#i am a habitual people pleaser

[yes-i-am-happyaspie]

My favorite thing about Tumblr polls is that I can use them to quell my internal debating by putting the majority of my decision-making process on literally anyone else.

I've started a Bio Dad AU that involves a good bit of backstory and a lot of twisty turns that have required me to do a lot of plotting. It's getting really convoluted at this point, and I'm thinking I would really like to make it a No Powers AU as well. But I also feel bad about leaving out the powers (Even though I ADORE reading No Power AUs!)

Anyway...

their* >> tumblr won't let me edit the poll

[imtrashraccoon]

My UTMV Skellies!

This took me so long (it's over 5,000 words!) but here is a little blurb for all of my named skellies. This should help if you don't know about some of them. I'll be pinning it to my master post so it's easier to reference in the future.

Undertale: Under Development

Sans: Classic

- Classic is skeleton who's on the shorter side at around five feet tall. His bones are broader than human bones are, giving him the appearance of a bulkier body. His eyelights are a soft white with a hint of blue and his teeth are mostly blunt, save for his canines which are sharper. He usually has grooves underneath his eye sockets as he struggles with insomnia. He doesn't usually have visible ecto but when he does, it's a whitish-blue like his eyelights. He's likely in his early thirties or the Monster equivalent.

- He is seen as a lazy comedian and he tends to play into this perception. He's generally overlooked by both Humans and Monsters, partially because he's a weak Monster and partially because he doesn't usually go out of his way to draw attention to himself.

- He has a lot of worries and inner struggles as he tends to overthink things but he hides them behind a smile and a well timed joke. He also struggles with depression and a myriad of other negative emotions. Despite this, he's a compassionate person and habitually keeps an eye socket on those he cares about.

- He occasionally does odd jobs but he prefers performing at comedy clubs. He's naturally charismatic and enjoys telling objectively bad jokes, especially since Humans don't tend to find the funny bone man a threat. Making people laugh helps him overlook his own prejudices anyways. Otherwise, he keeps to his old habits and is often found at Grillby's or asleep in strange places.

- Sometime, I plan to write a long fic centered around him but it's still in the early planning stage as I've been focused on other projects. At the moment I have two chapters written and a very basic plot outline. This fic will be called The Caged Canary.

Papyrus: Vanilla

- Vanilla is a skeleton that is taller than most humans, at nearly seven feet tall. He's thinner than his brother but his bones are still thicker than human bones. His teeth are larger than his brother's but mostly blunt, save for his canines. He also doesn't usually have visible ecto but when he does, it is a bright orange. I haven't decided if he would have visible eyelights or not, although I am leaning towards yes, but they would also be bright orange. He is likely in his mid twenties or the Monster equivalent.

- He is seen as an ambitious but rather naive person. Many people find him a bit much but they don't want to hurt his feelings so they put up with him. Unfortunately, many humans have tried to take advantage of his perceived naivety but he soon proves them wrong.

- In reality, he is a very genuine person who does his best to see the best in people. He is aware that a lot of people don't take him seriously but he has discovered that they tend to trust him much more easily. He is also compassionate like his brother and is quick to stand up for what he knows is right, even if it's not the easy thing to do. He tends to struggle with insecurity and can be a people pleaser since he really wants to have friends and to be liked. He may also be an introvert although you wouldn't know it at first.

- I haven't decided what he does for a living on the surface yet but a lot of his hobbies carry over from his time in the Underground. He continues his hobby of making puzzles, even moreso now that he has access to more materials. His nerdy side means that he gets to collect more action figures and he even gets into video games and comics. He also enjoys wearing bright colours and increasingly outrageous patterns.

- He will be a major character in The Caged Canary although most likely he'll be a friend rather than a love interest. I really like him but I have a hard time picturing him as the type to settle into a romantic relationship. This could change though.

Underfell

Sans: Crimson

- Crimson is a large skeleton, reaching about six feet tall and is much bulkier than a human skeleton. His eyelights are a crimson red and he has almost shark-like teeth, with one having been replaced with a golden tooth. He doesn't usually have visible ecto, since he usually covers most of his body anyways, but it would match his eyelights. His claws aren't as pointy as his brother's but they are equally as sharp. He has quite a few scars, mostly as a result of getting into fights back in the Underground, although he doesn't feel the need to really show them off nowadays. He is two hundred and nine years old.

- For much of his adult life, he has had a rather infamous reputation and was known to dust anyone who even looked at him wrong. Despite this, he liked to spend time at Grillby's and chat it up with the patrons. He was all too willing to challenge others to drinking games or play poker with anyone, although most quickly learned the hard way that he tended to win these. It was also an unspoken rule that if you wanted to buy certain illicit goods, he was the one to talk to.

- He does have cruel tendencies especially since he has quite a bit of LV, but he has a soul deep down. While he doesn't have many friends or family, he's very protective of the ones he does have. He's calmed down a lot ever since leaving the Underground but he's still a rough mannered guy. While he doesn't like humans very much, he has a soft spot for Frisk since they were the one to set Monsters free and change the King's mind about waging war. He doesn't leave the house much and prefers to be lazy over anything, much to his brother's frustration.

- He doesn't have a job but he does occasionally help his brother around the farm. Otherwise, he lives off of the gold he accumulated Underground and tries to enjoy life now that he doesn't have to fight all the time. He likes to go on walks and has been able to indulge in his interests, such as astrology.

- He will be a major character in my next Underfell fic called Fractured Souls as a love interest. I have written a couple of chapters but have delayed uploading them with how busy I've been. I have so much brainrot over him though.

Papyrus: Scar

- Scar is more lanky than bulky but at seven feet tall, he still towers over most people, especially humans. His eyelights are more of a scarlet colour and his teeth are also very sharp as are his claws. He doesn't usually have visible ecto since he prefers long sleeves and pants, but it would match his eyelights. He has two parallel scars that pass through his left eye socket and are between four and six inches long. He has other scars of course but he also doesn't see much of a need to show them off. He's one hundred and ninety-six and thirteen years younger than his brother.

- Like his brother, he had an infamous reputation in the Underground and still does ten years later. He was much more ruthless than his brother to the extent that some people thought he was the one in charge. He had great ambitions of taking over Undyne's position as Captain of the Royal Guard but never got the opportunity to properly challenge her. Regardless, he controlled Snowdin and regularly made examples out of wrongdoers.

- He also has a lot of LV and not so secretly enjoys watching the suffering of others, provided they deserve it. He's also very protective of those he cares about, even if he has weird ways of showing it. He is much colder than his brother but if you manage to impress him, he'll occasionally give small compliments. He also doesn't like humans and will happily insult them, even when they're within earshot. He's almost always busy, partially because he can't sit around for long but also because his brother can't be bothered to do much of anything.

- He lives off of his savings from the Underground but also makes a bit of money from the hobby farm he keeps, although most of the produce is sold in the nearby Monster town. He's much happier living a simple life over all the fighting he used to do but still occasionally trains so that he doesn't grow weak. He has trained a wolf as an attack dog to protect his farm and also has an interest in archeology.

- He will be a major character in Fractured Souls, possibly as a love interest although I am undecided. I also adore him since I see him as a tsundere type and who doesn't love a hardworking guy?

Gaster: Vermillion

- Vermillion is between his brothers in height and on the slim side. His eyelights are vermillion in colour as is his ecto if he summons any. He has sharp teeth, sharp claws, and two large scars that pass through his eye sockets, nearly splitting his skull in half. He is the eldest of the three brothers and would be middle aged, possibly around four hundred years old? I haven't decided yet.

- Unfortunately, no one actually remembers him thanks to an unfortunate accident that erased him from existence. When he does return to the physical plane, those that were close to him start to remember bits and pieces but most have to get to know him all over again.

- He's a quiet, calculating person who is often rather cold, even towards those he cares about. Despite his high LV, he means well in his own way. He likes to sit back and observe people before offering his input, which leads to some actually good advice at times. He finds humans incredibly interesting and if given the opportunity, would take time to learn all he can about them.

- He used to be the Royal Scientist before the accident but because most of his research is long gone, he spends much of his time recording what he remembers. He helps Alphys with her research where he can but doesn't want to overstep. Otherwise, he likes to spend his time reading and taking in the surface.

- He will be a major character in Fractured Souls possibly as a love interest, but probably in a more platonic way, almost in a familial sense. I need to develop his character more of course but I really like the ideas I've come up with.

Underswap: Under Development

Sans: Blue

Papyrus: Saffron

- Unfortunately I haven't developed much at all for my Underswap boys beyond a few asks regarding Lolitas. I'm not even sure if I like Blue's name as it's rather generic. At the moment their dynamic is similar to the Tale brothers although I want them to have their own personalities. One day, I plan to at least write a oneshot but I don't have much of a plot beyond three paragraphs. Blue may show up in The Nightmare of Apathy though.

Horrortale: Under Development

Sans: Baston

- Baston is a large skeleton reaching six feet tall and has a stocky build. He has a red eyelight in his left eye socket and is blind in his right eye. The left side of his skull has a bad crack and his right eye socket has a few splintering cracks. His teeth are flat but still very sharp and his phalanges are tipped with claws. He's in his forties or the Monster equivalent.

- He doesn't meet a lot of people as he has purposely isolated himself from society but anyone who do meet him are usually terrified. He's a giant of a man who can move soundlessly through the woods while wielding an axe so this makes sense. For the most part, other monsters have a good opinion of him since he tried to protect and take care of them back in the Underground. He doesn't interact with a lot of people he used to know, partly because they settled further away but also because of what he had to do to survive the famine.

- He's a man of few words, even with his own brother. He spends much of his time out in the forest hunting, trapping, and contemplating the scenery around him. He's actually a great cook and years of experience mean he knows the best way to prepare nearly every kind of meat. Despite his frosty exterior, he's a gentle giant and he hates seeing anyone suffering. He prefers to fully observe a situation before acting so if he offers to help, it's because he thinks you actually need it.

- He's a woodsman and does most of the hunting and foraging while his brother takes care of the more domestic labour. This means he's often away from their little cabin for days at a time but whenever he's able, he also helps with the heavier chores like plowing the ground or chopping wood.

- He's actually the first skellie I came up with and is featured in a oneshot called Crazy & Cold. I'd love to write for him again but I don't know where to take his story at the moment.

Papyrus: Hemlock

- Unfortunately, I haven't developed Hemlock very much at all. I know he's a gentle soul and all too willing to make new friends, even though they live far away from civilization. He suffers from chronic pain and so is a bit limited on what he can do, but he likes making things like preserves and sewing. He really likes plants and keeps a garden during the warm months, although he occasionally has to ask his brother to help care for it.

Dreamtale

Lord Nightmare

- Nightmare is slightly stocky and is close to average height for humans. Thanks to consuming the Black Apples, he is always covered in a slightly corrosive substance that is basically liquid hate. The corruption covers his right eye socket and he is blind on that side as a result, although he makes use of his magic to compensate for this. His right eyelight is cyan and any ecto he summons would be the same colour. He has four tentacles protruding from his back which he uses interchangeably with his own hands. His teeth are flat but his canines are slightly sharp and his phalanges are tipped with sharp claws.

- He is feared and hated by pretty much everyone he meets. As the self-proclaimed Lord of Dusk and Shadows, he goes out of his way to spread negativity throughout the entire multiverse and enjoys making people suffer. He is the boogeyman that's in your closet, the monster under your bed, your sleep paralysis demon, and even a warlord conquering your country if he so chooses.

- Behind closed doors, he's vastly different from all the tales people tell. He's calm, domestic even, and keeps himself busy with clerical duties or does some reading. He's capable of being kind but positive emotions are hard to process and he's often rather cold even to those he cares about. He tends to be very possessive with the few people that don't hate him but maybe that's not such a bad thing.

- While he was formerly the Guardian of Negativity, he still carries on some of his old duties. There must always be balance and despite how much he would love to wipe out all positive feelings, he's older and wiser than he was as a child. He inflicts nightmares, especially on those he rules over, but most of the time it's so he can feed off of the negativity and not because he wants to see people suffer unnecessarily.

- He is a major character in The Nightmare of Apathy but has also been featured in a few oneshots as well.

Dream

- I haven't developed Dream a ton although he briefly appeared in a oneshot called A Gentle Soldier. I also plan to feature him later on in The Nightmare of Apathy. He's shorter than his brother and not as wise to the world since he's only been unfrozen from the stone for a short time. He's graceful, almost ethereal, and takes his duties as the Guardian of Positivity very seriously. He's definitely not on good terms with his brother and they've clashed many times in the past.

Siren AU

Red: Tiger Shark

- Red is a tiger shark siren with a skeletal upper half. He's just under twelve feet long and has numerous scars over his body, mostly from fights with other sirens. He has razor sharp teeth, with one having been replaced with a gold one, and equally sharp claws. As a Beast, he has ringed eyelights and they are a bright red. While he doesn't often summon ecto, it would match his eyelights if he did.

- As a siren, he doesn't exactly have friends and since he likes to migrate a lot, he doesn't have much opportunity to make any. Most sirens perceive him as just another male who will fight over potential mates and kill any rivals. He does tend to get into a lot of fights and because he's hot-headed, he isn't doing himself any favours to dispel the stereotype.

- Sure, he enjoys knocking other sirens down to size and establishing himself as the stronger individual, but that isn't all he is. He's clever and likes to catch his prey by surprise. He actively considers others feelings, provided they aren't jerks of course, and doesn't mind helping out here and there. He can be prone to jealousy but rather than express his feelings, he often keeps them inside until he inevitably explodes.

- He likes hunting difficult prey and finding interesting treasures. He also enjoys meeting new people, especially if they're nice.

- He's a major character in Swarmed By Sirens and is based on Llamagoddessofficial's character.

