#and i think i've come to the conclusion that finding clothes i enjoy is difficult for me

[erasedcitizen2]

I just bought this new dress and I need to share because I'm obsessed with the Powerful Vibes.

[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!!!)

[impaladolan]

Control Freak - Grayson Dolan

summary: after Choff production lines CEO (finally) retires, a new boss makes his way into Y/N’s world..

warnings: sexual references/undertones

a/n: another Grayson series, i can’t help myself :)) enjoy!! also, ily <3

Ugh, he was in one of his moods again.

The office cubicles were hastily bustling with nervousness and terror. At any given moment, the infuriated man, so-called boss, will be bursting through the double doors with a dark red tint across his cheeks and maybe even smoke out of his ears, if you're lucky.

Mr. Kidman has never been good with the whole "patience is a virtue" thing, he's a ticking time bomb at all hours of the day. Nothing ever satisfies him, nor remotely excites him, he just finds something to yell and scream about at some poor unfortunate soul and then continues his merry day. But today, he was furious. He had no empathy for anyone, even his favorite two little secretaries that wear push-up bras like a side-job. Apparently someone had brought him the wrong breakfast order and everything just went downhill from there.

Unlike all the others, you seemed calm and composed amongst all this mayhem, but only because you, and maybe two others, knew that 'Old Angry Kidman' was finally retiring. Yep, freedom at last. Well, unless the new guy, or girl, has terrible anger issues.

So you just sat at your clean and pristine desk, typing another draft and adding it to the plentiful piles saved on your work computer, while soundlessly chewing on a mint piece of gum that substituted for the absence of a tooth brushing the morning of. But your quick finger movements were hushed once Mr. Kidman, as predicted, flew straight through the doors with his signature fiery red face and sweat droplets dotting his thinning hairline. "Every body fucking up! I've fucking had it with all of you." He demands, majority of the room raising from their seats with caution. With his teeth tightly gritted and his lips in a fine line, he swirls his index finger in the air, motioning to all of his terrified workers.

"If it were my fuckin' decision, I'd have each and everyone of you pieces of shits fired and on the streets in point ZERO-TWO seconds. You all are fucking lucky that this is my last day here, son's of bitches." A man of few nice words, that he is. The nicest thing you've ever heard him say was thank you, and that was two years ago. His vulgar and aggressive attitude truly brings the worth of working this job down. If it weren't for the good pay and lack of any other remotely feasible company jobs, you would've quit a long time ago.

But alas, you still endure the inevitable fiery reign of his obstructive wrath on the daily.

-

Dolan is his name.

The new boss, that is. That's the only information you and the rest of the staff knew, besides that he's a male. He hasn't shown up for work yet, or even formally introduced himself. Hell, you don't even know what he looks like. But you were certainly nervous for his arrival.

What if he's just like Kidman, or worse?

It most certainly made you nervous to think that this new guy could ever be worse than Kidman. You were hoping and praying that the he'd at least value his workers and employees.

Everyone, on your office floor, was anticipating the days and hours of his big arrival. No one was certain of when he was going to show up, or if. But nonetheless you were one of the most nervous ones. You held the highest title among your coworkers, except CEO of course, but you were pretty up there when it came to business standards. Everyone seemed to like you as well, your kind nature and natural non-brutal attitude sure did make up for other people's. Of course, you didn't really have an office of your own, because you enjoyed the time spent with the people around you. You truly loved the relationship and humbleness you gained from it. At least you weren't a snotty bitch, right?

There were plenty of little rumors around the workspace that you'd become the new (and improved) owner of this whole entire manufacturing company. Specifically a well known fashion line, Choff. The floor that you, and many of the other leading workers, were on was basically the information database. But from time to time, you'd find yourself strolling through the other, more clothing/model filled areas. Just to see how things were flowing.

