#i feel too inconsistent and inadequate

[hoodiedeer]

.

whenever i look at stuff like other peoples artfight pages or dealers den booths or tumblr blog themes or ref sheet graphics, i get sad and wish that i had a consistent visual aesthetic or style like everyone else seems to have.......

[authenticcadence18]

yall ever think about Candace and Isabella bonding over how Phineas has hurt them?

Think about it.

Candace Against the Universe explores Candace’s self esteem struggles in regards to her brothers extensively. Phineas never means to hurt Candace, but simply by way of accomplishing more than she thinks she ever could, he makes her feel inadequate, defeated, alone. He quite literally has innate good luck whereas Candace has bad luck and it’s very rare we see him actually acknowledge this.

Isabella, on the other hand, is hurt by Phineas’s actions AND his inaction. His inconsistency. Him pulling out all the stops for her one day and barely noticing her and her attempts at quality time the next (primarily in seasons 1-3). She gives so much to him, but because he’s spread so thin he can never give that much back.

And this isn’t to say Phineas has done anything wrong! no one is wrong feelings are messy. and he’s just a kid living his best life. but I love the thought of Candace and Isa bonding over this, I don’t know if anyone else could understand their feelings.

Phineas has hurt both of them unintentionally, without even meaning to. He loves them and yet he doesn’t always take the time to consider them the way they do for him. When you’re larger than life, you hurt the people closest to you. they can’t escape your shadow.

They’re angry at someone who, by all accounts, hasn’t done anything wrong. That’s a complicated place to be. heck Kevin from H&G can join their club too and talk about Gretel haha!

[paper-mario-wiki]

i need input on this. it's an intro to a song im maybe writing. or maybe it'll just stay as this short little poem.

i feel like my writing is becoming too, like, informationally dense. im worried about cramming in multiple double/triple/quadruple entendres but i feel as though the way that im doing it comes across as inelegant. like, im going for "thoughtful" and coming off as "pretentious".

can you tell, like, what im saying in this song? additionally, do the things with multiple meanings come across properly? like, can you pick out all the puns and stuff? or is it just kind of nonsense?

line-by-line translation under the cut:

1. Bitter melancholy twice a day like I invested in a broken crop

Bitter melancholy/bitter melon. twice a day/broken clock. a break crop (alluding to the bitter melon) is a staggered or inconsistent crop. This is me lamenting time I feel I've wasted on something I still consider inadequate by comparing it to an investment in a broken clock, which is only right twice a day.

2. I spit disappointing like a ticker for a pocket stock

Spitting/stock ticker tape, but also ticker like a clock. Continuing the disappointing investment motif. Pocket stock means a stock that plummets suddenly or abruptly. This is a personal statement about how I feel about my current ability to write lyrics.

3. People in the bleachers asking me if I could really drop

Bleachers/drop like a basketball game, but also dropping like dropping music, but also also dropping like the pocket stock from the previous line. Referring to the people who are very kindly encouraging me whenever i post my music.

4. Peacefully inform them if I make it then I'd rather stop

(This line I feel I could do better on) "If I make it" like making a basketball shot, continuing the basketball motif. This is about how I'd prefer not to make a career out of music.

5. Scared that I can't offer more than practice I could never top

Straightforwardly continuing the basketball/writing skill motif, and making a statement about how I'm worried that I've already put my best work out somehow, in the form of the silly stuff i write.

6. This is just a vessel for my motivation

Short, poetic way of saying "but im gonna keep doin it anyway cuz it's fun and i want to" by referring to the song itself as a vessel for the motivation i have to make something, good or bad.

[heavyweightheart]

Okay so you’re reading one of my many posts saying that if you feel sugar or any other food item is “like a drug”, you’re not eating enough, and you think to yourself and then write it my notes “but I’ve tried eating more and that doesn’t help.�� Welcome to the most frequent reaction to these claims! Not only are you not the exception, you’re giving the textbook disordered response.

These are our next steps when we’re here with disordered eaters: first, we want some 24-hour recalls of what gets eaten on average days, so we can assess where they are roughly in terms of adequacy and consistency. I can tell you that when people are tending to binge or experience what they call “food addiction”, I rarely find the 24-hr recalls to show adequacy and consistency. There’s usually an overall deficiency in calories as well as too much time between meals and snacks (breakfast is a common culprit). Restrict-binge cycling is ofc very common as well.

Another issue is that people think rectifying an energy deficit is a short-term effort, and anyone who’s recovered from an ED can tell you how laughably and cry-ably wrong this is. In the most aggressive clinical refeeding, I have never seen the process take less than several months… and that’s closely monitored high-calorie intake day in and day out with no lapses. Most people who are doing this on their own are extremely inconsistent when trying to refeed. Consistent refeeding can actually feel quite brutal when you’re used to restrictive patterns. If you’re doing it casually, you may not be doing it at all.

You’re not uniquely broken when it comes to food—that’s a lie of diet culture and eating disorders. But coming out of your inadequate, inconsistent, or cyclical eating patterns takes work and commitment. It’s hard. If you’re still in the “food is a drug” mode after you made an effort to eat more, your restriction may be too serious for you to address alone, or without educated and sustained effort at the very least.

[paxarsenal]

One Last Wish

Another wavewave fanfic by the one and only PaxArsenal! This is just the headcanon I have for TFP, and I apologize for the inconsistent storytelling if it isn't up to canon Transformers lore. I digress, enjoy this fanfic!

Conjunx Ritus...

1. The Act of Intimacy

This depends heavily on the couple.  The couple performs an intimate act such as holding hands, possibly a sensual massage, or cleaning one another, the options are endless.

2. Act of Disclosure

This can be a story about anything, so long as it tells your partner what makes you–you.  For some it’s the story of their birth, for others, it might be how they became the leader of their faction by getting into a bar fight, for some it might be revealing just how guilty they feel for joining their faction in the first place.

3. Act of Profference

This is a gift. The ritual’s instigator gives the other a gift, usually catered to the potential Conjunx. 

4. Act of Devotion

The entire ceremony is an act of devotion for the one who started the ritual: it is the other's turn to perform an action that shows he too loves his potential Conjunx.

Once the 4 acts of kindness have been performed and accepted the pair are officially bonded as Conjunx Endura.

~~~

One Final Wish

The war was over. 

For the past million years, the Great War waged and never shuttered. In a time like this, it’s limited. Both Autobots and Decepticons saw it all; Megatron finally sacrificed his crown to Optimus Prime, who bowed with respect and pity for the Kaon gladiator. While both leaders recoiled their woes and sorrows at the losses, Shockwave could only turn to Soundwave. His sleek HUD stood cracked among fellow Decepticons, his frame barely breathing. Transformers need no concept of oxygen to respire, yet Soundwave struggled to get his engines running. It was the end. The Decepticons surrendered; they had surrendered. He was exhausted; everyone was exhausted. Still, Soundwave held high; his back straightened like a regal to an audience, his slender arms relaxed and helm in a proper position. In Shockwave’s eye, Soundwave always knew how to present himself. That’s what a former senator does best. 

Back at their home, the Autobots paraded all over Cybertron. Their smiles and laughs reciprocated towards the crowd as mechs and femmes cheered for their victory. Little by little, the planet rebuilt itself, and more Cybertronians returned to their home; buildings resurrected, and bots buried their dead. What was a celebration meant an embarrassment to the Decepticons. Each officer sat in their cells with Energon-charged cuffs. Inadequate Energon supplied, and occasionally, the guards failed to deliver sustenance. Only Optimus Prime was allowed as a visitor, sharing nostalgic moments with Megatron about days gone by. Starscream paced back and forth as he muttered words of self-encouragement and spite towards his leaders, much to a nervous wreck like himself. Megatron sat on the rusting berth with his red optics closed, Optimus talking about who knows what. However, Shockwave paid no attention to his former leader. Another mech in mind, his gun arm tapped his right wall. How unfortunate for his cell to be facing Megatron and Starscream. A quiet knock on the other wall told him Soundwave was still responsive. 

“Are you perhaps still on lord Megatron’s vow of silence?” Shockwave asked.

“... Negative: He isn’t our lord anymore,” Soundwave answered, his voice laced with a silver tongue, “So why call him that moniker.”  

Unknowingly, Shockwave grew facilitated by Soundwave’s authentic voice. Not the recordings of Optimus Prime’s interrogations, not Megatron's constant harangues and meeting audios, just his voice. Something Shockwave looked forward to for centuries. “Maybe I have gotten acquainted with it. With millions of cycles gone and past, it’s logical reasoning.” He finally articulated to his comrade. Soft lulls tickled Shockwave’s fins; Lazorbeak had awoken. 

“Is that minibot alright?” Shockwave questioned again, hoping to continue the conversation. He leaned on the enclosed walls, rusting and dull from improper hygiene and neglect. Space was tight, yet the scientist made do.

Soundwave replied bluntly, “He’s alright.” Silence caved into the pair. Lazorbeak’s inconsistent squeaks and wings clicking suited as tools to smother the pain-staking rings of tension and animosity. The minibot recoiled within Soundwave’s frame, his thin digits trying to calm it down. 

“You know you can stop that,” The ex-communications officer directly stated, “There’s no use in small talk. We are all going to be offline.”

Shockwave couldn’t come up with another word. He knew Soundwave was right. Instead, he slowly slid to the dusty ground and sighed, “... Is that so?” 

Within a few minutes, Soundwave knocked again, but this time, he commed Shockwave through his visor: At least I can be offlined with you.

~~~

Reconciliation wasn’t an option for the losers. All former Decepticon officers knelt before the renewed High Council. With tight cuffs around their servos and high security, nothing could go wrong. They made sure of that. The judge was an elderly Transformer with millennia ahead of him. He struck on the metal gavel once the mass settled down. As he cleared his voicebox, his olden optics scanned through the digital tablet, “By decree, former warlord Megatron shall stand conducted via public execution for his crimes against Cybertron. That goes for his associates, former senator Soundwave, ex-High Council scientist Shockwave, and Decepticon captain Starscream. Except for ex-Deception Medic Knockout, he will receive punishment by another method.” Every Cybertronian darted to Knockout, who nervously ducked under the podium seat.

Starscream twitched yet kept silent after Elite Guards repositioned their guns to his shaking helm. As if it wasn’t vibrating enough, it could have removed some bolts by now. Soundwave and Megatron said nothing. They knelt before the jury and accepted their fate. The judge continued, “For better or worse, all charges remain true. Our Autobot representative wishes to speak.”