Sans: Orca

- Sans is an orca siren with a skeletal upper half. He's close to twenty feet long and also has many scars riddling his body with the most prominent being around his pectoral fins from being caught in a net as a calf and two puncture wounds from harpoons. He has white ringed eyelights and if he summoned ecto, it would match his eyelights as well. His teeth are flat but the edges are still sharp, as are his black claws.

- He's a terrifying presence in the northern waters, even though he's alone and without a pod. There are very few sirens who survive encountering him and all who do will attest that he is insane. He roams the same relative area of the ocean and regularly hunts down anyone in his "territory". He especially hates humans and will sink their vessel if he's able to, killing all on board.

- Tragically, he is haunted by the trauma of losing his entire pod when he was young due to siren hunters. As a result, he hates humans with a passion and tends to have possessive tendencies for the few people he's come to care about. He's a bit of a cuddle bug despite his murderous nature and loves being able to hold someone close. He's also quite charismatic to the point that you wouldn't know he has ulterior motives, almost.

- For lack of a better term, he likes to play with his food, usually while it's still alive too. It's not unheard of for predators to do this sort of thing so while some people might find it unsettling, most don't care. Otherwise, he enjoys fighting and showing off his strength.

- He is a major character in Swarmed By Sirens and is based on Llamagoddessofficial's character.

Skull: Cephalopod

- Skull is a cephalopod siren with a skeletal upper half. Thanks to deep-sea gigantism and possibly because of his untamed magic, he is much larger than most of his subspecies at sixteen feet long. He has jagged teeth, although they aren't as pointy as a shark's, and sharp claws. He only has one blood red eyelight although the ring isn't as pronounced as it is with the other two. He is missing part of the left side of his skull and he's blind in his right eye socket.

- Life is very different in the Abyssal Zone compared to the rest of the ocean and very few sirens actually make their homes there. Those who do could care less about reputations and only focus on staying alive. That being said, anyone who dares trespassing into his den never return. He doesn't hate anyone in particular and only kills to defend himself or for food.

- He's a simple person, preferring to sleep most of the time when he isn't hunting. He prefers to ambush his prey so that he can save his energy for when it counts. His injury has affected his memory and he doesn't know much about what his life was like before. He doesn't even remember if he has any family.

- He does like collecting shiny things but he doesn't have much use for them so he doesn't make it a habit. He doesn't care to show off his strength like the others, instead preferring to give gifts to potential mates.

- He's a major character in Swarmed By Sirens and is based off of Llamagoddessofficial's character.

The Dark Fortress: Under Development

Nightmare: Lord Donovan

- Donovan is covered in corruption thanks to being essentially forced to consume the Black Apples to survive a mortal wound. He has four tentacles protruding from his spine that are far stronger than they seem and has a bit of a stocky build. He has a cyan eyelight in his left eye socket and, while he could summon ecto, he doesn't see much need. His phalanges are tipped with sharp claws and he has sharp canines as well.

- He is a powerful sorcerer who can strike fear in the hearts of mortals just by looking at them. While there aren't many who actually know his name, they certainly know what he's done. He doesn't hesitate to destroy any perceived threat and his ruthlessness puts warlords to shame.

- Behind closed doors, he's much calmer, almost solemn at times, but bitterness has taken root in his soul. He hates that his birthright was ripped away from him and he wants nothing more than to get revenge on the ones responsible, although such a thing isn't possible anymore. Surprisingly, he takes pity on the outcasts and vagabonds of the world, giving them a place to belong in exchange for their loyalty. He highly values loyalty and as such, he needs people to prove themselves before he'll trust them.

- Other than conquering kingdoms, he likes to spend his time in his personal library where he can take comfort in one of the few things that brings him happiness. He's protective of his books and gets very upset if anyone even speaks of damaging them. He also enjoys experimenting with alchemy or magic and has a whole laboratory dedicated to these pursuits. He isn't really one for socializing, although he isn't opposed to spending quality time with the handful of people he trusts.

- He is from a oneshot called The Dark Fortress and serves as the love interest, much to his chagrin.

Killer: Dirk

- Dirk has a slight frame compared to the others but he's stronger than he appears. He doesn't have visible eyelights and constantly has corruption leaking out of his eye sockets. His soul has been warped beyond recognition and now appears as a red glowing target that floats above his ribcage. He's probably the only one of the four who cares to summon ecto regularly, although it matches his soul in colour. His phalanges are pointy and have dozens of small nicks where blades have bit into the bone.

- He is deadly in close quarters and while he usually plays the role of assassin, he's perfectly comfortable fighting on the front lines with the others. There aren't many outside of the fortress who even know of his existence and while he likes getting attention, he enjoys killing even more. While most of his targets never even see him coming, those who do quickly discover how insane he really is. He taunts his foes and is often grinning from ear to proverbial ear; sometimes he even makes crude jokes while in the thick of a fight.

- He's not too different behind closed doors compared to when others are around. Although, while he's still cocky, he also has some obsessive tendencies and tends to get jealous if you pay too much attention to others. He likes to act petty and steal things to annoy other people, especially if they're ignoring him. He's easily the most forward of the four and will flirt incessantly with anyone and everyone, although he's not actually serious about it most of the time.

- He used to be a common bandit until that life grew too dull and he became a killer for hire. Now that he's part of the Dark Fortress, he has more time for himself and can afford to relax without having to sleep with one eye socket open. He likes to collect pets with his favourite being a cat-like creature he named Princess Floofer-biscuits; he usually just calls her Princess though. He also likes to collect knives and random souvenirs from his various jobs.

- He's featured in The Dark Fortress and a few related drabbles, although I intend to write more for him sometime.

Dust: Reven

- Reven is rather unremarkable looking, being about average height and not having any noticeable scars like the others. He has scarlet eyelights with his left one having an additional ring of blue and if he summons ecto, it would be a light purple. He has flat teeth with slightly pronounced canines and he meticulously takes care of his phalanges so that they're sharp but not overly so.

- He's a sort of jack of all trades on the team, although he is shockingly good at being stealthy when the situation calls for it. Most people only know of him and what he's done, but he's perfectly alright with that. He barely talks at all except with himself when no else is paying attention and when not on a job, he tends to spend his time sleeping or maintaining his gear.

- What you see is pretty much what you get with him, although on occasion, bits of his old personality seep through the cracks. He has a tendency to stare at people, especially if he likes them, which while unnerving, is really the only way you'll catch him smiling. He secretly enjoys slapstick comedy and likes to play pranks on people, although he won't admit he's the one responsible. He isn't exactly religious, but he was once a paladin for a justice deity and he'll occasionally slip into old habits. Most of the time this is just muttering their title under his breath when he's frustrated, but other times, he'll find himself in the act of avenging some injustice without even meaning to.

- Other than sleeping, he habitually sharpens his weapons but he has a hard time mustering the same effort when it comes to his own armour or clothing and so he's pretty much always covered in dust. He'll clean up if he's actually dirty or bloody but only because he has to. He doesn't like silence and has to find ways to fill it to keep himself distracted from the things he's done. Which is why he hangs around his teammates, even if he acts standoffish and aloof. Otherwise, he enjoys spending time in nature or doing something that gets him to think like games of logic.

- He's featured in The Dark Fortress and I would love to explore his character more but I'm not sure how just yet.

Horror: Maul

- Maul is larger than the others, despite being a skeleton, and is a bit self-conscious about this. The left side of his skull is missing thanks to a nearly mortal injury he sustained and he's also blind in his right eye socket. He only has one blood red eyelight in his left eye socket and while he technically could summon ecto, his magic isn't as stable as it once was. The edges of his teeth are jagged from years of wear and tear, as are his claws.

- Thanks to his size, he's generally the muscle of the team and he's content to keep things that way. He has a terrifying presence, mostly from his size and tendency to silently watch people. He mostly only speaks when spoken to and when he does, he's rather blunt and will say exactly what he's thinking. It's obvious that he's been through some horrible circumstances in the past but he doesn't like to bring up bad memories.

- He basically has guard dog energy and despite looking scary, he's possibly the nicest out of the four. He likes to keep to himself and tinker with things or try out new recipes, but he doesn't mind company, so long as he isn't being constantly interrupted anyways. Despite everything he's been through, he still carries himself with a sort of noble pride and keeps an eye socket out for his teammates. He isn't one for finery and prefers to craft his own gear rather than steal it, not that he could do so without being noticed anyways.

- He's the only one with cooking talent and has become the unspoken chef, but he doesn't mind since it means he can look after those he cares about. He's also decent at repairing armour and maintaining weapons, although the others don't usually need his assistance. He also enjoys taking long walks outside, especially at night, and just relaxing in general.

- He's featured in The Dark Fortress and while I want to expand on his character, I haven't thought of anything just yet.

Mafiafell: Under Development

Sans: Cadmium

Papyrus: Carmine

- Apparently I named these guys and while I have written down a few ideas, I don't have any solid plans for them just yet. I really like Mafiafell so I'll probably write at least a oneshot at some point. Appearance wise, they'd probably be similar to my Underfell boys.

[lovehealgrow]

How People-Pleasing May Be Affecting Your Romantic Relationships

Ever found yourself bending over backward to keep your significant other happy, even if it means putting your own needs on the back burner? Well, you’re not alone. Today, we’re diving into the fascinating world of people-pleasing and its unexpected impacts on romantic relationships. From the subtle compromises to the bigger dynamics at play, let’s unpack the nuances of how the desire to please can sometimes leave us with more questions than answers in the realm of love.

Am I A People Pleaser?

So how do you know if you’re just a nice person, or if you have issues with people-pleasing?

A people pleaser is someone who goes to great lengths to gain the approval and acceptance of others, often at the expense of their own needs and desires. People pleasers tend to prioritize the happiness and well-being of others over their own, seeking validation and avoiding conflict to maintain positive relationships.

Here are some signs that you might be a people pleaser:

Difficulty saying no: People pleasers find it challenging to decline requests or say no, even when it’s inconvenient for them.

Fear of rejection: A strong desire to be liked and accepted can lead people pleasers to fear rejection or disapproval from others.

Overcommitting:People pleasers often take on more responsibilities than they can handle, trying to meet everyone’s expectations.

Avoiding conflict: People pleasers may go to great lengths to avoid conflict, even if it means suppressing their own opinions or needs.

Constant apologies: Apologizing excessively, even for minor things, is a common behavior among people pleasers as they try to maintain peace.

Ignoring personal boundaries: People pleasers may sacrifice their own boundaries to accommodate others, even when it goes against their own well-being.

Difficulty expressing needs: Difficulty articulating personal needs or desires is a sign of people-pleasing behavior, as they prioritize the needs of others.

Seeking external validation: Relying heavily on external validation for a sense of self-worth is common among people pleasers.

Feeling responsible for others’ emotions: People pleasers often take on the responsibility for the emotions of those around them, feeling personally responsible for making others happy.

Lack of assertiveness: Difficulty expressing opinions, standing up for oneself, or asserting one’s needs is a common trait in people pleasers.

It’s important to note that occasional people-pleasing behavior is normal in social interactions. However, if these patterns consistently dominate your interactions and negatively impact your well-being, it may be worth reflecting on and setting healthy boundaries.

How People-Pleasing Affects Romance

While everybody wants to get along with their partner, there’s a difference between cooperative communication and people-pleasing. Consideration and compromise are vital to any healthy relationship, romantic or otherwise. However, when people-pleasing becomes a pervasive pattern, it can lead to a plethora of problems. For example, one of the primary signs of people-pleasing in romance is the tendency to prioritize a partner’s needs and desires over one’s own. This may initially seem selfless, but over time, it can erode your sense of identity and autonomy.

Folks who habitually engage in people-pleasing often struggle with setting boundaries in their romantic relationships. They may find it difficult to express their true feelings or desires, fearing that asserting themselves could lead to conflict or rejection. This lack of assertiveness can create an imbalance in the relationship, with one partner consistently giving in to the other’s wishes while suppressing their own needs.

The fear of disappointing a partner can drive people-pleasers to overcommit and take on responsibilities that may be beyond their capacity. This overextension can lead to stress, burnout, and resentment, ultimately jeopardizing the emotional well-being of both partners. A relationship built on the foundation of people-pleasing is at risk of becoming codependent, with one or both individuals relying heavily on external validation for their sense of self-worth.

Another aspect to consider is the impact of people-pleasing on communication within a romantic relationship. People-pleasers often struggle to communicate openly about their feelings or concerns, as they fear the potential negative consequences of being honest. This can lead to a lack of authentic connection and understanding between partners, as important issues may go unaddressed or be downplayed to avoid discomfort.

The need for external validation from a romantic partner can hinder personal growth and development. People-pleasers may become so focused on meeting their partner’s expectations that they neglect their own aspirations and interests. This can lead to feelings of frustration, unfulfillment, and a gradual erosion of the passion that initially brought the couple together.

It’s crucial to recognize that addressing people-pleasing behaviors in a romantic relationship requires open communication and a commitment to establishing healthy boundaries. Encouraging each other to express genuine thoughts and desires fosters a deeper connection and mutual understanding. Creating a supportive environment where both partners feel safe to be themselves allows for personal growth and the evolution of the relationship in a positive direction.

How To Overcome People-Pleasing In A Romantic Relationship

If you notice that people-pleasing is overtaking your romantic relationship, don’t despair! There are things you can do to help yourself

First and foremost, self-awareness is the cornerstone of overcoming people-pleasing tendencies. Reflecting on our own behaviors and recognizing when we are prioritizing a partner’s needs over our own is a crucial first step. Take some time for introspection, examining the motivations behind your actions and identifying patterns of behavior that lean towards people-pleasing.