Which is actually what you're doing in this moment; running your fingers along the racks filled with hangers that held all the fitted clothing items. It seemed like fun to be down here, measuring and sewing the different outfits to the men and women, but it also seemed stressful. Everyone's always in a rush, with their exploding New York accents and their flailing around all over the place. It's pretty amusing to watch from afar, but you'd be scared to get in anyone's way. They'd probably just run you over and continue their day unaffected.

With that thought in mind, you abruptly come to a stop when you run into the muscular backside of someone, startling you from your stare on the tiled flooring. You uttered a few apologies, taking a step back and straightening your pencil skirt from its newfound wrinkles.

"Lost, darling?" Your eyes trail the floor before you until they're stuck on a pair of shiny dress shoes, attached to a pair of long legs and a broad chest. Your eyes finally landed on the remarkably handsome face, of someone you didn't quite recognize. It wasn't uncommon to stumble across unknown employees, but could it be him?

"Frankly, no." You shortly answer, studying his jaw-dropping features. He was indubitably perfect, without a doubt. With a nicely trimmed beard decorating his beautifully shaped jawline, and big hazel eyes that stared right back at your own, he seemed unearthly. Like he was God's favorite angel sent down from heaven, just to show you a glimpse of what it'd really be like inside the pearly gates. "Are, um, you?" You weren't exactly nervous, just mystified. His recent smile grew into what seemed to be a smirk, while his right side's dimple grew more prominent.

"I'd like to say that I'm not, but I sadly am." He shrugs with a chuckle, sending a wave of unbeknownst pleasure through your ears and fluttering down your spine, until the ends of your toes were satisfied with his deep and raspy voice. "Could you maybe show me around this gigantic place? I've been in need of assistance for the last hour or so." He questions you, dropping his shoulders back and letting his eyes roam your stature before drifting to the interior of the long hallway the two of you are currently standing around in. "I very well could, but I have a dreadful meeting to attend to within the next five to ten minutes." Actually, the meeting was in fifteen minutes. You just simply wanted to see the man's reaction, which wasn't what you though it'd be;

"Perfect, I'll be in attendance for that as well. If you'd so kindly lead the way, I would most appreciate it." He smoothly negotiated, stuffing his right hand, which was tightly wrapped with an expensive looking watch, into his pocket with another grin. He seemed very eloquent with his words and the way he addressed things, it has to be him?

"Do you mind me asking of your name?" You began as you started your trek back to where you came from, your heels quietly clicking from beneath you as you lead the way, him following close behind. "Dolan, Grayson Dolan." He quickly answered. Indeed you were right in thinking he was the new (and maybe improved) CEO of all Choff productions. "New head guy?"

He only nods, to yet another one of your endless questions. "And what's your name, darling?" He asks as the two of you stop at an elevator, his quick hand beating yours to clicking the slightly worn down button. "Y/N Y/L/N, direct head management under you." You relay before boarding onto the empty elevator, the doors closing moments after the two of you were stood side by side. You fidget with the ends of your skirt, staying as calm as possible under his stare that you couldn't help but shrivel under.

"Under me, huh?" You almost gulped at the sound of his double meaninged phrase. Smart guy, hm? Your heart started beating a bit faster the more you thought of his little statement. Your mind became a whirlwind of visuals and fantasies before you could even stop it. Just those two little words had made you all sorts of a mess, and he hasn't even done much of anything. "Don't get too worked up darling, we have a meeting to attend." He chuckles as he steps off the elevator that had opened only seconds ago. You just scoff, your cheeks reddening as you stride right past him, maneuvering through the expanse of people that had just left the staff room, in order for the upcoming meeting to advance.

The moment you were sat in the room and time had passed to where everyone had finally shown up, you felt that lingering feeling of eyes on you. A pair of hazel eyes to be exact, who was sat far from you at the end of the long table. For meeting him not too long ago, he sure did seem comfortable around everyone. It was entirely too soon for you to be liking him already, better yet imagining different scenarios with him as someone boringly rambled. You decided that you'd forget him for the time being and focus on your job, as much as possible.

