displaying your sensitivity with pride, it’s unlikely you escaped the cultural pressure motivating you to disguise your real self to fit the norms.

Successful sensitive types respect that their nervous systems are wired differently from 80-85% of people.  If you’re constantly thinking about who you should be but aren’t, and what you should be doing but can’t, understand that valuing your achievements and signature strengths allows you to show yourself as you truly are, more comfortably — even when you’re the odd one out.

3. Seek out kindred spirits (and know that you are NOT alone).

You probably feel different and alone.  But the truth is, you’re not.  Many have experienced confusion in isolation before discovering that hordes of people have some idea of what it’s like to be you.  They’ve felt the surge of power that comes from being supported by like-minded souls.  And they want to pay it forward.

The key whenever possible is to hang out with sensitive people who are already flourishing, or at least open to those possibilities.  They understand not only how to manage their sensitivity, but also how to wield its superpowers.  They know what it’s like for you to feel endlessly under siege, and they can offer firsthand experience and wisdom to help you make your sensitivities work in your favor.

Successful sensitive types appreciate and relish the strengths of sensitivity, in themselves and others.  If you’re feeling unsupported or misunderstood, find a sensitively knowledgeable coach, mentor, or community who gets you … and nurture that connection.

4. Look for the hidden positivity in every situation and soak it up.

The brain is a powerful filter that molds experiences and perceptions of reality.  If you think the world is a dangerous place, your brain is wired to hunt for evidence of danger.  If you believe it’s a loving place, you spot more loving opportunities.  What you focus on, you get more of.

As a highly sensitive person, the more negative the environment, the more you suffer.  But the opposite is also true — the more positive, the more you thrive (even compared to others).

Thoughts are stimuli for your nervous system.  One of the most important things a sensitive person can do is acknowledge the negative (not ignore it — because what you resist, persists), but then let it go… immerse yourself in positive thoughts and situations that make you feel good, or at least give you a soothing sense of relief.

Successful sensitive types decide to see the world brimming with opportunities to feel grateful for, and to marinate in that positive vibe.  If you’re feeling at the mercy of your emotions and circumstances, understand that your thoughts (and the emotional charges they trigger) are always within your control.

5. Find new spins on old flaws.

Your gifts of sensitivity include deep reflection and an instinct to see all angles and consequences.  But by being so deeply tuned into details, you’re easily overwhelmed and exhausted by unyielding stimulation.  And when you don’t understand why you feel and behave in the ways you do, it’s easy to frame these as flaws.

In truth, these “weaknesses” are simply your unmet needs and unique gifts to nourish.  In reframing your past and nurturing your present, you set yourself up for success in your future.

Successful sensitive types rethink old perceptions in light of their deeper understandings of sensitivity.  If you’re weighed down by the hypersensitive and neglected (even, despised) parts of yourself, seek to discover the other side of the coin … where you’ll find some of your greatest strengths: intuition, vision, conscientiousness — and the list goes on.

6. Treat yourself with compassion.

As a highly sensitive person you are deeply compassionate.  So much so that putting others’ comfort and needs before your own is second nature.  On top of that, you’re often your own biggest critic.  You push yourself hard, and then you beat up on yourself when you miss the mark.  You criticize yourself in ways you’d never dream of judging others.

Controlling your nagging inner critic is essential to self-compassion.  But contrary to popular belief, you shouldn’t do so by relentlessly ignoring it.  Deep thinking is one of your gifts, so why not embrace that power?  Take control by hearing your thoughts without judgment (after all, there might be gems of wisdom hidden deep) and then pivoting to thoughts that trigger kinder and more loving emotions in your body.  From that better-feeling place, you’re better able to choose actions to care for yourself and others.

Successful sensitive types show themselves the same loving compassion that they’re naturally good at giving others.  It may feel selfish or vain at first, but it’s not.  If your critical inner voice is devaluing who you are, answer back with self-kindness … this is the antidote.

7. Create healthy boundaries, not rigid emotional walls.

We live in a culture that values “take a painkiller and push on” far more than it values sensitivity.  We grow up hearing: “no pain, no gain; survival of the fittest; life isn’t fair — get used to it.”  We admire those who show grit to prevail over their terrible plights.

As a highly sensitive person your reflex reaction may be to freeze up or struggle to toughen up.  You build walls to shield yourself from hurt …  Emotional walls, such as suppressing feelings or creating dramatic turmoil to distract from the real causes of pain.  Physical walls, such as piling on layers of weight to hide behind.  Mental walls, such as tuning out with alcohol or drugs.

Or, you may let all your boundaries collapse at once, thereby unconsciously absorbing others’ energies and feeling devoured by unpredictable events and emotions.  You try to escape the feelings by getting caught up in overthinking everything: endlessly planning and searching and analyzing, while completely losing touch with your intuition.  And in the process you confuse conscientiousness with overwork, empathy with over-identification, compassion with over-tolerance.  So you beat yourself up about how you know you should have better boundaries.  It’s a vicious cycle.

Successful sensitive types embody gentle but firm personal boundaries.  If you struggle to put your own needs first (which doesn’t come naturally to a highly sensitive person), make a conscious choice to practice the skill of saying “no” with love and grace, or carving out alone time to recharge … and decide to feel good about that.

8. Tune in to your body (to avoid seesawing between emotional extremes).

Many highly sensitive people learn to ignore the messages their bodies are sending them.  They switch it off to avoid overwhelm or they tune in to others’ needs instead of their own to meet what’s expected of them.  Does this sound familiar?

Doing so leaves you swinging like a pendulum.  Too much, too little.  Too fast, too slow.  Too in, too out.  Back and forth between being over-stimulated and mind-numbingly bored, dieting and then bingeing, or exercising hard and then needing several days to recover.  And so on and so forth.

Successful sensitive types tune in to the physical sensations in their bodies; they accept that it’s not always comfortable, but they trust their bodies to guide them.  If you have a habit of hiding from feelings or passing the point of overwhelm, learn to recognize your body’s subtle signs of overstimulation.  You’ll spend less time being thrown out of balance, and more time swaying gently within your nervous system’s range of optimal arousal.

9. Design healthy habits that fit your unique needs.

Eventually, it all catches up with you.  Grueling hours at work, followed by hard sweat at the gym and keeping on top of chaos around home — all fueled by crappy diets and minimal sleep or downtime.  It’s an easy trap to fall into because you’re simply living the way you see most people get by on.

What’s more, some seemingly healthy habits hit hard on a sensitive nervous system — like “health” foods that are heavily processed and pumped with sugar and artificial additives, or intense exercise that’s not balanced with ample recovery time. If you allow too much stimulation and too lousy replenishment, you run the risk of chronic illnesses (as many sensitive types have learned the hard way).  At the same time, if you overprotect yourself, your genius goes unexpressed, and that also can lead to stress and ill health.