Optimus Prime uncovered from the shadows and strode towards his podium. Each stride was bold and confident, something Shockwave had seen Megatron do. It was remarkable what chiefs could be and influence. Orion Pax to Optimus Prime, and Megatrous to Megatron. The Empurata con’s spark yanked and jerked; it felt familiar yet so ancient. By the Allspark, Primus did grant individuals as saints while traitors martyrs. 

Optimus’s voice boomed throughout the courtroom. “Mechs and Femmes, as we gather here to address the Decepticon problem, I want to make some adjustments. These are criminals, yes. But I wish to give them a last desire before they part.” Some bots booed and argued against his idea, yet he held on. “It’s only befitting since we aren’t like them.” His blue optics stared into Megatron as the ex-warlord shifted away disgusted.

Still, Megatron wished for a better system; Starscream’s request was immediately rejected. Soundwave stood muted amidst the proceeding. The purple bot didn’t ask for anything. Coincidentally, it gave Shockwave a chance to speak. 

“May I ask for one proposal?” Shockwave confidently asked. Prime let him continue. 

“I would like to perform a Conjunx Ritus.” The jury gasped. What did that Empurata freak say? A Conjunx Ritus? With who? Soundwave’s helm immediately whipped toward Shockwave as Starscream barely caught his laugh between his servo. Megatron darted bullets at him, red optics narrowing with a snarl, “What are you doing?” He hissed. The Prime’s mouth fell agape at the unusual request, and they could hear that cranky medic shout profanities against Primus's vain. Shockwave didn’t look at him, and his audibles fell into deaf tones, instead finding his gaze on Optimus Prime. “Please, Prime, it’s one final wish.” 

Gesturing to Soundwave, he knelt on one knee before Soundwave as he held up his cuffed arms. “Soundwave… With our sparks still alight…Would you be my Conjunx Endura…?”

Soundwave sat there, emotionless and conflicted–dumbfounded. His still cracked HUD mask reflected onto Shockwave’s crimson one. With one shaky outstretched limb, he held onto Shockwave’s, never letting go of those same sharp servos that once carried him during a stressful night on the Nemesis. Those same servos that caressed his crown when they interfaced. The same ones that he loved so much, belonging to that societal outcast hailed from Kalis. As unstable as his voice, Soundwave’s helm titled down as a gleam flashed away from his blurry visor screen. 

“Proposal: Accepted.”