Though it would be granted as difficult as time moved on..

"That's the conclusion of this meeting. I thank everyone for being here, and I especially appreciate your appearance, Mr. Dolan. I'm happy to say that things around here will continue a lot smoother than it did in the past. And I know most others would agree." Burt Wallace, one of the coordinators, concluded after standing from his seat to dismiss everyone with a nod. While everyone dillydallied in conversations with one another, you in the other hand, hustled straight out of that room and towards the same elevator you had used earlier. The moment you clicked the button, the doors opened wide and you hopped in, tucking yourself in the corner while you gained your breath. You smile to yourself at the successful 'escape' from any questions or perhaps a witty comment from a certain CEO on the loose.

You sigh happily to yourself, watching the doors close again until a hand is stuck between them, pushing them straight back to reveal the man you were somewhat avoiding. "Care if I join you again?" He asked, but he still entered otherwise, clicking one of the many buttons to make the door close. "Did I have a choice?" You almost scoff, feeling his shoulder brush against your own as he stood in the same spot he had previously stood in. "Nah, not really, but I like to seem like a little bit of a gentleman." He answers, the roll of your eyes substituting for the internal scoff that you hadn't let out. The two of you rode in silence for what seemed to be eternity, only the faint sounds of your breaths being heard. As soon as the elevator door clanged and opened, you made a beeline out of there and hustled toward your organized workspace like there was a snake chasing you.

"What's the rush?" Ana Rita, one of the only tolerable women in this entire building, asked as you ducked under your desk. Even though you hadn't looked back to check, you had a feeling he'd follow you, or worse, ask you to meet him in his office. You weren't exactly sure why you were hiding from him, he seemed pretty nice. But he truly intimidated you. Not in a competitive way, more so a physical way. "And why the fuck are you down there?" The redhead crinkled her brows as she looked down her long nose at you. "Just, shhhh!" You bellow quietly, covering your pursed lips with your index finger.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Hot man, six o'clock! Get your ass out of there!" She violently whispered at you, frantically tidying herself for the "hot man," presumably Mr. Dolan as you had predicted, approached your desks. You tightly hug your knees from under your desk, praying to god that he wouldn't somehow see you. "After noon, sir, may I help you?" You cringe at the seductive tone lined in her voice, something that Mr. Dolan unfortunately probably gets a lot of. "I'm looking for Ms. Y/L/N, I have some issues to discuss with her." Yet again, his girthy voice made you sigh with comfort. It's extremely calming to listen to.

"She's actually right here—" Ana, the little asshole she is in this moment, points straight at you as you plead with your eyes and shake your head vigorously. You suddenly see his handsome head peer over at you, his brows scrunched with confusion. "Uhm, cords were messed up, gotta fix them." You awkwardly chuckle, patting the outlet box stuffed with all your monitor's cords. You bring yourself out from below your desk as the two stared at you, dusting your front side and settling down in your office chair with a nervous smile.

"I'd like to have a word with you, in my office."

(masterlist)

[citrinekay]

I've had a prompt rolling around in my brain the past couple of days, I keep thinking of Holden's car breaking down in the rain, and he has to make his way to a payphone, and he calls Bill, because he doesn't know who else to call. I keep thinking about Bill being worried he'll get sick because he's soaking wet. Sorry if this is disjointed sending asks gives me anxiety >>

Nothing to worry about at all, hon. This makes perfect sense to me! Here you go, hope you enjoy 💕

Holden’s father had instilled a healthy respect for car maintenance in him from a young age, and he considers himself a responsible person when it comes to his possessions; but some things just can’t be foreseen. There were no warning signs, no little lights popping up on his dash to tell him that something was wrong, but still, as his car sputters out on the side of the road, he figures this is somehow his fault. 

