#and I’ve told them a million times that it’s not healthy and it really triggers me

[lululawrence]

Can u please be nicer on ao3? Maybe you should try answering people's comments

when i read the first line i was honestly flabbergasted and wracking my brain trying to figure out when in the world i wasn't nice on ao3 ever. because i honestly truly try to be nice to everyone always, even when i'm angry or frustrated or people are going after those i love and want to protect. if there was a time i WASN'T nice on ao3, i wondered if it was maybe because my comment had been misunderstood or someone saw me razzing an author i'm good friends with and they didn't get that we are close and i said what i did with so much love and appreciation, you know? like what??? did i do???

but then i read your second line. and please forgive me if i come off as rude in my response to this, because honestly i'm in a pretty bad spot mentally and emotionally in general right now, but PARTICULARLY today, and this ask triggered an anxiety response in me. so. i'm trying really hard to word this in a way to educate without being condescending or mean, but i might not succeed.

firstly, thank you for your comments i'm assuming you've left. i'm also assuming they were nice comments, in which case extra thanks. i'm sure i'll send you effusive responses on ao3 when the time comes.

secondly, please understand that sending an ask like this, on anonymous no less, is incredibly entitled. writing is not my profession, i receive no compensation for my works that i post for free online, and as a part of that it is not required of me to respond. i do my very best to reply to every comment i receive, but it is not always in a timely manner, because i have other priorities in my life. all of which leads us to my third point, which is:

writers do not owe you a reply to your comments. end of. there are no other qualifications or quantifying modifiers to be added to the statement. is it nice to be acknowledged and know your comment was seen? sure. but do they OWE you one? hell no.

in fact, i'd like to offer you a suggestion. a way of tweaking your thinking about the comments you leave on fics. instead of looking at comments you leave as being something that deserves a reply from the author, think of your comments as your way of paying the author for the gift of their time and talents that they have shared with you by posting their fic. that's how i think of the comments i leave for authors. i'm giving them my thanks for the words they've shared! i want to help THEM feel as amazing as they have made ME feel when i read their fic. in fact, my hope isn't necessarily a response from them, but instead my hope is THE GIFT OF THEM SHARING MORE FIC WITH ME. i'm a selfish bitch in that way and i always want all the fic to read. i never want that well to go dry. one way i can ensure that doesn't happen is by supporting authors and being kind to them and spreading all the love and excitement i can about their writing in the hopes that my words will inspire them to share more.

because whether they reply or not, i GUARANTEE they are seeing your comments. i PROMISE they are. and for all you know, your comment might be the one that keeps them writing even when their words aren't coming easily or when they are tempted to give up.

but, again, please remember that no matter what, these authors (including me) don't actually owe you anything.

the rest of this is going under a cut, because honestly my reply is already far too long and i have a LOT more to say now that you've gotten me started.

now, all of this in mind, i'll explain to you why i'm not great with keeping up with comments made on my fics the last couple of years. i don't owe you this explanation any more than i owe you a response to your comments, and i'm honestly not sure you deserve this explanation either, but i'll still offer it anyway. it'll help me feel better knowing i at least put this out there, whether you care or not, mainly because if i don't do that it will cause me greater anxiety having you possibly think i am not responding to people because i feel all high and mighty or that i think i'm better than the comments or whatever the fuck kind of motivation you're attributing to me to see my lack of a response as something "not nice" towards the commenters.

i'm not sure if you've noticed, but i put out a lot of fic. like a lot. a lot of words and shit. i love writing, it's often my therapy and a way for me to help keep my anxiety and depression and ptsd at bay.

now, more personal shit for you, i've got three kids ages 9 and under. the oldest has adhd which we have yet to find a med for that helps to the extent she needs without side effects that aren't healthy for her to continue with, she also has anxiety, AND she's extremely gifted and starting a new program at a new school, all in the midst of a pandemic. and all of those situations exacerbate her anxiety! huzzah! she's also dealing with the beginning of her tween growing up shit, which is great fun because it means where she used to be pretty damn understanding of her younger brother, she is finding it much more difficult to. because the second oldest? he's autistic with some pretty significant gross motor, speech, and socialization delays that have only been exacerbated because of the previously mentioned pandemic. PLUS he transitioned from his special needs preschool to a fully integrated elementary school for kindergarten last year and then had to deal with all the ups and downs of the switch from e-learning to hybrid to all in schooling when everything in him screams for a normal schedule he can rely on to keep his own anxieties and fears and struggles at their minimum. and that youngest child? he was born in january of last year. he STILL barely leaves the house and has only met other children in close range a couple of times because, once again, pandemic!

add onto all of this my own mental health issues, the fact that my husband ALSO battles major clinical depression, adhd, and anxiety, AND we live with my parents who have their own health issues, both mental and physical. i run the home for our house of seven. i keep this place functioning, fed, clothed, clean, and everywhere we need to be for all of our five million appointments every. fucking. day. there is a REASON i've been borderline burnt out for the last fucking year and a half.

now, for fun, i have fandom shit. i love it here, even if it is a dumpster fire on the best of days, and getting to be a part of the writing community is so very lovely. i adore it. honestly, it's because of those friendships i've built with other writers that i have been able to keep writing and have found just how helpful it can be for my mental health. but i'm REALLY. INCREDIBLY. BUSY. i hardly have time to get on tumblr for just a quick swipe through my dash most days. i put off asks so long i forget i have them. i don't have the mental and emotional capacity to talk to people on here or interact fully a lot of the time. but i do my best to do so and be kind while i'm at it even when i don't want to be.

then, on top of that? i also run fic fests like @wordplayfics and help friends run their own. because not only am i a writer, i'm a reader. i LOVE fic. fic has saved me soooooo many times over the past seven years that i've been here. i want to do what i can to support other writers the best way i can, which is to provide a space for them to create their works that welcomes and helps promote them, but also by doing my monthly fic lists and pocast highlighting what i've been able to read, reblogging their fic posts, and then commenting and kudosing their fics too.

sometimes i get really fucking down on myself because i'm so behind on replying to comments, but my brain is very much a "if you start this, you have to finish it" kind of a brain, and i feel even WORSE sometimes if i reply to comments on some fics and not all of them. but i do my best and reply when i can. i was actually really fucking proud of myself because i had a couple days to myself in june, and i spent hours replying to comments on 20 of my fics. when you have almost 150 fics (i think? i don't even know how many fics i've posted by now), that is only scratching the surface. but i tried and i was so so happy i did that many fics at once. it's exhausting, though, and takes a lot of spoons for me to reply to them in mass like that plus time consuming. so i tried to be happy with those 20 fics and the comments i responded to there and told myself that when i ha a moment to breathe, i'd go and work on replying to some more.

but see, that again causes anxiety and guilt. because i haven't replied to all of them. and that anxiety and guilt can cause me to put it off further OR to put off important things like feeding my children or getting sleep in order to finish it, so i have to make myself put things into perspective and ensure i'm doing the important things, like taking care of myself and my family, first.

and then, i have a moment where i CAN go ahead and reply to comments... but i also have MANY fics that are on deadline and i actually have a schedule. a SCHEDULE. for when i'm going to focus on which fics. i can spell it out for you if you really want. i made it back in APRIL to make sure i didn't sign up for too many fic fests because there are so many going on right now that i want to participate in, but i know i can't do all of them so i had to pick and choose. and when you are SO overscheduled and busy that back in APRIL you had to figure out what fics you would focus on at what time to ensure you got everything written when you wanted to through THE END OF THE YEAR, more choices have to be made.

for example. my writing time and time for myself came down to only one evening a week for ALL fandom things i'm doing and a part of right now once the kids were out of school for the summer. it quickly became apparent that for my own self care i needed more time, so i worked with my husband to find two other days i could carve out at least 30-60 minutes to myself to write every week. and i did. but if i'm already only getting that much time and have committed to those fics and fests and things that you're running etc, you have to choose am i going to use this time to try to squeeze in some comment replies? or am i going to write? and i choose to write. simple as that.

so yeah. see it as selfish if you want. see it as mean. you can honestly see it as whatever the fuck you want, but for me? i know that as soon as i possibly can and i can breathe freely for once and not feel like i am constantly drowning in my day to day life and am doing pretty well when it comes to my fic deadlines and getting started on those christmas cards i'm once again going to be making by hand for everyone on tumblr who chooses to sign up for one this year out of the KINDNESS of my heart and the love i really do feel for so many of you, then i promise i'll be on ao3 catching up and commenting. my friends laugh and make fun of me for it sometimes, because they will sometimes get 10-12 replies to their comments in a single day. they know that's how i work. i WILL reply to every single comment i get, no matter how old it is. but for the love of all that is holy, do NOT add to the anxiety and guilt i already feel over it. the only place that will get you is the ask/comment getting deleted if it's a good day, a fucking long rant like this one if it's not, and a block if it's a REALLY bad day.

if you're asking me to be nice on ao3, then i ask in return that you also be nice by not demanding things of people that they are not in any way obligated to give.

#long post #rant #i almost deleted this #but you sent it on just the right day and instead i let loose #this is unedited and unbetaed lmao but ENJOY #or don't #whatever #writing stuff #i should tag it #writing SHIT #but that's not really a tag i keep cause who wants to keep track of the negatives #not me

[yostresswritinggirl]

hello, recently i’ve been getting sexually harrased by old men on the internet because of my body. if you’re comfortable doing it, would you mind writing albedo comforting a reader who something similar happened to them? but please don’t describe it happening if you can

(was supposed to queue this for tomorrow but accidentally posted AGAIN but aight, early gift bbs)

Hey anon, first of all, I wanted to check if you're doing better after that ordeal? Have you talked to someone you trusted about this? Second, I hope you told those mean men off, they are truly disturbing and disgusting. I wish that after this, you'd still manage to be comfortable with yourself :((

Thinking about those kind of behaviour makes me gag and I hope that you'll find comfort someday and soon.

As for your request, I will make sure that there won't be any triggers in this answer. And so to avoid that this will be bulleted, I hope you can take your mind off with this fic!

White Lily

Albedo providing Comfort to Reader after an Unpleasant Encounter

Do you remember the meaning of White Lilies that Albedo endearingly associated you with?

Delicate, untainted, the Alchemist handled you like you were the finest dust of gold carefully drifting down the side of a beaker.

Besides wanting his White Lily for himself, Albedo acquired your heart to ensure your protection. To nurture you, bloom your brightest, watch your white petals glow in healthy conditions and prosper.

In his great care, the man almost IMMEDIATELY noticed how you wilt and appear so dim. Because to other people Albedo barely understands and cares for others, he pays attention to things he cares about the most and that includes you.

Albedo doesn't approach you immediately, as he was scared to worsen your mood even more with a wrong move.

His touches are minimal, aiming to guide you to the extra chair in his laboratory, and place around a soft wool blanket around you.

He'll stand a good distance away but still keeping the keenest eye on you as he watches for any signs of when your mood switches, either good or bad.

This gentleman will not invade your personal space during this time and it's up to you if you ask for cuddles or urge him to come closer. He really just doesn't want to hurt you any further.

He’ll indulge you like a mistress with a bell.

While in his company, he’ll provide you with things that will distract you, but in the Albedo Way™: he’ll turn on the burners so you can watch and listen to the bubbles the hopefully-harmless liquids produce, he’ll sketch beside you so you can get distracted by the sheer beauty of it; and your favorite: plucking a branch and giving it life in front of your eyes.

When it comes to physical comfort, Albedo usually has his hand and lips on your head. Why? It’s the safest route in his opinion.

He knows the importance of physical contact and how it comforts people, however he doesn’t master that thing.

If he gets really into it, he’ll softly nuzzle the crown of your head, softly stroking your hair while murmuring against it.

If you’re not ready to talk about it, that’s fine

But this genius and his aura has a way to coax out answers out of people. You’ll be leaning to his touch, “my beloved petal, together we’ll make sure you’re back to your usual blossom. I’ll always be here with you, and I will be sure to listen once you trust me enough,” and then suddenly you’re spilling your guts out to him.

The more you talk about the incident, his grip around you will be tighter, inching you closer to his chest with a protective grasp around you.

It’s like instinct: like he’s physically protecting you, pulling you away from the pain.

But also a way to make sure you don’t see the burning glare in those once soft, teal eyes.

Million paradigms stir in his mind as he continues to listen, and soon enough (even without uttering the person’s name), he’s already figured out who he needs to brea- confront.

“No matter what they say, darling, you are worth every inch of respect and innocent adoration. They are nothing but monsters, aimed to wreck havoc and haunt your mind. But know that you are more than just your body, you’re made of the most beautiful soul I have ever seen.

I will make sure that you live in a world free of insecurities, so that everyone would see you for who you truly are.”

C O M F Y HOURS

What??? Experiment? Cursed sword whomst?

Everything is off the table, full schedule suddenly as empty as the abyss as he asks if there’s something or somewhere you want to be other than his messy and crammed laboratory

Do you want to be away from people? You’re suddenly making your way to one of his camps outside of Mondstadt with a beautiful view

Do you want to be distracted more? Albedo’s an expert at keeping someone entertained and distracted because of Klee: he can teach you how to sketch, read a book to you (Legend of the Sword anyone?), heck he’ll even try to sing just to get you smiling again

All throughout the day, you’ll notice how reluctant or reeling he might be when it comes to touching you

Taking a split second of a pause before placing his hand on you, even if it’s the most innocent place he can put his hand on

He’ll tap his finger on your palm, before slowly wrapping it with his

Don’t get him wrong, he’s not just doing this because he thinks you’re uh ‘sensitive’

He just doesn’t want you to think of him the same as those guys; it would break his heart to make you uneasy, much more scaring you

Because he loves you not because of your physical properties but the warmth you provide to his cold soul

And that what makes you truly beautiful, White Lily

Bonus: He instigates Kaeya into hunting down those nasty humans, to the point that he bribes the Cavalry Captain with a proper self-portrait sketch just for this one occasion.