Once self-awareness is established, effective communication becomes pivotal. Initiate open and honest conversations with your partner about your desire to overcome people-pleasing tendencies. Share your insights, express your feelings, and convey your commitment to fostering a relationship based on authenticity and mutual growth. Creating a safe space for vulnerability and understanding is essential in this process.

Setting clear and healthy boundaries is another key element in overcoming people-pleasing. Establishing limits on what you are comfortable with and communicating them to your partner helps create a more balanced dynamic. This not only prevents burnout and resentment but also fosters an environment where both individuals feel respected and heard.

Developing assertiveness is a skill that significantly contributes to breaking free from people-pleasing habits. Practice expressing your needs, desires, and concerns in a calm and respectful manner. Remember that assertiveness is about standing up for yourself without undermining the feelings or needs of your partner. Finding a middle ground that honors both perspectives is key to nurturing a balanced relationship.

Embracing self-loveand self-care is paramount in the journey to overcome people-pleasing. Prioritize your well-being and engage in activities that bring you joy and fulfillment, independent of your romantic relationship. Cultivate a sense of self-worth that is not solely dependent on external validation. When you value yourself, you are better equipped to contribute positively to the relationship.

Seeking support from friends, family, or even a therapist can be immensely beneficial. Sharing your journey to overcome people-pleasing with someone you trust provides an external perspective and encouragement. A therapist, in particular, can offer guidance and tools to navigate the challenges, helping you build a foundation of self-awareness and resilience.

Finally, be patient with yourself. Overcoming people-pleasing is a gradual process that requires self-compassion and perseverance. Celebrate the small victories along the way and acknowledge the progress you make in nurturing a more authentic and balanced romantic relationship.

If you feel like your people-pleasing propensity is negatively affecting your love life, you can change things! Don’t hesitate to reach out to the therapy team here at Love Heal Grow. Our relationship coaches and therapists are here to help you. You deserve a healthy, supportive romantic relationship, and we are here to support you and the changes you want to see in yourself.

[chamerionwrites]

The thing about characterization is that it fundamentally goes back to curiosity about what makes people tick. And while this is a perfectly reasonable part of the writing process, and imo can be a great empathy exercise when done thoughtfully, talking frankly about certain aspects of it does tend to make you sound like a cartoonishly evil mad scientist. 

There are few absolutes in writing, and thus nothing I have to say about it is intended to be read that way. But when asked, my quick and dirty advice about good characterization is that real people are Consistently Inconsistent. Very polite people can be shockingly rude. Habitually cautious people can be quick to trust. Gregarious social butterflies can need space. “In-character” doesn’t mean lacking in contradictions; it means that when taken as a whole, the pattern of those contradictions has a kind of internal coherence. Likewise, “out of character” is frequently a function of circumstances. The what of someone’s thoughts/words/actions tells you less about them than the when and why. 

And there’s a kind of code-breaking thrill in inhabiting that idiosyncratic internal logic to the point where it becomes intuitive. I don’t really know any way to explain this to an outside observer without going full overwrought nerd, but it’s exhilarating when you get it right. It’s that flow-state rush of muscle memory taking over in a sports game, of becoming fluent enough in another language to think in it, of dancing in perfect step with your partner and the music, of finishing your best friend’s sentences. It’s Drifting from Pacific Rim. Where precisely do you have to poke a habitual cynic to get the kind of visceral righteous anger that is normally more the province of earnest idealists? What drives a conflict-averse people-pleaser to pick a fight? The answers aren’t always the same, but they are almost always revealing. Personally speaking, that’s one of the most rewarding feelings in fiction: making a character do the unexpected in a way that rings so absolutely true it feels inevitable to the audience in hindsight. 

Which sounds perfectly reasonable when you’re talking about prodding a jaded cynic into expressing righteous fury or a comfortable homebody into going on a reckless adventure, but. You know. There’s also a bit of the Writer Brain that looks at reserved/stoic/highly self-controlled characters and immediately goes Okay. I see. Now how do I make them cry. 

Am I necessarily going to go out of my way to do it? No. Am I running private thought experiments about precisely which combination of buttons would need to be pressed? You betcha lmao. And while I’ve made my share of self-deprecating jokes about writers being sadists (because there’s really no getting around the cartoonish mad scientist vibe of stating it aloud), it’s not actually about an enjoyment of suffering (usually quite the reverse). It’s about that particular process of curiosity and compassion and puzzle-solving pleasure involved in developing an intuition for how this specific person responds in any given situation, and then conveying that to the reader in a way that feels vividly real. 

Try explaining that without going full overwrought nerd, though, you know?

[leaveherwildliketheflowers]

What are your favorite recipes?

This is a tough one because I have so many! Tacos and Salmon are my go to easy dinners on nights I don't want to eat or we are really busy, so we have them almost every week. But, my absolute favorite recipes are probably chicken and wild rice soup, Thai basil eggplant, salsa fresca chicken, sweet potato and black bean stuffed peppers, my homemade bolognese over chickpea pasta or zoodles, chili, chicken lettuce wraps, and pesto chicken with chickpea pasta. My inlaws make chicken pot pie, carmel chicken, and beer can chicken recipes that I also love but have yet to master.

For someone who habitually skips breakfast I really love breakfast food. My favorites are whole wheat banana muffins, avocado toast, and eggs in any form but especially fritatas. My cinnamon chip scones are to die for. I also make the best biscuits and gravy (I will die on that hill), but I only make it once or twice a year and always at my FIL's request.

While I like to cook and I am fairly good at it, baking is my strong suit. My basic chocolate chip cookies and brownies are go to crowd pleasers. I make really good cakes, with my best (in my opinion) being turtle, hot chocolate, and spice cake. I also have a salted carmel stuffed chocolate chip cookie recipe that I pull out when I want to really impress people because they are so so so good.

Basically, I'm a gal who loves food stuck in a life of ED recovery. I'm trying to learn to love eating it as much as I love making it for other people.

[mothyrship444]

Sun semi-square Venus

My Sun in Sagittarius (fire) in the 4th House is semi-square my Venus in Aquarius (air) in the 6th House. Semi-squares in the Natal Chart is where we have “blocked energy” or parts of our psyche. This aspect gives me a sensitive and shy personality, although I tend to hide that part of me well, this stems from extreme insecurity, which is kept hidden behind the mask that I wear. I have noticed that my shyness has worn off but it still lingers. I was painfully shy as a child, and all throughout my school years mainly in high school I would get severe stomach aches due to anxiety right before I had to go to school. It wasn’t like I was bullied or anything, but towards the end of my high school years most of my friends dropped out and I became a bit of a loner. I don’t make friends easily, I am not an out there, outgoing type of person, I keep to myself unless someone is brave enough to strike up a conversation. I’ve always known that I have some sort of potential, I didn’t know what or how to access it but I knew it was there somewhere. Maybe music or dance as I have dabbled in both crafts but never got serious about it, but the potential was very much there. Willpower was never my strong suit. Throughout my teens, 20s and beginning of my 30s I’ve always been a people pleaser, finding it really hard to say “no” to others. I vowed at 35 to end that, and I am on a pretty steady path at accomplishing that. I think my people pleaser attitude caused me to miss out on a lot of opportunities to advance in life mainly because of being too comfortable in my pleasures and habitual patterns. This has caused me to look into myself for change. I later learned that all of this strife I caused on myself was a lack of self love. I was never taught self love, I never heard of such a thing till my early 30s...no bullshit. In relationships I always needed reassurance, appreciation, and admiration from my partners. I can imagine that gets exhausting. I can be judgmental and a bit of a narcissist sometimes. If I don’t like you and you are in my presence I will not speak to you, you will be entirely ignored, like you don’t exist. But I can also be cordial, charming and friendly. I am a pleasure seeker, if I can bottle up that feeling when you first fall in love and all that adrenaline and phenylethylamine and turn it into a drug I would snort that shit daily. This stems from a never ending hunger to need love and be loved. I’ve come to realize that I have denied self love for most of my life by looking for love in all the wrong places. Every man I have been with has told me that I am beautiful, and smart and amazing but then treated me poorly. They used my attributes against me. Like it was my fault that I was attractive and smart like I should be punished for it. I realize now I that I attracted poor individuals as partners because of my own view about myself. I had no respect for myself.  The semi-square is considered to be the 8th harmonic of the chart because it is one-eighth of the 360° circle that the zodiac resides in. Semi-squares being an 8th harmonic will give off some Scorpio/8th House vibes to my romantic character. In the past I have gotten some pretty nasty revenges on lovers who have wronged me, I later discovered that this didn’t make the hurt go away, it just made it worse...very Scorpionic. I’ve learned that Karma takes care of all of that, I don’t need to. I promise, I have seen her beautiful work in action right before my eyes. I tend to get along better with men, but secretly seek admiration from women. Approval from women aids in the feelings of being beautiful and worthy. I always kind of felt a secret competition with my mother, there are some dark connotations there with her husband but that’s for a later blog. Anyway, I’ve always viewed women as the enemy. I’ve literally eliminated all friendships with women, I do not really have friends, because I am not the only woman who feels this way. Most women are in never ending competition with each other, even if they are the bestest of friends. I hate this. I hate feeling like everything that I love is at stake when I am around or in the presence of a woman who I think has more to offer than me, who is more attractive than me. It’s a debilitating insecurity that I try really hard to keep wrapped up tight because nobody needs to see that ugly side of me. So I concentrate on being the woman that I needed. I perform my self care and my self love. I tell myself that if I lose my partner to someone else they were never mine to begin with and that I need to move the fuck on because I am worthy of real love. 

[selfship-garden]

you and greed for that “send me a ship and ill tell you” thing you reblogged!! :3c - fawnships

Who asks the other on dates:

Greed, probably, because, let’s face it, I have a lot of insecurities about being bold and he picks up on that right away and takes the initiative until I’m more comfortable. Plus it also gives him the excuse to make a big deal out of it and he’s so damn dramatic he loves getting to plan out extra special dates, even if said date doesn’t involve leaving the house.

Who is the bigger cuddler:

This one is actually a tie, because, while I can be shy at first I practically turn into a cat once I’m comfortable around someone, and since Greed is that person who tosses physical affection around like he’s Oprah, well. We’d basically be goddamn velcroed to each other lmao

Who initiates holding hands more often:

ME, OH MY GOD IT’S ME. Because, listen, okay, those fucking hands of his, are probably rly warm, and I am ALWAYS cold. Plus also I’m legit constantly thinking bout them claws. and. yeah. He’s got nice hands.

Who remembers anniversaries:

I am objectively bad with numbers, and Greed has been alive so long he probably doesn’t pay attention to like, actual dates, but he is aware of how long we’ve been together. And that’s fine! Because it’s not the number or the date that makes a relationship special anyway, it’s the things you do together and the love you share that’s more important.

Who is more possessive:

Definitely Greed, lmao, I’m not all that possessive, least not of people, and I’m poly anyway so like, sharing makes me happier than keeping someone to myself. Greed probably wouldn’t like the idea at first even though I’m habitually bad at making people know when I’m interested, so the likelihood of me finding someone else alongside Greed who garners my attention is slim, but if it did happen he’d eventually warm up to being okay with it, because at the end of the day really he’d want me to be happy more than anything else.

Who gets more jealous:

I do not have a single jealous bone in my entire body, so that one is definitely Greed. I mean, his name is Greed, after all lol.

Who is more protective:

Considering Greed doesn’t really need protecting, and his power is literally an Ultimate Shield, um, pretty safe to say he’s the overprotective one lmao. And, I mean, yeah, I have the disposition to be overprotective of certain people, but Greed is not one of them.

Who is more likely to cheat:

Neither? First off, considering I’m poly and open to the idea of my partners liking/dating people other than me while still being with me, that wouldn’t even be an issue because all he’d have to do is just, y’know, let me know he’s interested in someone. And I’d become his personal cheerleader lmao. Because he deserves to have more people who love him anyway it would be a crime to keep him all to myself when he deserves all the love he can get. And as for Greed himself, well, he’s far too devoted for his own good, which is great! So the idea of having to sneak around to seek affection or whatever elsewhere just, would never occur to him.

Who initiates sexy times the most:

DEFINITELY GREED, but I mean that goes without saying. I’m pretty laid-back when it comes to bedroom stuff and I tend to defer to my partner’s level of need? And Greed is, well, he likes it. A lot. BUT, the flipside is if I’m ever not in the mood then he doesn’t push. Because even in an established relationship consent is important, and Greed thinks consent is sexy anyway, because if his partner isn’t into something than it’s not as fun for him, y’know.

Who dislikes PDA the most:

I don’t dislike PDA all that much, but I do get easily embarrassed when out in public so like, depending on the type of affection being given it’d probably be me. And Greed has very little shame and also doesn’t give a shit so he’s down for all kinds of affection anywhere.

Who kills the spider:

GREED, always, every time. Because they scare me. But I also dislike hurting things, even bugs, so like, he’s gotta do the deed. 

Who asks the other to marry them:

Probably me? But like, only because Greed doesn’t consider the option right away and unless someone properly explained ‘hey, marriage is technically like staking a claim on someone, it marks you as theirs and them as yours in a legally binding contract’ the thought might never cross his mind. And I am a hopeless romantic who craves that idea of being wanted so much that someone wants a physical marker that shows they want me, so like, hell yeah I’m gonna ask him to put a ring on it if it takes him too long to do it himself.

Who buys the other flowers or gifts:

If it comes to actually buying things, probably Greed, but I always lean more toward gifts I can like, make myself? I crochet, I make art, I write, and I love crafts and stuff, so my gifts tend to lean toward the handmade type, whereas Greed is gonna hear me mention I’m vaguely craving a certain candy bar or something and he goes out of his way to buy like, an entire crate of them so I have a month-long supply or something equally cheesy.