It’s late evening on a Friday, the ragged conclusion of a long week out of state on consult. It’s no more than a thirty minute drive between the airport and his apartment, but his little Nova, which up until this very moment had been trustworthy and faithful, couldn’t make it that far. On top of everything else, it’s raining. Not a mist or a drizzle, but a deluge that rolls from the rumbling sky in unrelenting gusts that don’t appear to be stopping anytime soon.

 As the engine clicks and dies on the gravel shoulder of the road, Holden leans his forehead against the steering wheel to brace back a wave of tearful dismay. Not only does he usually leave car repair up to knowledgeable professionals, but he’d also been looking forward to crawling into his own bed after an arduous week spent tracking down a pedophile and murderer. 

A rift of anger rises up from his sudden despair, and he leans back to strike the wheel with the heel of his hand. 

“Fuck!” The curse chokes from his throat, punctuating the steady drum of rain against the metal exterior of the car. 

He breathes heavily into the silence for a long moment until the initial rush of panic and alarm fades. He tries to think clearly about his options. He should call someone. But who? It’s much too late for shops to be open, and he doesn’t want to call the police department and create a scene. He could call a cab, but that might take awhile. And before he can pursue any of those options, he has to find a phone to even call from first.

Holden rubs his tired eyes, and scans the street. 

He knows where he is. Just think … Payphone. The corner of Mission Street and Jackson Road. Two blocks away. 

“Fuck.” Holden says, aloud, again. 

He’s exhausted, and he doesn’t want to walk two blocks in the pouring down rain; but what other choice does he have?

Gathering his collar up around his neck, Holden draws in a deep breath, and shoulders his way out of the vehicle. The rain is coming down so hard that he’s almost instantly soaked, his hair drenched and plastered to his head, his trench coat barely concealing his shivering body from the biting gust of cold wind and stinging droplets. 

For a moment, he thinks about climbing back into his car and waiting it out, but he doesn’t want to face the possibility of the rainstorm persisting through the night. Putting his head down, he trudges away from his car in the direction of Jackson Road. 

The shoulder of the street is washed out in the rain, creating a treacherous obstacle course of sliding gravel, loosened rocks, miry sludge, and muddy puddles, two of which he manages to step directly into. It’s difficult to see with his eyes squinting shut against the driving rain and the scarce streetlamps lining this particular strip of deserted asphalt. 

If his car had broken down just two blocks later, he would have been in a much better position. There’s a tavern and gas station at the intersection along with the payphone, some sign of civilization that this forested stretch of road where he’s abandoned is absent of. 

Holden clenches his jaw and drags his coat more tightly around himself as a fresh clench of frustration seizes his chest. Part of him wants to sit down on the side of the road just to rest his trembling legs, but he pushes on, determined to get to the payphone in as little time as possible. 

Eventually, he approaches Jackson Road, a darkened street of shops with only the neon blow of the tavern sign smudged against the black sky in rain-drizzled reds and greens to light the way. Across the street, the gas station with two sad pumps is illuminated by a few overhead lights that attract more insects than people at this time of night. The phone booth stands like a beacon at the corner of the intersection, interior lit by a single, bare bulb. 

Holden rushes to the payphone, relief washing through his chest. The sliding door protests on rusty, jammed hinges as he grabs the handle, and it takes a few forceful pulls to get it open far enough for him to slip inside. 

The steady, cold patter of rain on his cheeks cuts off abruptly as he stumbles into the glass enclosure. Bracing a hand against one wall, he draws in a shuddering breath and tries to subdue the bone-deep, chilled shiver running through his body. 

His relief lasts bare seconds. Now what?

Turning to the pay phone, Holden tucks his hand in his pocket to search for coins. As he sorts out the quarters, he bites anxiously at his lower lip. The booth has no telephone book, and he doesn’t know any numbers for a cab off the top of his head. Nervously jostling the quarters in his hand, he glances down at his watch. 

10:35. Christ, it’s late. 

