#difficult situations

[xchasingstarx]

How do I explain that my favorite HP ship is Harry's dead dad and Harry's dead godfather's dead little brother??

[autisticlancemcclain]

When Shiro hears news of his mother’s death, his first thought is good riddance.

His second thought is fuck. Loudly, and repeated many times in his head. And out loud. In the middle of the night, sitting straight up in bed, startling his fiancé awake.

“T’kashi?” he mutters, eye squinted as he blindly pays the bedside table for his glasses. “What’s going on?”

Shiro’s mouth works on autopilot. “It’s my mother.”

As it always does when she is brought up, which is frequently due to her many life decisions, Adam’s face wrinkles as if he just bit into something very sour.

“Oh. What the fuck is she up to now?”

“Uh, the afterlife.”

Adam’s face freezes. Shiro chokes down hysterical laughter. It doesn’t work, and comes out kind of reedy and strangled.

“Mr. Shirogane,” comes the tinny voice from his phone, and Shiro startles.

“Oh, shit, yes. Sorry. Um. I wanted to ask about my brother. Where is he? When can I pick him up?”

There’s a hesitance from the other end that Shiro doesn’t like. He sits up straighter, if at all possible, and Adam’s face hardens — it has been a four year long fight, with his mother, to try to get Keith over as often as possible for even an ounce of stability, and not a fight they have won very frequently, but it is not one they’re willing to give up. Shiro has no doubt that the state will fight just as hard as his mother did.

Adam and Shiro will simply fight harder.

“The safety of the child is the state’s first concern,” the lawyer says neutrally.

“Great. Give me an address and twenty minutes, then, and I’ll bring him right home.”

The lawyer’s voice is steely. “He is home, with a lovely young couple who are happy to have him.”

“There is a lovely young couple who he is related to and whom he has familiarity with right here,” Shiro grits out. “Tell me where my brother is.”

The lawyer waits a moment. “It might be a difficult transition, you know. It would be nice for Keith to have a mother and a father, for once.”

Before Shiro can even blink, a hand reaches over and snatches the phone right from his face, and Adam throws it open onto the bedspread, presses speaker, and sets off.

“You listen here, you gristly assed motherfucker. Takashi has the right of next of kin. Failing proof of neglect or abuse, which you have tried and failed to invent on our end so many times the court as all but banned you from trying again, Keith is legally required to be placed in our home should Shirogane Saori be found incapable of care. And, as you can imagine, lying on a table in a morgue renders one quite incapable. If you don’t provide an address clearly and concisely in the next fifteen seconds, I will sue not only you and your firm, but you mother, your father, your children, and you dusty tailor, you ugly brown suit wearing hetero. Are we understood?”

There’s another stretch of silence, wherein despite the gravity of the situation Shiro considers proposing to his fiancé again, before the lawyer finally speaks.

“…Group home on 4th and King.”

“Thank you,” Adam says tersely, and slams the phone closed. He scoffs at it. “Fucking jackass. Someone should kill him.”

Shiro snorts. Then he giggles. Then he starts laughing, and then he can’t stop, and he laughs so hard tears come to his eyes, and then they don’t stop, either, and his breath hitches and a lump forms in his throat and his whole face starts to get itchy. Adam pulls him into him immediately, cradling him into his lap like he’s a child, and he goes without resistance because it’s Adam doing to holding, and because he doesn’t know where this sadness is coming from. He has hated his mother for more years than he has loved her. The only time he’s thanked her for anything in the last eight years was one he held Keith in the hospital, skipping his first day of high school to do it. She has been crueler than kind to him for most of his life.

But she was his mother, in many ways. In all ways except the ones that mattered. And apparently that counts for something.

“We need to go,” Shiro whispers, trying to lift his head. Adam gently presses it back into his neck, holding his arms around him.

“It’s four in the morning, starshine. Maybe we wait a few hours?”