Writing this gave me such soft hours vibe hnghng- I hope that everyone feels safe and comforted anytime they need it. Somewhere out there you will find comfort. I hope you enjoy this, anon! And I hope you’re feeling much better now <33 sorry if this came out looking like a general comforting reader hc than the intended scenario ackkk

#genshin impact #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact albedo #albedo #albedo x reader #exile.goblet #exile.flower #followers special #protect yo homies #you are safe here <3 #i feel like i fucked this up and turned it into general comforting hcs hahahaha #genshin impact x reader #gender neutral

[mediocre-writerr]

holding out for a hero [jennifer jareau]

jennifer jareau x fem reader

requested: criminal minds request for jj: in 4x01 where the ambulance has a bomb instead of morgan driving it, the reader is? jj is beyond pissed when she finds out reader’s driving the ambulance and they get into an argument afterwards but it’s a fluffy ending? thanks!

*not my gif*

The BAU SUV crash shook everyone to their core. Too many people have gotten hurt already and you couldn’t let anyone else get hurt. So you did what you had to do.

Was it a good idea to hijack the bomb triggered ambulance without telling anyone? Probably not.

“Garcia? How long are you able to keep the satellite jam in its position?” you asked, frantically, trying to examine the bomb in front of you.

“About 3 minutes why?” she asked.

“Well I got 3 minutes to get this thing out of range and out of mind. No one can get hurt.” you told her.

“What?! No! Just evacuate the building like everyone else!” she said, frantically typing.

“Garcia, no one can get hurt anymore.” you whispered, “We almost lost Hotch, we can’t lose anymore people!”

“What do you think’s gonna happen if it blows up with you in it?!” she tried to convince you to think clearly, but you couldn’t. You were too busy trying to get the ambulance to start, “I’m gonna get JJ on the phone.”

Your eyes widened, “No! Please! She can’t know. She’s going to start freaking out.” The ambulance started and you let out a breath of relief. You began driving out of the parking garage, “I need your help Garcia. I need you to guide to me a spot where this can blow up without anyone getting hurt. Alert all of the officers and officials that they need to block off the route! Can you do that for me?”

You were already driving when the terrorist left the hospital, trying to shoot through the ambulance doors to detonate the bomb. You flinched every time a shot rang out.

“What was that?!” Garcia asked frantically.

And you shook your head even though you knew she couldn’t see you, “Dont worry about that right now, okay? Let me know where I have to go!”

“I’ll tell you where you have to go!” JJ’s voice filled your ear and you closed your eyes, leaning your head on the steering wheel, “You need to leave the ambulance and come back!”

“Garcia...” you drew out, angry that she got JJ anyway.

And you could hear her chime in, a small little echo, as JJ was probably pacing back and forth, “That wasn’t me I swear! I think she heard it from Prentiss.”

“I can’t do that Jay, you know that. I’m in the middle of the city. If this explodes out there, buildings can go tumbling down and there will be more damage than there needs to be.” you tried telling her and she knew you were right. But that didn’t mean that she wasn’t scared for her life.

She shook her head, “What the hell were you thinking getting in the ambulance like it was nothing?!”

“Can we please not do this right now? This thing detonated in three minutes and I have no idea where I’m going.” you pleaded and she finally listened to you.

The two blondes gave you directions and you could hear the timer slowly ticking away. But the grass patch was right there and you could practically taste the victory. You celebrated way too early as the ambulance started slowing down.

10 seconds left.

You looked at the gas tank, the arrrow deathly close to the E.

9

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon! We’re almost there just a little further!” you talked to yourself, completely forgetting that JJ and Garcia were on the phone.

8

“Y/N! What’s going on?” JJ yelled into the phone. You knew you should probably tell her, but that didn’t stop you from not telling her. You just didn’t want her to worry anymore than she had to.

7

“We lost a signal on her!” Hotch yelled as everyone was pacing back and forth. A nervous tension filling the air.

6

“Don’t do this to me now!” you pressed on the gas as hard as you could, desperate to try and get the little ounce of gas left.

5

JJ was hysterical, continuing to try and call your phone, but to no avail.

4

The grass was so closed The green strips practically mocking you as you headed straight for it. The ambulance making a worrying sound.

3

“Fuck!” JJ threw her phone at the wall. All of it shattering into millions of pieces. Prentiss went over to her embracing her in a tight hug. Everyone in the BAU had tears flooding in their eyes.

2

You felt the ground start to change textures. The smooth road now replaced with the bumpy dirt. “Just a little further, c’mon!”

1

KABOOM!!!!

“Sir, it exploded on the grass.” an officer came into the conference room to tell Hotch.

“Any sign of Agent Y/N?” he asked.

The young officer shook his head, “No not yet.”

And those three words were all it took for Morgan, Prentiss, and JJ to go running towards the SUVs. Each of them getting the car speeding as fast as they can to the scene.

There was rubble everywhere. A fire ignited on the grass, lighting an orange hue in their brown and blue eyes. The firefighters were already there trying to contain as much as possible.

“You can’t go in there.” another officer tried to stop them before all three of them whipped out their badges.

The officer nodded letting the three of them in. They scanned the terrain desperate for any sign of you. Until Morgan’s eyes landed right on yours a little further down from the scene. You were sitting in the back of a non-exploded ambulance, a paramedic tending to your wounds.

“Over there!” Morgan pointed out and all of them ran as fast as they could, “What’s her injuries?”

The paramedic just shrugged, “Nothing too bad. We might want to get her ears checked out at the hospital and she has a couple first degree burns. Slight lacerations on her face, but other than that she’s completely fine.”

He placed a small bandage on the tip of your eyebrow and you smiled at them softly. Your face dusted with dirt.

“What the hell were you thinking?” JJ yelled at you and everyone seems to shrink at the sound of her voice.

The paramedic, Morgan, and Prentiss made up some lame excuse to get away from what could be a blood bath for you, “I had to do it Jay. No one else was around.” you tried to stay as calm as you could.

“You had not one, not two, but three healthy agents who were around! Reid, Prentiss, Morgan, any of them could have done it!” she continued to scold you for your actions.

“Do you really think I would’ve let any one of them do it instead?” you fired back, “I couldn’t be selfish and have one of them do it and risk their lives!”

“So it’s now selfish to stay alive?!” she yelled back.

And you shook your head, rapidly, “No, no. I just-I couldn’t let any of them risk their lives like that.”

“We have a baby on the way Y/N. I’m already 9 months pregnant! What was gonna happen if you didn’t jump out of the ambulance on time?! You knew everything and everyone you were gonna leave behind! Yet, you still did it!” she finally shouted and you looked around to see all of the bystanders, shook at the usual calm Agent Jareau, losing it.

Then it finally occurred to you why she was angry. Not because you didn’t think of yourself, but you didn’t think of her and the little baby you were gonna have together. Your eyes softened at your wife as you placed your hand on her cheek, slowly swiping the tears that fell.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. I’ve should’ve acted more rationally and took in all the factors first. But Jay, even then, I couldn’t let anyone else go out and do something like that.” you whispered to her and she took a deep breath, finally regaining her composure.

“I know. That’s why I fell in love with you for how brave and selfless you are. But sometimes I need you to be less like Superman, don’t be so impulsive please. I need you here.” she whispered back.

You placed a soft kiss to her lips before bringing her in for an embrace, “I’m right here, my love.”

#criminal minds imagines #criminal minds #jennifer jareau imagines #jennifer jareau #jj criminal minds imagines #jj x reader #jj criminal minds

[pan-fangirl-345]

You Have A Visitor!

Summary: Denki needs a boost. Luckily, there’s a visitors day coming up and you, being the loving girlfriend that you are, decide this is a good time to catch up with your boyfriend.

Trigger Warnings: Swearing, because Bakugou, some suggestive thought, and the reader had divorced parents and an alcoholic father, not to mention some low self-esteem. If there’s anything I missed, please tell me!

A/N: I have no idea what the hell made me write this but whatever, I have nothing else better to be doing like the chorus assignment that was due a week ago, and the outline for a paper, and then the actual paper. Oops.

Also, I realized quite belatedly, that I never told you guys that (Y/N) means your full name, both first and last. Sorry about that!

“Hey baby girl,” Denki said, sounding tired.

“Hey, are you okay?” you inquired, flopping onto your bed.

“Yeah, I just got my grades back and I can’t say they’re great. I even studied this time!”

“I’m sure they’re fine, Denki,” you assured him, wishing you could wrap your arms around him.

“I’ve missed you,” he admitted. “It’s been so hard being away from you for this long. And I don’t mean to be clingy, but I could really use a hug from you.”

You could hear it in his voice, he was having a bad day. He was normally very peppy and chipper, but there were days when he just couldn’t muster the energy for it.

“I know Sparky,” you said. “I miss you too. Where’s Kirishima? Can’t he give you a hug?”

“Nah, he’s in the gym with the steel guy from Class B.”

“I was almost 100% sure you were going to say he was with the explosion guy, Bakugou,” you said smiling.

“Can . . . can I FaceTime you?” he inquired softly.

“Of course Denks, I’m honestly a little surprised it took you this long to ask me,” you teased, trying to bring a smile to his face.

“Well, I know how you feel about being on camera.”

“Yeah, but it’s different when I’m talking to you,” you told him.

When he called you again, you answered, smiling at him.

“Hey Denki,” you said.

He looked tired, there were bags under his eyes, and he was flopped against his bed, body riddled with tension.

“Hey love,” he said, giving you a tired smile. “It’s so good to see your adorable face.”

“Right back at you Sparky,” you retorted, smiling at him. “I really wish I was there with you. Maybe I could help.”

“This is helping,” he told you. “Just being able to talk to you.”

“Bad day?”

He nodded, sighing. “I’m sore, I’m tired, I feel like an idiot, and I miss you on top of everything else.”

“I’m sorry, I wish I could see you. When’s the next visitors’ day?” you inquired, moving to look at your calendar.

“Like, two weeks from now, on Saturday. Why?”

“I’m gonna come visit you silly,” you teased, smiling at him. “I have to work that Saturday, but it’s only until noon. I’ll come see you after that, yeah?”

“Seriously? You’re gonna come see me?” he asked, sitting up. Little lines of electricity started to run up his body and you laughed.

“Yeah, course I am Sparky,” you said.

“I can’t wait to see you! And introduce you to my friends! And-”

The lights flickered in his room for a few moments before they turned back on.

“Kaminari!” someone shouted in the distance and he flushed.

“Sorry!” he shouted, making you laugh.

“Did you just short circuit the lights in your dorms?” you questioned.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he said, cheeks bright red.

“It’s okay, it let’s me know that you really are excited to see me,” you told him. “I know that there are a lot of other girls there that are probably prettier than I am.”

“Angel, listen to me,” Denki demanded, making you pause. It was very rare that he ever sounded that serious. “You are beautiful, inside and out, and I would rather spend an hour with you than a hundred years with them, understand?”

“You’re such a sap,” you muttered, suddenly remembering why you loved him so much. “I love you Denks.”

“I love you too, (Y/F/N), don’t ever forget that,” he said, face as serious as you had ever seen it.

“I won’t. Don’t forget that I love you either, alright?”

“I think I can handle that,” he said, flashing you that one million watt smile that you loved to see.

“Good,” you retorted, smiling back at him.

Someone shouted in the background again and Denki sighed.

“I have to go, it’s time for dinner, but I’ll call you again tomorrow night, okay?”

“Okay, I love you Denki Kaminari,” you told him.

“I love you too (Y/N).”

You smiled at him again before you hung up, sighing.

You missed Denki, you really did. It was hard sometimes, dating Denki long distance, even if he was still in the country. He was only about fifteen minutes away, but the security was so tight that it was hard for you to go see him, especially since you worked part time at the local library.

You were proud of him, and you wouldn’t trade him for all the money in the world, but you missed him.

Him and his dumb pickup lines, him and those dumb cat memes he used to send you, him and those awesome hugs whenever you had a bad day.

You had hated Denki when you had first met in middle school. You thought he was immature, way too loud, and you hated how little he paid attention in class.

But then you got paired up for a project and you learned that sometimes Denki didn’t realize he was being loud, or that his quirk was making things go haywire.

Denki had a lot of friends, he made them wherever he went, he was like that, but a lot of the time they were fake. 

You had learned how to help him remember things from class, you were there when he started to get a little too loud, and you were there when he was rejected for the first time.

You remembered tapping his arm whenever his noise level was becoming too much, or kicking him when he was unintentionally making someone uncomfortable, stepping in when someone tried to get him to do something that would get him in trouble.

He had asked you out through your third year of middle school. At first you had thought it was a prank, a dare maybe, but he had been adamant that he really wanted to be with you.

It had been weird at first, neither of you really knowing how this changed things, until you realized that nothing had to change. You could still do what you normally did together, but there was more hand holding and cheesy compliments involved.

He had gotten accepted into U.A., and you had been happy for him, but you would be going to different high schools, and when everything had started to get more dangerous there, you had panicked about Denki. You didn’t get to see him as often, and he had even tried to break up with you, worried about your safety.

But you had worked it out, you had talked about it, you called each other regularly and you sent each other small gifts every now and then when missing each other became almost unbearable.

There were small amounts of time when you worried more than usual, when they had training camps and weren’t allowed to have their phones, or when they had exams and you weren’t there to make sure that he was eating and getting enough sleep, but other than that, your relationship with him was relatively easy, everything considered.

The next two weeks were slow, but talking with Denki ever night made it better than you would’ve thought.

He assured you that his new friends would love you, though you were suspicious about Bakugou, that he wanted you to meet Eri, that everything was going to be fine, and that he couldn’t wait to hug you again.

“C’mon sweetheart, it’ll be fine! The only one you might have to worry about it Mineta, and I can promise that he won’t get anywhere near you,” Denki said, laughing.

“Why hasn’t the school kicked him out yet?” you inquired, nose wrinkled.

“That’s a good question,” Denki admitted. “I guess he just hasn’t done it in front of the teachers enough.”