Holden presses his eyes shut as a solution rises in the back of his mind. He can feel rain dripping from his hair and sluicing down his cheeks, absorbing through his clothes to chill his skin. His belly shudders from deep inside and his feet hurt, cold and miserable from the long walk in the storm. He’s stranded, and he doesn’t have any other choice. 

Shoving aside his nerves, Holden feeds the quarters into the narrow slot and listens to them fall to the bottom with a metallic clatter. He picks up the phone, and slowly dials the number he knows by heart. 

As he listens to the shrill ring of the phone, he feels a sudden wave of emotion crawl up the back of his throat. He’s thinking rapidly and all at once: Please pick up. Please don’t be mad. Please help me. And finally: Well, this is just fucking pathetic, isn’t it? 

The phone rings six times, and he thinks about hanging up. He could call the operator and get a cab service. He could call the police and they would be more than happy to send someone out - it’s their job after all. His anxiety is about to overwhelm him when the repetitive tone cuts off, and the line rustles with movement.

“Hello?” Bill’s voice is muted and raspy with confusion. 

“Bill.” Holden says, pressing his eyes shut. His cheeks flush with heat that competes with the chill of the rain. 

“Holden?” Bill’s sleepy confusion quickly breaks out into concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m sorry it’s late. I didn’t know who else to call.”

“What’s going on?”

“I, um … I just got back into town, and my car broke down, if you can believe it.” Holden says, a nervous chuckle rising from the back of his throat. 

“Oh, man, talk about shit luck. Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine. I just …”

“Where are you?”  

“Well, my car broke down back on Ellis, but I’m at the payphone at Mission and Jackson.”

“Shit, it’s raining cats and dogs. I hope you didn’t walk all that way.”

“How else would I have gotten here?”

“Jesus, you must be freezing.” Bill says, his tone taking on a note of worry. “Stay inside. I’m on my way.”

“Thanks. And I’m really sorry about this. I know it’s late and it’s an inconvenience and-”

“Don’t worry about it. Now the sooner we get off here the sooner I can come pick you up.”

“Right.”

“Okay, stay put. I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”

“Okay. Thanks, Bill.”

“Yep.” Bill says, quickly, before hanging up. 

Holden puts the phone down, and leans back against the cold glass partition. Relief surges through his chest at the prospect of not having to walk one more foot in the rain, but despite Bill’s eagerness to help, he’s still anxious. Ever since Atlanta, they’ve been walking around on egg-shells with each other. Holden doesn’t want to intrude on Bill’s privacy as he goes through his divorce, and Bill seems too focused on his own problems and work to regard Holden’s tenuous grasp on his panic disorder. He’d never wanted to be a nuisance or create problems he couldn’t solve on his own. He’d never wanted to be babysat, or for anyone to think he needed supervision - but apparently he had; and now he’s facilitating yet another situation that Bill is required to pull him out of. He wants to pick the phone back up and call just to say “You’re not mad about this, are you?” But Bill has probably already left the house. 

Drenched and shivering, Holden cowers in the phone booth for the next fifteen minutes until he sees Bill’s car through the smudged pane of glass. 

Bill pulls up at the curb, and climbs out of the car. Rain dampens his hair and the shoulders of his trench coat as he pulls a blanket out of the passenger’s seat and carries it across the sidewalk to where Holden is slipping out of the booth. 

“Thanks for coming.” Holden says, blinking against the surge of rain. “You brought me a blanket?”

“Yeah. Jesus, look at you.” Bill says, his brow pinching with worry as he unfurls the blanket. 

Lowering his head, Holden revels in quiet disbelief as Bill drapes the blanket around his shoulders, and draws it closed at his chest. 

“Come on, you’re going to catch a cold.” Bill says, his hand bracing against the middle of Holden’s back to lead him towards the car. 

Holden quietly lets Bill guide him to the passenger’s side and hold the door open for him. Slipping into the vehicle, Holden lets out a shuddering sigh of relief at the warm air blasting from the dashboard vents. 