“No.” The hoarseness of his own voice makes him wince. “He can’t…Adam, I don’t even like my mother, and look at me. Keith is going to be inconsolable. She carted him around like a baby doll. He loved her.”

Adam winces. He knows it’s true as much as Shiro does. Their mother’s erratic lifestyle has gifted Keith an assortment of attachment issues, as evidenced by the tantrums whenever she dropped him off at their apartment when she was bored.

Not that Keith understands the issue. Because he is four, and because he has gone through more things in his four years of life than many children will before they are even ten, but not enough to stop thinking his mother is the most important person on Earth.

Quickly they dress, shoving in whatever clothes are near without worrying about looking presentable. They don’t bother with much more than brushing their teeth, skipping shaving and breakfast and coffee in favour of speeding to the parking garage.

It only takes them fifteen minutes to get to the group home the lawyer has mentioned, and they waste no time in rushing up the steps, uncaring of social norms or etiquette as they ring the doorbell and stand fidgeting at the front door.

It takes a long time for the door to open. Shiro can’t help feeling like that is intentional.

“What,” barks the man at the door, as if their intent isn’t expressly obvious given the circumstance.

“I’m here to pick up my brother,” Shiro says as politely as he can manage. “Keith?”

“He’s sleeping,” says the man, who Shiro presumes is one of the foster parents running the home. “Come back tomorrow.” He tries to slam the door shut, but before he can register his own movement Shiro is slamming his hand against the door. The wood cracks under his palm.

He doesn’t bother saying anything. He doesn’t have it in him. He simply shoves the door open, sending the man stumbling, and strides in, remembering at the last second to try and keep quiet so as to not wake any other sleeping children. It takes him three tries to find the right room, but when he finally swings open the right door he knows, from the very second he sees the lump of blankets on the bottom bunk in the far right corner. He stands frozen for a moment at the door, watching his baby brother breathe, seeing the dried tear tracks on his face, the stutter of his breaths and shake of his chest. His thumb is firmly in his mouth, a habit he’s had broken for two years.

Shiro’s eyes begin to leak again. He feels Adam squeeze his bicep once in comfort, then wordlessly he walks off, gathering the messy scattering of Keith’s things into a large backpack. Trusting him to know or guess what belongs to his brother — all largely things they’ve bought him — Shiro approaches the bed, kneeling carefully at the edge of it. He reaches out and brushes Keith’s hair out of his face, gliding his thumb across his forehead. It wrinkles as Keith wakes, squinting his eyes up at Shiro in grogginess and confusion. It takes him a moment to register what’s going on, but Shiro knows the exact second it does, because his indigo eyes go blank the way they do when Keith is so far overwhelmed he can’t even come close to starting to process how he feels. Shiro braces himself for whatever vitriol, likely directly quoted from their mother, is about to come out of his mouth.

“I don’t want you,” Keith cries. He makes a sound in the back of his throat, cracked and strained; a long, keening cry. His face twists up and he glares at Shiro in what can only be described as betrayal, as if it’s Shiro’s fault their mother is gone, as if it was Shiro’s evil plan to take her away forever so he can never go back.

He wouldn’t even be surprised if that’s what their mother has told him. It hurts anyway.

“I know,” he chokes out, hushed. He brushes his thumb over Keith’s forehead again, slow, from temple to temple, and to his surprise his brother leans into it slightly as his breaths hitch with sobs. “I know, baby.”

He exchanges a look with Adam, who, God Shiro loves him so much, understands immediately: they have ten minutes.

Two years ago, when their mother dropped Keith off at his doorstep one day and fucked off to Atlanta for a week, Shiro decided enough was enough. Keith was convinced she was coming back to get him every morning and was devastated when she didn’t. It was an endless, sisyphian cycle. Shiro took the day off school, took his limited funds, and brought Keith to a paediatric specialist. It was of course not the most thorough evaluation, as that was something that could only be done with time, but there was almost definitely some valuable input. Shiro learned, in harried, layman’s terms, that their mother’s flakiness meant Keith always believed he was about to be left behind. Her babying of him lead him to believe that he was at fault when that happened. When he was actually happened, he was prone to tears and affection, trying to win back his mother, trying to prove that he was a good enough baby doll for her, basically.