“Let our damnation be our union.”

~~~

Soundwave and Shockwave requested to be executed first. They wanted Megatron and Starscream to observe their coalition for the final time. The Conjunx Ritus traditions remain the same; four acts of kindness shall be performed and accepted before the pair are officially bonded mates. Such acts include the act of intimacy, disclosure, profference, and devotion. 

If the violet mech could frown, he would’ve frowned the deepest, even more profound than Megatron’s awful organic-piranha scowl. The thought of being intimate in a public space felt unnecessary–illogical in his own words. Nonetheless, the ceremony must persist in the optics of the populace. 

Soundwave sneakily unlocked his compartment as purple tentacles laced Shockwave’s gun arm like ribbons. 

Oh. Intimacy completed.

In the second part of the ritual, the act of disclosure, Soundwave told Shockwave of his journey to become a senator (both were senators at some vorns ago), his obstacles and achievements, his wins and losses, and his eventual downfall. Once it was Shockwave’s turn, he immediately tapped his digits impatiently. 

Shockwave laid his fins low, “The story… of my Empurata…” 

“Are you ashamed?” Soundwave whispered. 

He chuckled, “No, if not, I wouldn’t have met you.”

The third part of the ceremony is an act of Profference. A predacon optic laid within Shockwave’s palm. Soundwave titled his helm amusingly. “As much as I dedicated my time to Project Predacon, I’d have wished to dedicate mine to you.” How fitting it was. Shockwave panicked last minute on that gift. There was absolutely nothing on this wasteland to behold a mech so close to regality or godhood, by Shockwave’s logic. Still, Soundwave accepted and caressed it gently between his fingers. Shockwave’s fins fluttered satisfied.

Fourth and last was the act of Devotion. Shockwave grew curious on this part. What did Soundwave have in mind for his contribution? Applying logic wouldn’t wither the mystery of surprises. The audience held their breath as Soundwave stood in silence. At last, the bot retrieved something that even his partner would dilate and dim his optic on. 

“Lazorbeak…” Shockwave gasped, feathery claw reaching for the minibot to find it limp and unresponsive, devoid of a spark. 

“We… talked about it,” Soundwave slowly explained. “He would rather stay loyal than live without my protection and company.” He paused. “You always had a nick for exotic inventions and experiments. May we see that… another time. Lazorbeak wants to see.”

The Empurata had no words. “Do you perhaps believe in the afterlife or some kind of reincarnation those organics revere?”

“Negative: I suppose so. No logic in Cybertron would decode that unless we try to see it.”

Shockwave chuckled, a mere light in his red optic when his future sparkmate used his infamous line, “Then let’s see to that… that one last experimentation.”

The bronze bells hammered in the background. No spectator to cheer, no energon to toast high in the air, no ‘congratulations’ or ‘well done’. Just a clearing over the destruction of their planet to unify their eternal coalition. What seemed to be seconds or minutes before the officiant cleared his throat.

“I pronounce you to you today as Sparkmates…” 

Once the Conjunx Ritus was over, Soundwave rested his crown on Shockwave’s optic as he sighed. His comrade… No, Conjunx Endura held his helm to look at him with the exact gaze he had given all those years ago. The other returned the gesture and stared lovely into his one optic, his servos hovering on Shockwave’s spark chamber. The spark hammered and didn’t stop. He couldn’t feel it, yet he understood he would’ve called it love.

“I love you, Shockwave.”

“I love you too, my Soundwave.”

“... Affirmative: See you on the other side.” 

The Elite Guards released their ammunition as Soundwave and Shockwave’s frames fell onto the ground, lifeless as energon poured out of their wounds. Together, their sparks diminished at the same time. On the outskirts of the city, they laid their bodies side by side as Cybertron’s dust buried them. Although their carcasses may fade away, their consciousness and spark are still ablaze by their one final wish.

[squishylemonbubbles]

HI IT'S SKRUNKS im here for the fic ask game >:]

B: Any of your stories inspired by personal experience?

H: How would you describe your style?

G: Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?

K: What's the angstiest idea you've ever come up with?

M: Got any premises on the back burner that you'd care to share?

T: Any fandom tropes you can't stand?

(if this is too many to answer feel free to like. pick three or something <3)

WAAAHHH SKRUNKSSSS!!!! >:D i will do my best!!!

B: Any of your stories inspired by personal experience?

i guess... hmmm... like, a lot of my character elements and dialogue pieces come from personal experience, but not necessarily full plots? i think to be alive (majima in hospital after being freed from the hole) is my most direct "personal experience" kind of fic... most of that was true to my own experience nearly dying, up to and including the fucking awful blood pressure experience, and the shattered faces arguing.

another one that comes from personal experience in a way is i'm sorry i'm sorry (kiryu's nightmare in hospital) because that was literally a nightmare i had in hospital and i've been carrying it with me for a year lmao. it still gets under my skin sometimes but i wrote a followup, the sweetest company, so i try and think about that instead LOL

H: How would you describe your style?

UHHHH... i dunno?? a lot of times i don't really feel like i have a "style" i just feel like i'm stumbling around in the dark. i know that's not really true though? it's just, i have the inside view of how tangled up my brain is so i see all of the things that i don't like, that don't match up, or that feel inadequate.

G: Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?

that definitely depends... i mean i've done both, especially in multichaps, but i've found that doing things out of order sometimes ends up weaker for me. something about the jumping around makes inconsistencies in my head lol

K: What's the angstiest idea you've ever come up with?

hmm. i guess that depends on the kind of angst...

yearning angst maybe? anything with goromi, or especially the hannya, set while kiryu is in okinawa and majima's still in tokyo. i dunno if you've seen much of my ramblings about the hannya but she's like, the cross between goromi and hannya man, since i think majima's faces are funky like that - there's an ebb and flow and sometimes they take shape together. i have a post here for visual reference with a lovely fanart!! i am still dying over this!!

the essence of the hannya is that she's silent, desperate for love, and possessive - pretty much, kiryu is the only thing she cares and thinks about. so if he isn't there to hold onto her, to remind her that he loves her, well... pain and despair. (see: starlit love)

M: Got any premises on the back burner that you'd care to share?

fuuuuck lol.

ryuji kicking around somewhere - i would love to do this, i really would. but i can't figure out how to write him, or even what he should be doing. i take a slight dead souls approach to him where he's alive as an amputee, though he does not get a gun prosthesis. actually, he doesn't like having a prosthetic arm at all, entirely refusing it.

maid cafe kazumi - this was my original idea long before i went maid cafe goromi! but i do think she's too shy to put on that kind of act, even in private. it's funny because kiryu has no problems with doing it himself, but the idea of acting along - or leading the act - as kazumi just. completely flusters her.

anything with tanimura - i want to write him. i don't know how to write him. i like him. i like him a lot more than i expected. he's also a stealth trans man. that's an experience i'm not quite sure how to write, i guess.

DATE X EARTH ANGEL MAMA - i need it so bad. this was born entirely of a scrambled-brain misconception and it'd be so silly but like... what if... what if i made it cute?

puppyplay kazumaji - specifically, pup majima. i really like it but i just can't get it to work when i try writing it... dog day by faggotrevolution1917 is like, what i WISH i could write, "and then they boned" is what i FEEL like i write LOL.

club four shine meeting kazumi - this one feels out of reach for me because i just don't have yakuza kiwami 2 and my bf never really touched club four shine, lol. i think yuki caught onto hints of goromi way back when, even though she never saw goromi herself, so when kazumi rolls around she's like ":) FINALLY a guy who can admit herself"

nishiki and majima NOT bonding - i feel strongly about this, that they wouldn't get along no matter how hard kiryu might try, but also... like, i view nishiki as a character sympathetically, i understand him, but any time i try and write him i just feel THE WORST because i knew someone that reminds me too much of him and they still make my fucking blood boil because of how they treated me after having been my best friend for years. it's VERY PERSONAL. so like. i don't want to write nishiki horribly out of character - it's one thing if you write a character OOC but positively, because fans of that character can often at least try to nod along. but OOC negatively? people are a lot more upset by that.

drag king haruka - that says it all basically!!

this isn't even a premise it's just a vague "i wish" but i think nair is really really cool and she deserves at least ONE fic featuring her

T: Any fandom tropes you can't stand?

hmmmm... i guess, like:

goromi being hyper-violent - more on that here but basically i don't think she's actually that interested in fighting for fun outside of kiryu. she can and will fight if threatened, but the enjoyment comes from kiryu specifically.

kiryu or majima randomly degrading the other during sex - like if there isn't explicit mention of humiliation/degradation kinks, or any kind of negotiation, even if it's just vaguely referenced... it just does not do it for me. i don't like kiryu randomly saying "you fucking bitch." he would not do that :(

hannya man being easily "shed" - i think the whole point of hannya man is to scare people, by majima pulling all the strings and being mysterious while doing it. so i don't think he'd just pull off the mask and cackle when he's "done with it", you know? he'll slink into the shadows like nothing happened, and some time later, majima will reappear, feigning innocence.

AH i'm sure i've missed some things for any of these questions lol but hopefully not too much?? i hope this was fun/cool/enlightening to read hehehe

[thescarsilivewith-if]

I originally meant to write a fic Naja’s and Zaire’s first night together but I got kind of stuck so I hope my somewhat incoherent and inconsistent outline will do instead. I’ll probably jump tenses a lot coughs. As always, the scenes were a lot sweeter in my head and it’s extremely unpolished. I hope you’ll still enjoy this.

-

Let’s set the scene. The day filled with celebration, one of many, is finally over and it’s time for Naja and Zaire to commit to the marriage in a more physical sense. It was draining for both of them, full of nerves and they didn’t manage to share more than two brief interactions together before someone interrupted them. Throughout the day, Naja had watched as Zaire has been dragged back and forth, from one group to the next, has watched him smile and converse, sometimes hesitate and grow more cautious. Has watched him pause and consider, his face an open book. Not exactly a good trait for a ruler to have, they think, but they find themself oddly charmed in spite of that. All their life, Naja has experienced blunt, callous honesty. People sneer and call them stupid, call them a pretty face hiding an empty head. The only thing Naja needs to know is how to keep their mouth shut and their legs spread for this marriage to work out, according to those very same people.

There was always an ulterior motive. Always something people tried to gain by using Naja in whichever way they pleased. 

It has made them wary and the first time they met Zaire, they searched his face for any hidden intentions. He’d been smiling back then, eyes crinkling slightly. His shoulders had been tense, straining slightly beneath the dark cloth covering them. His hand, when he had gripped Naja’s fingers and brought them to his lips in a very chaste and formal kiss, had been clammy. But what Naja truly remembers from that moment is this: Zaire looking at them from beneath his lashes, concern and warmth in his gaze. A quiet care Naja hadn’t seen in anyone in… They don’t think anyone has looked at them like that in years. 

If Zaire was concealing an agenda, poorly, it consisted of wanting Naja to feel welcome.

Which in itself was a novelty and Naja spent some hours examining this from all angles, trying to find loopholes, trying to find reasons. Zaire must want something, too. 

If the way he’d quietly lit up, his entire expression brightening, when Naja smiled at him, was anything to go by, it was that he truly wanted Naja to feel comfortable and accepted.

An odd realization.

And it makes their heart flutter, a weirdly heated experience. 

Was this what it was like to be wanted? They didn’t want to let their guard down, they couldn’t, they had to learn about their new reality first and yet…

Knowing they’d spend the night with Zaire fills them with prickly anticipation.

Fast forward a little, to them being alone together for the first time, period. All servants have gone after helping the couple undress, incense and candles have been lit and the bedding checked one last time.

And Zaire runs his hand over the long hair spilling over his shoulders, finally free from the braid, sighs and turns to Naja. There’s grim determination on his face, or is it resignation? In the darkness of the room, it’s difficult for Naja to discern. He’s enunciating carefully and his hands are moving along with his words, signing, and it would make Naja smile if not for the words coming out of his mouth: “I do not wish to sleep with you.”