“I would’ve killed him by now, I feel so bad for the girls that have to deal with him,” you said, shuddering.

“I know you would’ve,” he said, smiling. “But seriously, how was your day?”

“The same as usual, except there was this really cute little girl in the library today who tried climbing the shelves to get to a book she wanted. She was so cute! She got really high up though and I was terrified that she was going to hurt herself.”

He listened to you talk about your day, smiling as you talked.

“I’m really excited to see you tomorrow,” he said when you were done.

“I know, I’m excited too. I can’t wait to see you.”

‘I’ve missed you,” he said, getting a sad look on his face.

“Hey, no sadness remember?” you told him. You wanted so badly to reach out to him, to hold him, to run your hands through his hair while he held you. “I’ve missed you too, but we’re gonna see each other tomorrow. And I promise that I’ll give you as many cuddles as you want.”

“If that’s the case you wouldn’t be leaving the couch,” he said, smiling at you. “If you thought I was clingy before it’s only going to be worse tomorrow.”

“Trust me, if you weren’t clingy, I would be,” you assured him, making him laugh.

“You do realize that no one is going to understand how we’re in a relationship right?”

“Fuck ‘em,” you said. “It’s not really any of their business anyway. It’s a healthy relationship.”

“That’s my girl,” Denki said, smirking.

“You’re gonna be a smug bastard tomorrow aren’t you?” you inquired, making him cackle.

“You had no idea. Most of the squad doesn’t think you exist,” he said. “And when I say that, I mean that only Mina believes me because she walked in on my talking to you one night.”

“We’ll change their opinions tomorrow,” you promised, biting your lip. “I’m really excited to see you tomorrow Denki. It’s been too long.”

“I know! Don’t remind me,” he whined, making you chuckle.

“Do you want me to bring anything with me tomorrow?”

“Just your sparkling personality and enough hugs to hold me over until the time you can visit. And maybe some cupcakes or something, I’m craving sugar,” he muttered, the last part more to himself than to you.

Someone shouted in the background, and Denki sighed. “I have to go, but I love you, and I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

“I love you Denki, sleep well,” you told him.

“You too,” he said, ending the call.

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

Denki couldn’t stop pacing as people streamed into the dorms, trying to find the people they were there to visit. It was only nine, and he was already anxious to see her again.

He kept checking for her (Y/H/C) hair among the sea of people, even though he knew she wouldn’t be there yet.

He had already told his classmates that she was coming to see him today, most of them playing it off as a ploy for attention and sympathy. Both of his parents were working today, so they weren’t coming to see him, and his little sister had had a sleepover the night before and was probably sleeping it off at home with their cat.

(Y/F/N) had texted him that morning and he had been glued to his phone ever since smiling whenever she sent him a funny picture or a reminder of how much she loved him.

Mina had been waiting for months to meet his girlfriend, and while the others didn’t believe she existed, he was going to be proud to show her off.

He wasn’t anxious about seeing her again, he was looking forward to that, but what if she didn’t like his friends? What if they didn’t like her? What if-?

“Denki!”

His head whipped up at the sound of her voice, and he zeroed in on her.

Was he hallucinating? He was hallucinating, right? There was no way she was there-

She ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck, nearly knocking him over.

He definitely wasn’t hallucinating.

“Denki,” she breathed, burying her face in his neck as she twisted her fingers into the back of his t-shirt.

“(Y/F/N), I thought you weren’t coming until noon,” he said, clinging to her.

“I haven’t seen you in like, three months, and that’s all you have to say to me?” she inquired, flashing him that smile that he loved so much as she pulled back a little, just enough to see his face.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, kissing her.

Yeah, he definitely wasn’t hallucinating.

It had been so long since he had touched her, it felt like he had stuck his hand in a fire. She was warm against him and they couldn’t stop smiling at each other between kisses.

“I missed you,” she whispered, burying her hands in his hair.

He slid one hand up her back, touching her face lovingly with the other as they stared at each other, (Y/E/C) eyes meeting amber.

“I missed you too, sweet pea,” he assured her, kissing her again.

“WHAT THE FUCK? FUCKING PIKACHU ACTUALLY HAS A GIRLFRIEND?”

“Shut up Blasty!” Mina hissed, swatting him with her hands.

(Y/F/N) pulled away, cheeks tinged pink as the Bakusquad stared at them.

“You must be Bakugou,” she said, smiling at him. “And, for the record, I’m not a girlfriend, I’m the girlfriend.”

“I told you guys she was real!” Mina shouted, making you laugh.

“It’s nice to meet you all, I’m (Y/N), I’m also Denki’s girlfriend.”

“Clearly,” Sero said, making her chuckle.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you!” Mina said, throwing her arms around (Y/F/N), catching her by surprise, though she hugged back after a moment.

“You must be Mina. It’s so nice to meet you too. I’ve hear so much about all of you.”

“Pikachu, you have some fucking explaining to do,” Bakugou snapped.

“Gladly,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

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

“You know, I never would’ve thought you would have the patience to deal with someone like Kami, (Y/L/N),” Kirishima said.

“What can I say? Apparently I have a soft spot for dumbasses,” you said, making Denki protest.

“I can’t be that bad,” he muttered into your neck.

He hadn’t let go of you since you had arrived, there was an arm around your shoulders or your waist, a hand in yours or on your back, and now he had you seated in his lap, his arms around your waist as he fiddled with your fingers.

“How did you even get here this early? I thought you said you weren’t coming until noon.”

“I told my boss that I was going to see you today and he let me out early so that I could spend more time with you. I don’t know how you got him to like you so much, he hates everyone.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Denki pointed out.

“Yes, but that’s because I actually do my job correctly and because I have more invested in that library than the founder does!” you told him.

“(Y/F/N) really likes to read,” Denki admitted. “It’s one of the reasons she’s so smart.”

“I’m an only child with parents who both had to work a lot before they divorced, I had to find ways to entertain myself when they weren’t home and when they were too busy screaming at each other to pay attention to me,” you muttered.

Denki’s arms tightened around you subconsciously.

He had met both of your parents, and hadn’t taken well to your father, who had a tendency to love alcohol more than he loved you. It had made you a lot harder on yourself than you had to be, and your father had hated Denki from the moment they had met.

He thought your mother was a saint though, and she was for putting up with your father for so long.

“Yikes, that sounds rough,” Sero said.

You shrugged. “When you grow up like I did, it makes you used to certain things. I got used to someone always putting me down. I got used to having to do a lot of things myself. I mean, it sucked, and there was a time when I had a bag packed in my closet, but it made me who I am.”

“You never told me about the bag thing darling,” Denki said, frowning.

“I mean, I was . . . eight or nine I think, long before we were ever even friends,” you told him. You kissed his cheek lightly. “Besides, I never had to use it.”

“I don’t think that’s the point,” Mina chimed in.

You shrugged, then said, “Oh yeah, my mother says hi baby. She would’ve come with me, but she had to work. Speaking of parents, where are yours?”

“Mom and Dad had to work today,” he explained, nuzzling your neck softly.

“Right, they told me that earlier,” you muttered.

“You talk to his parents?” Kirishima asked.

“Well, yeah. I mean, we’ve known each other since middle school. I used to go over to his house all the time. I used to babysit his sister with him. They’ve known me for a while, us dating just helped my relationship with them. Besides, whenever your school gets attacked, I always go over there. Makes me feel like I’m doing something useful.”

“I still can’t believe fucking Pikachu has a girlfriend,” Bakugou grumbled.

“Jealous?” you asked, wrinkling your nose. “Maybe if you acted less like you had rabies girls wouldn’t be so afraid to talk to you.”

“What did you just say to me?” he asked, palms crackling.

“You heard me,” you said, interlacing one of your hands with Denki’s.

“Do you wanna fucking go?” he snarled, standing up.

“Not particularly, I was just giving a suggestion. Do with it what you will,” you told him, melting back into Denki, who sighed contently.

“This is the calmest I’ve ever seen him,” Sero said, staring at Denki in wonder.

“I have that affect on him apparently,” you confessed, running your free hand through his hair. “You haven’t been sleeping well, have you?”

Denki shook his head. “Too many loud thoughts. Feel bad waking you up to deal with it.”

“Baby, that’s what I’m here for, besides, I’m up a lot of the time anyway,” you chided. “Call me, alright? It puts me to sleep too you know.”

“Mmhmm,” Denki mumbled, kissing your shoulder lightly.

“Cute,” you murmured, kissing his forehead. “You can go take a nap you know.”

“Wanna stay with you,” Denki said.

“C’mon baby, up we go,” you whispered, pulling away from him, hauling him up off the couch. “When was the last time you slept through the whole night?”

“Two weeks ago,” he admitted.

“Denki!”

“‘M sorry,” he whispered.

“Come on, you’re taking a nap, even if I have to-” You stopped what you had been about to say.

Tying him to the bed sounded sexual, and so did sleeping with him. Sitting on him just sounded bad.

“Come on Denki,” you told him. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Wanna stay with you,” he repeated.

“I’ll stay with you, alright? Just please, get some sleep,” you said. “Where’s your room?”

He stumbled his way through the halls, leading you to his room where he flopped onto his bed.

“It’s so you,” you told him, looking around.

He made grabby hands for you and you chuckled, climbing under his covers with him.

“Missed you a lot,” he muttered.

“I missed you too,” you told him, burying your hands in his hair as he wrapped his arms around you.

He relaxed again, and you kissed his forehead as he fell asleep, rubbing your hands against his back.

“Love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too Denks,” you murmured, letting your own eyes shut as you listened to his breathing.

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

“Are they still in there?” Sero asked as they made their way to Denki’s room.

“She didn’t leave,” Mina said.

“What the fuck are they doing in there?” Bakugou asked.

“I don’t hear anything,” Kirishima said. “This is really unmanly guys.”

“Open the door,” Mina pushed.

“Guys, no!” Kirishima hissed, but Bakugou had already opened the door.

“Aww,” Sero, Kirishima, and Mina muttered, seeing the two of them tangled together under the covers.

Denki’s arms were tight around her waist as they laid there together, her head tucked under his chin, like he was protecting her.

They all remembered the fierce way she carried herself, the way she would’ve defended him against anyone, even himself.

“They’re gonna get married one day,” Sero said, voicing what everyone was thinking.

“He deserves it,” Bakugou murmured, surprising everyone.

“Come on, let’s leave them be,” Kirishima muttered, closing the door soflty.

#kaminari x reader #kaminari x reader fluff #denki x reader #denki x reader fluff #fluff #what was i thinking

[fandomoverdrive]

Okay I just need to go on a rant about Whirl because I love him he might just be the most tragic character in the entirety of MTMTE and considering the candidates that’s a pretty hard position to cinch. Some of this is gonna have mentions re: self harm, suicidal tendencies/ideation, overall bad coping mechanisms etc so if that’s not your cuppa please scroll on. 

This gets long so here’s the obligatory read more. 

Let’s write “tragic” in flickering neon letters with the fact that Whirl’s first appearance in MTMTE, dropping the titular “how to say goodbye and mean it,” is a personal soliloquy delivered as he’s in the midst of constructing his own funeral pyre. Whirl is lost, directionless, trapped and unwilling to be such in a postwar environment. But how did we get here? 

Whirl is without a doubt a driven character. In the prewar functionist society, he had no qualms switching careers, risks be damned. Whether he’s always had a knack for disobeying authority or was simply driven by passion or both isn’t elaborated on, but he’s got a hell of a hardheaded streak that’s impossible to ignore. When destroying his business wasn’t enough to deter him from further rebellion, the Senate was happy to turn him into an empuratee and destroy not only the opportunity but the capability of continuing to rebel by pursuing his passion. This is what I’d personally consider the big ‘whump’ moment, less so the use and abuse as a pawn that followed but the point of trauma at which we begin to see Whirl’s psyche begin to twist.

From this point forward we see Whirl in and out of prison, let loose when he can be useful to someone else’s ploy and otherwise incarcerated for a buffet of offenses. No longer able to be constructive and having little if any control of his life, Whirl becomes aggressively destructive. In response to having everything he aspired toward ripped away from him, permanently, he builds a mental defense of bitterness and anger and paves over his black hole of self worth with a veneer of outright assholery. It’s here that he bares his metaphorical fangs and pushes - with gusto - anyone who might even suggest they’re trying to appeal to reason or get close to him as an individual. 

It’s hard to imagine, given even subtly different circumstances, that Whirl would not side with the decepticons for the war. While he’s single-handedly responsible for radicalizing Megatron towards violence, the ‘con intent at the start of revolution - that movement in society should be possible and a caste system based on alt mode is unethical - aligns quite nicely with what he’d already aspired to do with his life. His conscription to the side of the autobots is just another instance in which his autonomy is cast aside. 

Whirl is a tool. Whirl had a passion for watchmaking, but now he can’t, so his new passion is violence. Whirl is a gun and someone else has always told him where to point and all he’s ever been given for his cooperation is the blame of pulling the trigger. Whirl is an asshole, Whirl is unpredictable, Whirl isn’t a mech anybody would ever think twice about saving - the answer would always be no. Whirl wants to die. Whirl only wants to die on his own terms and he’ll be damned if he’s going to keel over under the orders of someone he doesn’t respect, for a cause he doesn’t believe in. 

A few years of this sort of treatment would be enough to drive anyone insane, let alone the millennia of warfare he suffered through. Worse yet is the one time he found a group, a team that was known for the unorthodox and taking on the big messy challenges, the Wreckers kicked him out. Whirl was too much for the mechs that were too much and there’s no way in hell that doesn’t still sting. 

That’s how we get here:

Whirl defends himself through isolation from others. He can’t be hurt by others if he never lets them close enough to be hurt by. In a hypersocial society, he has no close long-term friends, he is one of the few with no roommate aboard the Lost Light. He made himself as unpalatable as possible. He’s crass, he’s volatile, he makes it clear with every word and action that Whirl is first, you don’t mean anything, I’d leave you for dead in an instant..... But that’s not true, is it? 