Successful sensitive types practice habits that truly nourish them.  If you struggle with energy or well-being issues, prioritize habits that nurture these areas of your life (such as more sleep and alone time), and limit those that over-stimulate or drain you (such as too many high pressures activities — even if they are so-called healthy).

10. Stop smothering your sensitivity.

After a lifetime of being bombarded by stimuli, it becomes second nature to push sensitivity out of the conscious awareness.  Tuning out from relentless sensations, for example, so you can pretend you don’t give a darn.  Toning down intense feelings (good and bad) so you aren’t on a roller coaster.  Suppressing emotions to get a break from feeling anything at all.

This self-protective mechanism might fool your conscious mind, but it doesn’t fool your sensitive body.  This oozes into your health, your relationships, your career, every aspect of your life … or, it builds tension inside until something has to give.

Successful sensitive types let go of the grasp for control.  When you free the energy used to hold yourself tight, you free the gifts of sensitivity that have been lost to you: empathy, creativity, and heightened joy, to name a few.  And you allow your true potential to blossom.

By MarcAndAngel

[lovewavesxx]

Love Waves - EP 13 - White Lines

November 13, 2017

“I’ve been driving fast to feel less. White Lines to kick my addiction. -E xx.”

Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/user/ericajones10/playlist/3qGX7WeWN44Gxg8OOQLj2L

Apple Music: https://itunes.apple.com/us/playlist/love-waves-ep-13-white-lines/pl.u-EdAV8yGtGbq7Vr

YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLwEZgDEorNRRVkgZwUF7BCWFSkL1ZZGSV

Please read through everything before you listen to this playlist with the shuffle setting OFF.

I highly recommend watching some of these music videos. You can do that by clicking the underlined titles or clicking the YouTube link above.

1. 6LACK – Never Know

2. Sabrina Claudio – Confidently Lost

3. SZA – Child’s Play (feat. Chance the Rapper)

4. Wiz Khalifa – Get Your S**t

5. Chris Brown – Emotions

6. Belly – Can’t Feel a Thing

7. G-Eazy – The Plan

8. Drake – Portland (feat. Quavo & Travis Scott)

9. Clean Bandit – I Miss You (feat. Julia Michaels)

10. Aly & AJ – I Know

11. Charlie Puth – How Long

12. Tyler, The Creator – Forward (feat. Rex Orange County)

13. Snoh Aalegra – Sometimes (feat. Logic)

14. LE$ - Night Vision Goggles

15. Mac DeMarco – Ode to Viceroy

16. Jhené Aiko – Never Call Me (feat. Kurupt)

Click here for my Spotify profile

Click here for my Apple Music profile

https://ericajones10.sarahah.com/

Click here for my twitter @ericajones1010

Playlist Description:

It was either Friday or Saturday last weekend that I saw something on Instagram that really fucked me up. It fucked me up for a few days. The final realization that I was no longer needed or wanted in any form really knocked me on my ass. It took me a few days to recover. I think, I might still be slowly recovering, but the damage is done, and I finally feel, like happy, to be finished after over a year of this.

I used to drive around and listen to music when I needed to get out of my own head. Most of the time it was at night because that’s when I struggle the most to shut my head off. Plus, I really like the city lights.

Sometimes I drive very fast when I know I shouldn’t. I’m talking 115-120mph fast. Death speeds. My palms are sweating while I write this. I don’t know how to explain driving for me other than I get so focused on what I am physically concentrating on, that I forget what my mind was fixated on. I hate using the cruise control on long trips because I need that game. I need that fluctuation in the flow of traffic. Driving is a type of distraction. So, I drive fast to feel less.

Of course there are white lines all over the road. That’s a given. The double meaning here is that white lines also means drugs or cocaine. I’ve never done drugs. Ask anyone who fucking knows me. Anyways, the irony of that statement is it sounds like I’m doing something that may become addicting just to break a different addiction. That’s not how things are supposed to be fixed. You are not supposed to break an addiction with another addiction. That would almost defeat the purpose of curing or bettering yourself because that behavior is still there.

I drove a lot from November 3rd to November 12th.  To be more exact, I spent about 21 hour 39 minutes driving about 1,427 miles. In case you were wondering, yes I do feel dead inside and my eyes fell out of my skull on Tuesday. That’s a joke, but I do feel very fatigued for not actually doing a whole lot.

All of that driving helped a lot with the initial sting. Also, cuddling with my brother’s dog Zeus helped a lot too. The playlist this week stems from music I listened to a lot while bee boppin’ around on I-70. I only hope the lack of mobility driving around this week doesn’t backfire or let in something I don’t want to feel or think about. I’m crazy, just incase you haven’t noticed yet. :)

I’m so over feeling like just because I care about you and love you, that I have to put myself on a fucking rollercoaster to get only a slight return on my investment. I woke up this morning and realized there is a serious difference between loving someone and feeling secure and at peace than loving someone and choosing to put up with their inconsistency and for lack of a better word, bullshit. In my opinion there is a very clear distinction between staying with someone and working things out to grow for the better, and staying with someone who is not actively putting in effort to make their life or your life better and positive. This is only just now clicking in my brain. Maybe not so much clicking, because of course those statements make sense, but I suppose I am just now reaching that point of letting go for real this time. I don’t even know what I would say to you anymore, so I won’t.

I used to think even though we were dysfunctional, we at least cared, but I’ve come the realization that if we actually cared in the slightest, then we wouldn’t do shit that hurts the other, and then continue to do that, whether it’s intentional or not. In my case, it’s the fading, coming back, rinse, and repeat. If I’ve told you that bugs me and we continue to do it, then bye. I’m over it. Like, I mean really over it this time. I sound like a bratty sixteen-year-old. SOS.

The couples I look up to, the couples I admire for their relationship, the couples I hope to be more like one day, do not put each other through so many dumb things. They never have to guess if the other person is thinking of them. They never have to put up with the other person being senseless. They never have to guess if the other person is fighting for them. They never have to guess if the other person is really thinking of their best interest.

I don’t think great levels of uncertainty or complication exists in the type of relationships I aspire to be a part of. I have put up with that shit because I felt I had to. I felt I was weak and everything I had done would be dismissed if I left—if I stopped caring. I now think that’s the opposite. I don’t have to stop caring, but I have to stop giving energy and time to something that is no longer beneficial to my mental health and growth as an individual.