Ice drops like a brick in Naja’s stomach and they freeze and questions begin to swirl. Why? Why does Zaire not want to sleep with them? Are they unappealing, unattractive? Did they do something? Did they offend someone important? Does Zaire think that he married a dimwitted fool after all?

Is this where the other shoe drops?

Is this where Zaire comes to the realization and finds Naja lacking, inadequate? Is this where the fairytale sweetness ends? 

Naja’s hands shake as they grip one another, clench and unclench before they are able to still them.

Zaire is watching Naja, golden eyes searching them for who knows what. His gaze falls to their hands and his expression drops. He swallows thickly, lips parting as his eyes dart to the left, then to the right, before he reaches out.

“May I?”

May he what, Naja thinks with some exhausted acceptance. Begin to treat Naja like a pretty doll to be placed on a shelf? They don’t respond, just tilt their head like they’ve done so many times and blink at their husband.

Zaire waits a little longer before his hands fall to his sides. He seems frustrated and he sits down heavily on the bed. Their bed. Their marriage bed.

“I think I’m going about this all wrong,” he whispers and drags a hand over his face. Suddenly, he seems as exhausted and lost as Naja feels. The elaborate golden mask Zaire's worn through most of the day had hidden it before and the flickering shadows cast by the candles don’t seem to be helping matters because there are deep, dark circles under Zaire’s eyes. 

Here they are, two lost fools.

“I’m sorry. I think I’ve offended you and I didn’t mean to. I’ve thought about how to break this to you all day but I couldn’t come up with a less straightforward but kinder way to say it to you. I think you are very, very beautiful and I consider myself lucky to call myself your spouse.”

Whiplash. Zaire is giving Naja whiplash. He doesn’t want to sleep with them and yet here he is, complimenting them and– Is he… blushing? He is. His tone is exhausted and his shoulders are drooping and his face is red. He’s trying to meet Naja’s eyes but is failing.

“But we don’t know each other very well. I think you were strong-armed into this marriage and I don’t want to do anything either of us is uncomfortable with.” There’s a pause before Zaire’s gaze finally meets Naja’s. What they find there is warmth, openness and vulnerability. A sweet consideration.

And they come to the unsettling realization that the nobles have been attempting to eat this softhearted man ever since the crown was placed on his head and a scepter pressed into his hand.

“Our circumstances aren’t ideal. Before anything happens between us, I’d like for us to get to know each other. I’d like to show you who you’ve married. What kind of person I am. And I’d like to learn more about you, too. About what you like and dislike. About how I can help you make a home here, in the palace. And then I’d like for us to decide together what our future is going to look like. I…”

Zaire flounders before reaching out again and holding his hands out to Naja. Patient. Kind. Nervous. His fingertips are trembling. His eyes are wide and he's breathing a little bit too fast.

“I know it’s a selfish request. And I am truly, deeply sorry. But please. Please, can you tell me what you want?”

And Naja–

Naja reaches out and takes his hands. 

This... this was insanely good. Naja's just perfect and Zaire is a gift to this world. That "I do not wish to sleep with you" was my absolute favourite moment.

This is exactly what I meant when I said that Naja doesn't have boundaries. When overwhelmed, they won't ever express their discomfort, preferences or hurt. But with a nurturing Monarch, this is what could happen.

[alizeh-tu-badi-mushkil-hai]

Hi, beautiful people! Let's talk about something I've been feeling lately.

I haven't been feeling great for months, and this constant feeling of despair has almost destroyed many beautiful things within me and the people around me. I truly believe in the idea that hurt people hurt people.

There are days when I feel like I'm always a good friend to everyone during their difficult times. But when it comes to me, I always seem to be at the bottom of their priority list. This really made me question the love I had for them. I'm going through a phase where my life has been turned upside down. Just like everyone else, I also wanted someone to hug me and be there for me emotionally and physically. My needs felt like they were extraordinary, so I started pushing them aside and convinced myself that I'm okay with being alone again.

As a result, I've had significant fights with my friends and loved ones. That's what adulting does to you—the inconsistency of love and support from people can drive you crazy. It's been one of the major triggers in my life. Lately, this adulting has reduced me to tears on the floor. Growing up, paying bills, going to college, dealing with family, fitting into this messed-up generation of traumatized adults, and constantly contemplating career changes—it's not easy.

And yes, I did feel lonely. I felt like the ten-year-old me, crying in the school parking lot, wondering why I didn't have any friends. I felt inadequate once again, believing that my needs were too much. I also felt that love wasn't fixing me or making me a better person. It brought back so many flashbacks.

It's not that I don't have friends and people around me, but we're all caught up in our own adulting struggles, making it hard to find time for each other. And here I am, not knowing whom to blame—adulting, the people I love, or myself.

While experiencing all these emotions, I realized how empty I felt every single day, like an empty can in the dustbin. An empty vessel makes the loudest noise, yet people were fooled by my noise, thinking that I was the happiest and doing great in my life. But the truth is, I wasn't doing well emotionally and physically. With my deteriorating health, my body and mind felt like they were on battery saver mode.

I did everything I could to conceal my sadness and loneliness. I turned to drinking, painted my face, dressed up, and slept as much as I could, avoiding sitting with these unfamiliar emotions or crying myself to sleep.

It's strange that as a grown-ass adult, I can go on stage, pick up a microphone, and talk confidently, but I can't sit with my own feelings and be gentle with myself. These days, I couldn't even recognize what I was feeling, and speaking about it or sharing it with someone felt like an impossible task. Every day felt like a battlefield where I was constantly failing, and I labeled myself a fucking loser. The eternal shame of not doing well in my life pinches me so much that I still don't know how to overcome it. There were moments when I wanted to give up on my life because I wasn't excelling in my career, academics, poetry, open mic shows, or work. It brought me to an existential crisis on another level.

But something really helped me these days to cope up, and I really want to appreciate those beautiful people in my life. We don't know each other much; we are just online friends. But Shrawani used to always check on me every single day, even though she had no solutions for my problem. I have never met her, but the way she is sweet and gentle with her words makes me feel really good about myself.

My online friend has been there on nights where I felt like everything was falling apart and I was ready to give up. She believed in me when no one else did. That day, my college random DM made me feel that I have a purpose, and that purpose was to write more and more. It wasn't just an ordinary DM I received that day; it felt like a warm hug from someone who barely even knows me. She is just my college senior and nothing more, but I really appreciate her kind words.A few days back, I remember crying myself to sleep and feeling like I didn't want to wake up the next day and go for an exam. But one of my small business friend made a crochet item for me and sent it along with a heartfelt note. I didn't even remember ordering from her small business, but she also wrote the warmest note for me, emphasizing how my words have the power to move people and provide comfort.On the day I had a minor accident on the bus and experienced intense arm pain, one of my anonymous friend @mastmalangs-blog empathized with my situation and sent me virtual hugs.

It's always these random sweet gestures that fill my empty jar on my bad days. When I am in pain, I tend to push people away, but bestfriend was the one who held onto me. She didn't let me believe in the thought I always had, that "people always leave when you're hard to love during your bad days." She loved me during the most terrible days of my life, even though I spewed a lot of hate from my mouth like a venomous snake. She made me believe in the thought that "even though life gives me two choices, to either leave you or love you, I chose to love you." We both know that we don't love each other completely, and we don't hate each other completely. But at the end of the day, we both choose to love each other no matter what."

Yes, I don't know if I'm completely okay today, but I am slowly getting there. I'm learning to be gentle with myself, love myself more, and be kind to others even on my bad days. I've realized the importance of not harboring hate towards others and instead asking for help when needed. We never know when our needs will be fulfilled.

[existentialmagazine]

Review: Each Confide release striking debut album ‘Different Day, Still The Same’, a look into dream-pop with anthemic hits and sombre reflections

Glasgow’s finest upcomers Each Confide have been on quite the upward trajectory this year, attracting listeners with new singles like ‘Different Day, Still The Same’ and ‘You & I.’ Through these explorations of synth and dream-pop, the duo open up a world of their own filled with technicolour sound and greater meaning. 

Now as their debut album ‘Different Day, Still The Same’ releases today, Each Confide are finally ready to share over 3 years of hard work with the world, the very first longer-running look into how incredible their fully developed sound can be across more than one interlinked tune. Through blissful tracks that leap between heartache and the chaos of life with an often upbeat backing, there’s one song that stands out among the selection as our absolute favourite – ‘Someone Else’.

While nothing about the sound loses its magical, synth-drenched effects, there’s an instant shift from what we’re used to. Unfiltered and isolated piano keys are what open things up and set that tone, a bright but saddened feeling moment of intimacy that hangs heavy before their usual haze of electronic elements washes over the sound. These scattered beats and vibrant synth pops are bold in intensity, but move slowly and reluctantly, like an aching facade that can’t fully commit. 

When the vocals hit, the sound has settled into a gentle steady rhythm of drum beats and the occasional twinkle in the background, a relaxed and stripped-down format that keeps the vocals at the forefront of your attention. With intentionally overdone auto-tune and electronic effects laced into every word, Each Confide maintain their staple sound that’s known for distorting and twisting sound to the max, covering every essence of emotion. With a soundscape a little slower and more sincere than their usual colourful concoctions, this jarring disconnect is at its most apparent, ringing out with painful admissions that they daren’t fully let down their guard for. 

The lyricism is what hits the hardest though, catching you a little off-guard with the choruses hook ‘you’ve already done that with someone else’, a painful reflection that could be interpreted in any number of ways. Whether it be seeing an ex partner moving on too soon, or meeting someone new but feeling inadequate against their previous partner, there are many ways the narrative can unwind and relate to whoever is listening along. The vocals become more intense for this declaration too, pushed to the point the effects can no longer completely smother every emotion beneath, shining through with raspy, forceful words that seem on the brink of falling apart. The conflicted feelings are made incredibly apparent too, admitting they’re in a ‘mental typhoon’ , caught between complex thoughts and a tender heart. As they continue, Each Confide requests that they ‘just tell me a story, I can believe’, knowing what they’ve been fed before are lies and inconsistencies, and in part perhaps hoping for a story they can accept to never quite have to deal with the pain of the truth.

It’s hard not to be mesmerised by every part of it, caught between the flavourful, striking sounds and the meaning that slowly but surely reveals itself throughout. Whether you’re just interested in checking out ‘Someone Else’ , or you want to listen to the whole album for yourself here, Each Confide have truly proven why they’re an act unlike any other out there right now.

Written by: Tatiana Whybrow

Photo Credits: Unknown

// This coverage was supported and created via Musosoup, #SustainableCurator.

[orator95]

Death to Survival Mode*

I’m just.. running in circles.

And I’m so dizzy, nauseous even.

I don’t know why I keep asking for advice when I need to consult my damn self. 

What I need more than anything, is space, time, peace and quiet. I’m so tired of everybody and everything. Everybody and everything. 

If I didn’t value my life and my sons life so much, I’d probably kill myself. I’m extremely frustrated that I’m constantly going in circles. Like am I really inadequate? Even more I think I’m feeling a sense of defeat knowing my elders are right. I do have to give up my dreams for my son. It hurts bad and it’s hard pill to swallow. My life changed forever when I became a mother. I’m getting older, the years moving faster, my son getting bigger and I’m still stuck on fucking stupid. I should just move out the country for a year fr and focus on  BLKGRL, Art&Expression. I need a hard reset and for some reason Haven’t been able to hit that here in the city. 