Whirl is shown being completely, dramatically, self-destructively caring throughout the series. Between risking his life for the scraplet colony disguised as a protoform, participating in an untested spark jumpstart to save a life, coming up with a plan to rejuvenate Tailgate’s spark, and performing a spark transplant surgery on Megatron - without whom the world would never have been even a fraction as cruel to Whirl as it had been - Whirl is far from the most selfish character in the series. It’s in his nature, however, to deny such, to the point where he more than likely believes his own narrative that he’s irredeemable, self-absorbed, invincible, degenerate, and neither capable nor deserving of close interpersonal relationships. 

It’s also how we get here:

Whirl is one of the characters that we more frequently see in a state of disrepair. He fights passionately and recklessly, with no regard whatsoever to whether or not he makes it out of a scrum with all his limbs intact. Injuries like these, and those that he experiences elsewhere in the series, would put other mechs out of commission through pain alone, but as long as Whirl is conscious he doesn’t stop until the fight is over. 

As depressing as it is to think that Whirl is simply at this point accustomed to extraordinary pain, it’s even moreso to think about the more likely concept that he wants to be hurt. Whirl doesn’t have control of a lot that happens to him, but do you know what he does have control of? Who he chooses to shit-talk. More often than not we see Whirl being blatantly disrespectful of his superiors, and some of the more dangerous mechs aboard the LL. While obviously his intent when insulting Ultra Magnus isn’t to start a fight, harping on Drift (and subsequently getting cold clocked) or Cyclonus is a little more self-destructive in nature. 

While Whirl has been in therapy, we see during the encounter with Fort Max that he’d shared very little of what he actually considered traumatic with Rung. With no material to work with, Rung wouldn’t have been able to give Whirl instructions or advice as far as a healthy coping mechanism, and so I’m firmly of the belief that Whirl goes out of his way to get himself hurt as a way to have a vague sense of control. 

On his actions and guilt:

Whirl is immensely guilty. When he’s overcharged, he admits that everything feels like his fault - and unfortunately a lot is. Whirl believes he’s the bad guy, and he’s willing to take the fall for actions that others might find immoral. There’s a lot Whirl has done that he’ll likely never forgive himself for, even if he garnered the ability to start forgiving himself for the small things, but the character he’s created for himself has been part of him for so long that it’s near impossible to tell where to draw the line between caricature and his genuine self. 

At this point in time, Whirl is not capable of improving himself without external assistance. 

He has accepted (however wrongfully) that he is not cared about, trusted, wanted, or respected. 

His assumptions become self-fulfilling prophecy as he - consciously or not - works to perpetuate his image. Whirl is a dick, he’s unfazed by anything anyone says about him, if someone is insulting him they’re probably right, why bother arguing unless it’s with the intent to get in a fight? He doesn’t pay attention to others, he doesn’t pay attention to himself, nothing that anybody could say could possibly make a difference. 

Right? Right?

Wrong. Part of what makes Whirl so heart-wrenchingly tragic is that it is so incredibly clear that nobody has ever told him he mattered. Rodimus throws out what could be interpreted as a snide remark, “even the crazy bastard makes a difference,” and that aside sticks with him. Millions of years of warfare, of being a tool to use, an expendable soldier, a rabid dog to throw at their enemies, and not once did someone turn around and say he was anything good. He’s been thanked for saving lives, for contributions, for individual acts, but his reaction to Rodimus really cements in my mind that nobody has ever said that he, that Whirl, was important. 

Whirl is a broken character. He’s subsumed by his own self-hatred that he perpetuates and justifies with a mask of cruel indifference and aggressively abrasive snark. He’s alone, by what he thinks is his own choice but is really a horribly misguided attempt to keep himself safe. He’s got no potential for growth unless someone wants to force their way through his defenses in order to help him find the line between who he is and who he pretends to be in order to keep from being hurt. Whirl is terrified of abandonment, and guarantees that nobody will ever be able to leave him by never letting them come close to begin with. He’s not a good person, he’s violent and callous and has little regard for the consequences of his actions, but he is that way because of the life he was forced to lead. He falls into consistent patterns because he craves control, even if those patterns are self destructive. It’s proof of the little growth he was allowed during the course of MTMTE/LL that after their quest was over, he didn’t attempt suicide again but instead got into the revolving door of incarceration for petty offenses. 

All in all, Whirl is one of the saddest characters in any media I’ve consumed and please someone get this despicable bastard helicopter a new therapist and a stiff drink 

#maccadam #whirl #mtmte whirl #character analysis #transformers

[grumpyhedgehogs]

Compartmentalization

Ada Wong tries to keep her work as a mercenary far fro her private life--and very, very far away from her secret girlfriend, Claire Redfield. Her clients don't know about Claire, Claire doesn't know about her clients, and Ada likes it that way.

Raccoon City blows that all to hell.

Or: Resident evil 2 if Ada and Claire were girlfriends before the game started.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, guns, blood, death, spoilers.

AO3.

~

“You,” Ada tells the zombie lurching after her, “are ruining my date.”

The zombie gurgles on its own blood and Ada dispatches it with minimal disgusted grunting. To be fair, he isn’t actually interrupting her date--that honor goes to the mission as a whole. Damn it, but she’d promised she’d take Claire out on a road trip to celebrate her finishing her final exams this year. Well, Ada would let Claire take her on a road trip, because Ada Wong did not do long sweaty hours stuck in a car in traffic with nothing to do. Long sweaty hours stuck to Claire on the back of her girlfriend’s bike? Now that Ada could do.

But she isn’t doing that, and it is entirely her client’s fault. “ Capitalism ,” Ada spits, echoing Claire’s voice in her head. Against her better judgement, she feels the corners of her mouth lift. Smiling about a girl even when she’s alone? God, she’s hopeless. “Get a grip , Wong. That sample has to be around here somewhere.”

~

“You’re FBI?”

“Yes,” Ada snaps testily, folding her fake badge up and slipping it back into her coat pocket. “And you're interrupting a private investigation.”

The cop frowns, eyes darting to the dog’s body on the concrete two feet from his face and the blood spatters on the walls. Any second now, another dead body might smash its way through another wall and be upon them. His thoughts are written clear across his face-- there’s a few better things for them to worry about than an investigation.

The guy is a rookie, through and through. His face is open and unlined. While he’s healthy and unscathed, he’s also obviously awkward in such a life-threatening situation. He’s never done this before, never brushed with death on the daily. He looks like a kicked puppy. Ada’s almost tempted to put him down right here and now, just to save him the pain and herself the trouble.

Claire would be pissed if she ever found out. Not that she would, but still. She’d want to know the cop’s name and where he’s from and how he got here. Claire would want to help him.

(Claire was never supposed to factor into Ada’s decision making. She was supposed to be a fling, someone to take the edge off and help Ada destress a little between missions. She wasn’t supposed to wriggle her way into Ada’s head, wasn’t supposed to slip through the chinks of Ada’s armor, and yet, here Claire is. She's with Ada without even being present. Claire is somehow essential for Ada to continue living. Love, Ada thinks, is a bitch .)

“Right,” Ada grumbles, and pulls her sunglasses off. He seems more comfortable when he can see her eyes, even if Ada rolls them as he releases the tension from his shoulders. “We’d better work together here.”

~

“This isn’t a game!” Ada snaps. Leon bristles but subsides.

“I know, alright? There were so many more of us--survivors--before, and now…”

His eyes are far away and Ada snorts. “Don’t worry, Rookie, I’m sure whatever little girlfriend you have got the hell out of town. Which is what you should be doing.”

His mouth falls open but he doesn’t look like he’s on the brink of tears anymore, so Ada considers it a win. Hysterics are the last thing she needs right now. No, what Ada needs right now is a goddamn breakthrough with this mission if she wants to go home in one piece. “She’s not my--”

“Yeah, yeah, save it. You know that’s twice I’ve saved your ass now?”

“I didn’t realize you were keeping score.”

~

“We need to terminate her before she turns.”

The words taste like ash in her mouth. Leon shifts anxiously beside her. Ada feels bile rise in her throat. She used to be able to hold her gun up without her trigger finger trembling.

(What would Ada do if it were the one person she cares about half-dead and turning?)

“Ada...Leave them be,” Leon murmurs.

She lowers the gun and resolutely does not think about Claire's skin going grey.

~

If she gets out of this, Ada Wong is going to absolutely tear her client apart for sending her into this mess. No sample is worth listening to Leon drone on about all the people he’s worried about.

“What about you?” Leon looks up from rummaging through a safe box for ammunition. Ada hums, tapping at the keyboard in front of her. They seem to be just above the Umbrella building she needs to get into; if they call the tram, they should be down there in just a few minutes. “Do you have anyone you’re here for?”

“No.” Thank God. Claire is still back on the coast, waiting in her dorm room for Ada to come back from her “last minute work trip.” She’d promised Ada she would wait for her to come back before starting her road trip, so they could go together. Ada’s been hoping to get some of her own research done before she gets back to Claire anyway; something about Claire’s brother disappearing into radio silence in this very city rubs her very much the wrong way. Claire could be walking straight into a trap. So yeah, maybe there was an ulterior motive for Ada taking this mission, if only to scout ahead and save her girlfriend the trouble of getting herself killed by the dead.

Good thing she has Ada to look after her.

“Oh. Well, that’s good, I guess. No family? Friends?”

“I’m here for the mission, Leon.”

Ada’d almost left him for dead many times; what good would he do her? Leon’s been an unexpected boon in the city, but he’ll run out of usefulness eventually. They all do. (But Claire would like him. He’s got the same fire. Ada settles for muttering darkly to herself about how soft she’s becoming for one redhead with a temper.)

“Yeah,” he concedes glumly. Damn it, it looks like the tram is manually operated; they’ll have to get down to the platform to power it up; Ada can’t call it to them from here. She’s so busy fuming she almost misses his next comment. “Still, there are innocent people in this city who are going to need our help to get out of this mess. Like the girl I came here with. I hope she’s found her brother…”

What? No.  

No, it can’t be. There are so many people living--or undead, now--in Raccoon City. Claire is at college, a million miles away, and she’s smart. She wouldn’t come out to the middle of nowhere in the Midwest in the middle of the night after Ada asked her not to. She’s safe.

(She’s safe. She has to stay safe, because Claire is just about the only thing Ada has that isn’t part of her cover. She’s Ada’s . Ada’s to love, Ada’s to spoil, Ada’s to annoy, Ada’s to protect. She’s got to be safe.)

(But that doesn’t stop Ada’s blood from running cold. How many missing brothers can Raccoon City boast?)

~

Leon passes out from his wounds. The Claire voice in the back of her head won’t let Ada leave him to die; her stomach curdles at the thought of Claire finding out what she’s done, how ruthless Ada can really be. So Ada gives him her coat and resolves not to let herself think about how soft she’s getting until she’s curled up in the apartment no one but Claire knows about with a certain pretty redhead under her arm.

Ada ends up with a shard of scrap metal through her leg for going to the trouble of helping Leon.

Typical.

~

The rookie, to his credit, does come to save her. His face screws up when she gets up to limp her way to the tram with him but Ada shakes off his desperate attempts to help. She’s tired of this: she’s tired of being dirty and grimy, she’s tired of gunshots and blood spatter, she’s tired of not finishing her mission on time, and she’s tired of worrying about what Claire must be thinking right about now.

Claire isn’t even here!

(She’s tired of ignoring the increasingly loud thought that if Claire weren’t safe Ada would lose her mind.)

The tram is grey and drab and the most comfortable, safest place she’s been in since coming to this godforsaken city. Ada slumps gratefully into her seat and lets Leon fuss at her on the ride down. Her leg aches, pain radiating up the base of her spine and pulsing at the back of her skull. (What if the wound is infected-- )

Leon is still so young, a puppy dog through and through. It’s too easy to convince him to bring her the virus with a kiss.

(Thank God Claire isn’t here.)

(Her handler told her there’s another way to get the G-Virus if Leon can’t do the work for her, but even for Ada it’s distasteful. Sherry Birkin is as old as Emma was, and if she couldn’t pull the trigger when Emma was clearly dying, could she trust herself to do it when faced with a perfectly healthy little girl?)

~

Leon pulls a gun on her. Fantastic. Will this mission ever fucking end?

“Leon, please! We don’t have a lot of time--”

“As much as I wanted to trust you,” Leon snaps, scowling, “I didn’t.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Ada mutters to herself. Leon’s eyes don’t widen when her gun raises to match his. The facility shakes around them and the walkway rumbles beneath their feet. Ada curses whatever possessed her to wear heels tonight.

“Hey!” A voice that sends ice through her veins shouts from behind the man Ada has lined up in her sights. Leon’s shoulders are too broad to glimpse around, but she must have heard wrong, it can’t be--

“Whoever you are, you’d better get moving, this place is about to blow!”

Not taking his eyes off of her, Leon turns his head. “Claire?”

“Wha--Leon?��

“ No. ” Ada whispers, numb.

“Claire, get out of here!”

Claire is here. Claire didn’t listen to her. Claire came to Raccoon City to find her brother. Claire isn’t safe. Claire is coming up to stand shoulder to shoulder with Leon, eyes wide and darting between the two of them.

Claire sees Ada.

“Ada?” Claire jolts forward before curling a hand around Leon’s uninjured shoulder. “Leon, don’t hurt her! I know her--”

“No you don’t.” Leon says. Something deep in Ada’s core is shivering. Her throat has locked up, the muscles there spasming. Her mind is blank. How can this be happening? Claire isn’t supposed to be here. She isn’t supposed to see Ada like this. She isn’t supposed to know . “You may think you know her, Claire, but she’s a liar. I bet you think she’s FBI, huh?”

“I…” There’s a clang and a small, childish squeak and Claire whirls around, throwing out her hand. Behind her, a blonde girl Ada only saw in photographs before dropping into the city huddles on the nearest platform. “S-stay back! We’ll--let us just sort this out and then we’ll get out of here.”