Who would bring up possibly having kids:

I mean, he’s not capable of having kids, and I’m low key TERRIFIED of the idea of giving birth, so we’d have to adopt if it ever came up, but it’d probably be me? I don’t really know for sure on this one because I don’t see Greed seeing himself as the fathering type, even though he’s canonically so fucking caring of other people and likes making sure people are taken care of that fatherhood would absolutely come naturally to him, but like, the idea of it wouldn’t come from him probably, because he doesn’t think he’d be a good influence on a kid, but if one was thrust in his life you can bet your ass he’d be the best parental figure that kid ever had.

Who is more nervous to meet the parents:

I don’t speak to my parents and, well, no one wants to meet Greed’s Father anyway except to maybe deck his ass, so uh, this isn’t really applicable lmao. If Greed even wanted to meet my parents it would be to deck my dad too, but that’s a completely different thing and involves zero nervousness because Greed is always down to punch people.

Who sleeps on the couch when the other is angry:

This one would be more, me sleeping on the couch because I’m angry and the only real way to punish Greed is to deprive him of myself lmao

Who tries to make up first after arguments:

Greed will absolutely jump to apologies and trying to make up first, if he’s the one in the wrong, and I know sometimes I can be stubborn but then again, I’m such a damn people pleaser that the second Greed gets upset with me about something I’d already be apologizing and trying to make it better before it can even turn into an argument. But also probably the only times I’d ever get mad at him anyway is if he’s being reckless, imo, because yeah he’s got his Ultimate Shield but he’s still capable of running out of souls to heal himself with, and at some point too much damage could actually hurt him and I’d be so damn scared of that? 

Who tells the other they love them more often:

This one is a tie, because Greed says I-love-you’s like it’s a compliment to be paid, and I say I-love-you’s to remind him I’m still here and have no plans to leave ever, that he’s stuck with me for as long as he wants me, and saying it as often as possible is a reminder to himself and me, of just how much he means

[magewraths]

general ––

name  : alice iskra marguerite wilkes 

nicknames : al -- and that’s it.

birthday / age :  june 2, 1951 / aged 29

residence : london , england

family : Fatma Wilkes nee Polat (mother), Bastian Wilkes (father)

gender / pronouns : cisgender female, she/her

sexuality : bisexual, biromantic 

blood status : pureblood

relationship status : married to frank longbottom ( secretly )

hogwarts house : ravenclaw 

loyalty : the order of the phoenix the death eaters ( under cover; known only by frank longbottom, kingsley shacklebolt, and alastor moody )

career : ex-auror; cure breaker for the death eaters

mbti : ENTJ

moral alignment : chaotic good

character tropes : pint-sized powerhouse, married to the job, little miss snarker, good is not soft, anti-hero, deadpan snarker, girly bruiser, sour outside / sad inside

aesthetics –––

coffee grounds spilled on the kitchen floor, bandaged knuckles, bruises beneath tired eyes, ink stains on sore fingers, the coppery ring of a lie, the ripped hem of an expensive dress, cigarette smoke in a marble foyer, a hard gulp before an uncomfortable truth and an easy lie, bubble gum popping in a long silence, forgetting what it is to laugh uninhibited 

summary –––

born into pureblood society but too Loud™ to really ever fit in 

was involved in the dueling club, astronomy club, care of magical creatures club, gobstones club.... she always just did too much, since she was burdened with familial responsibility, and born with a proclivity for overachieving and burning herself out. 

is born into the sacred 28, and jives with it for a while; she’s a habitual people-pleaser but soon learns that her empathy and her capacity for protecting those who cannot protect themselves far outweighs family ideals. 

also bigot who???? she can’t relate 

but with a dubious family life, she’s used to maintaining the facade; when she is ready to graduate, she is contacted by Albus Dumbledore, who asks her to maintain contact with her Sacred 28 contacts during her auror training. and so she does as she is asked, and then is placed under heavy scrutiny for her connections to a cause that is very much not her own. 

so basically she’s a hard-ass auror with a potty mouth and a proclivity for tackling bad guys, but when she’s asked to go under cover... who is she to say no? 

was thought to be the spoiled little rich girl, but she’s not above taking a punch

and so she “defected” and joined the death eaters

it was an enormous public scandal, and her name was sullied, but what are ya gonna do lmao

she’s a mom friend that’s hardass afraid of kids 

has a bit of a dependency on alcohol, and a dear love of cigarettes -- but if frank, who’s basically the only person still close to her in secret at the moment, were to ask her to quit... she’d do it 

basically has the worst daddy issues ever to the point that she’d infiltrate her dad’s friend group in the name of fucking them up, even if it means she’s found out and killed, so fuck dads am i right???

[blackteacreates]

I’m just so fucking tired. Tired of bending myself over backwards to contort to other peoples comfort because I’m a fucking people pleaser. I’m fucking tired of being a people pleaser. I’m tired of people being too comfortable in my people pleasing. I’m tired of betraying myself because I don’t have the backbone to be honest with myself. I’m tired of buring my anger until it’s suddenly at 2000%. I’m tired of dealing with ignorance. I’m tired of being illegible to people. I’m tired of piss poor advice because other people haven’t healed their own shit and aren’t self aware. I’m tired of projecting because I haven’t healed my own shit. I’m tired of false equivalences. I’m tired of trying to overcompensate for other peoples stubbornness and obstinace to cling onto shit that’s oppressive and harmful. I’m tired of being patient. I’m tired of settling for the bare minimum. I’m tired of being told to look at it from the other side because nobody can get it through their thick fucking skulls that that coping skill does not work on people who habitually blame themselves and habitually deny their own emotions.

I’m sick of people who’ve never been to therapy giving unsolicited advice on skills I am learning in therapy. I’m tired of having to dumb and dull myself down to make other people comfortable. I’m so fucking sick of it. I’m sick of it in my life I’m sick of it in my family I’m sick of it in online space I’m so FUCKING sick of it. I’m so fucking over it. I don’t want to be calm and collected anymore. I’m so fucking over it. I’m actually a very angry person. I’m tired of pretending that I’m not. Fuck you. Fuck every person who suffocated me because I was too much for their unhealed bullshit to handle then projected onto me or tried to cut me up into digestible pieces. I don’t give a fuck if they meant to or not. I didn’t fucking deserve it. Everyone can take their unhealed shit out on me yet I’m always given the advice to see it from their side? Like fuck that and fuck OFF.

I’m so tired of being afraid to be myself because it makes people so uncomfortable. And it makes me uncomfortable. I’m tired of being uncomfortable with myself and entertaining people who are emotionally immature. I’m tired of limiting myself ESPECIALLY to the imaginations of people who have done very little internal work or decolonial work especially. We are not in the same league. I’m tired of pretending we are.

Im tired of being in denial and wasting energy I could be putting into my passions on places and things that drain more than they give out of some fuck sense of companionship, family and obligation. I’m tired of having to act like equal harm is done to protect the fragile egos of people who can’t face their own shit. Why do I have to face my shit and yours too when you can’t even do a fraction of it? I’d rather be lonely with a select few of emotionally mature chosen family than let any and everyone have access to the most intimate parts of me when they don’t fucking know how to handle it. I’m too fucking precious.

I’m tired of seeing potential translating into lighting myself on fire to keep others warm. My fear of disposing people translating into self harm through relationships. I truly believe no one deserves to be disposed of. That no one deserves to lose everything but I cannot be everyone’s anything. And I’m so fucking angry. Angry I convinced myself I was doing good abolitionist and healing work by constantly putting myself in triggering situations with people who may never see me properly. Then gaslighting myself to think maybe I just wasn’t being understanding or just my triggers no. Sometimes when a trigger happens the other party is still the fucking problem.

I’m tired I’m so fucking tired.

[pollenprince]

Ok but listen here: ADHD Papyrus

no, like, seriously:

talks in ALL CAPS because ZERO VOLUME CONTROL

has no idea how to Adult™

walks very fast??? Gotta Go Faster?????

is a really terrible cook because: -cannot follow instructions for shit -no impulse control we dump the whole spice box in and die like men -forgets he was cooking something in the middle of cooking something -starts something Very Complicated, gets bored five minutes in -no sense of time at all. either charcoal or wet smash and no other choice -oatmeal is the Salvation because easy to cook       -and tiny dinosaur eggs???? holy shit???????

almost does not sleep, has insomnia and finds it very difficult to unwind by bedtime

everything in his reach is very orderly because he is bored all the time and he has to do something while he is procrastinating. somehow ends up very productive

what are social cues???

sarcasm? never heard of her

people-pleaser because RSD is a bitch and he HAS to be liked by everyone -also Sans totally knows that and keeps telling him how cool and great he is because for Papyrus, 5 minutes without being told he is still loved = A Local Skeleton Has Been Abandoned And Will Die Alone

forgets instructions to the tile puzzle immediately after reading them

makes an intricate invisible maze in a burst of hyperfocus, forgets to hand over the most significant part of it (relatable)

also puzzles are a Hyperfixation. fight me on this

hates Junior Jumbles because too much text, too messy, not worth the effort

likes children’s books because they are short with small paragraphs and large text and so easy to read???

Sans reading him a bedtime story is a Habit and it should never be changed because changing habitual things is Bad

Zero. Impulse. Control.

wants to get closer to people but not too close

regularly forgets his best friend’s name (Flowery. Flowery the Flower forever.)

can take care of Sans surprisingly well

is really bad when it comes to taking care of himself

is really bad at assessing risks (I am looking at you, genociders)

seeks dangerous activities rather often. builds shocking mazes. has a fascination with spikes. is friends with Undyne

goes from angry to depressed to cheerful in a matter of seconds

is actually much more controlled and careful than most people would give him credit for because of years of learning how to deal with his ADHD

despite everything manages to be productive and social and maintains good healthy relationships and I am proud of him

[fatgothgf]

you know whats so fuckin stupid about being so anxious about the phone? i know for a fact im one of the most normal callers they can get. like i am so boring and way too anxious to say anything weird or aggressive which im sure is common from shitty people who obviously must also call the drs office. i sound like a tiny polite little sick victorian boy. i go into customer service voice on top of that. i am a habitual people pleaser. i am probably the easiest person who calls this office because i am so ready to just accept whatever they tell me and end the convo. so im not inconveniencing them and im not being dumb or mean.

so why the fuck do i worry so much that i will somehow say the wrong thing.. to the drs office... what does that even mean... they are just relaying me info and i already looked at my lab results i know what is different and probably why so idk why im so fucking nervous!!! good lord

gets brave enough to actually call the drs office back

… theyre on lunch break

[bestcartreviews]

Dyna-Glo DGB390BNP-D Smart Space Living 3 Burner LP Gas Grill Review 2020

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Dyna-Glo Smart Space Living 3 Burner LP Gas Grill 2020

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New fiction: Birthday Party, Cheesecake, Jellybean, Boom! by Katherine Sinback

I never stopped thinking of you.  I never stopped dreaming of you.

The number attached to the text was vaguely familiar, a number from another life.  A number James deliberately erased from his phone, but it coiled in his mind.  Julia.

Another text.  From his wife, Malia:  We’re at the station.  Waiting.  

James couldn’t pinpoint when opinion turned, couldn’t name the moment when all the social media blather and heated arguments over executive orders, when all the threats of walls and wars and demolition of nations blossomed beyond the borders of the dystopian novel tucked in your pocket to read on the subway to show everyone that you saw what was really going on.  A safety pin in your lapel.   In the last twenty-four hours the leftist cities that hadn’t voted for the president decided it was over.  They posted. They pleaded.  They raged.  

Maybe it would be nuclear war started by the once-friendly dictator who, when he posted a compliment about the president they didn’t vote for, slipped in a word that set off the current chain of events: My new friend, my fellow leader, my eager accomplice.  

In his perpetually addled state, the raw nerve on meth that was the president, he immediately fired back: Dogs are eager.  Beavers are eager.  I eat dogs and beavers for breakfast, comrade.    

Discourse devolved.  Quickly.  The world was ending because of a word, a single word, and a man who couldn’t abide being described as keen, enthusiastic, excited, ready, willing, fervent, zealous, raring to go. Accomplice—assistant, collaborator, coconspirator, partner, abettor—to a dictator didn’t bother him one whit.  

James fantasized about time travel.  Since the election, going back in time to kill the baby president was the new killing the baby Hitler.  In his fantasies, he would at least wait until the baby dictators toddled with crimson, bunched faces into their terrible threes, the current age of his son, Miles.  Not that he could envision a world without Miles.  Without Malia.  Time travel assassination would ruin the lives of their mothers certainly.  A slit of the toddler president’s pudgy throat, a pillow over his face.  As he considered the methods of murder, James felt the dread lodged in his chest since he watched the red tide of electoral votes rush in, push up to his throat, become a lump he’d have to swallow and swallow however long this lasted.  

To Malia he texted: On my way.

It was unclear if she would ever read it.  Since most of the city decided the world was ending, cell service was erratic.  Her text to him could have been hours old.  She and Miles could have boarded the train to her parents’ house in the posh Connecticut suburbs without him, her tear-filled eyes scanning the throngs at the station while she white-knuckled Miles’ tiny hand.   Unlike James, Malia did not want to wait for the end in their cramped Queens apartment. She craved the suburbs.  The shopping mall oases.  Flower-dotted median strips.  The lawn where Miles took his first steps two summers ago during the monthly mandated visit to her parents’ house that James dreaded like a punch from a childhood bully.  Malia’s parents stood as sentries to their daughter’s life and now their grandson’s.  They never stopped eyeing James warily.  And now that they paid for his studio, they had a stake in him.  He avoided their eyes and laughed too loudly at their jokes. But he didn’t rip up the monthly rent payment.  

“I thought you hated that place,” James said when Malia made her intentions to decamp to her parents’ house clear.  