Bill jogs around the hood of the car, and climbs behind the wheel. When he pulls the door shut behind him, the interior falls into silence except for their muted, heavy breathing, and the quiet sound of Holden’s teeth shivering against one another. 

“You okay?” Bill asks. 

“Yeah.” Holden whispers, his voice unsteady with a chilled tremor.

 He slips his eyelids open to peek across the car at Bill. His face is illuminated in the pale light from the dashboard, rain-slick lips pursed into a grim line of worry, his usually perfectly combed hair flattened with the rain. He doesn’t look angry.

“I’m really sorry about this.” Holden whispers, drawing the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “It’s so late-”

“I said not to worry about it.” Bill says, firmly but gently. “Frankly, I’d be more upset if I found out later that this happened and you didn’t call me.”

Holden glances back down at his lap where his numb fingers are white-knuckled around the blanket. It has that foreign smell of someone else’s house lightly concealed by the ashy sting of cigarettes. Abruptly, he feels like crying again. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Bill asks. 

Holden nods, pressing his eyes shut. “I’m just really tired.”

“Okay, let’s get you home.” 

Holden turns his face toward the window where the storm outside continues to rage. The car softly lurches into motion as a tear stings the corner of his eye. He lifts his chin against his cheek to let the emotion absorb into the soft microfiber of the blanket along with the rain. It takes him just as long the drive back to his apartment for him to realize that he isn’t just overwrought or extremely tired, but relieved - as if he’s been holding his breath since Atlanta, waiting for everything to spill over between them, waiting for Bill’s disapproval to come crashing down on his fragile shoulders. It hasn’t come, and apparently it never will; he’s been shadowboxing with lying ghosts. 

At his apartment, Bill shuts off the engine, and climbs out of the car. Holden steps out onto the street on the other side, letting the blanket slide from his shoulders. 

“I’ll walk you in.” Bill says.

“You don’t have to do that.”

Bill circles around the car, his expression determined and unwavering. He waves a finger at the drooping blanket. “Come on, put that back on.”

“It’s yours, I don’t want to take it.”

“You know how long that thing has been sitting in my closet for?” Bill asks, pulling the blanket back up around Holden’s neck. He nods toward the building. “Come on, the blanket is the least of my worries. I don’t want you getting sick.”

Holden doesn’t protest again as Bill leads them across the street to the lobby. He punches in the door code with cold, shivering fingers that he quickly sticks back underneath the blanket when the door unlocks. 

In the elevator, neither of them say a word, but Bill’s hand is tucked loosely against Holden’s lower back. It’s not grabbing or forceful, just resting there almost protectively. When Holden closes his eyes, he can feel the weight of it more than the bone-chilled shivers running all the way to the core of his body. 

Holden leads the way to his door, and drags his keys out of pocket with numb fingers. 

“You should get out of those wet clothes right away.” Bill says, quietly.

Holden nods. “I will.”

“Good. The last thing we need is you catching a cold or pneumonia.”

“Yeah.” Holden mutters, jiggling his key in the lock. 

“Hey,” Bill says, touching his elbow. 

Holden glances up from the lock, and Bill’s eyes are soft in the low light of the corridor, worried and unaccusing. 

“We need you.” He says, “So take care of yourself, okay?”

Holden’s throat tightens, and he nods. Shrugging his shoulders to indicate the blanket, he says, “I’ll get this back to you on Monday.”

“Sure. Keep it if you want.” 

Holden frowns softly as Bill gives him a pat on the back, and moves past him back in the direction of the elevator. 

“Let me know if you need a ride to work on Monday.” He says. 

“Thanks, I will.”

“Okay, see you then.”

Holden stands with his key in the lock as he watches Bill amble down the hall back towards the elevator. A slight smile tugs at his mouth. 

When Bill is out of sight, he gets the door open, and slips into his apartment with a sigh of relief. 