Of course. Claire wouldn’t have left without trying to save a kid. This stupid, reckless, noble woman. (Ada loves her so , so much, so much that it makes her sick.)

“She isn’t FBI.” Leon spits, his eyes sparking. Ada sneers at him as best she can while her world turns upside down. Her feet are frozen to the floor even as it rolls beneath them. “She’s a mercenary and a liar. She tried to trick me into giving her the G-Virus so she can sell it to the top bidder.”

“No, no, you’re--you’ve got to be wrong.” Claire turns and her eyes are so green and wide and Ada can feel her heart cracking in her chest. “Ada, tell him he’s wrong. You’re not--you’re here to help, right? You’re here to help me.”

“Yes,” Ada says, but it scraps at the lining of her throat on the way up, comes out mangled and false. She’s never been this bad a liar before. But she’s got to keep trying; she’s hanging onto a ledge by her fingertips and if Claire turns from her, if she goes away, Ada will have nothing left to hold on to. Nothing matters now, not the G-Virus or Leon and his gun or the mission or the city set to explode around them. Nothing matters but Claire’s green eyes staring uncertainly into her own. ”Yes, that's right, Claire. I--I had to cut work short and I was worried you’d gone ahead to Raccoon City without me--”

“That’s a lie! Claire, she’s never once mentioned you. She’s only been lying to you. She wasn’t on a work trip before she got here, she came here for the virus and nothing else. Did you tell Claire you were FBI too, Ada? Or did you save that one for me?”

“Claire, who are you going to believe?” Ada asks, desperation clawing at her veins. But Claire’s gaze has shifted to the blood drops Ada can feel flaking against the skin of her cheeks and chest, to the gun in her hands she’s holding too steadily not to be trained in firearms. Claire’s always been too smart for her own good. “Your girlfriend or some rookie cop who’s in too far over his head and snapped under the pressure?”

“Sure didn’t seem like you had a girlfriend when you kissed me.”

“Shut up!”

She can’t be losing her cool like this. It’s dangerous, and while Ada likes danger, it’s also stupid. An amatuer move. How has she fallen this far?

Claire reels back a step. “Wh--what?”

“It’s not what you think,” Ada switches tactics. Denial isn’t working. But if she can twist this back around on Leon, maybe Claire will listen to her long enough for Ada to get them out of here. She can call her extraction team and, provided she’s snagged the virus off of either Leon or Sherry, hold it for ransom so they’ll let her take Claire to safety too. She’s in a rush, though, and getting sloppier by the second. In moments they won’t have a walkway to stand on as the NEST tumbles down around them. “I just needed to get to you as fast as possible. I’d do anything for you Claire.” (She really, really would.) “Let’s--let’s just take Sherry and go. Leon can keep the virus, I only wanted to make sure it was destroyed to protect you, but he can keep it if I know you’re with me and safe. Come on, get Sherry and we can leave.”

She knows as soon as she stops talking, breath bated, that she’s said the wrong thing. Claire takes tone, two, three slow steps back. “I never told you Sherry’s name.” Claire says quietly.

Leon speaks then, chiming in with more incrimination and defamation and any other accusation he can hurl at Ada, but it doesn’t matter. Ada can see the light that’s gone out of Claire’s eyes, can see the poison spreading through her mind like black veins. She’s adding up the late nights, the strange bruises, the way Ada is squirrely about work, all the times she’s used kisses and sex as distraction on Claire before. Damn Kennedy and his big mouth. Ada never should have saved him.

The three of them waver there on the precipice. Ada’s gun does not lower and neither does Leon’s. Claire doesn’t blink, her eyes never leaving Ada's, her face crumpled and confused and war-torn. Ada stares back, holding her gaze as if through sheer force of will she can make all of this stop happening, as if she could smooth this all over if she just keeps looking into Claire's eyes. For a second, no one moves, no one speaks.

The NEST makes their choice for them, though, as it crumbles, blocks of concrete crashing into their walkway and the platforms beyond. Sherry screams. Claire is thrown against the railing and Ada’s gun spirals out of her hands as the metal below her begins to give way. Ada almost screams herself when the floor really does disappear and her feet meet open air. Only Leon’s quick reflexes stop her from falling.

Her heart breaks open, a hot wave of something too strong to be sadness and too sweet to be defeat when Claire stumbles away. The redhead looks back once, a long, lingering look that Ada feels all the way down to her bones. Claire hesitates; Ada sees her shifting on the balls of her feet, moving to take a single step back towards where Ada dangles from Leon's fingertips. For the first time in a long time, Ada isn't sure of what Claire is thinking.

Sherry screams again. Claire's mouth opens and even though Ada can't hear over shrieking metal and growing fires, the sob Claire lets out shakes her to her core. Then Claire bundles the little girl into her arms and turns from her.

Ada looks up at Leon, who sweats and shakes and holds onto her for dear life not even a second after threatening to kill her.

“Take care of Claire for me,” Ada tells him, and lets go.

~

Later, holding on to the rope ladder swinging from the extraction helicopter her client sent for her, Ada wonders how long she’ll have to wait before she meets Claire Redfield again. If Ada has it her way, it won’t be long.

#resident evil #re2 #resident evil 2 #resident evil games #resi #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil fic #claire redfield #ada wong #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #ada x claire #clada #claire x ada #blood and violence #guns #violence #zombies #death #resi spoilers #resident evil 2 spoilers #biohazard

[ayoitsnic]

Crowley x Reader x Lucifer

Part 1

*Based loosely around 12x15 but Ramsey kills Gwen and gets away

Word Count: 2.6k

Trigger Warnings: Injured animal? Idk? If you think something should be added to the TW list drop a comment or DM me

Summary: Humans aren’t supposed to see hellhounds, so what happens when y/n finds an injured hellhound and brings it home to care for? 

*Disclaimer* Lucifer will be introduced in the 2nd part which should be up by Saturday 4/3/2021

It was almost midnight when y/n got off of work. She was exhausted after her shift at Regional West Medical Center in Nebraska. As she trudged through the parking lot to her old, beat up 2002 Suzuki she couldn’t help but feel eyes on her, like something was watching her from out in the darkness. Fumbling with her keys she turned to unlock the driver’s side car door (The remote to unlock the door was broken. The car could only be opened with the actual key.), only to freeze in place when she felt the hot breath and heard the heavy breathing of some sort of animal behind her. “Dear god, please let it be my overactive imagination.” she prayed silently, knowing it was no use. Whatever stood behind her was very much real.

Very slowly she turned to face whatever it was that was sniffing her, her keys moving between her middle and ring finger in case she needed to defend herself. Instead of being met with what she thought for sure would be a small bear or a rabid coyote, she was met with a very large dog. A very large dog that looked like it had been through absolute hell. Its fur was matted and caked with dried mud and dirt, and it was covered with cuts and what she naturally assumed was its own blood. It was hard to tell through the thick, matted fur but it also looked very underweight. “Oh you poor baby….” Y/n’s heart melted upon seeing the creature.

Obviously the dog had been out on its own for a very long time. Y/N took pity on it. It seemed so sad, and it didn’t appear rabid or vicious. It looked like it just wanted help. Reluctantly she reached down to check for a collar. There was a collar but it was in a foreign language. One she’d never seen before. Unlocking the back of the car she coaxed the dog in with some leftover food she had from her lunch break. She knew the poor thing must be starving. Being hurt it took a little help getting in. Little did she know how dangerous that dog really was or that there was a man out right now searching for it.

The K-9, which y/n decided to call (Dog’s name) had fallen asleep on the car ride home, snoring softly over the radio that was playing some Green Day song. Pulling into the driveway, (Y/N) stopped the car and turned off the radio. Almost on queue (dog’s name) looked up to see where they were. A light was on outside, illuminating a large porch (Which could probably use a new paint job, if we’re being honest) with 2 rocking chairs, a small table and a plethora of healthy, brightly colored plants. She picked up the injured dog and carried it inside, planning on taking it to the vet in the morning to see if it was microchipped.

She was going to let the dog sleep in the basement for the night, unsure if it would destroy the house or not. She remembered her aunt’s German Shepherd who took pleasure in tearing up sofas, and eating her plants. The dog also really needed a bath and she didn’t want it on the furniture until it got one. Unfortunately around 3:30 am, y/n felt a dip in the bed and then something making itself comfy by her feet. Looking over, she found the dog curled up in bed with her. Way too tired to deal with it now, and knowing she had to wash the sheets anyway she just fell back asleep let the dog stay with her so long as it stayed at the foot of the bed.

~

The next morning, Y/N got up early to go to the pet store and get stuff for the dog. She called up the local vet, making an appointment, she washed the sheets, and most importantly she began trying to wash (Dog’s name). At first the dog resisted, wanting absolutely nothing to do with the water. Y/N knew exactly how to deal with this though. Placing a glob of peanut butter on the side of the tub to keep the dog preoccupied, (Dog’s name) happily entered the bathtub. A trick y/n had learned from that aunt with the poorly behaved German Shepherd. By the time y/n was done with the dog she’d had to drain and refill the tub 3 times before she gave up and kept it drained, just using the shower head. She couldn’t believe how much blood and dirt had come off this dog.

Around 2pm the doorbell rang and this dog who was once so sweet, albeit a bit skittish turned into an absolute beast. Running to the door, loud deep barks and growls left it. The dog seemed ready to tear the stranger on the other side of the door to shreds. It was almost like it had turned into a completely different dog. “(Dog’s name)!!!” Y/n shouted as she raced down the stairs after it, hoping to get to the door before the dog did. “NO!!!” She yelled. Even hurt and underweight, (Dog’s name) was really big. If it wanted to break that door, it probably could. Without thinking, Y/n quickly grabbed the dog by the collar to stop it. “I said no!” She told her firmly with a pointed finger. The dog whined, tail between its legs as it hurried back up the stairs to the bedroom to do that thing dogs do when they roll around on the rug to dry themselves.

The front door had a glass window looking out so y/n could see the stranger. He was short, and wore a nice suit. He seemed only slightly concerned about the interaction. The man didn’t even flinch as the massive hound lunged itself at him. It seemed like this was a normal day for him. Actually, he seemed more unnerved after she called the dog off. Opening the door, y/n apologized profusely for the dog “I am so sorry about the dog! I-” Before she could continue, the man squinted at her, clearly confused about something. “What are you?” He questioned in an English accent.

“Hellhounds? Really?” She questioned with a quirked eyebrow and a small grin, crossing her arms and constantly turning to keep facing the man. It was obvious she didn’t believe him.

Obviously his question confused y/n as she gave him a look of confusion back “What do you mean ’what are you?’” She stepped out onto the porch, closing the door behind her “I'm human”

“Yes, really.” The man continued, as serious as a heart attack “You especially shouldn’t be able to control that bitch. I’ve only ever known one person to be able to control Ramsey and you and not that person.”

“Oh really? And who might that person be then?” Y/n asked, beginning to think this was some elaborate prank being played on her by a friend or coworker.

Remembering what the demon said about her being able to control the hound, y/n gave it a shot. Raising a hand she firmly commanded “Ramsey stay.” Not only did the dog stop dead in her tracks, she laid down and waited for further orders. Now most people would be a little freaked out by this; finding a hellhound that they didn't know was a hellhound, and now being visited by a demon sent to collect said hound. Y/n however wasn’t afraid. Actually she kind of got a Déjà vu feeling at this.

“No you can’t be. Humans can’t see hellhounds, much less control them.” Normally Crowley would just collect the demonic hound and leave, with humans being none the wiser that the rogue canine was even there, but not only did this woman know the hellhound was there, she was taking pretty good care of it. Even stranger, the dog was letting her care for it. There was something different about this woman, something special. He just wasn’t sure what it was yet. Crowley circled y/n, inspecting her. He was trying to find any indication of her not being human.

“Lucifer.” Crowley responded

At that, y/n was done. “Look pal, I don’t know what kind of kool-aid you’re drinking but I’m not buying it. Now’s the part where I tell you to get off my property.” she turned to go back inside, closing and locking the door behind her. As she turned to head upstairs though, Crowley was standing right behind her, his eyes red. She let out a screech, jumping as far back as she could (Which wasn’t far as the door was right behind her). Again, the dog that the demon in front of her called ‘Ramsey’ came running to her defense.

~

“The name’s Crowley. King of hell.” He introduced himself “May I ask who you are?”

“Y/n y/l/n.” she responded before telling him “Queen of this house.” This was crazy. Y/n was standing in her entryway conversing with a demon king. “Could I offer you tea ‘your highness’? Maybe Coffee?" she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she addressed Crowley as 'your highness' She wasn’t gonna hand over the dog so easily, and something told her the demon wouldn’t be leaving without Ramsey.

“.....Who are you?” Y/n asked the man

Y/n and Crowley sat in her kitchen, sipping tea and chatting. “Why aren’t you afraid of me?” The demon who sat across from y/n questioned “Most people would run, or beg for mercy if a demon showed up at their doorstep. Not invite them in for a drink.”

~

If it weren’t for the fact that y/n could sick Cujo on him at any moment, Crowley wouldn’t be being so patient with her. He wouldn’t be trying to convince her to send the dog to her death. “I’m sorry but I can’t let you take that dog back.” Y/n told Crowley. For some reason she felt bonded to that dog, with the overwhelming need to protect her.

“I’m afraid I must insist. She’s dangerous and unpredictable. It’s for the best that she be put down. She’s killed a lot of people who weren’t on hell’s hit list while she was topside.” Crowley explained “A pup like that out and about isn't good for business. It makes it look like I’m not in control.”

“Do you want me to beg for mercy?” Y/n asked with a smirk and a small, dry chuckle. “Sorry but you’re not very scary so forgive me if I’m quaking in my shoes.” She would never be seen begging for mercy. Not in a million years.