She looked stung.  “I love my parents.  That’s where I grew up.  It’ll be better there.  They have supplies.”

James reached for her hand.  “Supplies aren’t gonna do us any good, baby.”  

She pulled away and kicked a pile of Miles’ stuffed animals from the center of the cramped living room.  “I’m going.”

James didn’t seriously contemplate not going.  His parents were dead.  His sister lived across the country in another city that hadn’t voted for the president.  James tried calling her but couldn’t get through.  She had friends.  She wouldn’t be alone.  Maybe the west coast would survive the worst of it.  She could join a wily band of survivors and live off the fat of the radioactive wasteland.  Guilt stabbed him.  She would weep until she was hollow at the thought of not seeing James again.  She was no wily survivor.  She would kick herself for not coming out to see him for Christmas.  But who beyond the habitual doomsayers, the preppers, the wackos with their subterranean stockpiles, who could have predicted this?  

Eager.  The world pivoted on the edge of the word eager.

Another text from Malia: Hurry.

Before he could join Malia, he needed his book.  The journal with the few pictures he kept of his family rendered in the brown tones of seventies photography, the sketches he hadn’t yet been able to translate to paintings, a lock of Miles’ hair taped inside the cover, and the few paragraphs he’d written that he planned to stretch into essays, plays, a novel.  The journal was a seed he had to ferry to his uncertain future, doomed or not.  The journal sat in a pile of otherwise unremarkable books in his studio across town.  

“We don’t have time,” Malia had begged.

“I can’t go without it,” he said.

“You can,” she said.

He shook his head.

The plan: she and Miles would go ahead.  If things got too bad they’d board the train without him. Neither Malia nor James knew the contours of “too bad.”  James imagined throngs amassing outside the train doors.  The friendly faces of the crowds of the one-time marchers against the president becoming red, pinched, panicked as they pushed onto the trains, screeching pleas for sanity and help.  James kept the images to himself, wondered what Malia conjured in her mind.

“You know, if it looks like there’s a real emergency like they’ll run out of coffee, you all get moving.”  James had said.  

Malia didn’t even try to force a smile.  

After they left, James took the still-functioning subway to the studio, jiggling the keys in his pocket.  He stepped into the sunlight, pulling his coat over his chest against the chill.  Some streets remained normal. Stores open, coffee shops alive with the hiss of espresso, the murmur of life, people hunched over phones and laptops.  James wondered if he should run through the coffee shop screaming, “Run for your life!”  

But where did you run?

*****

Julia hit send.  Fuck it.  Her worst nightmare was unfolding as she scrolled through the feed on her phone.  Stuck at her mom’s house at the end of the world. The reason her heart raced when she booked the cross-country flight every time, even before the election transformed the country into a perpetual aftershock.  The haggling with her mom like a car dealer who really needed the sale.

“I can’t get away for more than a weekend.”

“But I need you here.  It’s a hard time.  Don’t make me grovel.  Your brother can’t come out this year.” Her mom said.

“It’s been ten years since he passed, Mom.  When will it not be a hard time?”

Silence.  A sniffle.

Julia was not a monster.  She would not make her mom suffer the tenth anniversary of her dad’s death alone.  It was her turn.  And now the tight three-day weekend had blossomed into a week after her mom begged her to extend her stay post-presidential meltdown.  Her mom cloaked her plea in the dreaded anniversary.  By herself Julia honored the date of her dad’s death with a cheeseburger, her dad’s favorite food.  Her mom was more about candles and reading poetry and slide shows of their lives projected on the basement wall.  Crooked toothed eight-year-old Julia beaming next to the leaning plastic tower her dad spent all night assembling.  Whatever happened to Barbie’s dream house? Julia wondered.    

In the next room her mom fired up a grilled cheese.  In case of the end of the world: grilled cheese sandwich.  Her mom wasn’t buying the hype.  

“You’ll see.  It’ll blow over.  I remember when Kennedy was shot.  We thought it was the end of the world too,” her mom said.

Julia slid her phone into her pocket and plopped onto a stool in the kitchen.  “I am oh so eager for this to be over,” she said.

Her mom rolled her eyes.  “When all this is over, I don’t want to hear that word ever again.”

“In a final act of dark humor, someone should paint that word on whatever nuke is aimed to take him out.”  Julia said.

“Oh real funny.  That bomb has our name on it too, you know,” she said.

“So you admit there’s a bomb.  What did you know and when did you know it?” Julia said.  How hopeful those words had once seemed.  Impeachment.  A promise of another life.  Lock him up, she had chanted at a rally against the president.  

“Of course there’s a bomb.  But he’s already in a bunker somewhere with that wife of his.” The sandwich sizzled beneath the press of her spatula.

“Maybe he’ll take this opportunity to ditch the wife and finally fuck his daughter.”

“Jules!” Her mom said.  Then a smirk crossed her lips.  “Wouldn’t that be something.”

Just in time for the end of the world, Julia and her mom were finally having fun with each other.  The pretense of being good examples for each other, the race to out good-life the other, put to rest.  Julia made a big show of shaking off the shackles of her previous life as a parental pleaser by moving across the country, sliding into part-time teaching, and generally moving in the opposite direction of her mom’s advice, but it was all a shadow lamp, a dodge.  The projection of a life lived to prove she wasn’t living it for her mom.  In the kitchen Julia secretly thrilled at her mother’s smirk, the ring of their laughter as they considered the president huffing and puffing over his wisp of a daughter.  

Julia pulled her phone from her pocket.  Blank.  Her message likely hadn’t transmitted.  Service at her mom’s house in the patch of country beyond the suburbs where she grew up was spotty at best.  Now the towers were overloaded with pleas for safety, last words, or shots in the dark like her text to James.

She hadn’t seen James in ten years, hadn’t spoken to him beyond bland comments and neutered emojis on his various social media.  

On his marriage to the skinny woman with a tangle of curly hair: Mazel Tov!

On his first big gallery show: Awesome!!

On the birth of his son: Cute!!!

An increase in exclamation points inversely correlated to Julia’s true feelings.  

Julia and James had promised each other it was over after their weekend together, the weekend James’ girlfriend was away and Julia was visiting her friend Rae in the city.  Julia and James promised they would be friends in whatever way you could be friends with your ex-high school boyfriend, turned enemy, turned surprise guest star on your trip to New York City, turned best sex of your life and possibly love of your wasted thirties, turned regret because the weekend destroyed your actual relationship, turned face on a screen.  

Julia kept her promise.  She didn’t call.  She didn’t text.  But she didn’t erase him from her phone.  

In high school during the two weeks they called each other boyfriend and girlfriend, James and Julia were roving blobs of attraction, energy without conduction.  They never even kissed.  Julia remembered the day when James wound his fingers through hers and led her to the stretch of lockers where the punk rock hardcore kids and the punk rock hardcore wannabes clumped around each other to hurl insults and affection between classes.

When James touched her hand, Julia felt her entire body become a shimmer of heat.  Every rub of his finger on her knuckle sent a flutter through her stomach.  She couldn’t even look directly in his eyes or speak.  A glorious weight compressed her lungs.

Two days later they broke up.  

A war of notes and looks in the hallway began.  The origins of the break-up were still under dispute twenty years later at the dive bar where Julia and James huddled, shots of whiskey on the table in front of them.

“You were going to move, right?  That’s why we broke up.” James said.

“Move?”  Julia snorted.  “We were never moving.”

“Your mom didn’t like my ponytail.”  James smirked.

“Ponytail?  You really want to go with ponytail?”  Julia raised her eyebrows.

James still pulled his scraggly brown hair back into a ponytail, but it was stubbier, less of the horsetail than it was in their days of hallway desire.

“I think it may have been Cheryl,” Julia said.

“Right, Cheryl.”  

“And an unauthorized make-out session in the shallow end of her parents’ pool if I’m not mistaken?”

James held up his hands.  “It was purely physical.”

“That’s what you said.  And you ruined my view of all men for almost a week, maybe even two weeks. I walked around in a heartbroken haze spouting my hard-earned wisdom to any fifteen-year-old girl who would listen: Men were just pussy-seeking penis missiles.”

James chuckled.  “Clever.  Kind of poetic.”

“I thought so.” Julia said.

“But you got over it.  You forgave me.”  

“For the sake of peace among the punk rock locker gang. And?  I’d already moved onto Ian.”

“Ian? Oh no, not Ian.”

They were both glad they left their high school relationship unconsummated.  It made their reunion all the more intense, the emotions more confusing.  

The end of civilization was as good a chance as any to let Julia’s true feelings be known, especially if she would be riding out the apocalypse at her mom’s house, in the shadow bedroom her mom kept for her in the house where Julia did not grow up.  The bedroom, a diorama of the scraps Julia left behind when she moved out twenty years ago and assembled by her mom into a guest room where Julia stayed during her negotiated visits home.  A sun-faded poster of a golden retriever on the wall in front of her canopy bed, yearbooks mingled with peeling issues of Sassy magazine fanned on her desk, a jewelry box with the once-twirling ballerina laid to rest in one of its flowered drawers, some tattered Beverly Cleary mixed in with the romance novels her mom was too embarrassed to display on her living room bookshelves.  Part tribute to Julia, part dirty secret would be the setting for Julia’s final days.

In the kitchen, her mom slid the plate of grilled cheese to Julia.  “There goes your diet.”

“Whose diet?” Julia asked.    

She pushed it back to her mom.  “I need something.”  She grabbed her coat from its heap on the dining room table.  “I’ll be back.”

“Nothing’s open,” her mom said. Most of the town closed at 8:00 and the clock ticked past 9:00.

“I’ll find something,” Julia said.

“My resourceful daughter.  Be careful.”

 Julia stalked the aisles of the empty CVS, the beacon of civilization, in her mom’s speck of a town.  Her mom moved to the country after her dad died.  The suburbs stifled her.  She needed rolling fields, trucks barreling down the two-lane highway that cut in front of her house, and the smell of cow shit to live her truth.  To Julia, country meant redneck.  But in this moment, it was both soothing and infuriating to be in the company of rednecks.  They were poised in comparison to the panic of the cities.  They didn’t think anything of it.  They had their guns, they had their god, and apparently a sizable stock of peanut M&Ms if the bare shelves were any indication.

Julia flagged down a clerk.  The clerk tapped a pricing gun against discounted corn removal pads in time to the muffled Journey crackling through the speakers. “Don’t-stop-be-lievin’,” taap���taap—tap-tap-tap.

“You got more M&Ms in the back?” Julia asked.

“No, ma’am.  We ran out days ago,” she said.

“Shit,” she hissed.  “Pardon my French.  I just wanted to ride out the end in a haze of red wine, Peanut M&Ms and Barbecue Fritos.  Remember slumber parties and throwing up Cherry Coke and making fist-sized balls of frosting from Oreos?”

“We got Oreos,” the clerk said.

Why not resume the bad habits of her misspent youth?  Julia loaded her cart with anything that vaguely appealed to her: cola-flavored Lip Smacker, bags of jelly beans—both Jelly Belly and the cheap generic kind that weighed down the whorls of plastic grass in the Easter baskets of her youth—Oreos, blue fingernail polish, all the boxes of Advil (her nod to doomsday prepping practicalities), cheddar crackers, a copy of Teen People, adult diapers (she’d always wanted to give them a try), a pregnancy test (why not?), and she cleaned out the As Seen On TV section.  Eggtastic egg cooker?  Don’t mind if I do.  Chia head of the president?  At the very least she could smash it for a fleeting moment of catharsis.  It was all practically free.  She had room on her Visa and a bill that would come due too late for her to pay.  

“You having a party?” the clerk asked while Julia unloaded her booty onto the counter.

“Party of one.”

Julia’s array was probably not the weirdest thing the clerk had seen even that day.  What was it about drugstores that lured the random weirdoes, squabbling couples, and terrible parenting moments to their fluorescent-lit aisles.  Julia wondered if she was an oasis of calm for the clerk or an interloper.  

“Oh and throw in a couple of cartons of Camel Lights and a Marlboro Red, and do you have American Spirits?”

The clerk shook her head.  

The complete tour of Julia’s cigarette brands would be incomplete.  Her chest collapsed at the thought.  

Suddenly her phone buzzed to life in her pocket.  All the notifications lost in the ether for the past twelve hours clamored for her attention.  109 likes for her post of the REM classic, “It’s the End of the World as We Know It and I Feel Fine.”  A text from her brother that spilled from bubble to bubble: first joking about the presidential spiral into dementia then panic.  Before her eyes skipped ahead to the next round of texts, she fingered a message back to her brother: With Mom. All fine.  Whatever that means.  

Then her eyes landed on the final text in the list:  Where r u? I remember 2.  Julia loathed text shorthand.  When adults her age used it, she pictured middle-aged men in backwards baseball caps shot-gunning cans of Milwaukee’s Best.  But when the younger generation didn’t use it, she felt like they condescended to her like she was too old to comprehend the meaning of LOL.

She typed a message to James and hit send then looked up to see the clerk extending the cartons of cigarettes to her, balanced on her arm like a waiter’s tray.

****

At the subway entrance, James’ phone hummed in his pocket.

From Malia:  Where r u?  Gotta go.

From Julia: Mom’s house. Waiting.

James felt the same surge that overtook him when Julia detoured his life for a weekend ten years ago. His dad was dying.  His mom already dead.  He had been at the center of a ball of twine that wound tighter, thicker around him each day.  So when he bumped into Julia at her friend’s art show, then drank deeply from the free wine passed around at the gallery, then followed her to a dive down the street, back when dives were tucked into every corner of the city, and they drank enough shots of whiskey to provide cover if he ever decided to tell Malia—he hadn’t—it felt like a sign.  And when Julia slid into the booth next to him, almost knocking him over, he cooed, “You smell amazing.”