Be courteous to people. Be kind. Show love. I had a conversation while I was driving back from the 6LACK concert. The next few sentences are a gist of what that entailed. It helped me a lot too. I need to take my own advice more often. Know when to back away when the vibe feels off. I’m still learning to trust this feeling. It takes two people to work on any form of relationship, but if there’s only one willing to fight for success as a couple, then I think the relationship has already run its course. If something feels unnatural and forced, then it probably is. Long term, or even short term, nobody likes feeling uncomfortable in a relationship. Trust the energy you are receiving. Energy doesn’t lie.

Also, while you may be tripping over keeping something alive that is already dead, you may be missing out on the potential of something much greater.

Song Descriptions:

My best friend Kayla and I saw 6LACK and Sabrina Claudio in concert on Thursday (11-09). I’ve been a fan of his since way before his album was released last year so it was great to finally see him live. I first found Sabrina when she was on YouTube, so it was cool to see her too. My favorite lyrics from Never Know are: I know a lot of people but I don’t fuck with a lot…If I was waiting on you to tell me then I would never know.”

Click here to read the official lyrics for Never Know by 6LACK

SZA is my qveen, and Chance is just the cherry on top of Child’s Play.

Wiz released a new album that I actually really like, but while on the road I started re-listening to his older projects and Get Your S**t really stuck with me. It’s the end of an era and the beginning of a new one with his new girl. Instead of me typing all of my favorite lyrics just read them all.

Click here to read the official lyrics for Get Your S**t by Wiz Khalifa

OHHHKKKKKAAAAYYYY, Chris Brown’s new 45 track album Heartbreak on a Full Moon is ridiculously good. There are 24 songs on that thing I like. Emotions is one of those. The pre-chorus into the chorus is my favorite part, and the actual music production is something that hooked me too.

I first started listening to Belly when his Inzombia album dropped in November of 2016. This past week I’ve been listening to my Belly playlist that has all of his music in it. While I do enjoy his first few projects, and I do appreciate Mumble Rap, Inzombia still has so many of my favorite songs of his.

G IS RELEASING A DOUBLE ALBUM ON DECEMBER 15TH. The Plan bumps.

I heard Portland at the K-State football game I went to and that song brought me back to life because I am not the biggest fan of football. The music and band were on pointtttttt though.

Adam got me hooked on I Miss You and How Long. The lyrics in both songs are too wonderful and lately I’ve been paying a lot of attention to Charlie’s music production. He makes these slight changes that are so subtle, yet welcomed.

I am beyond excited for Aly and AJ’s new EP to be released. Their new sound is so on with today’s sound, but they still manage to give is a twist somehow. It’s awesome whatever they’re doing.

Tyler. I bought a ticket to see Tyler, The Creator on November 9th, and I was fully planning on attending his concert after 6LACK, but the first concert ran too long. SO, after being a Tyler fan for like 3 years I didn’t get to see him perform one of my favorite albums of 2017. I’ll live, but man that would’ve been a great moment.

The lyric that pops out to me the most in Sometimes is when Logic repeatedly says, “Use your head don’t be dumb.”

Night Vision Goggle is on an titled album The Catalina Wine Mixer by LE$. That song and  and the song Ode to Viceroy were sent to me during the week and they both fit the flow so I decided they deserved placement. Mac’s lyrics definitely fit the theme of dysfunction. :)

My favorite lyric from Never Call Me is during Kurupt’s outro. He says, “..you are the one, everyone else is 2’s and 3’s. You’re the one.”

Click here to read the offical lyrics for Never Call Me by Jhéne Aiko feat. Kurupt

I was worried this playlist wasn’t going to end up sounding great, but to be very honest this is one of my favorite playlists now.

Love, -E xx.

[mustdang-100]

Shifting Perspectives - Ch. 3

Reigen wakes. The plot thickens. 

Summary: How many espers does it take to rescue one abducted conman?

Months after the events of the World Domination arc, Reigen disappears sometime between leaving the office and after-work plans. Serizawa finds himself the unwilling leader of a bunch of former Claw members and a couple of stubborn teenagers, determined to get Reigen back.

Read on AO3 Ch.1|Ch.2|Ch.3|Ch.4 Tumblr Ch.1|Ch.2|Ch.3 - below|Ch.4

Reigen crawled back to consciousness in fits and starts.

The indistinct murmur of unfamiliar voices was the first thing that registered in his bleary brain. He lived alone; waking to voices that weren’t the muffled yelling from the people above him or the screaming baby from two apartments down set his warning bells blaring. He forced his eyes open in confused alarm and clumsily tried to sit up.

One of the voices rose in agitation. Before he could focus on either the words or the blurred face coming towards him, he felt another needle prick. Unconsciousness rose again in a shadowy wave, smothering him back into silence and darkness.

The next time Reigen woke, it was to silence.

This time, half-memories and leftover sensations of warning prompted him to keep still as he slowly shook off the lingering haziness of the sedative. He kept his eyes closed and listened, ears straining, but everything remained silent; he could hear neither the urban murmur of traffic and people nor the calls of birds and insects he might expect from somewhere outside the city. After concentrating for a minute, he realized he was hearing what could be the hum of an air conditioner – or it could be just a ringing in his ears.

He lay still in the quiet space. No, that wasn’t right… he sat still; he’d been propped up on a chair, head thrown back to rest on top of the backrest. His mouth was open in what was probably a very unflattering expression. He was pretty sure he was drooling.

It was a hard chair. His hip and shoulder were sore, presumably from where he’d struck the ground falling on the concrete. His back hurt as well, crooked in an uncomfortable position. There was something hard and cold around both his wrists – handcuffs? What, were kidnappers using actual handcuffs now?

He considered continuing to play ‘unconscious victim’ – who knew what he might hear, what valuable pieces of information he might glean? He focused on staying in the exact same position, loose and relaxed.

The ache in his back intensified. He had to concentrate hard to keep his hands from moving even a centimeter. He noticed suddenly just how dry his throat was, and had to fight not to swallow to ease the raspy feeling. His nose itched.  

Eh, fuck it.

Reigen opened his eyes and groaned as obnoxiously as he could.

“Ugh, damn, you couldn’t even have put me on a table or something?” He stretched his back as much as possible from his seated position. Metal clinked – yep, there were indeed handcuffs, a chain attached to each cuff and looped through a cleat on the table in front of him. The table, in turn, was fixed to the floor.

Hmm. Interesting. How many kidnappers had access to legit handcuffs?

“And did you really have to use a taser? And the sedative? You couldn’t have just asked me to ‘come along quietly, and no one needs to get hurt?’” Reigen continued his indignant rant, mind whirring as he took in the rest of the room.