And if that doesn’t work…well. Then the hurt and the anger start, and God knows how long it will last.

“Ten minutes,” Adam mutters, stuffing one last thing into the backpack and shoving it over his shoulders. “Let’s go.”

Taking the blanket with him, because fuck these guys, Shiro lifts his baby brother up, holding him tightly to himself, pressing his face into his neck. He starts to powerwalk down the hallway back to the front door, Adam close behind him. He vaguely hears the same man who opened the door start to argue with them, start to try to stop them, and he trusts Adam to handle it, because all he can hear in his head is a countdown. If they don’t make it to the car in time and Keith starts really wailing, they are going to take him away, and Shiro knows he will never get fucking visiting rights because the family court system is the most broken thing in America, and Keith will be shoved into some random group home that doesn’t care about him and won’t care about him and he’ll be treated like shit or worse not treated like anything at all, and he will grow up thinking that there is no one who loves him and no one to turn to and Shiro will never forgive himself or his mother or the world.

He needs to get his brother to the car.

He rushes down the beaten down concrete steps as fast as he can while still being careful in the dark. The car is half a block away, the only place they could find parking, and he starts to jog, ignoring the ache in his arms. He’s held Keith for longer. At the seven minute mark, he registers yelling voices and a door slam and Adam’s rapid footsteps behind him, and by the ninth they make it to their beat up piece of shit fourth-hand car, throwing open the back door, setting Keith down gently, bucking the kid in as quickly as they can manage.

Shiro has lost count of how much time they have, if they have any at all. His heart pounds so rapidly he can feel it everywhere in his body. He’s bitten the inside of his cheek so harshly he can taste blood. He feels like he’s gonna throw up.

He’s barely thrown a seatbelt on by the time Adam shifts into gear and tears out onto the busy street, cars honking at him. Shiro meets his eyes in the rearview mirror, trying to find strength in his look, in his support. He tries to tell himself that the worst part is over, now; Keith is with him, beside him in the back seat, Keith is going to stay with him forever, now, he is going to make his baby brother’s life stable from now on. They are starting to swim their way out of the deep end.

And then the wailing starts.

It’s loud. Keith takes a huge, deep breath, then lets out a noise that Shiro can only describe as agonised, so big and heavy that it pulls on his little body, straining against the seatbelt. His face is bright red from the force of it, and Shiro can count his teeth with how wide open his mouth is. Bizarrely, Shiro wonders if he’s loud enough for the windows to break, or their eardrums. He’s not sure if his own pain comes from his ears or his heart.

“I want my mama!” Keith sobs, shouts, screams, cries. “I want my mama! I want my mama!”

“I know,” Shiro whispers again, for what feels like the millionth time that night. Between Keith’s stuttering breaths Shiro hears Adam’s soft cries, looks up to see tears streaming down his face. He’s surprised to find his own face dry as a bone, the lump in his throat he’d felt earlier completely disintegrated. He feels hollowed out. “I know, Akira. I know. I know.”

Shiro wonders if this is what it feels like to drown.

[vizthedatum]

I can be compassionate, kind, loving, helpful, and not always available if I can't afford to.

Yes, relationships of any kind need reciprocity. Still, if a relationship is draining me (it probably is not great for the other person), I need to figure it out with my resources and rethink my availability.

—

—

I know I have unreasonably demanded more than what people could give in the past. Or expected their love/commitment to be that missing piece that would “make things better.”

Of course, there were deeper issues within myself.

Also, I had to reevaluate my standards for friendships and relationships. There are things that I still will not budge on, and that's okay!! I do have relational needs, and I can move on from connections or change expectations if those needs don't get met or worked on.