“I thought you were the king down there.” Y/n questioned “A king answers to no one. You could turn, walk right out that front door, and pretend she vanished. That you weren't able to find her. Or you could go back and tell your people she attacked you and you killed her. Besides, you’re a demon. You don’t really care about the people she’s killed, do you?” Y/n definitely cared and felt bad, she just didn’t believe Crowley did.

“The Winchester’s. They hunt monsters. Vampire’s, werewolves, demonkind, et cetera.” Crowley explained “They’re ruthless, and if they find out that dog is here they will show up and kill her. Painfully. If you hand her over I promise her death will be a painless and merciful one.” Of course he would make the boys sound worse than they were. In reality they’d kill it as quick as possible if they could. He’d say anything to get her to give up Ramsey. 

“Of course I don’t, but some hunters I know care a lot about the people that were killed. If I don’t collect this dog, they’ll come and collect her for me and they’ll be far less inclined to sit and chat over hot beverages.” Crowley explained

“Tell me about these hunters.” Y/n asked, genuinely interested. "I assume you're not referring to people who shoot buck in their free time."

“Let them come.” Y/n spoke after quietly mulling over what was just told to her. Whether she was underestimating these hunters or just didn’t believe what Crowley was telling her he was unsure. “She may be in a weakened state now but she’ll get better. She’ll get stronger and when she does I’ll be the only one who can stop her. If they show up, I’ll be ready and they’ll have to go through me. When they get through me, she’ll be ready for them too.”

“Y/n I know you think-” Y/n cut off the demon king, her patience wearing thin. She had all the leverage she needed in this situation and she knew it “You said I was the only one who could control her. Now I don’t know how or why that is, but that means there’s nothing stopping me from sicking the dog on you. If she really is as vicious and dangerous as you claim she is, I would be afraid of the one person who can send her after you. I’m telling you to walk away. I’m giving you an out. I strongly suggest you take it.”

Thinking about it later though, she was actually kind of sexy. She knew she held the power and the leverage in that situation and she knew how to use it. Not only that but she was bold enough to try and intimidate not just any king, but the King of Hell. And she didn’t need to raise her voice once while doing it. She was clearly a strong, intelligent, woman. He liked that.

~

After he was gone, y/n was in fact a little freaked out. If there was a hell that meant there was a heaven. Would she be going to hell just for harboring this animal? And better question; how do you even properly care for a hellhound? She imagined it would be a lot different from taking care of your average, run of the mill Pitbull.

Crowley stood his ground, calling her bluff. He didn’t believe she would actually do it. “Ramsey!” Y/n called “Ramsey c’mere girl!” she whistled as the Hellhound came barreling from upstairs “Ramsey, hurry up! Go get him! Get the demon!” Y/n told Ramsey in the same sickeningly sweet baby voice most humans use to talk to animals they find cute. Before she could get to him though, Crowley had disappeared into thin air.

After hours spent searching on the internet y/n got her first lead. Okay so it wasn’t really a lead. It was more of an idea. It’s not like she could just log onto wikipedia and pull up a page on 'How to take care of a Hellhound'. She did however find instructions for summoning and trapping a crossroads demon. She didn’t realize there were different types of demons but to her, a crossroads demon was still a demon so good enough right?

Late that night y/n put Ramsey in the car with her and drove to the nearest crossroads. Spray painting a ‘devils trap’ in the road she buried a box in the center. It contained a photo of her, some graveyard dirt, and the bone of a black cat. No, she didn’t go out and kill a cat. She was able to get that from a wiccan shop on the outskirts of town.

After burying the box, she stood and read the incantation she had written on a scrap of paper “Daemon, esto subjecto voluntati meae!” She waited a moment and when nothing happened she thought she might've gotten a word wrong. That was until she heard a woman speak behind her “What can I do for you tonight?”

Jumping a bit she turned to face the demon. “I just need some information.”

.....To be continued....

#Crowley #Crowley x Reader #Lucifer #Lucifer x Reader #Supernatural #x reader #Female reader

[logical-little-lies]

Coloring and Close Bonds- Agere!AU (part 42)

A/N: Hi! This is a shorter no-little-side chapter to help advance the plot. It is like, necessary to the overarching plot so...but it is cute! Platonic Virgil and Emile Rights. Anyways, the next chapter will be a filler probably focusing around little!Emile and cg!Remy, so y'all can see how I write them.

--

Of course, Emile suggested that they should hang out outside of work so that they could possibly be friends again. And the core sides didn't want to say no, so here they were, watching Disney.

They had to choose the thing that could trigger any of their headspace. It's like they knew and were purposely making it worse for them. It was a million times harder to repress your headspace when you were used to regressing whenever.

Roman silently cuddled into Virgil's side, Virgil wrapping his arm around him. "Not to be rude or anything, but are you two dating?" Remy asked. Virgil nodded, as if this fact was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Have been for a while," Roman scoffed.

"Sorry, we haven't been around to know..." Emile let Remy wrap his arm around him.

"Oh my god, you two are dating!" Patton realized.

"Obviously," Remy turned his head, kissing Emile's cheek softly. "And I'm assuming you and the nerd are too?"

"That nerd is my boyfriend," Patton defended.

This whole interaction heavily shifted the vibe from tense to romantic. They avoided regressing by constantly talking to their partner and being cute. It was just a coincidence that most of the sides paired off when the Neutral Sides weren't speaking with them.

They'd soon find out that there was one other similarity between the three of their relationships, and it wasn't a romantic one.

--

Virgil was scrolling on his phone when he heard a knock at his door. He knew that Remy and Emile were there, but he assumed they were still having their meetings. But he was proven wrong when he swung open the door to see Emile.

"Hey?" he sounded confused, subtly attempting to block his view into the bedroom due to all the baby stuff practically lying around.

"Hey! Um, I was only needed for part of the meeting...my job is a shared one, after all. Mostly there to fix conflict but there wasn't any. I was wondering if I could hang out with you until it was over?"

"Uh, sure," Virgil shrugged. He didn't dislike Emile, at all. It was just awkward, because he knew there was a point where Emile disliked him, and some part of him brain told him that those feelings were still there, and that he was only being nice because he had too.

Like he could read his anxious thoughts, Emile started to reassure him. "Me and Remy owe you a huge apology. I'm sorry that we treated you so badly when you were a dark side...we should've known to just wait until you adjusted-"

"When I first came to live here, I pushed everyone away. Including you. I treated you badly, and you got away from that." Virgil interrupted him. "But you're right, once I adjusted, everything got better. Things changed and we changed, right?"

Emile smiled. "Yeah, exactly. Apology accepted?"

"Yeah, apology accepted." Virgil smiled back at him.

"Can I come in?" Emile asked, trying to look around him.

"We can't hang out in here!" Virgil denied quickly, stepping forward and shutting his door behind him. Emile seemed shocked, and a bit hurt that he wasn't allowed, but he nodded slowly.

"You deserve privacy. We can go to the living room and do something."

Virgil nodded, following him to the commons. They both took a seat, sitting in an awkward silence until Emile attempted to start a conversation. "So...what do you like doing, Virgil?" Emile asked. Virgil thought about how to phrase his response, trying to avoid mentioning his more childish hobbies.

"I go online a lot, and I watch movies and stuff. I don't know, I just spend a lot of time with the others..." he mumbled. "You?"

"Same, mostly. I'm the therapist in the village so that's what I've been busying myself with, keeping all of Thomas's characters and figments happy and healthy. I also just spend a lot of time with Remy." Emile shrugged.

"When did you and Remy start dating? Has that been like, a long term thing or is it new?"

"Long term, I guess. We've been together for a few months," Emile tried not to go into detail here. Remy was his caregiver, and he was his, and in order to avoid mentioning that, he'd have to stick to the romantic parts of their relationship. "What about you and Roman? How did that happen?"

"Things were complicated between everyone due to the dark sides getting involved with everything, so all of us were stressed. I started spending more time with Roman and then it just kinda...happened? Logan and Patton got together just before we did..." Virgil explained. Emile smiled.

"I'm glad you guys are so happy. It's nice knowing that you guys are closer then you were before. You guys also made friends with the Dark Sides, which is cool." Emile seemed kinda tense at that, biting his lip.

"Are you- are you scared of the dark sides?" Virgil questioned.

Emile shrugged. "They're kinda mean, or at least...they were."

"They're getting better about that. I won't let them treat you or Remy badly, just don't assume that they haven't changed."

Emile nodded quickly, the two falling into silence. How come this was so awkward? "Do you have crayons and coloring books?" Emile asked.

Coloring always helped him calm down. Remy would often sit him down and have him color after throwing a fit or getting frustrated while little. It seemed like an odd punishment, but he'd calm down after a few minutes and would be able to talk to Remy about whatever happened.

He thought that maybe, if he distracted himself with coloring, talking to Virgil might be easier.

"I mean- yeah, but why?" Virgil immediately seemed skeptical, not knowing what he was planning.

"I thought it'd give us something to do besides sit in silence when we run out of things to talk about..." Emile explained. Virgil didn't know how to object that, nodding a bit.

"Okay, I'll go find them." he agreed.

He came back a few minutes later with a stack of coloring books and a box of crayons. "You guys have a lot of coloring books," Emile chuckled, moving down from the couch to the floor as Virgil cleared the coffee table, spreading out the books and setting down the box of crayons.

"There's definitely more." Virgil assured, moving to sit next to Emile on the floor.

"Why do you have so many?" he claimed a Lilo and Stitch book, flipping through it. Virgil paused, not being able to come up with words.

"Is it an anxiety thing? Because coloring helps me too," Emile suggested, after a few moments of Virgil trying to come up with an excuse. Emile realized that his question might've been a little personal.

"Y-yeah, something like that." Virgil laughed it off, picking out a book.

As they colored and gossiped, they both somewhat repressed a headspace that felt so easy to slip into. Coloring really did help the awkwardness though.

If they ran out of things to say, Emile would compliment Virgil's crayon skills and that would fade into another train of conversation. When they fell into silence, it was because they were focused on drawing, and it didn't feel weird. They remained big by talking about anything and everything. Their boyfriends, their jobs, things that have happened.

They both had to avoid any stories that involved themselves or another side being little. Little did they know, they were both hiding the same thing. Eventually they'd figure everything out, but for now, they were stuck in a loop of keeping secrets uselessly.

--

It was frustrating hiding the little part of their lives, but they eventually got used to Remy and Emile being around. The Dark Sides even hung out with them. For the first time in a long time, it really felt like all the sides were united. There were some tensions, sure.

Like Janus being jealous of Roman, due to the prince replacing him in his only sacred spot of being Virgil's caregiver.

Like Remus trying to adjust to his regression without Remy and Emile finding out,

Like everyone trying to hide this 'secret' from each other.

But overall, they were getting along well. Thomas was doing much better managing his love life when the whole Romance Committee was there to help. Virgil attended meetings now, he deserved to have a say in that too. Everyone sort of apologized to each other about the sides previously being so divided.

It was almost like the labels of Core, Dark, and Neutral didn't matter anymore. They were just technicalities, not barriers. Everything seemed to flow better when they worked together. How did they manage separately for so long?

Besides the working aspect, it just generally felt like everyone was getting closer. Awkwardness faded as they laughed and joked.

Patton almost felt like his family was getting bigger. It was getting bigger.

And after just a few more issues are resolved, and a few secrets are shared, that statement will become more and more true.

Let's see how those loose ends are tied up before we get to the end of the story...

#ts agere #ts littlespace #sanders sides agere #sanders sides littlespace #no little sides in this one yall

[supposed2bfunny]

2doc Week Day 4-Song Machine

It’s cloudy.

No, cloudy denotes clouds. Smoggy, then. All car exhaust and factory fumes. The water is still, but there’s enough movement that the waves slap against the side of the boat every so often, resulting in a familiar, pleasant, wet sound.

Murdoc lies on his back, hands folded atop his chest, ankles crossed, staring at the bright spot where the sun is attempting to bore its way through the grayish sky.

He and 2D have been sitting in the boat in silence, though the singer has been moving enough for the two of them, playing with his sailor’s cap, untying his neckerchief and stuffing it into his pocket, scratching his ankle, lighting a cigarette and ultimately flicking it into the water.

“So this is it, huh?” Murdoc asks at length when he gets sick of watching 2D struggling in his periphery.

“What?”

“This is what I missed out on?”

“Well I mean, it’s a little more fun when you’re driving around fast-like, but the sound of the motor gives me a headache. And it was fun with Damon too; he’s fun.”

“Yeah. Love that bloke,” he deadpans.

“Murdoc. Do you feel better now?”

“I feel like a million bucks, mate, never better, I haven’t felt this spry since that doctor prescribed me all that Vicodin when I slipped a disk lifting Noodle’s amp—”

“Muds.”

2D shifts, looks down at him, and when their eyes meet, Murdoc is forced to confront the fact that yes, they’re here for him. To humor him the way a parent humors a child after a particularly vicious meltdown. “Well, look at it like this: what did you think taking me out here on the boat after the fact was going to accomplish, sunshine?”

“I brought you here to make it up to you, you nob. Because you made such stink about not being invited last time even though you could have come along if you’d only asked, had my damn phone on me.”

“Stu, you can’t recreate an event that’s already passed by bringing me here like it’s a bloody date.”

He stretches his foot out, knocks it against Murdoc’s shoulder. “You sure? A date on a boat sounds kind of romantic.”

Murdoc sighs and hoists himself up into a sitting position: the garish lighting is hurting his eyes: he wishes he’d thought to pack sunglasses. He can only imagine what kind of migraine the bright glare is going to trigger for 2D. But now isn’t the time to play mother hen. “Does it? Cuz you don’t look nearly as relaxed or happy as you did in that Désolé video, mate.”

He draws his foot back, knees folding in towards his chest. “Muds, look. I’m allowed to have fun without you. There’s no rule stating that I can’t. We’ve talked about the importance of autonomy.”

“And I’ve also expressed my disdain for that bloody word. I’m too old to bother being my own person: I just want a little of whatever you’re doing.”

“So that’s how you really feel, huh?” he snaps, jumping to his feet. “Muds, how many times do we have to have this argument? That’s not healthy!”