Pressure of working things out with Derrick is a lot for me cause just like mother hood, I’m going to have become a new person as a wife and I’m not ready for that, again. I like who I am and I like who I am becoming. I don’t want to compromise that. I’m not ready no focused on committing to anyone, I have so much work to do. I am not an adequate partner. I am a great lover, but I am not an adequate partner, right now. I really just want to be alone, which is funny cause I’m always complaining about being lonely. I wouldn't be lonely if I had 1 million dollars. I’m just saying. I wouldn't be worried about much at all. Money would fix all my problems right now. 

I’m not gone hold you, that phone conversation  made me feel like a terrible Mother. Maybe I am, but it ain't no blue print to this shit so, whatever. All I can do is focus on what the fuck I’m about to do right now to have a better future for me and P. Genuinely exhausted in all ways and I’m too young for this shit. I’m over worked and underpaid. Inconsistent and optimistic. Brilliant and gifted and just lost in the fucking sauce.Tired.

[dragonwolf35]

(Un)healthy relationships

I often question whether I'm doing the right thing in a relationship, especially in the earlier stages. I don't know when I'm texting too much or too little, I start to question everything I said when there's a slightly slow response and worst of all, I swing between telling myself to not care and caring too much. Glueing my eyes to this ironically inconsistent metronome feels like nothing more than my brain forcibly detaching me from everything around me while simultaneously craving this level of affection. This lamentable and grievous oxymoron is deplorable.

One thing I struggle with, and this is not just my own opinion but the opinion of all previous partners, is emotional openness. I struggle a lot with recognising and differentiating my emotions. This in turn makes me feel inadequate as person, that I'm not worth being with, so I shut it up and out. This of course doesn't work, it builds up, breaks me down, but what the fuck else can I do? If the option to shoot myself and rely on someone else was presented to me, I would make my decision faster than I could pull the trigger. It's not that I don't trust people, I just don't think I trust myself. Actually, I think it's more accurate to say that I don't trust the people around me to run away.

I sometimes picture myself in a cinema, sitting alone in the dark room, watching my life pass by on the projector, not in control, but just a spectator. I used to laugh when something humourous happened, cry with sadness, jump in my seat at scary things, throw popcorn at the screen out of anger because of the "main character's" stupid decisions. Now, I just kinda watch passively, sporadic bits of popcorn around, empty soda cups and popcorn buckets surrounding the seats around me. Nobody will cleaning this except for myself, but I can't get up.

Maybe I'll get around to cleaning up someday. Hopefully. I don't want to drown in my own garbage.

[somebodysumbuddy]

Monstertober, Day 13

Following @snejkha ‘s Monstertober prompt list.

Day 13: Kelpie

d20: Veil (yes I know, the wrong kind of veil most likely)

Content warning: descriptions of uxoricide, murder, drowning. Implied domestic violence, implied kelpie eating someone. (Yea, I don't know what happened, how we got here)

If you had truly attempted to catch them, you wouldn’t have been successful you were sure. Even still you weren’t sure if it was lucky or unlucky that you’d caught them so easily. It was your neighbor, the village elder, who had told you how to do so. She saw the same things you did, she believed you. Following her whispered instructions, you stitched two crosses on each corner of a long sheet of veil, before tying a long thread from each corner. You felt silly holding the fabric, it looked like the most inadequate parachute rather than any kind of mythical trap. You were half between curious and skeptical as you stood by the water.

In the end you decided it was worth being silly if there was any possibility that it could help you get answers.

Careful not to step foot in the water you tossed the balled up veil as hard as you could. It was unsatisfactory, it landed barely two feet in front of you. The center of the lake was at least ten meters in. No matter, the village elder said it was only necessary that every bit of it land in the water. You watched as the veil began taking in water, being slowly unfolded by the almost undetectable flow of the water.

It took the better part of an hour but you finally saw it fully unfurl and slowly start to sink down deeper into the water. The fabric had inched away from you, more towards the center. Now as it was fully out of view you went and settled at the trunk of a nearby tree. You had brought a blanket with you, determined to be warm if stupid. The day light had quickly faded away and you found yourself easing off to sleep a lot easier than you had expected. You were sure the unpleasantness of sleeping on the ground, and general fright of spending the night outdoors would have been enough to keep you from sleep. If not, the possibility of a sinister mythical existing, specially so close, should have filled you with enough apprehension to keep you from dozing off. It didn’t.

You woke with the very first rays of light. You were tightly cocooned in up against the tree trunk, but even so, a shiver worked its way up your spine as you took in a deep breath of fresh crisp air. You woke very fast; the last drops of sleep were shaken off of you by the chill morning. You didn’t finish stretching before you caught sight of the creature standing in the lake.

Your breath caught. Your heart nearly stopped. You didn’t allow yourself to blink in an attempt to clear your eyes. A feeling at the pit of your stomach warned you not to take your eyes off of them.  Gracelessly you got to your feet.

Now with your full attention on them you realized your first assumption has been wrong, they were not standing in the lake. They were standing on it. Tension ripples were visible on the surface of the water where each of their hoofs stood.

Years ago you had read that kelpies where similar in appearance to horses. You almost wanted to laugh at how inconsistent that comparison was. You would grant them that they did stand on hooves, though they had six legs. Their build was more like that of an elk leading up to their throat.

Their head was indescribable. Five individual horns, all different, formed a crown on their skull. Their face, eyeless, was dominated by a too big mouth filled with too many teeth and an inconvenient amount of tongues.

The best description, over all, was ‘not a horse’.

They stood, their entire body tense, mouth agape, as they studied you. You were certain of it. Even without eyes you felt their attention on you. As you braved a couple of steps forward they kept their head steadily focused on you, adjusting slightly as you went. You didn’t dare approach further, leaving a half dozen meters between you. The village elder had explained that such a delicate trap worked because they were bound by duty. It was more likely anyone could bind them by obligation than by overpowering them.

You trusted this malevolent creatures’ commitment to obligation even less than you trusted the thread you tied to the veil.

From your new vantage point you saw a slightly white sheen spread taught along their back. You could spy the thin threads but you remember the elder explaining how they would coil around the legs. You wonder if she knew there were two unaccounted for. If she was to be believed, you could safely travel on their back in such a condition. You wouldn’t chance it.

You steadied yourself, unsure how to proceed. You hadn’t been sure they existed, you definitely hadn’t planned on being successful in trapping them. With no other plan you decided to address you questions immediately. Kelpie were fae. The one thing you could count on were truthful, if convoluted, answers.

“Are you responsible for my sister’s death?” She had been found drowned in this very lake. She was an experienced swimmer. Odd marks on her neck pointed your suspicions to her spouse, yet it seemed the council would rather point to something supernatural.

You traveled to the edge of the village, where her husband had hidden her since their wedding, and sought out the place of her death. It was a fruitless rage filled endeavor all to prove to yourself that your suspicions were right. Now, with the kelpie in front of you, you allowed for the possibility that you may be wrong.

“I have slept for 80 years with no call to tip the scales of fate.” You unfocused your eyes from their face, the view of their maw as they talked was overwhelming.  You tried again, unsatisfied with their implied answer.

“Were you awake or aware, a fortnight from this day, when a woman was found floating in your waters?”

“I am aware even when not awake.”

You paused. You had one more question. The fae were bound to 3’s and 7’s but there was no way of knowing which it would be. You needed one straight answer. You swallowed the bile building in your throat.

“What her my sister’s last words?” You were knocked back several steps. You found yourself on your knees. You were frozen with misery. You hadn’t expected the Kelpie’s answer. Angry thrashing in the water, sobs and screams filled your ears. It was like it was happening around you. As everything went silent once again wrath filled every part of your body. Your whole mind was locked onto one unmistakable phrase. “Please, Earl-no no Earl-.”

When you straightened the Kelpie was still there, standing onto of the water. Fueled by rage you made your way to the edge of the lake.

By the time Earl rose and stepped out of the door you had surrounded the entirety of the farm house with wet stones from the lake. It took several trips but the physical task helped bring you back to yourself.

A thin trail of the same rocks led up to the ring around the house. It wasn’t impressive as a stockade, but you didn’t want to keep anyone out, instead leading someone in. You placed the last stone down at the door swung wide. You met his eyes as he took in your appearance, clothes soaked to black, face flushed with fury.

The kelpie demonstrated the use of it’s six legs as it appeared out of thin air. You felt its movement past you, and you were thankful they didn’t go for Earl’s head first. You hoped the last image in his eyes was your smile. 

Later, when the village council went to investigate Earl’s disappearance, every stone surrounding the house was overlooked. 

By the time you were given the Kelpie’s name your own home was surrounded by similar rocks, with a different invitation for the monster you’d grown to know. 

[curioskitty]

THE・Rarest Bakugou

Given Bakugou-kun's description as a "juvenile delinquent" (Horikoshi sensei uses the term 不良少年, or furyou shounen, meaning juvenile delinquent boy), it's expected that he wouldn't conform to standard. So obviously, it's not possible to find Bakugou-kun wearing a tie properly................

What is up with this perfectly tied nonsense right here?!

Bakugou-kun, I thought I knew you!!! THE LIES! THE BETRAYAL!!!

But, it's probably just a fluke. You didn't mean it, right Horikoshi-sensei?

WTF?! WHY?!!! Horikoshi-sensei?!

Yep. Contrary to expectations, Bakugou-kun wearing a tie correctly only ranks at Ultra Rare status: difficult to find, but not impossible.

So, what's rarer than a tie-wearing Bakugou-kun? Go Beyond, Plus Ultra Rare Bakugou!

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

In fact, it's even harder to find Bakugou-kun wearing a tie improperly. Given proto-Bakugou's loose tie design, I would have expected that to be the likelier delinquent-esque tie option. But I've only seen Horikoshi-sensei draw him like this once:

(Horikoshi-sensei's one year celebration illustration. This is still fairly early in the publication.)

On top of that, Bakugou-kun consistently wears his uniform tie-less and with at least one button undone on his shirt collar. His pants are always slung low on his hips and legs bunching up at his feet (except when he had to wear jeans for Best Jeanist). You can even see panels where Horikoshi-sensei drew in the rips at the hems near the heel where they drag on the ground.

So why the inconsistency, Horikoshi-sensei? I see you over there, stop pretending you didn't notice. I know you're paying attention.

Horikoshi-sensei gave proto-Bakugou a loosened tie, so what is the reasoning for taking Bakugou-kun's tie away?

Some No-Tie Theories

Fan Theory #1: HE DOESN'T KNOW HOW

//Like Midoriya-kun, Bakugou-kun came from a middle school with gakuran uniforms. They never learned how to tie them. Midoriya-kun messes up his tie, while Bakugou-kun doesn't even bother to try.//

I actually think this is the least likely reason. Bakugou-kun was designed to be a naturally talented genius. I think this applies to anything he wants to do. If he does something, it's always perfectly done.

Bakugou-kun can (and does if you look above) tie it perfectly when necessary.

CONCLUSION: If Bakugou-kun doesn't do something, it's completely out of personal preference or because he doesn't see a reason to.

Fan Theory #2: REBELLIOUS NATURE

//Bakugou-kun is a delinquent and maintains that image because he thinks it looks cool. Or maybe he is rebelling against fashion designer parents. Either way, because of his family background he knows how to tie a tie, but wants to be a rebel.//

I'd give partial points for this one. I'm pretty sure he wears his pants loose at least partially because he thinks it looks cool. However, Bakugou-kun's parents were noted to be designers and not specifically fashion designers.

Despite appearances, this is the kid that sleeps at 8:30pm, doesn't break school rules, and yells at his friends for smoking.