Sadly, it seemed that he’d been putting on a show for nothing. The beige-colored room was empty of other people, and, except for the table and chair, was bare of furniture. A metal door was set into the wall at his left. He faced a large window, through which he could see a smaller, unlit room, though he thought he could vaguely discern the shapes of a second table and two chairs. There was something sitting on the other table that Reigen couldn’t quite make out, but the whole set-up presented a very distinctive vibe.

Some kind of… interrogation room? What the…

He examined his own room again, more carefully, and noticed something he hadn’t before: the pattern of darker shapes on the floor were actually large, sinuous symbols. He studied them carefully, something about the characters striking a chord in his memory that he couldn’t quite place. He followed the shapes, almost but not quite recognizable as letters, up from the floor to where they’d been carved, smaller, into the walls, up and up–

He blinked. A camera was mounted high up just under the ceiling, turned towards him, red light blinking steadily.

So maybe his waking up hadn’t gone unnoticed after all.

As if on cue, a light switched on in the adjacent room and two people moved into view on the other side of the window, presumably from a door out of Reigen’s line of sight.

The man who appeared first was short and weedy-looking, wearing a dark suit and tie and carrying a thick folder of papers. He surveyed Reigen with all the smug confidence of a cat with a mouse before sitting down in one of the chairs. He opened the folder and sifted through its contents, fastidiously arranging and re-arranging the stack. The delay was an obvious power-play, and Reigen decided to ignore him for now, turning his attention to the person who had entered second.

She met Reigen’s gaze through the window, dark features impassive, and gave him a once-over that took his measure and, apparently, found it wanting. Ignoring the second chair, she instead leaned back against the wall to one side of the table, loosely crossed her arms, and half-closed her eyes, seeming to focus on everything and nothing.

Dressed all in dark clothing whose sharp cut gave the impression of military fatigues, and with her black hair cut practically short to just below her ears, Reigen would have guessed ‘bodyguard’ were it not for her casual posture and lack of any obvious weapon. That, and the twitchy side-glance the man gave her when she stayed behind him instead of sitting down in the chair clearly meant for her. But she ignored him, and the man said nothing to her, instead finally placing the neatly organized papers on the table.

The man looked up at Reigen for a moment, then pressed something on the device sitting on his table. A low crackle of static filled the air, over which Reigen could hear the man’s voice.

“Hello, Mr. Reigen. I must apologize for the inconvenience of those restraints, but we don’t want any accidents now, hmm? Allow me to introduce myself; I am Agent Nagata.”

Agent. Agent.

The word resounded through Reigen’s mind, wiping it of the questions he’d been preparing to fling at his kidnappers.

Agent. He’d been abducted by the fucking government.

Reigen stared through the window at the man – agent – for a bit longer, trying to regroup. He didn’t bother to try and hide his shock at the revelation; it supported the picture he decided he wanted to present. It was the guilty people who always acted cool, calm, and collected, right? Being outraged was a sign of innocence. He thought he’d heard that on a crime show or something. Or, maybe it was the other way around?

Wait, why shouldn’t he be outraged? He hadn’t done anything wrong. Recently. He was pretty sure.

He mentally shook himself, and took a deep indignant breath.

“So, the government has resorted to kidnapping citizens off the streets now? Well now, that certainly seems like something I’d be interested in taking to a court of law. I mean, I wasn’t read my rights or anything!”

Nagata smiled blandly, absentmindedly riffling the stack of papers.

“We of the Paranormal Monitoring Division are authorized to take certain… precautions in the case of psychic subjects. Special authorizations, you know.”

Reigen blinked.

“You are Arataka Reigen, the self-proclaimed 21st century’s greatest psychic?

“Uh… yes? Yes! So… so you’ve heard of me! Well, of course you have, I have been growing in the public eye lately and-”

“Owner and manager of the agency ‘Spirits & Such’ for more than six years now? Vanquisher of a number of dangerous spirits, including the notorious Kuchisake-onna? I should mention, by the way, your television appearance might have been just a little too public a display of your powers.”

Reigen adopted an affronted expression.

“And just how would you know about all of that? Just how long have you been following me? Special authorizations or not, this is starting to sound like quite the invasion of my rights as a Japanese citizen-”

“It is our duty to identify potential paranormal threats to our nation, and entirely within our sanctions to learn as much as we can about those threats. But also,” Nagata looked at him with something like disgust. “Most of that info is from your website.”

…oh.

The agent continued, “You may have noticed that you are currently completely unable to use your psychic abilities? With the assistance of espers employed by our division to infiltrate Claw’s ranks, we were able to locate someone with the ability to curse objects, even an entire room, in order to restrict an esper’s use of their powers.”

Ah – that was why the symbols on the floor and walls looked so familiar. Reigen had seen something like them before, in the room at the Seventh Branch where he’d finally tracked down Mob. He realized in hindsight that must have been Sakurai’s work – and that apparently, Sakurai was not the only one with that specialty.

Nagata shuffled his papers again, looking so self-satisfied that Reigen wanted to deck him just on principle.

“Let me get to the point of the matter. We are continuing our investigation into the most egregious psychic attack on Japanese soil to date, and we believe you might have some highly pertinent information regarding both the events that transpired and the culprit behind the attack.

Reigen had recovered from his surprise. He gave Nagata a bored look. “I seem to recall that the government has the person responsible for that attack already in custody. And it seems to me both that that should be enough for you to close that case, and that he should be a perfectly sufficient source for any further details you might need.”

Nagata gave him a thin smile.

“Ah, you are referring to the second most concerning psychic attack that has occurred in our country – the terror attack led by Touichirou Suzuki.” Nagata registered Reigen’s surprise and confusion with a lift of his brows.

“No, between our spies, surveillance, and interrogations of Suzuki himself, we have plenty of information on the development and engagement of that assault on Spice City. However,” the agent shifted in his chair.

“Suzuki… hasn’t been as forthcoming as we might have hoped as to the precise circumstances of why and how his plan was derailed, despite the highly… persuasive techniques our superiors have permitted our division to use on dangerous esper convicts.”

The agent’s grin turned sharp, the insinuation perfectly clear that he was ready and willing to continue the use of those methods.

Reigen tried not to gulp. He considered mentioning some statistics on the effectiveness of torture – or rather, its lack – but he hadn’t quite lost hope that he might be able to talk his way out of the situation, and cheek wouldn’t help him with that. However, he was mentally tallying the disadvantages of his situation, and coming to an unpleasant conclusion: the time had finally come for him to abandon some pretenses. He cleared his still-dry throat.

“I’m afraid, Agent Nagata, that you’ve been barking up entirely the wrong tree. The truth is, I’m not… I’m not actually psychic.”

Reigen’s tongue tripped over the words, too unused to the phrasing. The part of his brain not occupied with utter hysteria was bemused – he’d somehow landed in the oddest position of a fraud persuading someone of the absolute truth.