“I’m not wearing underwear.”

James talked a big talk about the guilt, the flashes of Malia’s face that came to him over the course of the weekend when he wasn’t drunk on Julia, and the hole burrowed deep in his gut when, weeks later, he surprised Malia and himself by asking her to marry him.  He talked it to himself.  He talked it to the random guy he spilled all to at the dive bar where he and Julia had plied themselves with the courage to commandeer her friend’s guest room and fuck the weekend away.  The weekend stood as a monument to what he would do when he had everything and nothing to lose.  Of the shadow person that lurked beneath the surface of the dad who danced a wailing Miles around the kitchen in the bloodshot hours of the night when his son couldn’t sleep, the husband who brought Malia a roll of Butterscotch Lifesavers whenever he stopped by the neighborhood bodega for the cigarettes he was supposed to have quit when Miles was born.

“This your penance?” Malia asked when he slid the roll into her hand.

“Your favorite.” He kissed her forehead.

Too tired to fight, she pretended not to smell the must of his jacket, but she drew the line at Miles, pulling him to her chest whenever James tried to kiss him in his soiled smoker clothing.  “Not until you’re clean,” she had said.

James imagined Malia at the station, fending off the crush, jiggling Miles in the baby backpack he’d outgrown months ago, but which she’d strapped on like a life jacket before she left the apartment. The lump that would form on her back, a muscle spasm from carrying all thirty-five pounds of Miles through the subway tunnels, the maze of crowds, the lines to buy a ticket to her parents’ house. Her eyes scanning the crowds for a familiar face, for the flat plane of James’ forehead that grew larger with each passing year and failed follicle.  He imagined it then let the image go, a photo fluttering to the pavement while around him sirens screamed from the line of police cars racing down the block.  

He typed.  Go on.  I’ll catch up.  Love you. He added a heart emoji at the end and a fire truck for Miles.  

To Julia:  Send address.  I’ll find you.

****

Could she fuck James in her shadow bedroom?  A ridiculous giddiness bubbled inside of Julia as she read and reread the message on her screen.  She lit a second cigarette from the first.  The bags of her CVS loot spread around the sidewalk at her feet, an audience to this unexpected victory.

Ten years ago Julia felt terrible leaving her friend Rae’s guest room like she did: thick with the funk of a weekend of unbridled mixing of her body with James’.  Their mouths found every hidden corner, every nook of their bodies.  They were liberated from the press of the future, of having to actually forge a relationship of desire and inside jokes and not hating each other’s face after seeing it every morning.  He teetered on the precipice of marriage.  She lived on the west coast, had a boyfriend, declared she would never get saddled with the title of wife.  Their meeting was a fluke.  The best kind of fluke.  

Rae stopped speaking to Julia after the weekend. Emails unanswered.  Apologies unacknowledged.  That weekend was supposed to be their girls’ weekend, Rae’s triumphant first semi-major gallery show.  Julia still felt a tug of regret.  Over the years Rae had gotten big enough that her art life spilled into newspapers and reviews in The New Yorker that Julia thumbed through while taking a shit.  But Julia would have done it again, no question.

The CVS security guard circled the building then stopped a few feet from Julia.  “You need assistance with your bags, ma’am?”

Julia exhaled a stream of smoke through her recently cola-glossed lips.  His nametag caught the light of the glowing red letters above them.   She squinted.  

“I’m good, Desmond.  That’s a cool name.  Really like seventies punk or mod or something.  If there was even the slightest chance that I could or would breed, I would definitely name my brat Desmond.  Seriously dude, love that name.”

“Thanks, ma’am.”  He straightened his upside-down teardrop of a torso.  “Ma’am you need to move along if your CVS business is done.”

Julia made a show of looking around the empty parking lot. Darkness broken up by dim pools of light around the streetlamps.  The parking spaces empty boxes.  

“I’m not sure you got the memo, big D, but these are the fucking end times.  That shit-bag you and the rest of these slack-jawed bible fuckers gave the reins to this country is about to yee-haw us off a cliff because his best comrade called him a bad name that fizzled out his big-boy boner.  So, in light of this turd of a country going down in flames at any moment, Desmond, I think you have bigger fish to fry than the CVS corporation’s property rights.  

Desmond’s shoulders slumped.  “Ma’am this is my first night here.  I don’t wanna start anything.  Please just go.  I can carry your bags.”

Julia halted him with her hand.  She flicked her cigarette butt to the pavement and ground it under the toe of her boot.  She bent over and rooted around in the bags.  

“Can I get you a Snickers?  Jellybean?  TV Guide?  Graham cracker crust?  Adult diaper?”

“Ma’am,” he said.  “Please.”

Julia hadn’t thought to pick up condoms, the usual reason she ambled the aisles of CVS.  Maybe they kept them behind the counter so the teenage jezebels had to bathe in shame before the pharmacist would sell them.  Julia bet condom stocks took a dive since the start of the end of the world.

****

The street, usually bustling with late night revelers, was empty.  People were going.  Spilling out of the city in floods.  As James walked the streets, contemplating what he was about to do, what he wasn’t doing, he bore witness to exodus and denial.  Cars groaned down clogged avenues, their loads of mattresses, boxes, plastic water bottles about to topple while old men cradling forties of malt liquor cheered their departure from stoops in front of buildings.  

Finally, James reached his destination.  A few lights flickered in the windows of the apartment building that stretched above him.  A long shot, he knew.  That Julia’s friend hadn’t moved in ten years, that she was here, that she would open the door to him.  He remembered the weight of her stare as he slipped down her hallway to the bathroom during the weekend with Julia.  James and the friend still saw each other around at shows, at parties.  They were friends of friends of friends, but had never figured out how they were wrapped in each other’s social web.  They were a decade-long study in mutual avoidance.  He had toyed with talking to her now that she was a semi-big shot in the world where he was still small potatoes.  Medium potatoes at best.  

But after he grabbed his journal from the studio, after he had tried texting the friends he knew had cars only to find out that they had already fled or had no plans to leave, his mind fell on her.  Rae.  She had a car.  Had joked about how a car in the city was the ultimate in futility, but she couldn’t give it up.

James rang the buzzer.  The apartment was rent-controlled, a bequest from a dead aunt, so he couldn’t imagine anyone giving that up.  Not since the waves of gentrification had started to topple artist enclaves like dominoes.  

James buzzed again.  Another text vibrated his pocket.  He whipped out his phone.  A picture of an inner thigh, clean-shaven flesh bulged above the dimple of her knee. And for some reason, a riot of jellybeans in the background.  This slice of flesh let him know that Julia’s body had not pressed pause in the last ten years.  They no longer dwelled in the adulthood border-town of their thirties.  But the picture awakened the memories of the weekend, the feel of her as she climbed on top of him.  The thought went straight to his groin.

The door opened.  It was Rae.  Shorter hair, dyed black, more lines spreading from her pinprick eyes, but her. He shifted his pants, a quick boner masquerade that drew more attention to the memory that caused it: James thrusting into Julia from behind, inside the door to the building now opened in front of him when, that first time, they couldn’t wait to run up the stairs to Rae’s apartment.  

The friend looked annoyed.  But not puzzled.  “What?” she said.

“Hey, how are you doing?  Long time—“

“Seriously, what?  What. The. Fuck.”  Rae’s face was red, her eyes raw.  

“Uh, you know, all this stuff happening,” James stuttered, still trying to rid himself of the unrelenting hard-on.

“Are you looking for fucking Julia?”

“No, uh, sorta, what’s new with you?”

It was a slow-motion collapse.  First her forehead wrinkled then her face fell into despair then her squat body leaned against him as sobs wracked her body.  Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide his hard-on.  

Recognition flickered across her eyes. Confusion.  “Are you getting hard?”  She pulled away, her legs finding their grounding after a brief moment of rubber.

Then something cracked further inside of her and she hunched over as barking laughter wracked her shoulders.  

“Is that a gun in your pocket or—“ she snorted and buried her face in her hands.  “Are you just happy to—“

James put a hand on her shoulder.  “Girl, are you okay?”

She shook her head and leaned against him.  He couldn’t tell if she shook from laughter or tears, what the next emotion to spill from her would be.  Out of her jeans pocket slipped a ring of keys.  

“We should get out of here,” he said, bending over and picking up the keys.  He eyed each jagged edge until he landed on the key with a black plastic ring around it. Honda.

She muttered.  “It’s happening.  It’s really happening.”

James flicked the key between his finger and looped an arm around her shoulder.  “Stay with me, girl.  I got you. Let’s do this.”

****

Instant regret the moment Julia hit send.  Pleasures await.  Her recently-shaven thigh against a backdrop of jellybeans.  

She was definitely feeling that fourth tumbler of wine.  She wasn’t a sex-ter.  In fact, this was her first sext.  She associated sexting with clueless teenagers weeping in regret about pictures of their shaved pussies circulating around the locker room.  The youth of today.  Kids, full of faux-savvy and brio, bungling around the internet.  

Like the kids who at an impromptu march at the airport, bandanas wrapped around their faces like punk rock banditos, lectured Julia and the other forty-and-up white women who dared come to the impromptu protest of the president’s latest rollback on civil rights.  

“You’re the fucking problem,” the boy said, his voice muffled by the bandana.  He jabbed his finger in their direction.  The women stood in a semi-circle, their palms getting sweaty from clutching signs.  Not My President.

White women had fucked everything up, voted for the president in higher numbers than Julia could comprehend.  We could give self-hating Jews a run for their money, she thought when the percentages popped up in her social media feeds.  

The bandana boy continued, “You aren’t willing to give anything up.  You think your whiteness protects you!  It doesn’t! You’re gonna get raped and fucked and lose your healthcare!”  His eyes sparkled in his black bloc costume.

Julia muttered, “Your whiteness protects you too, asshole.”  

But she and her friends still carried the burden of their sisters’ poor taste in candidates on their shoulders.  She had to admit that she had fallen asleep at the switch.  Most recently lulled into a state of careless satisfaction by the eight years of the first good president of her life.  When she saw a picture of him now, she felt a painful longing.  The last Republican president who lied the country into war, and could barely string two sentences together without relying on a folksy chuckle to get him through a speech, seemed quaint now.

But hadn’t Julia rocked against Reagan?  Marched for choice and stood up for animal rights? She was aware of the whiteness that buoyed her normal even now as the normal descended into chaos.  She hadn’t done enough over the last sixteen years, but she was here, now, ready to protest, welcome immigrants, stand up for reproductive rights, push back against every word that dripped from the psychopath president’s parched lips.  She’d traded her combat boots for comfort sneakers, her mildewed, patched sweatshirt for a raincoat.  She was here and she wanted to punch the boy in the bandana as he berated them for their complacency.  “Where were you when we marched for Devante?”  He yelled.

She was probably thinking that she should be marching for Devante while sipping a ten-dollar Merlot and watching Netflix.

What futility it all seemed now.  Shouting into the darkness, not even a north star to lead the angry masses.  

That she was reduced to sexting James was another stone to hurl at the president.  She rubbed a hand over her thigh, stroking the dimple by her knee.  She swept a hand along the jellybeans pooled in the middle of her bed, back into the bag.  Her phone buzzed.

On our way.

Our way?  Our? Was James hauling the family along with him?

We? She texted back.

“Jules?”  Her mom pushed her door open a crack.  She was bleary-eyed, ten minutes into her nightly Xanax.  

“Yeah?”

“I’m turning in.  Need anything?”

“No thanks.  I’m good. I gorged on jellybeans and don’t plan on having my next meal until we are post-apocalypse.  I hear nukes take at least twenty pounds off.  All fat!”  

“Oh sweetie, stop talking like that.  It’ll all get sorted.  We survived Kennedy.”

“Yeah, okay.”  Forcing her mom to believe the end was nigh was not high on Julia’s priorities.  Let her mom slip into a dreamless, anxiety-free sleep.  Julia hadn’t mentioned James’ impending arrival lest her mom either freak out and forbid it or whir into hyper cleaning mode.  

Her mom walked over and planted a kiss on Julia’s forehead. “Don’t stay up all night planning your demise.”

In the late nights of Julia’s soul, her tangles with insomnia, and three a.m. mental treadmill runs where she pondered the uselessness of this life, her life, of hauling herself to yoga class to keep sane enough to be a cog in the university machine, teaching the mildly intelligentsia how to compose an essay without the use of emojis.  For what?  The weekend with James stood as a beacon of aliveness.  One that she could not replicate when she returned home.  Knowing that he was out there, that those feelings were out there, that she was capable of more than simply maintaining, simultaneously brought her joy and a deep unshakable sadness.  

But she had kept the promise for ten years.  She hadn’t called.  She hadn’t interrupted his life.  Although she always wondered what the weekend had been to him.  From the timing of his engagement announcement, the weekend was the final straw to push him into marrying the waif who gazed from the photos he posted.  But he was coming now.  Coming to share in either the atomic flash that instantly annihilated them or the ragged survival slog where they would have to make the daily decision between suicide or the stubborn will to live on expired canned corn.  Julia prayed for annihilation.  Annihilation after James.

****

The first hundred miles were rough. Rae kept up a stream of alternately excited and devastated babble.  (“Rae Michaels is a revelation!  They called me a revelation. ArtForum!”)  She seemed relieved to be getting out of the city, “getting back to my roots” then desolate that her show wouldn’t make it through its full run.

“But you were at the opening, right?  Great opening!  Only the best wine, the funkiest cheese, the classiest crackers,” she said, imitating the president.

James said, “Yeah.  I don’t know.  Probably.”