He zips up the collar on his gym track suit all the way. Both the summer and winter versions get the same treatment. He doesn't feel the need to "make a statement" by wearing his track uniform incorrectly. Outside of class, he can and does sometimes wear his track jacket unzipped, but during class he always wears it properly.

So then why does Bakugou-kun refuse to wear the band T-shirt and Christmas party Santa outfit? Because he isn't cooperative. In Ultra Analysis, his Cooperativeness Stat was the lowest rank: E.

CONCLUSION: Bakugou-kun may be non-conformist and uncooperative, but he isn't a rebel.

Fan Theory #3: TRAUMA/PTSD

//This is one of the more popular theories. Between Dabi grabbing his neck, the Sludge Villain and being restrained at the School Festival, our boy has been through the wringer. As a result, he just doesn't like stuff around his neck because it gives him anxiety.//

The Western Fandom is definitely concerned about the mental health of the kids. But I don't actually think this is the reason. Not that I don't think they all need some therapy and self care, especially right now, but there just isn't evidence for this specific trauma in Bakugou-kun.

He wears scarves and even turtle necks without a problem.

On top of that, Bakugou-kun ALSO unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and gakuran in middle school; even from before the Sludge Villain incident. There isn't any evidence Bakugou-kun changed his dressing habits due to trauma. He wore a scarf to the entrance exam for UA, too.

CONCLUSION: Bakugou-kun has ALWAYS worn his shirts with the top button unbuttoned.

These 3 theories are inadequate, too. Even if they did explain the reasons Bakugou-kun doesn't wear a uniform tie, they don't factor in the reasoning for why he DOES wear his other ties properly sometimes.

HC#1: Bakugou-kun's preference

Bakugou-kun doesn't seem to care about his image and how "extras" see him. Even during the press interviews after his hero debut, he wore the same style of open collar look. He's not shy about being nude or taking his shirt off.

But what he hates is being uncomfortable.

He is "explosively brawny". Just look at how thick Bakugou-kun's neck is when compared to Midoriya-kun's. It isn't just that Midoriya-kun is supposed to be scrawny, but also that Bakugou-kun has a thicker than average neck.

Bakugou-kun doesn't like to button up his shirts all the way because it's uncomfortable. It's reasonable that he zips his track suit and everything else up because those are looser at the neck or made of stretchier materials.

As for why he doesn't wear the uniform tie at all... Don't forget Bakugou-kun is a perfectionist and a bit of a neat freak.

He always tucks his shirt in. For the band performance he wore a collared black dress shirt. From what we saw of his room, it's minimalist and clean. I don't see him wanting to look like a slob.

A sloppy loose tie would probably irritate him more than just not wearing it (which is even funnier when you think about Midoriya-kun's chonk tie. It probably makes him want to strangle Midoriya-kun, or maybe just tie it himself...)

Bakugou-kun has difficulties compromising when it comes to his high standards. So if he has to wear it, it's going to be either 0% or 100%.

HC#2: Explosiveness

Why draw Bakugou-kun with either 0% tie or 100% tie? If Horikoshi-sensei is going for a delinquent image, wouldn't the 50% tie option make more sense?

Taking a look again at Bakugou-kun's profile page, Horikoshi-sensei describes him to be explosive in every way. That includes his whole body being "explosively brawny", but also adds a note that he looks slender in clothes.

Horikoshi-sensei put an effort to make every element of Bakugou-kun's character in some state of either fully compressed or explosive.

His slimming clothes, general appearance and even his speech patterns are highly compressed (blunt/terse) and loud. The extremes of his attitude are compressed too; if Bakugou-kun is not loudly raging, then he's quietly observing.

This contrast is key to his character. You can't explode if you aren't compressed first. It's supposed to be shocking to see how brawny he actually is under his slenderizing clothes. And I always feel shocked whenever I see this kid compressed into a tie.

HC#3: Deku & Kacchan

These two are set apart from the class by design and very much on purpose. Horikoshi-sensei designed them to be at opposite ends of the same spectrum.

If Bakugou-kun has muscular arms, then Midoriya-kun needs muscular legs. If Midoriya-kun buttons up his shirt all the way to the collar, then Bakugou-kun's collar has to be loose. Their designs reflect their connection.

So if Midoriya-kun has a poorly tied tie, the opposite of that is either non-existant or perfectly tied. If it's perfectly tied, he'd just blend in with the class.

The no-tie option just makes more sense.

Plus Ultra Rare Bakugou

Horikoshi-sensei only ever draws Bakugou-kun with a tie in specific scenarios. Costume events that require the neck tie as part of the costume or "fancy" events where everyone is in formal wear. And even in those, Bakugou-kun manages to not wear his tie 90% of the time.

So, I just imagine that when Horikoshi-sensei makes Bakugou-kun wear his tie, he's super grumpy! Just look at his face in every illustration he's wearing a tie in. He's probably hot, uncomfortable, and really not enjoying himself at all.

Ultimately, the "Plus Ultra Rare Bakugou" is a Bakugou-kun who wears the tie and SMILES while doing it.

(Yes, I know that's NOT actually a tie. Shut up Bakugou-kun. You're only smirking in this one because you won the Popularity Poll for the 5th time in a row...)

(Well that's random, you say? Welcome to my blog. Considering the stuff going down on canon, I figured I should give fans, and myself, a break from angst to talk about something silly.

Please note that this applies only to the manga. I've found that the anime isn't quite so strict about how Bakugou-kun looks.

Regarding the headcanons, I just want to clarify that everyone is free to think whatever they like. I enjoy all headcanons and support your right to have them.

I wrote this a while ago and then debated posting it because it's such a huge meta about... Bakugou-kun's tie. I had regrets. But now it's become my new years post. Regrets were for 2020, it's already 2021!

Demons out, fortune in!!! I know it's not setsubun for another month, but 2020 was such a demon.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!)

[merry-the-cookie]

ppl: i love how u draw connor!!!!!!! me, looking at my design for connor in disgust:

[free--therapy]

How to Let Go of the Need to Control People and Life

By Lori Deschene

“Anything you can’t control is teaching you how to let go.”

~Jackson Kiddard

Fellow perfectionists, I’m guessing you know what it’s like: the constant need to control life and other people to ensure everything goes smoothly and everyone’s okay.

It’s a maddening, exhausting habit, since the only thing we can control is ourselves. But we do it anyways—because somewhere along the line we learned this was the only way to keep ourselves (and others) safe.

Maybe you try to control your work and your colleagues, because you think you have to in order to succeed and to ensure your coworkers do the same quality work, especially when it affects you.

Maybe you try to control your family, because you think you know what’s best for them and don’t trust them to make good choices, and actually follow through with them.

Or maybe you try to control every aspect of your life, leaving absolutely nothing to chance, because if everything’s predictable, you’ll never be caught off guard. You’ll never struggle. You’ll never fail. You’ll never confirm your own (or someone else’s) belief that you’re incompetent, inadequate, or fundamentally flawed.

Except that’s not actually how it works. In fact, controlling behavior often backfires. In our attempts to ensure that nothing painful happens, we create a lot of pain, for ourselves and the people around us.

And in trying to create a specific vision of how things have to be, we limit the future to only what we can imagine—forgetting that some of the best things in life take us completely by surprise. If we’re willing and open.

Not easy for you to trust and open up to the unknown? I get it.

I’ve stayed in unhealthy relationships because I thought I couldn’t do any better and I was attached to the idea of making them work—as if they had to work for me to be happy.

I’ve gotten stuck in ruts of familiarity, doing the same thing day after day because it was predictable (and therefore controllable), even though it was also unfulfilling.

But I’ve also opened myself up to a happy relationship, after walking away from someone who was wrong for me, for the first time ever, instead of waiting for him to leave me.

And I’ve opened myself up to new possibilities—I’ve taken acting classes, written a screenplay with a film mentor, and tried my hand at a new business I know absolutely nothing about.

I know what it feels like to tightly control life, and I know the freedom of letting go. Even if I do it inconsistently and imperfectly. I’m a work in progress, and I’m guessing you are too.

So, my fellow imperfect perfectionists, who want to control less and enjoy more, this is for you:

How to Let Go of the Need to Control People and Life

Do a self-inventory to assess your controlling habit.

I know the signs all too well from personal experience. How much of this sounds familiar to you?

You grew up in an unpredictable/unsafe environment and learned to control your surroundings and other people as a means to protect yourself.

You’re a perfectionist and feel anxiety when things aren’t just right.

You beat yourself up when things don’t work out as you think they should because you believe it’s entirely your fault.

You always need a plan, and for everything to be on your schedule, and you feel stressed when you don’t know what’s going to happen when.

You frequently imagine worst-case scenarios and put a lot of effort and energy into avoiding them.

You have high expectations and standards, of yourself and others, and easily feel disappointed.

You believe in the old adage “if you want something done right, do it yourself,” and feel uneasy when entrusting someone else to do something that’s important to you.

You’d rather do things yourself than be part of a team, since you can only control your own efforts.

You believe that you know what’s best—for you, and possibly for others as well.

You micromanage other people and try to make them follow your advice (often unsolicited).

You believe you need to make things happen or nothing will ever work out for you.

You have a very rigid definition of what it means for things to “work out.”

You want to present a specific image to the world and cause yourself stress trying to ensure that’s how other people see you.

You’re tightly wound and have a hard time relaxing because you frequently look for ‘fires’ to put out to ensure nothing bad happens.

Other people have communicated that they feel suffocated around you, like they’re constantly walking on eggshells, waiting for criticism or an attack.

Identify the payoff of your controlling behavior.

We don’t do anything unless there’s an emotional payoff. The biggest one for me is the illusion of safety.

There were many times in my past when people hurt me, and I felt powerless and out of control. Controlling my life is my way of trying to ensure no one and nothing can hurt me again.

Controlling also allows me to feel more comfortable with the unknown—because it’s not as scary if I can make it into what I think it has to be.

Lastly, controlling allows me to avoid feelings I don’t want to feel.

If I can control my boyfriend’s emotions, I don’t have to feel the discomfort of taking on his feelings, as I often do as an empath. And I don’t have to feel guilty for having caused them, as I often (incorrectly) assume I have.

If I can control other people’s perceptions of me, I don’t have to feel the fear of not being good enough, or the pain of reliving my childhood shame, when I was regularly called a “worthless whore.”

If I can control the outcome of my efforts, I don’t have to feel insecure about any shortcomings that may have led to failure or conflicted about whether or not I made the “right” choice.

Identify the negative consequences of your controlling behavior.

On the other side of the payoff, there are negative consequences.

Trying to control life and other people can hurt us…

Physically

We may feel physical symptoms of anxiety, like headaches, shortness of breath, and a racing heart, and may feel constant bodily tension (tight shoulders, clenched jaw, like our whole body is tightened into a fist that we’re trying to smash into the world to force our will on it). We may also have trouble sleeping, as we lie in bed at night stressing about what we can’t control and worrying about all the bad things that might happen.

Emotionally

While controlling can allow us to avoid some emotions, it also causes stress and frustration (as we fight against reality), anger, resentment, and disappointment (as we try to force other people to meet our will), and possibly shame and self-loathing (as we judge ourselves for failing to control things that we believe we should have been able to control).

Mentally

As we engage in distorted thinking (which I’ll get into shortly), we may experience anxiety and eventually sink into depression.

Socially

As other people feel judged, manipulated, limited, or in the worst-case scenario, abused, they may distance themselves from us for their own sanity and freedom.

Professionally

In trying to control the people we work with and the results of team efforts, we might alienate ourselves from coworkers, or miss out on opportunities because people don’t want to work with us.

Recognize the thoughts, fears, and beliefs that drive your controlling habit.

I used to say I’m a control freak, as if it’s just part of my nature, but controlling isn’t who I am, and I wasn’t born that way. It’s a learned behavior, and something I turn to in response to certain thoughts (cognitive distortions, as mentioned above), fears, and beliefs.