And, incredibly, terrifyingly, failing.

Nagata gave a high-pitched, quavering laugh. “Nice try, Mr. Reigen. I see you have grasped the situation at hand – don’t bother to try and wriggle out of it, there’s far too much evidence against you.”

Reigen frowned, annoyance building despite his fear. He was beginning to think that this pompous idiot wouldn’t be ready to listen to anything he had to say until he’d finished his spiel. He crossed his arms, found that the handcuffs got in the way, and tried to ignore how the metal pressed uncomfortably into his arms and chest.

“Now, as I was saying – the lack of details on the specifics of the conclusion to Claw’s attack is particularly troublesome, given that we believe those events precipitated the afore-mentioned even greater threat.” The agent pulled a full-page photograph from his stack and held it up, brandishing it in accusation. A familiar image loomed from the photo, taken from a great enough distance that almost the entire monolith was included in the frame.

“I believe you are aware of the giant broccoli that became known across the city as ‘the Divine Tree?’”

Reigen grinned, despite himself. It looked like it physically pained the man to say the words ‘giant broccoli.’ Nagata scowled at him.

“Naturally, the Tree drew our immediate attention in the aftermath of the Claw attack. We monitored it for weeks via electronic methods and field agents, in addition to all subjects of interest who might have been responsible for its appearance – namely, yourself and many of the former Claw members reported to be associated with you. However, one by one, our agents stopped reporting back in. Or when they did, it was just with nonsense about the Tree and someone called ‘Lord Psycho Helmet.’ And some of those agents were espers themselves. Eventually, the morning that the Tree up and disappeared, most of them just stopped responding.”

Reigen grinned wider. “Too enamored with the giant broccoli?”

“No one knows what happened,” Nagata continued, teeth gritted. “No one. Do you understand the level of threat that represents? Our agents showed up to work with no clear memory of much of the day before. The only reason we know anything is the footage they’d already gathered. The psychic behind the Divine Tree,” he placed careful emphasis on the title. “-this Lord Psycho Helmet, brainwashed the entirety of Spice City, including some of our most powerful esper employees.”

A tiny scoffing sound came through over the static of the speakers. It could only have come from the woman, still leaning against the wall behind the agent’s table. Nagata’s already clenched jaw flexed, but he didn’t acknowledge the sound in any other way.

“Given the statements of Joseph Harnick, one of our esper agents, and from the Prime Minister himself, we thought at first the culprit responsible for the Tree’s appearance and then disappearance might be one of your employees – Katsuya Serizawa, secretly continuing Claw into a new phase of existence under the title of Lord Psycho Helmet. We know, of course, that he’s remained in contact with other former Claw members.” Nagata tapped his papers against the desk, visibly calming himself back down as he eased back into his speech.

In contrast, Reigen’s temper flared, and he found he had to physically restrain himself from saying something that might get him in trouble. Someone tailing him was one thing, but following Serizawa? That crossed a line; Reigen didn’t like to contemplate what kind of damage that invasion of privacy could do to Serizawa’s healing process.

The agent didn’t seem to notice Reigen’s rising anger. “However, our surveillance showed that he went nowhere other than the school he attends, your office, and his apartment for that entire day. You, on the other hand, were last sighted walking directly towards the Tree. You, and your other employee, the middle-schooler.”

A burst of understanding wiped the anger from Reigen’s mind. Instead, horror began to creep slowly up his spine.

“Feigning ignorance is an exercise in futility. We know, Mr. Reigen, that is was a single civilian esper who opposed Suzuki. We know that the Tree appeared during the conclusion of that confrontation. And we know you were there. So, I will ask you outright. Were you the esper responsible for confronting the terrorist Suzuki, and for the subsequent appearance and disappearance of the tree?”

It was Mob. They were looking for Mob.

Reigen recognized with dread that only two things were keeping Mob off their radar. The first was that it was completely beyond their understanding that a fifteen-year-old kid could have the type of power they were looking for.

And the second, was that they thought they’d already found their culprit. If they’d already found the one responsible, why would they need to look elsewhere?

Reigen stared the agent dead in the eye, and made a decision.

He chuckled, the sound harsh and not amused in the slightest. He let the smile fall from his face. Now, they were back in his ballpark.

“It seems you’ve caught me, Nagata. Yes, I’m the esper responsible.”

Nagata grinned, pleased but not surprised. “Of course you are. And now that we’ve established that, you will tell me everything about-”

The woman behind the table sighed, heavily, as though interceding was the greatest inconvenience on earth, and straightened from her slouch.

“You’re an idiot, Nagata. This man is no esper.”

Nagata flinched, almost imperceptibly, and then stood abruptly as though to hide it, spluttering noises of protest. But Reigen could see that his hands were trembling – his interrogator was very afraid of this woman.

He wondered if that meant he should be afraid too.

“I told you when we brought him back,” she said, arms still crossed, expression bored. “I could have told you even before that, the instant I saw him.”

“We, we must get to the bottom of all this!”

“And as usual for a… non-esper… you are going about it all wrong.” Reigen could practically taste the disdain rolling off her tongue with the words. She did not need to use the phrase ‘commoner;’ it was imbedded in her very body language as she addressed the man, who was beginning to redden in anger.

“This is why your superiors hired me, and why they wanted me present for the interrogation.”

Well – this wouldn't do. She was messing up Reigen’s plans. He thought fast.

“Ah, I do beg your pardon,” Reigen broke in, “-but I’m afraid you’re incorrect. You see, one of my specialties is hiding my own aura from the gazes of other espers. It’s how I stay hidden, keeping my identity a secret.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You mean the identity plastered all over your website, voicemail, and place of work?”

“It’s all part of running a business,” Reigen said smoothly. “I actually rarely end up needing my powers in my day to day services. It’s much more about gathering insight into how people work, listening to each client, solving their real problems whether they understand what it is or not-”

“Shut up.”

She looked him up and down, expression doubtful but eyes appraising. “The room you are in prevents you from using any of your powers, including any aura-dampening abilities. And yet you still have no psychic aura right now.”

Reigen shrugged. “These symbols probably work by suppressing everything, down to a psychic’s aura,” he said, almost apologetically. He sighed. “It’s just too bad the awesomeness of my power means that you have to keep me shut up in here, for your own safety. With full access to my powers, I could easily take you both on and escape.”

As soon as he’d spoken, Reigen knew he’d miscalculated.

The woman’s hand came up in a gesture he’d seen from Mob and Serizawa dozens of times, palm flat and facing out towards him. The glass in the window between them cracked, then shattered, pieces falling to the floor in a glittering rain. The chain between his handcuffs snapped and he was hauled up from his seat. He let out an involuntary yelp and flailed in midair, limbs instinctively seeking a gravity that no longer applied to him.