He used to go to all the shows, cadge wine and hors d’oeuvres from the openings, but Miles had slowed his roll through the galleries. Malia never caught on to the art world.   She was a dancer, now a dance teacher of pre-anorexic prep school girls. When they first started dating, James liked that she was unimpressed by the art world—which she dismissed as masturbatory and incestuous—that had enveloped him since college.  When he first brought her to his studio, she looked at a painting, tilted her head to the side and said, “Cool.  I don’t get it.”

Cool, I don’t get it became a well-worn phrase, the first thing they said to each other after witnessing each other’s art.  

Unconsciously he said the words, interrupting Rae’s stream.

“What?” she asked.

“You wouldn’t get it,” he said.

He glanced at his phone jammed in the cup holder of the Honda. He tapped the screen.  Four bubbles from Malia.  She had moved on from worry to rage since she made it safely to her parents’ suburban nest.

Motherfucker, where r u?

He typed, glancing back and forth between the street lines bulleting beneath the car as they sped down the interstate and the screen.  

Don’t worry. I’m fine.  Delayed.

Rae grabbed for the wheel.  “Don’t text and drive!  You’ll kill us.”  She pulled harder than James could steady.  He jammed on the breaks.  The headlights skittered across the dark road landing on the trees that lined the road as they skidded to a stop.  

“Jesus Christ!  Don’t fucking do that!” James yelled.

“Ain’t no Jesus gonna save anyone.  No Jesus.  No peace, motherfucker.”  

He caught his breath and started patting around the dark floor for the phone.  He turned and ran his hand over the back seat.  He found it tucked into the backseat cushions, blinking alive with a new message from Julia.  

Top right window.

****

Julia’s mom left the TV news blaring while she snored gently in the pool of light thrown from the talking heads debating the means of their destruction.  Julia stumbled down the dark hallway and flicked her radio on.  She poured the last of her second bottle of wine into the plastic tumbler decorated with a chipped picture of her college’s mascot, a dog dressed like a king.  

“Your highness,” she mumbled as she toasted the empty room.

BBC World Update announced the next show, a break from their schedule: “This Is It, Isn’t It?”  She lay back on her pillow and contemplated the golden retriever poster on her wall.  A mother dog nudged her puppy as light sparked from her sun-drenched coat.  How Julia had lobbied her parents for a dog. The promises to pick up poop, take it on walks, brush its shaggy coat every week.  All broken.  She begged and she got Misty.  The dog, dog-lovers loved to hate.  Incontinent, snippy, and a perpetual leg-humper.  Misty was Julia’s first encounter with be careful what you wish for.

Her blinks lingered.  The wine finally claimed victory over the anxious buzzing in her chest. She slipped into restless sleep while clipped voices debated death on her radio.  She was sweaty and cold all at once.  

A crash startled her awake.  Breaking glass and a rush of cold air.  Nausea washed over her as she rolled to her side onto the stray jellybeans that didn’t make it into the bag.  A bomb. The answer to the British-accented woman’s question.  Yes, this is it.  A breeze hit her cheek.  A jagged outline of the darkness outside in the left corner of her windowpane.  She crawled over the carnage of her night strewn on the bed.  

“Julia! Julia?” a voice hissed outside.

Her initial confusion, her drunk doze started to un-crumple.  She sat back, swiped a finger under her eyes at the mascara that had surely pooled there. She pushed herself up from the bed, felt a sharp prick in the side of her foot and then remembered the glass. Broken glass fallout near the window and a rock the size of a fist.  She ignored the pinch of pain and navigated to the bedroom door.  She would meet her fate head-on and half-dressed.  No time for trawling through her drawers for lacy bits of underwear that would only get lost in the rolls of her hips.  A t-shirt and boxer shorts hung baggy on her.

She took the steps two at a time.  As she opened the door, the weather-stripping peeled from the frame, sounding like two lovers pulling apart.

James shuffled to the front step.  The porch light hollowed shadows beneath his cheekbones.  His eyes were lost beneath the shelf of his thick eyebrows.  “Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” she said.  

They took in the reality of each other, the years of memories, expectations, masturbation fantasies distilled into flesh, bodies that had slid from the glow of confident late young adulthood into early middle age. The suggestions of lines on their faces had deepened to wrinkles.  Dark circles puffed below their eyes. They worried over their own failing bodies. Julia’s hips swelling below the t-shirt, her thighs rubbing as she stepped toward him.  The pooch of James’ belly beneath the layers of flannel and fleece. They searched for the person each remembered, the way the rope of his neck vein sent Julia into paroxysms of desire, how his hand turned electric when it found the swoop of her ass.  

Julia extended her hand to James.  “It’s getting cold, come in.”

She looked over his shoulder and saw a person in the passenger seat.  “Is she?”

“Sleeping.  I couldn’t wake her up.  She was pretty wound up.”

“Is that?”

“Don’t worry about her,” James said.  

Rae had finally fallen asleep when they were an hour away from Julia.  He tried to wake her, find out where he could drop her off, but she pushed his hand away and mumbled incomprehensible scraps of sounds.  He felt a fleeting moment of affection for this lonely, accomplished artist. Before, he would have chatted her up, attempted to insinuate himself onto her level (“Got any group shows coming up?”), but that was beyond mattering.  They were all stumbling bags of meat now.

James twined his fingers in Julia’s and stepped inside the house.  TV voices barked in a distant room.  Dry heat enveloped them. The closing door sealed them inside. He wound his body around Julia, pressed his mouth over hers and they remembered.  Their bodies remembered.  She led him up the dark stairway and warned him of glass as they crossed the threshold to her room.

As he rolled her t-shirt over her, took her slack breasts in his mouth, a thought kept resurfacing.  Why hadn’t he just rung the doorbell?  The doorbell would have broken the spell.  He couldn’t break it now.  He’d made his choice.  Julia was the only thing tethering him to this world.  The more he pushed Malia and Miles away, they resurfaced into his fluttering chest.  As he drove farther from the city, they didn’t grow smaller but became flashes in the dark, stabs in his side.  He couldn’t make a life without them.  They were life.  But this was death, and death brought out a different part of him.  They were safe.  He was safe.  He kept telling himself this was all that mattered in the moment.

Or he could have broken the window because breaking felt good right now.  He craved power over his destruction.  

Julia pulled him inside her and they moved, awkwardly, punching with their hips at first but then fell into a slow rhythm that was nothing like their last time together.  And when it was done, they fell asleep without speaking.  The exhaustion of the day at last dragged them into a depthless dark.

****

Julia shivered against James.  Cold air pumped in through the broken corner of her window.  A line of sun cut across her eyelids.  Before she opened them she first wondered—who was this body that was tangled against her?  Her mind fell on four possibilities before she remembered his name, an oddity: James.

A moment later, her mom knocked.  “Jules?  Jules are you in there?”  

Julia wiped a hand across her dry mouth, massaged a raging temple. Then her mom pounded, a panic in her voice.  “Jules, I’m opening the—“

“No, Mom, stop!” Julia pushed onto her elbows.  

James’ eyes flickered open.  He squinted against the sunlight.

Her mom cracked the door.  “Sweetie, there’s a woman here.  She says there’s somebody in here that she needs to talk to.”  

“I’m leaving!  We’re going back right now.  I don’t know how you conned me into this,” Rae yelled from the bottom of the stairs.

“She’s uh, she’s upset.”  Her mom whispered.

Julia rolled her eyes at James.  He sprung into action, gathering his clothes from the piles at the bottom of the bed.  “Yeah, okay, okay,” he said.

“Is that Ma--?” Julia asked.

“No!” James spat before she could finish Malia’s name. “It’s your friend.  Rae or whatever.”

“Huh, now that’s something.”  

The radio crackled low at the side of her bed.  The British accents traded for the regular morning announcers.  “—threat is over—summit to figure out how we moved so close to the brink of destruction—“

Julia leaned over and turned up the volume, listening while James scrambled into his pants.  The president’s ego had been soothed.  World leaders pledged to work together.  Social media would be the scapegoat.  There was already talk of bans, new algorithms.  It wasn’t the fault of humans, never humans.

She surveyed the window damage, the wine stains on the carpet, the jellybean flakes on her sheets.  Her mom returned downstairs and made small talk with Rae while Julia contemplated if a tearful reunion with Rae was in order or if she should let it lie. She sat up and grabbed a t-shirt. A wave of nausea gripped her.  She jumped from the bed and ran to the bathroom to spill the previous night’s revelry into the toilet.  

James hovered in the doorway.  “Thanks.  It was—“

Julia pushed herself up from the bathroom floor. “Have a safe trip.  I hope it all—“

“I’ll figure it out.”

On the drive home Rae’s outrage cooled to a simmer.  She seethed silently, punching messages into her phone.  He wasn’t sure why he drove, but as Julia’s mom closed the door behind them, Rae had tossed him the keys. “Let’s go.”

James had hours to craft the speech for Malia, to decide what portion of the truth to include, to ponder the nature of his soul and if he would be better off driving north until he hit Canada, tossing his phone out the window at the border.

Julia would rebook a flight home and spend the next month wondering why, after she’d started to lose her taste for wine a few weeks later, that the nausea clung to her.  And when the president was finally impeached, the entire executive branch replaced in the perp walk to end all perp walks, Julia’s rejoicing could only last a day until the thing she knew to be true, the thing she felt come alive inside her that most terrible and wonderful of all her mornings, was confirmed by peeing on the stick of the pregnancy test she’d tossed in her cart on the last night in the world.

END

Katherine Sinback’s work has appeared in The Rumpus, daCunha, Gravel, Foliate Oak, Clackamas Literary Review, The Hunger Journal, and Oyster River Pages.  She publishes her zine Crudbucket and writes two blogs: the online companion to Crudbucket, and Peabody Project Chronicles 2: Adventures in Pregnancy After Miscarriage.  Crudbucket was featured in the 2007 Multnomah County Library “Zinesters Talking” series and was included in the 2016 Alien She exhibit at the Pacific Northwest College of Art.  Born and raised in Virginia, Katherine lives in Portland, Oregon with her family. She can be found on Twitter @kt_sinback.  

[romantic-reveries]

I don’t know. What am I thinking? We should just end it. There’s no point. We talked about it and neither of us want to, and we don’t even know when or if him leaving will even happen, so maybe it’s jumping the gun, but... I don’t know. The reality is, it’s super likely. If the offer is there, he won’t hesitate. I understand why he wouldn’t pass up moving up in his career for me, and I wouldn’t ask him to, but it sucks either way.

He drops that on me over text, that he’s likely gonna end up moving, and I know it was a big shock for him, too, and a lot to process, but he laid it on me, then only messaged me sporadically after upsetting me like that, and then it turns out that instead of wanting to call me after his friend left, when both of us were in a fragile, upset state and probably needed it, one of his coworkers came over to smoke at one in the morning, and he only called me after he was laying in bed unable to sleep. It didn’t feel like I was the priority there. It often feels like I’m not.

The weekend at his place, where we were busy moving and with his family all day Friday and Saturday, and Sunday was supposed to be for us, but he slept into the afternoon, and then got up and his friends wanted him to play games online with them and he did, because he’s a habitual people pleaser (which is too eerily reminiscent of the boy I was involved with a couple years ago—these boys who like to please everyone enough that they don’t mind disappointing me, when my opinion should be one that holds a lot more value) and then he says he can’t stay the night when he brings me back home, because he has rent to pay the next day, and he didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot because he knew he’d be worrying over it, despite the fact that he had until the fifth to do so, and didn’t end up paying it until the third, anyway.

Or how he’s often lamented that the sharing feels one-sided on his end, because these days, I have a hard time being as vocal about my feelings as he does (thanks recent trauma from trying to date), and how I’ve been trying to let him in more, but when I texted him in a bad place the other night, and told him I felt like crying, he didn’t even offer to call, and if the roles had been reversed, it would’ve been the first thing I did—ask if he needed to talk. And yeah, I could’ve asked him if I could call, but why should I have had to? Why was his first instinct not to want to talk to me when he knew I was in a bad place?

Or how he came last weekend, and then remembered he had to interview someone, knowing that he was making the hour and a half drive back home and giving up time with me for a TWENTY MINUTE interview with a candidate he knew he wasn’t likely to hire, who didn’t even end up SHOWING UP, when he could have rescheduled it for another day, or done a video interview, or asked his general manager to take care of it, but refused to even TRY any of those things. I know he probably doesn’t mean for it to, but it certainly has a way of making me feel like I’m never what matters most to him. I know it’s still early, but if he isn’t prioritizing me now, it doesn’t seem like he would be likely to as time went on.

And he kept warning me, I guess—that he didn’t feel capable of being in a relationship sometimes because he didn’t feel like he was capable of giving as much as he wanted. But HE was the one who pursued ME. HE was the one who wanted the label. HE was the one who told me he loved me first.

It just sort of feels like... he met me at a time where everything in his life was unstable and up in the air. He was just settling into his job, still in training, in an in between living situation. He spent almost all of his free time either talking to me, or coming down to stay with me. And now he’s having to divvy that time up, but it almost makes me feel like it wasn’t ever that he strictly WANTED to spend all that time with me, just that he didn’t have anything better to do. He could come here and have a proper bed, and wifi, and a place to do his laundry, and a semblance of home, and now that he’s in his own place, he doesn’t need that anymore. He could spend hours on the phone with me because he was lonely and had nothing and no one else to fill his time.

And I hope none of that is true, but I somehow can’t shake the idea, and it makes me really, really fucking sad.