Here are some of the cognitive distortions that often precede my controlling behavior, that may sound familiar to you:

Filtering: only seeing the negative in a situation, and exerting control to combat it. For example, you may see only the negative in your job and create a lot of stress around your job search as a result.

Black-and-white/all-or-nothing thinking: thinking it has to be this way, or everything will fall apart.

Overgeneralization: forming a negative conclusion based on one piece of evidence; expecting something bad to happen over and over again because it happened once, then controlling as a means to avoid it.

Catastrophizing: exaggerating the negative in your current situation, expecting disaster to strike, and trying to control the future to avoid it. This is my specialty! “OH NO! Sales are down. We’re gonna lose everything! I have to turn things around RIGHT NOW!”

Control fallacies (the obvious one): thinking we have more control than we do; for example, thinking we’re responsible for other people’s pain and happiness, and if they’re upset, there’s something we did wrong—something we need to change or fix to control how they feel.

Shoulds: thinking we know how people should behave, including ourselves.

Fallacy of change: thinking we’d be happy if other people would just change and pressuring them to do so as a result.

Here are some of the fears that often fuel controlling behavior:

If X doesn’t happen, everything will fall apart, or things will get worse than they are now.

If they don’t do what I think they should, they’re going to get hurt (or hurt worse than they are now).

If I can’t make this happen, I’m going to get hurt.

If things don’t happen as I believe they should, I’ll be abandoned or rejected.

If I can’t control the future, I might not be able to handle it.

And lastly, here are some of the beliefs that often fuel controlling behavior:

I know what’s best, for myself and others.

People are better off when they allow me to intervene or take the wheel.

Other people can’t be trusted to do the right thing or make good decisions for themselves.

I am 100 percent in control of my success or failure.

Things have to go to plan or bad things will happen.

Practice self-awareness and challenge your thoughts, beliefs, and fears.

The goal is to be able to catch ourselves when we’re controlling and recognize the thoughts, fears, and beliefs that are driving us—and how this is negatively impacting us and the people around us. But I know from personal experience how hard it is to catch ourselves in a moment, recognize our behavior, and make a different choice.

So for now, as practice, think of a recent time when you tried to control a situation or person and try to identify the thoughts, fears, and beliefs that were driving you.

Here’s an example from own recent experience: I am currently waiting to move into a house that’s not going to be available as soon as I thought it was because the current tenant is staying longer than anticipated.

I have tried repeatedly to push things to happen sooner than they may have otherwise because I am pregnant; and I’m anxious to “nest,” to get my toddler used to his new environment before his brother comes, and to find my new doctor near our future home.

I know I’ve engaged in black-and-white thinking and catastrophizing, telling myself, “We have to get in there soon or I might not find the right doctor, or I might go into labor in temporary housing, or my son’s poor sleep might get even worse because he’s not in his own room yet…”

I know I’m afraid that it will be emotionally draining if we stay in limbo a lot longer (ironic, since I have emotionally drained myself with worrying and controlling!)

And I also know I’ve been acting on the false belief that I know what’s best—that we get in there ASAP—and nothing else is satisfactory.

As a result of all of this, I am causing myself stress and anxiety, and also stressing out my boyfriend, who can only do so much.

Challenging these thoughts, fears, and beliefs is the key to letting go. And that looks like this:

-We don’t have to do anything. There are always multiple options available, and accepting this is the key to finding them.

-Even if we don’t move in until after I give birth, everything will be okay, because we will have all our needs met, we’ll all have each other, and we’re strong enough to handle an unexpected plot twist and whatever that may entail.

-Maybe I don’t know what’s best. Maybe we’d enjoy the interim plan we choose. Maybe something amazing will happen that would only have happened because of this change of plans. I simply don’t know, so it’s safe to let go.

The reality is I need to challenge these thoughts and beliefs over and over again because they pop up often. Letting go, for me at least, isn’t a one-time choice. But every time I do it, I feel relief. And in that moment, I stop pushing. I stop stressing. I stop stressing the people around me. And I create the possibility of actually being in this moment, where there’s a lot more right than wrong, and a lot to enjoy if I’m willing to recognize it.

Is there someone or something you’re trying to control now? What’s behind it? What are you thinking, what are you afraid of, what beliefs are you feeding into? What would you do differently if you thought differently? And what would change around you if you made this change within you—and acted on it?

[juniorgman187]

Love & Other Drugs (Spencer Reid Imagine) Part 1

*not my gif

Summary: Toxicologist Reader meets her match in the ever intriguing Doctor Reid. Category: Fluff Couple: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: drug addiction, love addiction, neglect Word Count: 4.1k

This is going to be a two-part series. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

Love is an addiction.

Not only is there behavioral evidence that suggests love can be addictive, but thanks to recent studies, we also have neurochemical and neuroimaging evidence to support the theory. Multiple feel-good chemicals are released when we are in love. These include dopamine, serotonin, and oxytocin.

The roots of love addiction extend back to early childhood. A history of abandonment, neglect, or inadequate/ inconsistent nurturing can lead to a love addiction. Like other addictions, a love addiction is often the result of insecure attachment patterns.

It may sound strange to equate love with addiction. After all, love is perhaps the most positive of emotions; it results in many health benefits and has life-lengthening effects. It may only be, then, that a dysfunctional relationship to love is necessary in order to consider a person "addicted."

Love is like a drug and we don't care about the long term side effects; we just care about how high we can get.

So with that being said . . . how high could I get?

A question that I would soon find the answer to following a visit from the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. 

“I’m Agent Hotchner. We spoke on the phone briefly.” 

The dark-haired man with the gentle eyes and dimples greeted. I recognized his voice, despite it being deeper in person. No complaints, though.

“So what was it you needed a toxicology report on?” 

Fully expecting the same gentleman to respond, a younger man behind him cut into the conversation, answering for the agent.

“This cloth,” He dangled the evidence bag in front of my face and practically let it drop when I took it from him, rather than making sure the bag landed safely in my hands like he should’ve given the fact that this was something vital to their case. So valuable, even, they requested to have the results expedited. 

“I suspect it’s chloroform, but they said we should bring it to a professional to be sure.” He finished his statement by pursing his lips into a thin, straight line, which oddly enough, I think was his version of a smile, and a not very agreeable one at that. 

Simply by the way he handed me the evidence bag and the tone of his voice as he said, “professional,” like the word stung his tongue and tasted like acid, I knew he was offended that he wasn’t deemed fit to analyze the chemical on the cloth. He surely thought of himself in the highest regard and to ask for help from someone else, much less a woman, was insulting to him. I was certain that he wasn’t doing this out of his own will, but that his superior most likely assured him it was just a precaution so as not to bruise that fragile ego. I had a feeling the only person he would listen to was a male superior, most likely from the absence of a proper one. A father. 

I could be a profiler, too, you know?

“Great. I’ll let you know what I find when I’m done.” 

“I’ll come with you.” 

I should’ve anticipated he’d have the audacity to invite himself as if this was a social gathering of some sort, which it was most certainly not. If anything, it was degrading to me that he insisted he come. Like he didn’t trust me to be on my own, like he was doubting my intelligence. I didn’t need a babysitter, chaperone, or supervisor, and I was going to make sure he knew that. 

“What’s your name again?” I asked, merely as a subliminal reminder that if he had said his name, I forgot it within seconds because he was that forgettable. 

“Dr. Spencer Reid.”

He didn’t ask for my name in return, and I had to ponder if it was his way of saying that he just didn’t care. How classy of him. 

Two can play that game. 

When he stepped foot into my beloved lab, or my lair as I liked to call it, I could feel the environment being tainted with his passive-aggressiveness, and I almost wanted to push him right back out the door so the dark cloud in the room would leave with him, but I settled for a kinder approach, politely asking if he could wear the appropriate protective gear if he insisted being so close to the chemical - the chemical I was to inspect. Again, the chemical I was to inspect - me. Not him - me. 

“No, it’s alright. I’ll just be right here.” 

I suppose his refusal to abide by my simple precaution of wearing a coat, goggles, and gloves was made up for by his promise to maintain a distance away from me, so I didn’t push the topic any further out of fear that he might change his mind and come closer and meddle with my space. I had my own personal bubble around me and I would go feral if he invaded it, whether it was knowingly or unknowingly. 

We’d spent probably two hours or so there in silence, which I quite liked, but I couldn’t help but notice how often he’d excuse himself to leave for the bathroom. I let it slide since I was too busy with my toxicology report anyway, and why would I complain about those few extra minutes of peace I got when he was away?

“This is so old fashioned,” I said in sheer awe as I inspected the small square of fabric that had clearly been doused with a euphoriant. “I haven’t seen this being used as a sedative since like the 1920s in those soundless black and white movies.” 

I was too engaged with the findings of my microscope to pay attention to the “info-dump” that was brewing from the lanky doctor so it came as a shock to me when all that I had said in light of the situation would be refuted with facts. 

“Actually, Chloroform was a popular anesthetic from the mid-1800s to around 1900, mostly around the time of the Civil War - not the 1920s.” 

I pulled my eye away from the lens of the microscope to inspect the speaking specimen. He looked quite proud of himself for knowing and saying what he did, and for that, I was almost perturbed all the more by his bravado, but given his physical stature, I suppose the skill of his brain was how he compensated for what he lacked in appearance, so I let it pass to boost his ego. 

“Yeah, I was never really a history buff. I guess that’s why I got degrees in Chemistry and Toxicology instead.” Hitting him right back with that pursed-lip smile at the end, mirroring his own. 

My comment didn’t settle well, and I could tell from the way he scratched at his arm like my words were making him itchy as they seeped into his skin. But I liked to make people uncomfortable, as awful as that sounds. Yet I had a sneaking suspicion, I wasn’t the true cause for why he was itching his arm.

“But um, you . . . you were actually right about the silent films. Those were exceedingly popular in the 1920s.” 

His sheepish words seemed to suggest a surrender. As if he was giving me the satisfaction of knowing I was right about something so that I might not be closed off to him entirely, which I was most certainly not, even if it seemed like it. He might have aggravated me slightly with his coldness, but he was arguably the most interesting character out of that team, and I had a feeling he didn’t usually act like this. 

Antsy, fidgeting. 

Unkempt in appearance. 

Often lost in thought. 

Depressed breathing. 

Pinpoint pupils. 

The signs were all there, but that wasn’t what surprised me. I was just surprised that in a team of profilers, no one else seemed to notice him and his addiction, and if they did - they just didn’t care. 

“What drugs are you on?” 

I asked bluntly with a slight head tilt to deepen the notion of my harmless curiosity to which he definitely misinterpreted as a harmful curiosity. I was never one to address things with subtlety and grace, but it seemed like a waste of time to approach this situation with any other attitude than candidness. If my intuition was correct, which I knew it was, he was months into his substance abuse and at this rate, if he wasn’t receiving any help, he’d need to soon. 

“Excuse me?”

“I may not be a profiler, but I’m a toxicologist and I can tell when someone’s on drugs in the same way you can tell when someone’s lying - through studying their behavior. And so far, I’ve noticed that the left cuff of your shirt is unbuttoned, which makes sense considering you’re right-handed, giving you easier access and making it faster to inject whatever it is your taking, but I should warn you - you’re not fast enough. Even though your ‘visits’ to the bathroom have shortened minute by minute, I haven’t been blind to the fact that you’ve gone there at least five times since you’ve been here, and don’t even bother lying. I know you aren’t peeing because you haven’t touched that cup of coffee or the bottled water whatsoever. So let me ask you again - what drugs are you on?”