He floated through the air, through the now-empty window frame, and found himself standing directly in front of the esper woman.

“You say your specialty is hiding your aura.” Her lip curled. “I sincerely doubt that, but now I need to test exactly what other powers you might be hiding. Allow me to demonstrate mine.”

Reigen’s body went ramrod straight. He suddenly could not move his limbs even an inch, not a toe, not a finger; his hands sat unnaturally stiff against his sides, fingers splayed. He tried to say something, anything, and found that even his jaw wouldn’t move. All he could do was stare straight at the esper who held him captive.

She stared back, dark eyes cool.

“I was always a gifted telekinetic.” A statement, not a brag. “Manipulating balls of water was an amusing, simple childhood game. But as I honed my skills to an even greater precision, controlling pressure and temperature down to the molecular level, I discovered it was possible to alter water’s very substance.” She smiled, razor thin. “You can imagine my sister’s surprise the first time a puddle she played in froze her feet into place.”

Her smile disappeared.

“Did you know that the human body is more than fifty percent water?”

Reigen went cold.

At first, he thought it was merely a mental reaction to her words and the overwhelming hysteria that had fogged his brain and numbed his limbs when he’d realized he’d lost all control over his own body. Until he began to shiver.

Not in nervousness or fear, but an involuntary reaction that grew slowly to full body spasms. He might have fallen, had his body not still been held stiffly upright by the force he did not understand. Or rather, that he did not want to understand, because he was alone, and was increasingly aware it was something he could not fight.

“Don’t worry,” the esper said evenly, as if this was an everyday occurrence. “My skills are such that I can control your body temperature down to the degree. I’ve had a lot of practice. These days, all the deaths I cause are intentional.”

She dropped her hand, as if suddenly bored, and Reigen was finally allowed to crumple to the ground for the second time in two days. He curled into a fetal position, pulling his hands into his body in an automatic, futile gesture, seeking warmth.

The esper turned on her heel, pulling open the door and calling over her shoulder, “Nagata, let my people know when your plans next require our skills.” The door slammed shut behind her.

Reigen gathered the strength to lift his head, looking over to see what had become of Nagata. The agent had abandoned his seat and flung himself into a corner, back to the wall, breathing heavily. His wide, panicked eyes met Reigen’s, before he straightened and hurried out of the room himself, leaving his papers behind. The door locked with an audible clunk.

Reigen struggled to push himself upright, keeping his hands and feet pulled in, and gazed dumbly around at the destruction left behind. He had somehow managed to avoid most but not all of the glass in his fall; the little nicks to his exposed skin made themselves known as his body began to warm to the ambient temperature. He did not move from the huddled position.

He was still shivering.

[5hfanfiction]

Flowers on my doorstep: Chapter 4

A/N: This ones for @DeniseBlair2. Thanks for lighting a fire up my ass, So to speak and getting me to update. I hope y'all like this one, it’s not my best, but enjoy, I’ll get better. Promise.

“Okay.” I agreed, feeling a weight lifted off my shoulder and a new hope set in. Maybe things in Miami would be better than even I thought. “Thank you Camila.”

“For what?” She asked simplistically.

“For not..um…” Damn I lost the word again. What was it? “Re..re..Fuck.” I muttered frustratedly, looking away from Camila feeling embarrassed. “I can’t remember the word.” I told her, opting for honestly seeing as that what we were doing…Honesty hour and all that jazz…

“Is that part of having a brain injury? Forgetting words?” She asked sympathetically.

“Um…yeah. Sorry.” I apologised feeling like a idiot.

“Hey, don’t apologies. It’s not your fault.” She insisted kindly, but it kind of was my fault. If I hadn’t been such a selfish idiot that day I probably would never have ended up half brain dead. But I didn’t want Camila to feel bad about not being able to make me feel better so I just smiled appreciatively and continued (not)watching the movie onscreen for the rest of the night until I had to go back to my room for the night because I had class tomorrow and I wouldn’t be able to go if I didn’t get enough sleep. So, I said my goodbyes and thank you’s before shuffling back to my room.

-

Today I woke up feeling incredibly fatigued and I noticed my movements and coordination was not the best which frustrated me to no end, but nevertheless I got up and dressed to head out to my first class: music. I had always wanted to study music before everything that happened I was even given scholarships from prestigious colleges, because I was very good. I’d like to think I was still good at music and somewhere deep down inside of me was that talent I had before, but the reality always hits and soon I realised I couldn’t play the piano as well as I did before, nor could I even pronounce the words properly; let alone sing them, but I definitely wanted to try. I was here to learn. That’s what my mom always told me. We go to school to learn, not to acknowledge genius.

So before I knew it I was sat in the music room jigging my leg nervously waiting for the lesson to begin as I watched more and more people filter in, but no one stopped to talk to me, which made me sad because I tried to smile at them and appear friendly but it didn’t work. Until a familiar face walked in and I jumped up waving and smiling to get her attention. “C-Camila.” I called her over hopefully.

“Hey there.” She smiled and sat down next to me. “I didn’t know you was in this class.”

“Yes! Started late.” I explained to her.

“Oh yeah. Sorry, I’m an idiot sometimes.” She laughed, but I didn’t think it was funny. People shouldn’t laugh at themselves.

“No. You’re n-not an idiot.” I reaffirmed.

“I can be.” She dismissed, “Anyway, how are you finding Miami?”

“It is good. Different, but good.” I told her.

“Must be a nice change from the New York weather. I went there once with my family and it was freezing, like I think I almost died. Plus, you New Yorkers are scary people.”

“Only some. I’m nice!” I insisted, because I didn’t want her to not be my friend because she thought I was mean. I tried not to be. I hated hurting people, I would never do it.

“I dunno, you’re a bit intimidating. I think it’s the whole New Yorker vibe you’re giving off.” She said nudging my side playfully and tried my hardest not to shift away in a panic. I didn’t want her to think I was weird, especially now that she knows.

“But I’m from Miami.” I informed her and proving my point of not being scary because technically I’m not a New Yorker.

“Oh, well…it must just be because you’re hot.” She smirked and my face heated up an uncomfortably fast rate.

I was hot? No one had ever called me hot before…Lucy had always called me fat and ugly, but she said that’s how other people saw me, not her, because she loved me and would be the only one to ever love me, but Normani - my friend- said that people who truly love you would never hurt you, so I’m not sure. But I do know one thing. I like being called hot.

“Um- thank you Camila, no ones ever told me that before.” I blushed, looking down at my hands in my lap.

“You’re welcome Lauren.” she laughed. ‘And that’s insane by the way, because you’re like so gorgeous, that if I saw you walking down the street I’d probably run the other way.“ Camila added.