“Neither is smoking, Faceache! Neither is drinking half my weight in forty proof before noon! Neither is dating me, so if you don’t want to deal with it, then tell me to fuck off, same way you did when you all fucked off through that portal without me!”

2D reaches up to rub his temples, almost knocking his captain’s hat off his head. It’s never as simple as Murdoc sitting down and confessing that he’s been hurt: it’s always violent waves, outbursts cresting until they crash against the shore. He brought Murdoc out here to see what all the fuss was about cruising around on Lake Como, but now he understands: Murdoc is more like the water than he is like a captain. He is aqueous, ever moving, flowing from areas of high pressure, knocking 2D to and fro as he attempts to feel settled, grounded. The solution to understanding him is seldom obvious at first glance, because his very nature is to change his tune like an ebbing and flowing tide.

This entire outburst was never a matter of feeling left-out, it’s been paranoia from the start, Murdoc’s absurd fear that his own band is set to leave him behind one day, that same paranoia he’s been nursing since The Now Now took off while he was in prison.

“I’m sorry,” 2D says. It used to be hard to say those words. He’s learning to push them out more often, especially because that small concession is, more often than not, enough to start soothing Murdoc. “I guess we both thought we were going to get something different by coming here. Muds, what I did was fly all the way back to Italy to sit on a stupid boat with you for the day. It was probably stupid of me to assume that you were going to have a good time here—”

“‘Stupid’ is a damn gargantuan understatement if you ask me,” he grumbles.

“Don’t interrupt! Look, I didn’t come here for a fun, magical time with you, you cranky old man. I came here to prove a point.”

Murdoc looks at him warily. “And what, my blue-hued compatriot, is it?”

A suave, quick-witted man would be able to weave together an elaborate story on the spot. Hell, if he were even adequately sharp with words, he’d be able to lay on the charm, distract Murdoc from the tension and the muggy heat and the miserable sun glaring down through all that pollution. The longer he stares at Murdoc’s tired features, though, the more it dawns on him that he doesn’t need to do that. He has something much more valuable: the truth.

“I did all this shit to prove to you that you’re worth it.”

Murdoc snorts. “Wow, so even you admit it was a crap trip then. Sorry to waste a full day of your time with my selfish needs, Stu.” He makes sure that his bitterness comes across acrid enough to drown out any traitorous hurt that leaks into his voice. He’s getting weaker around Stu; words slip out unbidden almost every day, truths he doesn’t need anyone knowing, feelings and fears that he’s spent his life concealing easily behind his bigger-than-bigger-than-Jesus personality. Honesty with his feelings around Stu has rapidly evolved into an unconscious mechanism, one he now has to strategize to neutralize at every turn. “Really don’t know why you spent money on a flight, all that time packing, renting the same damn boat, even, if you didn’t want to fucking do it. You’re a real headcase, y’know that?”

“You done with the pity party?” 2D asks. “Because you’re misunderstanding. I did all this, and I would have done anything else, to prove to you that at the drop of a hat, I’ll re-create any part of my life to put you in it beside me.”

There’s a familiar clenching feeling in his chest, a tightness. Dread. Sometimes he feels it when 2D starts to make him hopeful too, because hope is a dangerous bit of deception that leads to disappointment. Cousins, the two sentiments are. Or even twins. He hates hope as much as he hates dread: he’s not about to fall for that shit, no way—“Dents. What were you just saying about our codependency being unhealthy? Those don’t sound like the words of someone autonomous: best check yourself or your therapist is going to give you a right spanking.”

The singer smiles, knowing that he has Murdoc now. His attention, his optimism. It’s all there, in his grasp if he can make like the boat, rock with the waves but remain steady, solid.  “You’re wrong,” he says. “I won’t apologize for having come out to have some fun in February. We’ve told you why we didn’t trust you with the portal, but I still would’ve brought you along if I’d known how upset you were going to get. I had every right to have a good time with friends, but I am sorry that it sent you into one of your spirals, thinking I was rejecting you. Never, Murdoc. I would never. So here’s my compromise: for the moments you feel scared, instead of me trying to go back and re-create the past with you, let’s just make our own memories. Sound good?”

The bassist stares at him, dumbfounded. “Are you angry?” he finally asks. “That I’m being so selfish? Where’s your spine, Dents, your bloody vitriol?”

“You’ve always been a selfish prick: bit used to it by now.”

“But…but this flies in the face of all that shit about being more individualistic and—”

“Muds, I’m still going to spend time away from you,” he clarifies. “Have fun with Noods and Russ, might even give Ace a ring one of these days—”

“Oh sweet Satan, don’t call that idiot—”

“My point is, I’ll still do all those things. And then when I get back from my time away from you, whether you’ve done something productive with your life while I was gone, or just sat by the window waiting for me to get home, then we can do something nice too, maybe not a boat ride in Italy, maybe just like, having a few pints down at the Cock and Trowel, or going shopping, or trying that new cafe that opened up in SoHo to see how their pancakes rank on our Definitive List of Pancake Places—”

He’s interrupted by Murdoc lunging forward, arms going around his middle and head slamming into his chest. He grunts, hugs him back as the boat rocks with their sudden movement.

“How?” he mutters. “How are you always so nice to me? Every time I go and muck things up and say horrible things and tell you to break it off with me—”

“You’re a little dramatic,” 2D admits, nuzzling his chin against the thick hair pressed just below his head. “Pretty sure you told me I should call it off when you broke my favorite mug last week. It’s uh, not great. But I think when you say shit like that, it shows me that you really care about our relationship, that you value me, and you’re scared that I’m valuing you too much, because you don’t feel like you deserve it. I’m learning to understand when you’re just asking for help, idiot.”

“You really do spend way too much time with your therapist, Stu.”

“I’m not wrong, am I?” he teases, holding the older man closer, triumphant. “Stop throwing shit fits. Stop assuming everything I do is an attempt to push you away, and start looking at my behavior for what it is: a bloke who’s gone utterly mental and will fly you out to Italy at a moment’s notice to try and cheer you up after I saw you cry a little bit.”

Murdoc steels himself in 2D’s arms, braces himself to put forth the question he needs to ask. “And what do you get in return then, Romeo?”

“That bit’s obvious, Murdoc. I get to see you happy. That’s what makes me happy. I love you, remember?”

“I…” the words die on Murdoc’s tongue. What is there to say to that? He wants to talk 2D out of this…he knows he should. He’s being let off the hook because this idiot is convinced that they can keep going forward, that he somehow deserves 2D’s patience and love, even when he’s getting caught up in his own Twitter lies. Yet the singer’s words are guiding him out to sea, pulling him away with the strength of a rip current, and all he can do is succumb. It’s what he wants to hear. Maybe a part of 2D even believes these words himself, however ludicrous they are. “I…you already know how I feel about you.”

“Say it, twat. Or else I’ll keep you here on this lake all day just to torture you!” “Alright, alright, no need to get so Medieval on me! I love you, okay, Stu? I act out and cause a scene, and then I don’t even thank you for the impromptu Désolé 2.0 because I’m a shit, but I love you all the same. Maybe even a little more because you just keep…tolerating me. Happy?”

“Yeah,” he presses a kiss to the top of his head, and his tone tells Murdoc that he’s smiling. “So let’s go back to England, okay? This lake is pretty boring honestly.”

“It is dreadful, yeah.”

“Oh, while we’re here, maybe we should stop for pizza! Or some spaghetti or something?”

“Dents, we’re practically in Switzerland,” he laughs. “Why not hop the border and—wait, that’s it! I know the perfect spa we can go to together! Ever soak in a hot spring? It’ll change your life.”

“That sounds perfect!” he says. “Let’s dock this baby and get going—” he releases Murdoc and, ever-ungraceful, he stumbles as he makes his way towards the front of the boat. He yelps as his leg catches on the edge of the boat and his vision swirls first with the sights of the houses along the shore giving way to sky, and then the sky blurring as he hits water and starts sinking.

For just a moment, he processes everything as though it’s happening in slow motion, taking in the fact that his nice sailor’s outfit is surely ruined, that the water is colder than he expected it to be, wondering if any sea monsters lurk beneath the lake’s surface as he looks straight down into the black depths below him.

Then comes the irony. Yes, this is what time with Murdoc is like: filled with twists and unpredictable tumbles. Murdoc’s self-doubt and fears are still somewhat new to him: he’s spent most of his life assuming the man was fearless, only to learn that the bravado was a mask, that he’d been one of the few idiots to fall for it so completely. It’s something they must continue to work on, the selfishness, the manipulative words and the self-destructive explosions that follow them in Murdoc’s unhealthy attempts to self-punish.

How peaceful it is underwater, though. How familiar, this sensation, and how safe he feels.

His eyes have closed at some point to better absorb the feeling of being submerged, but he perceives motion right in front of him, bubbles.

Arms come around his waist, and he knows Murdoc has leapt in after him, that he means to swim to the surface, pull them both up onto the boat. He isn’t ready to come up just yet. Instead, he leans forward, presses his lips to Murdoc’s.

In the middle of the water, in the middle of a foreign country, they come together, holding one another tight, safe and soundless in the protective peace beneath the ever-lapping waves.

He always feels so complete like this, so blessedly whole when the warmth of Murdoc’s body is pressed flush against him. Time always seems to vanish in these moments as they share the last fo their breath, hair dancing around their heads like halos, bodies undulating with the motion of the water. For the first time that day, he feels calm.

#2doc #2doc week #2doc week day 4 #2doc week 2020 #niccalpot #2doc fanfiction #ooh this one is rushed but it was fun to write!

[sadsapphicslut]

chapter one - original story (i havent come up with a title yet lol)

okay so here it is!! if anyone actually reads this i love u :) please leave feedback if u have any!! 

TWs:

death, drugs, medication, mental illness, references to sex, swearing, alcohol

wordcount: 8.2k

(also i dont think anyone will but im paranoid of people stealing my writing so obligatory dont copy/post to another site or steal my work in any other ways etc)

There were five of us; 4 boys and me. In hindsight I realize from the outside our group probably seemed a little predatory, but it was never really like that. For the most part they were like brothers to me. Of course, being the only girl in a small and isolated club of mainly older boys, things were bound to happen. We were in high school and it was summer, can you blame me? Regardless, however much I loved them, it was not quite in the way my father always assumed or my mother always warned (during our uncomfortable monthly visitations before I managed to get rid of her for good).

The months everything went down, which I often referred to only as ‘The Worst Summer of My Life’, (quite melodramatically but not without reason) were somehow still full of the best moments of my life. Moments I often find myself wishing I could repeat, as nothing has or will ever come close to the way I felt, sitting amongst my boys day after day, somehow light as the warm July breeze that blew past us. My entire body weightless, as non-existent as the time that passed us by. Despite the depression I’d found myself plunged into during the days after my only brother’s death, I truly believe I will never again be as happy as I was then. Laughter seemed to flow freely from our mouths, smiles plastered onto our faces no matter the circumstances, content to just exist. I don’t think I can ever forget the day it was raining so hard the entire city was flooded, but we walked around uptown well past the point of being absolutely drenched, our clothes dripping so heavily the security guard denied us entry into the public library. Something about that day made me feel so free, like we were invisible. Completely apathetic to the whims of the real world, somehow existing only in our twisted minds and intertwined fantasies.

Maybe if I’d had my head screwed on a little tighter, or if we’d met under different circumstances, it wouldn’t have ended the way it did. I used to go down that line of thought every night before succumbing to a fitful but heavy sleep (under the direct affect of 25mg of Quetiapine, working to counteract my Concerta and Lexapro). Those types of irrational thoughts were ones my therapist deemed as my habit for rumination. In regard to the death of my brother she called it ‘bargaining’, one of the stages of grief. I never liked it when she spoke about those stages as I’ve always felt them to be wrong. Maybe because I never quite moved on to the final one, no matter how many years pass. ‘Acceptance’, coined as the “Re-entrance to reality”. Maybe it’s different since I was never really grounded to reality in the first place. I still wake up some mornings, thinking I’ve heard his voice in the other room, ready to beguile me with tales from his day of retail work. Other times I swear I’ve walked past him on the street. Some people may relate to my experiences, with reasonings of ghosts, angels, apparitions, or insanity, among many other causes for the apparent viewing of a loved one long gone to the other side. I never shared these beliefs, but I am not one to deny. Rather, I always take these instances as an omen. A warning. I have come to this conclusion not without evidence, at least circumstantial, given the many occasions over the years – and especially that summer – where I found my hypothesis to be true. All I can say is that I am glad I’ve never been met with the same chimerical visions of my mother; one can only hope that is because she ended up where she belonged. Maybe I’ll see her there, though I hope at the very least they could keep us in separate rooms of Hell if the situation does arise.

From what I know of the others now, which is admittedly not much – majorly due to my own neglect, as opposed to theirs – they share the same prescription for rose-coloured glasses as I. We always were too engrossed with our own romanticization of nostalgia and sentiment that it clouded our view. I often think this was one of the reasons we seemed to fit so well together. Not quite like puzzle pieces, too self-absorbed to hold a candle to that analogy, more like complimentary colours. I wish it could’ve stayed the way it was. We did try, and I never found myself able to fully disentangle myself from James, nor he could to I, but for most of us we could recognize an ending when one arises. I used to find myself using the word tragedy a lot while reminiscing, but I no longer think that word is appropriate. Fate is a more fitting term in my opinion, regardless of if one believes in it or not. “(A)n inevitable and often adverse outcome, condition, or end,” as reported by Merriam Webster. I don’t think there’s a word in the entire English language more accurate in describing how everything ended up; and if there is, I am yet to find it.