From the baffled look on his face, I could tell he had never met his match. 

Not until now. 

His eyes were narrowing in on me darkly, and I feared to see his “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” duality, but I was also curious if the oncoming switch in personality would reveal anything more to me about what he was using. However, that was quickly cut short by his sudden burst out of the room, giving me no opportunity to see his fit of rage unfold, and I had to believe that he knew if he stayed a second longer, I would’ve easily been able to distinguish the drug he was on. I wouldn’t put it past him, he was smart enough, that much I could admit. 

I followed him with my eyes as he flew out of the lab, dodging the stupefied Agent Gideon. 

“Reid?” Gideon called out to him, as if he was a dad checking on his hormonal teenager, but neither I, nor the agent, heard a response back. 

Now, turning his attention back to me, Agent Gideon entered the lab, clapping his hands together and rubbing them together in anticipation, completely disregarding what happened only moments ago. It wasn’t even like he was truly uncomfortable and trying to brush it aside so that I wouldn’t be uncomfortable, it just genuinely seemed like he didn’t care. He didn’t feel the need to bring any more attention to the situation, but judging from his reaction, I had doubts on if there had been any attention being paid to the doctor’s drug addiction - ever. 

“So, what do you got for me?” 

“Two things - first, this is clearly Deuterated Chloroform, which is an isotopologue of Chloroform with a single deuterium atom. CDCl 3 is a common solvent used in NMR spectroscopy-” I paused when I realized my toxicology jargon was flying right over his head. “So in other words, this type of Chloroform can daze or knock out people even when it's consumed in small doses.”

“And the second thing?”

Without missing a beat, I asked, “What’s up with that guy?”

His hands unfolded to reach out on either side of him in a shrug as a sign of incomprehensiveness. “Spencer?” He finally pointed with his thumb to the door, which Dr. Reid had just stormed out of. 

I nodded. 

“Ehh, I prefer to leave it alone.” He threw his hands up in surrender, but I wasn’t about to let him maintain his attitude of ignorance. 

“Why? Isn’t it better if he talks about it? I mean, it’s obvious there’s something going on. He’s clearly displaying habits of an addict.” 

The room was shot dead with silence. I could tell he couldn’t believe I’d just said that so bluntly, addressing what I assumed he had yet to even come to terms with. 

“Agent Gideon, I mean this as no insult to you, but I’d surely hope that, even as someone that analyzes behavior for a living, you were sincerely unaware of his addiction and not deliberately avoiding addressing it only because it makes you uncomfortable. Addiction is a very common thing, more common that people would like to believe, and I would hate for Dr. Reid to feel that he’s alone in a room full of people that could help him - that should help him. Or that he can’t turn to any of you without being treated like he's a victim in one of your cases.” 

I wasn’t exactly sure which of my words was the one that crossed the line, but I knew, as a whole, I ventured far beyond the boundary. He didn’t even answer me verbally, but his body language did the talking, and if I heard it correctly, he was dumbfounded by my audacity. 

“You have a good day, Miss.” He finally said with a forced smile, while snatching the evidence bag from my hand. 

Amicably, I had to let it go the minute Agent Gideon left my lab. I shouldn’t care more about the doctor’s wellbeing than his own coworkers, than his own team - than his own family. And even though I was incredibly passionate about proper drug use, I couldn’t be too invested in the care of Dr. Reid. At least not until he started caring about me, too. 

After my minor back-to-back confrontations, I was more than ready to go home. Once I cleaned my station and removed my gear, I was out the door. When I got to the parking lot, I saw that on either side of my car, there were two black SUVs I’d never seen here before. The government license plates were all that I needed to see to come to the conclusion that they belonged to the BAU. Having just instigated something with both Spencer and Agent Gideon, I knew I had to leave before they did, otherwise I might risk running into them, which would’ve been utterly humiliating. 

It was the sudden chirp of familiar voices that caused me to bolt into my car and try and start it, but naturally, buried somewhere within the Bermuda Triangle that was my purse were my keys, and I couldn’t find them in time.

“Hey, I’ll catch up with you guys later.” I faintly heard from behind me. 

Keys! Keys! Keys! Where are you?

With animalistic speed, I rummaged through my purse, literally starving for the feeling of my fingers touching the jagged metal and the remote of my keys before I’d have to -

“Looking for these?” 

I tore my eyes away from my purse to peer up at the sound of my jingling keys as they hung from the index finger of the man I shouldn’t care about. I wryly chuckled, taking them with a goony smile when he handed them to me with much more caution than earlier when he handed me the evidence bag. 

“I saw you left them behind in the lab and I figured you might need those. Especially if you’re trying to run away from me.” 

“I’m not trying to run away from you.” 

My words were unaffecting, only leaving him with more reason to doubt me, evidenced by his deadpan stare. 

“Really! I wasn’t!” It was beyond me why I thought speaking more loudly would make him digest my words any better, but at any rate, it did. 

“Okay, okay, relax. I believe you.”

We shared a brief laugh, the euphoria of which was fleeting, and then, we were right back to where we were before. Back to square one - not knowing what to say. The uncomfortable silence pressed me to leave, but he must’ve registered my sudden movement as a tell that he needed to say something so captivating, so shocking, so bewitching, that would stop me from leaving. 

“Thank you.”

To say that I was baffled would be a gross understatement. I was in complete awe and disbelief. Hearing those words from his lips was enough to stun me, but even more so because of how sincere it sounded. 

“I was going to come back and apologize when I overheard you and Gideon talking about me. You left before I got the chance to thank you for what you said back there. So . . . thank you.”

And yet again, he thanked me, and surprisingly, it wasn’t any less pleasing to the ear. 

“Yeah, of course. I was just worried about you that’s all.” Unknowingly, I revealed too much out of the blinding bliss of the moment. 

“You were worried about me?” 

His own question brought me to the realization of what I’d just said, and in his tone of voice, I also became aware of the connotation behind it. He already knew the answer and just wanted to hear me say it again, so I nudged him playfully to avoid reciting my confession. 

“Actually, I take that back. Why should I worry over someone who didn’t even bother to know my name?” 

He looked quite offended; his neck recoiled in distaste. 

“I know your name.”

“You didn’t ask me for it.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t know it, (y/n).” Drawing out my name just to demonstrate his honest knowledge of it. 

“Actually, it’s Doctor.” I corrected, earning a hearty laugh from him, one that made him throw his head back with an open mouthed smile. 

In my playful jest, he was reminded of himself and his own uncannily similar humor. He could see himself in me. (Mind you, this distinction was completely unknown to me). It was only he that could see we were foils of each other - parallel lines that ran side by side, never fated to intersect but forging a connection in spite of that; a connection formed on the basis of close proximity and congruence in shape.

“Anyway, thanks for bringing my keys. I’ll see you later.” 

Our goodbye was too quick, I knew that, but I couldn’t, in good conscience, keep talking to him and avoid bringing up the conversation of his addiction. I wasn’t nuanced like that. I was too eager to solve problems head on to keep my determination at bay. I couldn’t dance around the very thing that was killing him slowly. I just couldn’t. Had I drawn out our conversation any longer, I’d sooner touch that tender wound he restlessly picked at; a wound that might never properly or fully heal if he kept doing so. I knew he was too stubborn to let me clean it, so in favor of his pride, he insisted he could fix it himself and simply put a band-aid on it in an attempt to do just that, foolishly thinking it would be enough. However, like a real gash, tear, or cut, it may only be worsened by the lack of adequate disinfection. He could just as easily reap the benefits as he could suffer the consequences of the absence of a proper enabling agent that stings badly, but successfully targets the root of the problem. The choice was up to him. Would he suffer the consequences or reap the benefits? To be quite frank, there’s no way around that disinfectant. It’s that or nothing, and I found myself to be the confrontation to the problem that he lacked. So now that I’d addressed it, it was up to him to decide what to do. I had done all that I could, and I had to accept that. 

Maybe a minute more of talking to him and I might’ve even seen that connection he was seeing. I assure you, a few more soulful glances was all it would take to kill me in cold blood. If you could get intoxicated on someone’s eyes, I’d be drunk on his. I saw worlds behind them - raging waters of words unspoken bursting from overflowing dams, calm seas of his thank you’s, maybe even lazy rivers of useless stored information and memorized book passages I could dawdle in forever. An overwhelming guilt consumed me when I realized I’d only been staring at them for as long as I had to probe further and satisfy my own selfish desires. I felt all the worse for the unsuspecting object of my gaze who was led to the hopeful, naive notion that I was looking at him out of admiration. He had no clue what I was really doing. 

I was profiling him. 

Earlier in the day, I would’ve gloated about my ability to use his own job against him by employing the skill of profiling, but now, it was different. He was different. The guilt was escalating quickly and I made haste to get in my car, not even waiting to catch his reply to my sudden goodbye before I shut the door. If I had to assume, he must’ve said something in agreement because the minute I turned on my ignition, he stepped out of the way, letting me leave with no protests. Quite haphazardly, I drove out of my parking spot, reducing him to just a blurry figure in my rear view mirror that would haunt my dreams at night and occupy my thoughts in the day. Consider it merely a precaution to part from him so promptly. I needed my distance before I did something we both would have regretted. 

Before I started to love him. 

. . . 

“Positive for Alprazolam. Positive for Carboxy-THC,” I mumbled to myself while I jotted down the results of my preliminary toxicology report. You’d often find me in this state and by that I mean, it’s been more than one occasion where someone walked in on me talking to myself. I found that it was easier to make note of things when I spoke it out loud, even if just to myself in a hushed tone. “Negative for -”

“Am I interrupting you?” 

I pulled my eye away from the lens and upwards to the voice beckoning me at the door. To my surprise, it was Spencer. 

“No, not at all. What’s up?” 

As he made his way to my station, I instinctively shot up in my seat to fix my posture into one more ladylike and graceful, pulling my shoulders back as if there was a string tugging at them. It was a stark contrast to my previous hunched over position that rounded my back out almost to the point of looking like a half-circle. It was the most natural position for me, and arguably more comfortable, too, but now in Spencer’s presence, I wanted to assume a more flattering position. For what reason? I didn’t know. 

“I, um . . .” He cleared his throat and adjusted the collar of his shirt frantically. “I’m going to see a film tonight in Sky Meadows State Park. I was wondering if you wanted to come.” 

It was easy to meet his eyes until he said what he did. Reflexively, I looked down at my microscope to shy away from his gaze so he might not see the color forming on my cheeks. 

“That’s really sweet of you,” I began. “But I should probably get this report done first.” 

I wouldn’t have noticed I was tapping my pen on my paper anxiously had it not been for Spencer’s eyes drifting to the motion. After consciously stopping it, he looked back at me, seeing that similarity again. 

I was just as nervous as he was. 

“Yeah, yeah of course. Next time, then.” 

My heart sank at the visceral blow to his ego. I didn’t intend to shatter his confidence, but by the time he turned on his heels with his hands sheepishly shoved into his pockets, I knew it was not the first time someone declined an offer of his. 

“Actually,” One word was enough to draw him in. “I can finish this up another time. I’d much rather catch that movie with you instead.” 

I wish I could tell you that my intentions were pure. That I was going because I knew I would enjoy his company and he would enjoy mine, but that wasn’t it at all. It was that familiar itch again that made my ‘yes’ easier to say. 

The itch to dig deeper and to know more. 

“Great. I’ll wait outside for you.” 

The rational part of me knew that if I couldn’t let his addiction go, it’d be the death of me. But if I did, it’d be the death of him. Literally.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

PART 2 HERE!