The way she spoke was like she was in Lala land and had no awareness of other people or even a filter between her brain and her mouth. It was refreshing to be around someone so raw. Everyone else I knew from home would always second guess themselves not wanting to say the wrong thing and inevitably not saying anything at all. in the first few months after I woke up, no one ever really said anything to me. They’d just sit there and try not to cry I think. The only person whoever spoke to me properly like they did before was my best friend Normani. She would always talk to me, even when I couldn’t say anything back, even when she was still angry at me for going back to her time and time again.

"You’re funny Camila.” I laughed happily for the first time in a long time.

“Why thank you Lauren. I have a feeling we are going to get along quite well.” she said in a fancy voice that made me throw my head back and laugh again just as the professor walked in and called order to the room so I had to quickly stifle my laughter but it erupt again and have to muffle it with my hand when ever Camila gave me a look, deliberately trying to get me to laugh out even harder. it was nice to be able to laugh about something for once in my life.

“Alright guys as part of your grade you will be performing at the Miami amphitheatre to a crowd of no less than 200 people, so please collect your assigned music scores from me and we shall begin rehearsals now.” The kind dark skinned teacher spoke reassuringly. “Oh and before I forget…which I quite Cleary did…we have a new student.” she said causing the class to laugh at her joke as she rolled her eyes at herself then pointed me out. “This is Lauren Jauregui and I hope you all give her a nice warm welcome and are just as supportive with her as you are with each other. Now my children, lets make some music!” She clapped her hands excitedly and everyone got up to collect their scores.

“Lauren, can you come over here for a moment please?” The young tattooed teacher called me over.

“Y-yes Miss?” I asked once I had made my way over to her desk anxiously, cursing my self for the stupid stutter I had today.

“Don’t look so worried. This is a fun class.” she smiled shifting through some files and pulling out a few pieces of paper. “So I have been informed of your injuries and as the teachers responsible for your wellbeing we have to offer support towards you, which I am more than willing to give you. So here are some forms I am going to need you to fill out to sign up for music therapy.” she said handing me the forms.

“M-Music Th-Th-therapy?” I question her and kicked myself at the stupid speech impediment I hated so much.

“Yep, its either that our a session with Steve our guidance counsellor- who is no the greatest and spends most of his time ranting about his problems and trying to get you to fix them. But you didn’t here that from me” She winked.

“Al-alright.” I nodded in agreement.

“Good, I look forward to it Lauren. but for now here are your scores. You’re on piano and vocals.” she said handing me a large wad of paper covered with music notations.

“Really?” I asked both excitedly and apprehensively. “What if I mess it up? Don’t you want someone..more c-capable than m-me?’

"I’ve seen what you can do Lauren. You have raw talent and I want you front and centre for this showcase and no, I don’t doubt your capabilities.”

“But..I’m not the same as before.”

“We’ll get there. Now go learn those new pieces. Don’t think I’ll be letting you off easy.” She said sternly, pointing a finger as I walked away.

“Yes Miss.” I agreed happy at that new piece of information, that people wouldn’t be treating me differently. I went and sat back down next to my new friend Camila who now had the same wad of papers in her hand. “Hi.” I breathed out slowly trying to control my stutter, because it was really prominent today. That’s why I usually spoke in shorter sentences, it was easier to control. The less words the better in my opinion.

“Hi, did you get your part?” She asked briefly glancing up from the papers that she was studying intensely.

“Y-yeah. I’m on v-vocals. P-piano. Y-you?” I asked, though I felt rude for not being able to ask in full sentences.

“That’s awesome, I’m on vocals too. Are you okay? You’re not nervous are you?” She asked sincerely and it hurt my feelings to know that I seemed abnormal. Because I didn’t want to seem weird, especially when I tried so hard. It took me two years for me to be able to speak coherently. I never lost my speech entirely, but when I woke up I couldn’t control my muscles enough to articulate the words I wanted to say, not to mention the feelings of disorientation I had from waking up in hospital and all the distressing memories that came flooding back from what happened.

“N-no. Not n-nervous.” I stuttered giving up trying to hide it and opting to just point to my brain considering she already knew. “B-Brain.” I explained.

“Oh! I’m so sorry.” Camila pleaded. “I didn’t mean to- I didn’t know that it caused you to speak funny. Not that you speak funny! I just meant I didn’t know you had a speech impediment. You spoke fine yesterday.” She rambled on clearly freaked out and doing that thing everyone did when they tip toed around me trying not to cause any offence.

“I-its okay. It comes and it g-goes. ’M not used to long d-days.” I tried to explain the best I could.

“I understand. It’s the same with me. Not with a brain injury obviously but with my OCD.” She spoke but I quickly rushed forward and put a finger to her mouth to silence her because I didn’t want anyone to know, not yet. I didn’t want to be know as the weird girl with brain damage before they even got to know me.

“Oh sorry. Don’t you want people to know?” Camila asked in a hushed tone, once I moved my hand away but only after I was sure she would stay quiet.

“N-not yet please?” I begged.

“Okay that’s fine. I didn’t know sorry.” She apologised again. “I’ll make sure to be more careful.”

“Thank you.” I breathed relief. Camila really was very nice and way too pretty and cool to ever want to be my friend. So I don’t know why she’s actually paying attention to me. “I’m n-not t-tak-king y-y-you away  from y-your f-f-f-friends, am I?” I asked inwardly cursing myself for being so stupid and inept that I could even finish my sentence.

“Not really. I’m actually grateful you’re here.” She said much to my disbelief. “You see that guy over there? With the pinkish looking hair. He’s the one responsible for my tears that night.” She explained as I stared across the room at the pink-haired boy.

“He looks l-like he hasn’t showered in-na week.” I commented on his dirty appearance, but then feeling bad for putting him down, because that wasn’t a very nice thing to do to people and I didn’t want to be that type or person. Not ever. “B-But h-he has nice hair.” I told her, looking at the soft pink colour of his hair. I liked the colour pink, it didn’t hurt as much as the other colours did to look at. “I-It’s pink like my glasses.”

“You wear glasses?!” She asked shocked.

“Yes-s, why?” I asked confuse as to her shock. Didn’t most people wear glasses.

“No reason.” She shook her head looking away, but I didn’t believe her because she was acting weirder than before.

“T-tell m-me. P-please.” I asked feeling insecure now. Did she not want me to wear glasses?! “I’m sorry. I..um..w-won’t w-wear them-m if it’s t-too embarra”- I tripped on the big word-“ embarrassing for you.”

“Huh? What? no! It’s not that. Trust me, it’s not that. Who would even care enough to think that?” She laughed awkwardly trying to backtrack me. “You just don’t seem the…type? To wear glasses.”