First, he drapes the blanket over the arm of the couch, and takes off his wet clothes. When he’s in clean, dry pajamas, he goes into the kitchen to boil water for tea, and as the kettle warms, shuffles into the living room where the discarded blanket is lying. Picking it up, momentarily holds it to his nose, and closes his eyes as he inhales the lingering, warm smell underneath the rain. If he washes it, that scent will be gone. 

Carrying the blanket into his bedroom, Holden uses clothespins to hang it from the curtain rod to dry. Faint light from the streetlamp filters through the microfiber, casting a soft, pinkish glow across his room. The cold in his bones is almost entirely melted away, and he feels warm again. 

[ill-be-istj-if-no-one-else-is]

Hi, I've typed myself ENFJ, but I sometimes doubt that I understand what all the terms mean well enough to draw that conclusion. It particularly has to do with the function Si, which I shouldn't have if I'm ENFJ, but I think I can identify with some of it, assuming I'm identifying it correctly. On one of your FAQ pages, it was mentioned to be about comparing situations to previous situations, like if you stub your toe once, and then do it again, you'll remember how it felt before and... /1

[2 did not come through]

…I was in as a kid, I will immediately be taken into the time I was in the hospital. And many things that were part of that experience come back to me. I often prefer to eat the same foods, listen to the same music, and do the same thing that I know I enjoyed before. But I’m not aware of everything. There is still a lot I will ignore and/or neglect because it doesn’t command any interest in me. But when I put my mind to something, I can often plan out the details and implement it. … /3

…This extends to hobbies as well, such as programming. I enjoy taking care of all the little details it takes to make the program work. And there are many other things coming to mind, but I’m already up to 4 pages here. So, would you say I am understanding Si correctly? I’ve always found MBTI and its applicability to be a bit confusing, and I find it very helpful to ask people about it, to see if I’m interpreting it correctly. /4-end

If I may continue from before, I just gotta. Like, if I consider starting a new programming project, I will start thinking about all the stuff I have to do to even get going. I’ll think about the properties I have to set in the IDE, I’ll think about the setup code I gotta do, any graphics I have to create. If I’ve done this before and I remember it’s a lot of tedious work, I’ll think about how this is such a pain in the rear and wondering if there is some better way to go about this. … /1

I constantly check my internal state, and adjust my diet accordingly. If I eat a lot of meat over a few days, I’ll get a yucky sense, and will feel compelled to switch to something else to balance it, like more fruits and vegetables. As summer is coming, I will be thinking about all my previous summers, and with that start looking forward to the experiences of summer. Not having to wear so many clothes, the feeling of air conditioning when you step in from the heat. Also, the difficulties,… /2

—–

Without even reading much of these my inclination is to type you as being a high Ne user from your behavior patterns: your questions last weekend seemed more in line with intuition than sensing. I also have found that to put it bluntly much of the time (though not always) when someone spams my inbox they’re a high Ne user; Se users tend to be more concise and better at reading the room (or internet as it may be) and high Ni and Si users tend to plan things out.

However upon reading this while obviously I am missing a section a lot of what you describe is either a combination of things most normal people do (eg, adjusting your diet when you don’t feel your best, planning code in advance, only being interested in plans you’re interested in) or things that might be indicative of low Si more so than high Si. In fact, that may be why it’s been difficult for me to find useful anecdotes within here - you’re providing a lot of minor details (what you think about in the summer) but very little about regular tendencies or the major life decisions that are most revealing of type.

Some of your other items are also indicative more of low Si than high Si. High Si users will often vary their diet or music regularly and like to try new forms of entertainment or restaurants, but keep a regular daily routine. Low Si users often have the reverse - they want to travel the world, but they only eat chicken nuggets. They’ll switch careers multiple times, but their music taste is frozen in 2005.

Getting back to a more general sense I also find that your behavior of being extremely certain in a particular type and then two days later questioning it fits ENFP well, and this would by no means be the first time an ENFP typed themselves as an Fe-dom.