—

I am currently struggling with a friend who needs a lot of help right now.

If I had more financial and physical support for myself (I live alone, work full-time, am always managing my chronic health, etc.), then I'd have more to give to this friend.

I have already invested a lot of time, money, advice, and energy into this friend.

It seems like they're alienating everyone too. And they can't make it to all the healthcare appointments that would help them.

They spiral into helplessness, which prevents them from doing the necessary things to function.

They're homeless and have been for a while. Sometimes it feels like we are making progress, and then they just… don't do what they need to do to help themselves.

And I refuse to be the ONLY person who can actually help them. Like no. I have tried to set them up with care coordination but… I cannot just fix everything for them.

—

I'm on my period, finally getting a stride on with my work tasks, and feeling like I'm getting somewhere with all my projects. My place is still a mess, but I have a plan for tackling it all. I tidied more last night, and it's really just laundry that I need to get to. (and some other than extra things to declutter but they're not a priority rn)

My life hangs on so many balances, it seems.

And I know I have more than this friend: I have a lot of systems in place, I have shelter, I have access to food, I have access to a lot.

But if I let go of my self-care and all the things I'm juggling… to help my friend, then it will take me so long to recover.

I might flare. I might get behind in everything. I might simply crash even more.

—

I have worked so hard on my mental and physical health to get to a place of stability even with my debt issues. It is not that hard to fall into a place of lack and… homelessness with my health and trauma issues (despite my education or support system - again all things that I cultivated and must continue to sustain).

Sometimes, it's like I work to earn the right to live.

—

I am already struggling to eat because of my PMDD/period.

—

And I know that helping them right now would completely drain me (and boundary-test me) because this has happened before.

It would be different if this friend could contribute anything back… but even their presence is emotionally/energetically draining because I feel like a therapist, care manager, and parent.

—

Thus, I have these challenging boundaries right now…. while I read (and respond, ofc!) the messages of their struggles.

And it just sucks.

It feels horrible and miserable.

[davipontesblog]

Book review: “The Customer Service survival Kit"

"The Customer Service Survival Kit" by Richard S. Gallagher provides practical advice for handling challenging customer interactions, framed with real-life scenarios. Despite the title, the book is valuable for all customer service professionals.

“The Customer Service Survival Kit: What to Say to Defuse Even the Worst Customer Situations” by Richard S. Gallagher is a resourceful guide aimed at professionals in the customer service industry. The author brings his expertise to the forefront, offering practical advice for dealing with difficult customer interactions, and these end up being helpful in any type of human interaction – whether…

[knightofleo]

Angela Orosco Silent Hill 2

[almiacastle]

Trying to learn that it’s not my responsibility to create or maintain harmony in the lives of those I care about. They are allowed to have difficulties in their lives and struggles in their relationships with others and it’s not something that I need to ‘fix.’ I am not responsible for their happiness or peace. Their struggles do not make me a failure. All I can control is how I interact with them.

[writersbeware]

Opening Line Prompt

Choose one of the following sentences to begin your story. You can change the name of the character, the setting, and the tense, but you must keep all else the same. Pete stepped toward the bow of the ship. A gray blob appeared on the horizon. Rain began to fall just as Sarah…” Be sure to add at least one additional character, hopefully one that brings tension and discord. Add details to the…

[ursuletulbamse]

Mindful Actions and Words: How to Navigate Difficult Situations and Take Care of Your Mental Health

The worst feeling in the world is to know you were used and lied to by someone you trusted. If someone gives you advice, respond with "you're right". It sounds more diplomatic than "I know."