“D-didn’t. Brian.” I tapped my head, reminding her.

“Yeah, well you’re still too hot to look like the type to wear glasses.” She mumbled and my eyes went wide because she said it again. I was going to call her out on it, but I didn’t want to because generally questioning someone didn’t end well for me.

“P-piano?” I asked, changing subject looking around the room for a piano but there was none. Just a few hand held instruments, like guitars, violins and bongos. As well as a few mic stands dotted around the room.

“Oh yeah. It’s through that door.” Camila pointed to a door to the left of us and slightly in front of the Miss Parrish’s desk.

“I can go?” I asked hesitantly not wanting to go in case I wasn’t allowed, even though other students had instruments in their hands.

“Yeah, just walk straight through that door. It’s a huge grand piano. You can’t miss it.” She smiled before looking back down to her paper, which she was currently scratching notes all over. So I quietly got up and made my way over to the door passing the desk where Miss Parrish gave me a reassuring thumbs up.

Wow. The piano was beautiful and I could see my reflection, as I approached it, from the top of the shiny surface that glistened against the white of the keys. Just by looking at it I felt my pulse quicken in both excitement and nerves. I hadn’t tried playing the piano in ages, what if I wouldn’t be able to play it the same?

Timidly, I sat down on the stool and slowly lifted my hands to place upon the keys not yet daring to press the down. I racked by brain for a song, one I wouldn’t forget and found the piece of knowledge I needed as I moved my hands up the piano to play in a higher octave and pressed down on the fist set of keys allowing the beautiful sound of the piano to ring out in the room before moving to the next notes. Slowly but surely I managed to play the first bar, but the song got harder from there and I found myself stumbling over the notes and not being able to press them down in synchronisation. Let alone move up and down the piano. The more I tried the more I failed and eventually the angel outweighed my determination.

I felt so incredibly frustrated at myself that I couldn’t even control my anger and got up and kicked over the music stand that stood at the front of the room, feeling the rush of anger exude from my body. Before sinking down to the floor, feeling the cold of the wall up against my back as tears trickled from my eyes. I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to be like this. I wanted to be hopeful like they said, but how could I when I was hopeless. The only thing in the world I was actually good at, the only thing that gave me any peace had been taken away from me by the very same person who had taken away everything else. She had reduced me to nothing and I hated her for it. I hated her. I hated her. I HATED HER!

I wanted to scream but even then I knew I wouldn’t be able to because my words would fall out into a jumbled up pile of mess onto the floor.

So I just sat there, on the floor, in the silence - that signalled nothing more than my failure - until the bell rang signalling the end of the period and I heard people filling out of the classroom and when it was silent I did too; picking up the music stand before making my way out the door.

“Lauren? Everything okay?” Miss Parrish asked, but I didn’t feel like talking. I didn’t feel like acknowledging my failure as a human being. So, I ignored her, grabbed my bag and left quickly without even glancing at the nice professor and bumping directly into Camila outside of the room.

“Whoa, are you okay? What happened?” She asked concertedly. But I didn’t want to talk to her either. Not now, not when I couldn’t speak two words without stuttering. Not when I knew I wouldn’t be able to control my temper. Damn, was there anything I could control? I laughed bitterly to myself and shook my head at Camila.

“No, you’re not okay? Or no, you don’t want to talk?” She asked following my gaze as I adverted all the way to the floor and shrugged my shoulders, because despite my feelings, I didn’t want to push her away when we were just becoming friends. “Well if you’ve got a free period now, how about we go get some coffee?” She asked, but I was hesitant. “Come on. It’s the best coffee shop in town.” She tempted, wiggling her eyebrows comedically, trying to get me to laugh or something. So I just nodded.

“Cool, follow me.” She sang pointing out a finger and diving into the direction of the courtyard like supergirl.

-

“Tastes good, right?”

“Mhmm.” I hummed sipping my drink, I had opted for a hot chocolate instead. Not wanting to risk adding caffeine into my diet and messing with my neurones. But damn did I miss drinking coffee.

“You wanna talk?” She offered gently as we sat on a small circular table in the middle of the thankfully quiet cafe.

“I- um. C-c-c-c-can’t.” I stuttered profusely and looked away embarrassed and angry at myself. She was really going to think I was weird now. Good Job Lauren.

“Sure you can. You’re doing just fine.” Camila encouraged nonchalantly, much to my surprise.

“R-r-really?” I asked flabbergasted, because that was not how I’d describe the nonsense gibberish coming out of my mouth.

“Yep. I can understand you. So I don’t see a problem and even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t mind because I could just sit here and stare at you face as you spoke.” She said, but I didn’t understand why, because it’s not like my voice sounded interesting when I was stuttering all over the place.

“O-Okay.” I started, preparing my next sentence. “-

"So do you wanna tell me?” Camila laughed. Doing that thing people always did where they didn’t give me chance to get my words out. Sometimes they got lost between my mouth and my brain. But I didn’t call her out on it, because that wouldn’t be nice for her and I’d probably seem rude to someone who was just trying to help.

“I…..c-c-can’t…p-play. I t-t-tried b-but…” damnit this was getting increasingly tricky as I tried to rush through my sentences, so I held up my hands to signal my fingers as she waited patiently for me to get my words out. “They…w-won’t…..w-w-work.” I explained as best I could hoping I made sense.

“Well that fucking sucks, because I really needed a piano backing for my A-mazing vocals.” She joked successfully making me laugh and throw my head back in a giggle that racked my body so much that I couldn’t control the happiness that began to radiate all through my body and slowly drive out the anger and frustration.

“You’re funny.” I spoke smiling at her as she watched me drinking her all black coffee.

“And you just spoke a full sentence without stuttering.” She pointed out, placing her coffee cup down on the coaster decorated with old vintage buildings.

“I-I did?!” I exclaimed, wide-eyed and jaw-dropped.

“Did.” She enunciated the word signifying its past tense jokingly so I knew she wasn’t putting me down. I liked this girl, despite her casual smugness. “But I was serious. I do need a pianist for my piece, so, we are going to have to get you back up to scratch again.” She looked at me seriously with a promise in her eye.

“We?” I questioned.

“We.” She confirmed, holding up her pinky for a promise and I grabbed hold of it with mine and she kissed the end by her thumb, confusing me.

“You’ve gotta seal it with a kiss.” She said locking eyes with me. They were a lovely shade of brown that disappeared from my sight as I bent my head down and sealed in the promise with my lips just like she had.

I was going to play the piano again.

My Wattpad is MidnightCrossings, in case any of y'all want faster updates cause I tend to forget to submit them on here. 😁