[meekspaceng]

Are You Recommending Yourself to Others? ‘I don’t care what other people think!’ In a moment of anger or frustration, perhaps you have found yourself making this bold assertion. But once the surge of bravado has ebbed, you may give way to a feeling of anxious concern. Why? Because most of us really do care about what others think of us. INDEED, we should care about the feelings of others. Especially must we as Christians, ordained ministers of Jehovah God, have a healthy concern about how others view us. After all, we are “a theatrical spectacle to the world.” (1 Corinthians 4:9) At 2 Corinthians 6:3, 4, we find the apostle Paul’s sound counsel: “In no way are we giving any cause for stumbling, that our ministry might not be found fault with; but in every way we recommend ourselves as God’s ministers.” What, though, does it mean to recommend ourselves to others? Does it mean to promote ourselves or to call undue attention to ourselves and our abilities? No. But it does call for applying the words of 1 Peter 2:12: “Maintain your conduct fine among the nations, that . . . they may as a result of your fine works of which they are eyewitnesses glorify God.” Christians recommend themselves by letting their conduct speak for itself! Ultimately, this brings praise, not to us, but to God. Nevertheless, our recommending ourselves to others may also have personal benefits. Let us examine three areas in which this might prove true for you. As a Potential Marriage Mate Take, for example, the matter of marriage. It is a gift from Jehovah God, the one “to whom every family in heaven and on earth owes its name.” (Ephesians 3:15) Perhaps it is your desire to marry some day. If so, to what extent are you recommending yourself as a potential marriage partner? Yes, what reputation have you made for yourself as a single Christian man or woman? In some lands this is of great concern to families. In Ghana, for example, when two persons wish to marry each other, it is the tradition for the prospective couple to inform their parents. These, in turn, inform other family members. The man’s family then sets about ascertaining the woman’s reputation in the neighborhood. When the parents are convinced of the woman’s suitability, they will inform the woman’s family of their son’s intention to marry the daughter. The woman’s family now checks the reputation of the man before consenting to the marriage. A Ghanaian adage thus says, “Ask those who should know before you enter into marriage.” What about Western lands, where individuals are generally allowed to select their own marriage mates? Even there, a mature Christian man or woman would be wise to seek a candid recommendation from those who know a potential mate well, such as parents or mature friends. According to the book The Secret of Family Happiness, a young woman might ask: “‘What kind of reputation does this man have? Who are his friends? Does he display self-control? How does he treat elderly persons? What kind of family does he come from? How does he interact with them? What is his attitude toward money? Does he abuse alcoholic beverages? Is he temperamental, even violent? What congregation responsibilities does he have, and how does he handle them? Could I deeply respect him?’​—Leviticus 19:32; Proverbs 22:29; 31:23; Ephesians 5:3-5, 33; 1 Timothy 5:8; 6:10;Titus 2:6, 7.”* A man would likewise want to inquire about any Christian woman he is considering marrying. According to the Bible, Boaz took such an interest in Ruth, the woman he later married. When Ruth asked: “How is it I have found favor in your eyes so that I am taken notice of, when I am a foreigner?” Boaz said: “The report was fully made to me of all that you have done.” (Ruth 2:10-12) Yes, not only did Boaz personally observe that Ruth was a loyal, dedicated, and hardworking woman but he also received favorable comments from others. Similarly, your conduct will have a bearing on whether others view you as a suitable marriage mate. Just how are you recommending yourself to others in this regard? As an Employee The workplace is another area where maintaining good conduct can work to your benefit. Competition for jobs may be intense. Employees who are known for insubordination, habitual lateness, and dishonesty are often fired. Companies may also lay off experienced employees so as to cut costs. When unemployed ones seek new jobs, they may find that companies will check with their previous employers to ascertain their work habits, attitude, and experience. Many Christians have successfully recommended themselves to employers by their respectful behavior, modest attire, pleasant demeanor, and outstanding Christian qualities. Honesty is such a quality​—one that is given high priority by many employers. Like the apostle Paul, we want to “conduct ourselves honestly in all things.” (Hebrews 13:18) In one mining company in Ghana, pilfering was reported. The supervisor at the treatment plant, a Witness, retained his job while others were fired. Why? The management had observed his honesty over the years. His hard work and respect for authority were also well-known. Yes, his upright conduct saved his job! What are some other things a Christian can do to recommend himself in the job market? Learn to be skilled at whatever job you are given. (Proverbs 22:29) Work diligently and conscientiously. (Proverbs 10:4; 13:4) Treat your employer and work supervisor with respect. (Ephesians 6:5) Punctuality, honesty, efficiency, and hard work are qualities employers esteem, and those qualities can help you to find employment even when jobs are scarce. Congregation Privileges Now more than ever, mature men are needed to take the lead in the Christian congregation. The reason? Isaiah prophesied: “Make the place of your tent more spacious. And let them stretch out the tent cloths of your grand tabernacle.” (Isaiah 54:2) In fulfillment of this prophecy, Jehovah’s worldwide congregation keeps on experiencing growth. So if you are a Christian man, how can you recommend yourself as one qualified to serve in an appointed capacity? Consider the example of the young man Timothy. Luke reports that Timothy “was well reported on by the brothers in Lystra and Iconium.” Yes, by his fine conduct, this young man had recommended himself to others in two different cities. Paul therefore invited Timothy to join him in the traveling ministry.​—Acts 16:1-4. How can a man today ‘reach out for an office of oversight’ in an appropriate, godly way? Certainly not by campaigning for appointment but by cultivating the spiritual qualities needed for such responsibilities. (1 Timothy 3:1-10, 12, 13; Titus 1:5-9) He can also show that he is “desirous of a fine work” by having a full share in the preaching and disciple-making work. (Matthew 24:14; 28:19, 20) Those who recommend themselves as responsible Christian men take a sincere interest in the welfare of their spiritual brothers. They follow the advice of the apostle Paul: “Share with the holy ones according to their needs. Follow the course of hospitality.” (Romans 12:13) By doing such things, a Christian man can truly ‘recommend himself as a minister of God.’ At All Times Recommending ourselves to others does not mean putting on a pretense or becoming “men pleasers.” (Ephesians 6:6) Ultimately, it means recommending ourselves to our Creator, Jehovah God, by conscientiously following his laws and principles. If you develop your spirituality and strengthen your relationship with Jehovah God, others will notice an improvement in the way you deal with your family members, workmates, and fellow Christians. They will also observe your stability and balance, your good sense of judgment, your ability to handle responsibility, and your humility. This will earn you their love and respect and, more important, win you the approval of Jehovah God because you recommend yourself to others! [Footnote] Published by the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society of New York, Inc. [Picture on page 19] Many parents wisely inquire about the reputation of someone their son or daughter is interested in marrying [Picture on page 20] A brother recommends himself for privileges of service by being considerate of others

http://meekspaceng.blogspot.com/2019/08/are-you-recommending-yourself-to-others.html

[foursprouthappiness-blog]

7 Mind Hacks to Permanently Erase the People Pleaser Mentality

New Post has been published on http://foursprout.com/happiness/7-mind-hacks-to-permanently-erase-the-people-pleaser-mentality/

7 Mind Hacks to Permanently Erase the People Pleaser Mentality

You’re reading 7 Mind Hacks to Permanently Erase the People Pleaser Mentality, originally posted on Pick the Brain | Motivation and Self Improvement. If you’re enjoying this, please visit our site for more inspirational articles.

Being a people pleaser can become a soul draining habit. This is because, most people will be glad to walk all over you if you allow them that freedom.

Like any other limiting mentality, the people pleaser mentality arises out of a negative thought pattern in your subconscious mind. Such thought patterns generally develop from negative childhood experiences. For instance, a parent who was disapproving of you, who made you feel that you are not good enough.

Now, when your mind is conditioned with such limiting beliefs, you are automatically drawn to seek validation from others which lays the foundation for the people pleaser mentality.

If you believe there is a people pleaser in you, then you have already taken the first step towards overcoming this habit – you have recognized that you have this mentality. The next important step is to rewire your brain which is possible thanks to neuroplasticity – our brain’s awesome ability to discard old thought patterns and create new ones in its place.

Based on this premise, the following are some simple techniques that will help you rewire your brain and hence kick this limiting habit for good.

1. Become conscious of the negative thought pattern

Every mentality arises out of a thought pattern in your subconscious mind. A thought pattern is a neural network in your brain. Think of this thought pattern as a little entity of its own. It has existed and sustained itself over years of reinforcement.

The good news is that the brain has the power to change. It can discard old thought patterns and create new ones in its place. This ability of the brain is known as neuroplasticity.

So how can you make this change? Let’s find out.

The most important step in discarding a negative thought pattern is to become ‘aware’ of the thought pattern. When you become conscious of a thought pattern, it is no longer hiding away in the depths of your subconscious mind. Instead, you have brought it to the forefront for further questioning and examination. Think of this as catching a fugitive from their hideout!

Here’s a simple exercise to become conscious of negative thought patterns:

Sit comfortably, close your eyes and take a few deep breaths. Now bring to your mind a recent event where you felt obligated to say ‘yes’. Try to relive this moment in your mind. Now see if you can identify the thought pattern behind this action by asking yourself a series of ‘why’ questions.

For example, ‘why did I say yes?’ Listen to your answers consciously.

If you consciously analyze your answers, you will soon realize that these are just innocent beliefs that your mind picked up when you were still very young. You will realize that these beliefs might have helped you as a child to cope with the situation at hand, but as an adult these believes are baseless.

Also, as you ask these questions, you start getting familiarized with this thought pattern. The next step is to become familiarized with the emotion that this thought pattern generates in you.

2. Feel the thought-emotion connection

Every thought pattern has an underlying emotional response that is found in the body. Hence establishing the thought-emotion connections helps you understand the thought-pattern better.

Repeat the previous exercise (of reliving the moment), but now instead of focusing on the thought, divert all your attention to the feeling this thought generated in your body. Do you feel any sensations in your body? How do these sensations feel? where do you feel them? Is it in and around your heart, your gut area, your throat? Study this feeling as deeply as you can.

As you become conscious of this feeling, it will start to lose its grip on you. The next time you feel it, it will be much easier for you to deal with it as you are already conscious of it.

Also, now that you are conscious of the thought pattern and the associated emotion, it will be much easier for you to catch the thought pattern as it arises next time. You won’t be taken in by this thought pattern, instead you will have an option to be responsive rather than being reactive. You will no longer be compelled to say yes, but will have an option to think it through and say no.

3. Use affirmations

Affirmations are a great way to start reprogramming your negative thought patterns. You can simply listen to affirmations or say them out loud (or in your mind).

The following are examples of positive affirmations:

I am perfect as I am; I don’t need anyone’s approval.

It’s not important what others believe about me. It is only important what I believe about myself.

I love and accept myself unconditionally.

There is nothing that is too good for me. I deserve all the good that life has to offer.

My happiness is not dependent on other people and it’s not up to me to make others happy.

Today, I abandon my old habits and take up new, more positive ones.

I am self-reliant, creative and persistent in whatever I do.

The best time to say these affirmations is right before you go to bed and as soon as you wake up in the morning.

4. Become a ‘NO’ person for sometime

A powerful way to change a thought pattern is to start doing things differently. Because you have been habituated to saying yes, the best way to discard this habit is to go to the other side of the spectrum and start saying NO . Do this on a day to day basis.

Every morning, say to yourself that you are your first priority and that you will say NO to things that do not appeal to you. If something does not feel right, you will say NO.

Sometimes you need to go to the other extreme in order to bring things back into balance.

5. Practice saying, ‘No’, with assertion

When you say no, you need to say it with a sense of assertiveness without sounding meek. Firstly, don’t feel obligated to give a reason to justify your answer. If you do that, you may come across as weak and the other person might try to pressurize you in other ways, making things more difficult. If you want, you can use a generic reasoning.

You can also visualize yourself saying ‘no’ with assertion.

Another way is to record yourself saying ‘no’ (rejecting a request) and listen to it over and over again until you get it right. Your tone needs to sound assertive, not necessarily arrogant. Don’t worry if you do not get it right the first few times, it will come with practice.

The human mind is a wonderful thing, it learns with practise and once it does, it starts becoming better.

6. Reassure your mind that you are not at fault

Because this is new territory, the first few times you say No, you will feel emotions of guilt that will make you feel bad. But don’t give into the emotion.

Understand that there is nothing outright good or bad in life and that everything is a matter of perspective.

Ask yourself, ‘why do I feel bad?’ The answer you might receive is,

‘I think I have hurt this person by saying no.’ ‘This person can scheme against me and take revenge.’ ‘This person will not respect me anymore.’

Reassure yourself that this person is an adult and needs to be mature enough to handle the hurt. It’s their problem that they took you for granted and expected you to reply with an affirmative. So if they feel hurt for that, then it’s not your fault.

Give yourself such reassuring suggestions whenever your mind throws up a guilt filled emotion.

7. Stay mindful of your attention

The more motivated we are to change, the more readily our brain discards negative thought patterns and replaces it with empowering ones. One of the most powerful things you can do to aid this positive change is to stay mindful of your attention.

If you find your attention focused on thoughts of worry that you have hurt someone, consciously refocus it on empowering thoughts. By not giving your attention to negative thought patterns, you are making these connections weak. This is how neuroplasticity works.

According to author and neuroscientist, Rick Hanson, “Neural Connections that are relatively inactive wither away”. This means, when you devoid a thought pattern of the unconscious attention and consciously divert your attention to positive thought patterns, the negative patterns tend to wither away.

Practicing focused meditation can be immensely helpful in this regard. It will help you stay more conscious of your attention thereby helping you gain more control over my attention.

In conclusion

As you do these exercises, you will find yourself becoming free from the people pleaser mentality along with other related limiting mentalities that hold you back. Because all these mentalities are connected, touching one thought pattern automatically starts to bring forth to your conscious vision other limiting thought patterns that you can also discard.

Finally, let me leave you with this empowering quote by Dr. Suess, “Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.”

You’ve read 7 Mind Hacks to Permanently Erase the People Pleaser Mentality, originally posted on Pick the Brain | Motivation and Self Improvement. If you’ve enjoyed this, please visit our site for more inspirational articles.