Have you ever been in a situation where you felt like someone was lying to you, yet you couldn’t do anything about it? It’s probably one of the worst feelings in the world, knowing that someone you trusted used and misled you. It can be difficult to navigate such situations, especially if the person giving you advice is someone you value and respect. But the truth is, sometimes you have to be…

[bigfatbreak]

been a long week. we'll see if i overstepped at work and am gonna get myself shitmixed/scolded but in the very least, my girls at work should have a better foothold on things

[banrionandomhain]

y’all I’m in an endless cycle of blocking the sexy girl bots and then more following me 😭😭

How do I stop this help please

[bunnieswithknives]

Gore, Violence and Blood under the cut

What a mess

[modharvest]

This epilogue has already fucked me up so much and were only two chapters in

[linkcharacter]

Just want to drop a quick "I adore your analysis and art in both style and substance" before my ask: given that no detail in mouthwashing is without meaning, the fact that we see Curly in the Curly pov scene immediately before the crash makes me wonder if this can be read as him dissociating on screen during the final conversation. Experiencing Jimmy saying these dark and frightening things to him and clapping his shoulder in third person, and panicking - SYSTEM FAILURE - when he returns to himself.

Thank you I'm glad people are enjoying by rambles and scribbles!

I do think that it can be interpreted as disassociation. I have some more points to back this up, such as the music we hear when we have to run to the cockpit and the fact that we can hear breathing when the screen turns black after Jimmy walks away. I interpreted the slow exhales and inhales as Curly trying to steady himself, get back to reality and just breathe a bit processing what the hell Jimmy just said. Curly was already in a panicked state approaching Jimmy and his excessive yappery+stress have triggered a response. He was out at the worst possible moment. Then we see him in third person out of his body. Then back to himself with the alarms.

That's a solid and plausible interpretation that I agree with! I personally also saw that scene as a "self-reflection" moment for Curly, looking back at yourself in anticipation for a major situation. For the audience, the first time seeing the man with a yet undisfigured face, it humanizes us to Curly more, attaches a face to the person which is making him more grounded and vulnerable because at the end of the day, he's a regular person just like us.

[rotzaprachim]

well meaning gentiles who want to talk about the golden past where everyone lived in peace (meaning people didn’t actively kill Jews) until them big bad Zionists got into this stuff for no reason. Are just like. My pet peeve. Like the refusal to reckon with the fact that if even a few countries had let Jews remain in their countries as Jews with full Jewish communities and lives we wouldn’t be in this situation.

[flowercrowncrip]

I met up with a friend of mine today for coffee today, and we got onto talking about disability communities online (mostly TikTok) And about how much pressure there is online to be happy about disability, in particular wheelchair use.

The videos we both get recommended are excited people making happy smiley "come with me to get my first wheelchair!" Type Videos, And people talking about how great it is to use a wheelchair. And how much the narrative is pushed that any negative feelings towards using a wheelchair must stem from internalised ableism , and expressing them publicly is almost "letting the Community down".

And we were talking about how we both felt almost guilty that our experiences have been different from that. That we find our chairs cumbersome and difficult and wish we could go without them. About how we’ve both sat alone crying about hard it is to be disabled when we got to the point of needing a chair, and that getting our first chairs wasn’t a particularly happy experience or one that we wanted to draw lots of attention to.

So I just want to say if you hate your disability or the fact you need a wheelchair then that’s a very normal reaction to have and not wrong to express. If you describe yourself as “wheelchair bound” or “confined to a wheelchair” then that’s your right to do so. And If you’re in treatment right now to delay or prevent eventual wheelchair use then that’s a perfectly legitimate goal to have for treatment, and if you end up needing a chair later down the line any feelings you have about that are understandable, whether that’s relief or grief or a big mix of everything.

[writersbeware]

Early Morning Walk

Imagine getting up before dawn, eating a quick breakfast, slipping into a warm jacket and heading out for a walk. You might hear the morning birds begin their calls, spot a cat slinking under a car, and pass neighbor’s heading to work. Day after day you walk, sometimes heading north, others south. There are stories to tell. Why did the old couple move out? What happened to the two-story house…