  Chapter One

A Dead Brother

          I have tried to erase the day my brother died from my memory so many times I lost count decades ago. I still find the image seeping into my unconsciousness quite dreadfully on the nights I neglect to take my pills and catch myself waking up with a steady flow of tears that dampen my pillow along with the drool that always seems to pour from my sleeping mouth. The dread that pools in my stomach sometimes being heavy enough for me to lose my lunch. I frequently wonder how people managed to reassure me that it wasn’t my fault; the most painful lie I’ve ever been told and one that seemed to stream from people’s mouths as easily as the mini sandwiches laid in the living room of my brother’s wake were stuffed in. The worst part about being told it wasn’t my fault was how obviously one could tell they didn’t believe what they were saying either. His death was my fault; a fact so uncontestable I wanted to kill myself every time I was reminded of it.

           My therapist often tried to remind me that even if his death was “partially” (she always used the word partially, refusing to acknowledge the truth that his death was entirely my fault) my fault, there was nothing I could’ve done to prevent it. This was another lie I despised being told. There were a million ways I could have prevented his death or saved his life and yet, here we are, with him dead and me wishing everyday that I won’t wake up tomorrow. “Begonia,” she’d tell me – she was the only person who called me by my full name, I usually went by Nia, but a nickname felt too personal and I didn’t like her very much – “You mustn’t keep torturing yourself with these scenarios. He’s dead, and there is nothing you can do to change that. I am starting to wonder if you are going to let yourself move on. This isn’t healthy.” That was a line she liked to use a lot, “this isn’t healthy”. As if anything I do is.

           Barb, my therapist that is, liked to go over the details of my brother’s death a lot. She often called it a ‘trigger’, which is why she always seemed to want me to talk about it. “Trauma is a horrible thing, Begonia, and you must learn to move past it, process it. I can see you still haven’t managed to do that on your own, and that’s what I’m here for, to help you move on.” Barb was big on the idea of  “moving past trauma” and “learning to cope”, she often sounded like a broken record of a motivational speech. I found myself comparing her to school guidance councillors without realizing it, they were about equally as helpful (read: not helpful) in my opinion.

           Sometimes I blame my inability to forget and “move past” my brother’s death on the way Barb constantly brought it up and made me go through it. I never quite understood how that part of my therapy was supposed to help me. I asked her once, what good was it doing rehashing the worst day of my life?

           “Well, Begonia,” I hated the way she said my name, always so condescending and sour, like even the idea of me questioning her in any way was as impolite as shitting on her desk.

“You have to understand that I only want to help you. You seem to be unable to process your traumas on your own, which is why we need to go through these things. As you are aware, this PTSD,” she always left strange pauses after each letter, her slow tone grinding on my ears, “you have acquired has left you unable to function normally in daily life. I want you to get to a place where you can have a normal life (Ha!) and cope without these meetings. It’s what your brother would’ve wanted.” Barb liked to tell me what my brother would have wanted at least once every session. Putting aside the fact she knew next to nothing about him aside from the intimate details on how he died, I always thought it was an inappropriate thing to say as a psychologist specializing in grief counselling. It never particularly bothered me, I was reasonable enough to realize she was just trying to comfort me, but I never liked the phrase. “What your brother would’ve wanted.” What he would’ve wanted was to not die but we’re past that, aren’t we Barb, as you so often enjoyed telling me.  

I have always been quite averse to my diagnoses, ADHD at 14, Persistent Depressive Disorder at 15, PTSD at 16, issues with alcohol and drugs that landed me in rehab more than once. I’ve been on a concoction of different medications since I was 13, even before I was diagnosed with anything officially. Sertraline, Lexapro, Prozac, Ritalin, Concerta, Adderall, Quetiapine, Ambien, Zopiclone, a healthy mix of off brand and branded medications. Sleeping pills, antidepressants, stimulants. I can’t remember a time before monthly trips to the drug store and side effect surveys that I’m not sure if I ever told the truth on. It’s a wonder that people didn’t see a slew of addiction issues coming from a mile away.

I think I’ve always had the most contention with my PTSD diagnosis though, I hate it because I know it’s undeniably true. I wish it wasn’t because maybe that’d mean my brother was still alive, but he isn’t. And I’m left traumatized and bereaved. Sometimes it feels like it hurt me more than it ever did my mother or father. Maybe it did. I should feel selfish for saying that, but I can’t, because they didn’t have to look at him while the life left his body, praying to God for the ability to turn back time. See the moment his eyes glazed over, knowing I’d never get to hear his obnoxious laugh, or make fun of his dumb face ever again.

  ❈

             “Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.”

It was a cool evening in May, the end of spring brought with it the promise of summer and the air had the familiar aroma of daffodils and petrichor. I had decided to go to a party with my friend Faun, my dad having been out at his girlfriend’s place for the weekend and me having nothing better to do. I wasn’t one for partying, but I did like to get high, so I usually just hung around with the rest of the potheads and pill junkies until someone dragged me home or I fell asleep. That night Don, a friend of a friend of a friend, had brought coke and E and we were all determined to get as fucked up as possible. Faun only ended up doing one line before running into a bedroom with some guy whose name started with an M – was it Martin or Marvin? Maybe it was Mickey – and left me sitting on the couch beside a girl who was about 1 more shot of vodka away from passing out.

I had fully intended on doing some coke, but the E seemed to be hitting harder than I was used to. I was sure my Ritalin had worn off by then but maybe I was wrong. As I stood up to get a glass of water I nearly fell over and decided to sit back down. Turning to face Don, I tapped him on the shoulder trying to get his attention.

“What was in that molly?” I was vaguely aware of the way my words were slurring, but I felt weirdly energized. I was aware my heart was beating a little too fast, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I knew what ecstasy felt like, this was not nearly my first time doing it, but I felt really wrong.

           “Don!” He turned to look at me and I felt uneasy. His eyes looked a little crazed – not that out of the ordinary but given the circumstances I was worried – “What the fuck did you give me?” It felt like I’d done 5 lines of coke in the last 2 minutes and I knew that E had been spiked.

           Don’s face had an unmistakable expression of guilt written on it as he leaned down and whispered in my ear, his voice shaking, “I think it was cut with meth.” Fuck. My stomach dropped. I have to get out of here. I quickly shot up from the musty couch I was sat on, carefully holding onto Don’s shoulder so I didn’t fall, my legs still feeling unsteady. I opened my phone; the screen was too bright, and I had a hard time maneuvering it as I attempted to exit the house. Clicking the green Messages icon, I sent a text to Faun – e ws cut w meth im lesving – with shaky hands and burst out the door into the fresh air. I clicked my brother’s contact and pressed call.

           It rang four times before he picked up.

           “Nia? Why are you calling me it’s like 1am?” I could tell from the smooth tone of his voice he’d been drinking. He didn’t very often but he had an appreciation for cocktails and enjoyed getting buzzed now and then. He still was a year from being legal to drink but his friends we’re all 19 and 20 and bought alcohol for him. I found him fun when he got drunk, becoming talkative and giggly, but right now I wished so badly for him to be sober.

           “Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.” I was slurring, my voice a bit too pitchy to pass as anything but high. I knew he didn’t like it when I did this, but he never ratted me out. Sometimes I wish he did, maybe I never would’ve been able to go to that party in the first place.

           I could hear a door shutting on his end, I assumed he was going into a different room. “What’s wrong?” My skin was bubbling with anxiety at the prospect of having to tell him what I did.

           “Fuck, uh… I did something stupid. I’m at Emily Goguen’s, y’know up in Champlain Heights. Please pick me up.” I rarely used the word please.

“Nia, what the fuck did you do?” I almost started crying but I found my eyes to be bone dry.

“Please don’t yell.”

“Okay, really, tell me what is going on or I won’t come get you.”

“I accidentally took meth.”

“You what? What the fuck, Nia! Fuck this I’m on my way and I’m fucking telling Dad.” I cringed but I knew he was going to before I even called. The pit in my stomach grew deeper as the buzzing of my skin grew stronger. I could feel myself getting higher, everything was so clear and standing around was making me grow restless. Ray huffed on the phone and I heard him entering his car.

His tone was softer the next time he spoke. “I’ll be there in 5, just stay put, please. Do you want me to stay on the call or can I hang up?”

I felt like a child, which I was really, only 16 at the time, a whole life ahead of me. Still, I was grateful for the way he spoke to me, reminiscent of being 6 and getting a scrapped knee after falling off my pink Razor scooter. The high made me edgy, and my voice was sharp to my ears, “No, you can hang up.” I heard the click to indicate he’d done just that, and started pushing my cuticles as I waited, the task somehow greatly interesting me, and I did not realize until later I had managed to pick off all of the skin around my pointer and middle fingernails during the five-minute wait.

 Ray pulled up exactly five minutes later in his ugly, blue 2011 Ford Fiesta he’d gotten the year prior after passing his driving test. What I wouldn’t do now to smell the inside of that car once again, a distinct attar of pineapple car freshener and Old Spice deodorant mixed with stale black tea, faintly present due to his ever-growing collection of empty paper cups from various different fast foods and coffee shops.

I stumbled into the car, feeling the strong impulse to clean the space, but attempting to push it down. From the passenger side overhead mirror I could see my blown pupils and sweaty forehead, pieces of my copper red hair sticking to my face. My freckles were showing through my concealer that had mostly worn off and I wanted to cover them back up. My skin was pale from winter (and probably the drugs in my system) but my cheeks were flushed like I was drunk. My high cheekbones made my face look gaunt in the lighting, but my face was wide which balanced it out, so I didn’t look completely skeletal. Ray was looking at me, the worry apparent in his eyes, but his face was flushed as well, and I could tell he’d been drinking a bit too much to drive. I had my license as well, but it was clear I was in no condition to take over on that front, so I didn’t bother saying anything. I wish I had. There’s a lot of things I wish. I wish I hadn’t gone to that party; I wish I hadn’t taken that E; I wish I called someone else; I wish I waited it out at Emily’s; I wish I walked home; I wish I took a cab; I wish I waited for Faun; I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish.

“Are you okay?” He didn’t take his eyes off me as I shut the mirror in front of me.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll be fine. Please just take me home.”

“Is Dad there?”

“No.”

“Maybe I should take you to Mom’s.”

“No!” I’d moved out of my mom’s completely just over 6 months ago, barely seeing her once a month. It was one of the best decisions I’d ever made. She never liked me much anyways, the feeling was entirely mutual. Ray seemed to have a close bond with her for some reason despite how she treated him like shit. I never called him out though, he no longer lived with her, so I didn’t really care what their relationship was as long as she wasn’t hurting him. She did treat him significantly better than me, however, so I figured maybe he managed to forgive her the way I never could.

“Okay, but I’m staying with you until Dad gets home. I’m not gonna lie to him about this shit. Fucking meth, Nia? Seriously?”

“It was in the molly.” He sighed and started driving.

 My brain felt like it was filled with butterflies, or ants, some kind of movement that was itching at my skull. The paper cups scattered around were making me anxious and I needed to clean his car. I began picking at my nails again, but I needed to pick up those cups, you see. I turned around and started gathering the ones Ray had discarded in the back, filling up an empty plastic bag from Best Buy. I was fully switched around in my seat, nearly crawling into the backseat to reach the trash my brother had left. I felt him tap my side, I looked over at him and he started to scold me.

“Nia, stop that will you, you’re distracting me.” But I needed to finish gathering the cups. The car was dirty, and my skin was itching, the traffic lights burning my skin. I was elated and I didn’t want to listen to him, he was just trying to get in my way. I continued to lean over, not registering the swerve of the car as he looked over at me.

“Nia – ”

He turned over to push me back into my seat, his eyes leaving the road for no more than a few seconds. This time I felt the swerve as we broke into the next lane.

 This is where I have a hard time piecing together what happened. From what I was told, we ended up running directly into a 2015 Dodge Ram 2500. In case you understandably have a lack of knowledge when it comes to cars, that is a very large, sturdy, and expensive pickup truck which I would probably consider the last vehicle you’d want to charge headfirst into while going 70km per hour. I don’t recall the actual incident of hitting the truck, whether that be from the drugs, the position I was in, or hitting my head on the roof of the car, I don’t know. What I do know is that when I woke up, we were in a ditch on the side of the road, with the car flipped upside down, and my entire body was screaming at me to Get Out!

I felt blood oozing sluggishly from my head and noted some indistinct pain in my right wrist where it had scraped something pretty badly and gotten twisted, but I otherwise felt alright. I couldn’t tell if the cloudiness in my head was from a concussion or the earlier events of the night, but I figured it was probably good I was awake, regardless of how dazed I seemed.

I turned my head to the left and was greeted by a view I will never be able to forget, it having been branded to the insides of my eyelids, scorched in my mind. Ray, with his left arm twisted in spectacular fashion, reminding me of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, after Lockhart spells away Harry’s bones. My brother had always been squeamish with broken bones and I hoped he wasn’t aware of how his limb looked at the moment. His head was bleeding quite profusely, and I was alarmed despite how many times I’d heard in movies that headwounds bleed a lot. His eyelids were fluttering, irises appearing glassy and unfocussed. And then I saw it. A piece of glass was stuck in the left side of his neck. The windshield apparently had broken with the impact and my brother was lucky enough to get a piece lodged right in his trachea. It was thick, bright red blood –  that I could’ve sworn was sparkling in my current inebriated perspective – was gushing out the side, so heavy I could smell it, taste it, in the air. I was frozen once I realized.

Do something, do something! Put pressure on it! Call 9-1-1! My mind was screaming at me, but it was all I could do to sit and watch the blood stain his clothes. He was wearing the corduroy jacket I’d gotten him for his birthday and a white button up, the red seeped into them until it was as if they’d always been that colour. My voice was caught in my throat, but I managed to push some sound past.

“Ray?” It was weaker than a whisper but in the silence that seemed to envelope us in that car, completely independent of the outside world and sirens that could surely be heard from blocks away, I knew he would be able to hear me.

He looked up, eyes focussing slightly on me, and a tear slipped down his face, only it went the wrong way since we were still upside down. He mouthed the words “I love you”. We never said that to each other. As close as we were, our relationship had always been more comparable to that of a best friend than sibling. We weren’t overly affectionate, never hugged or said I love you, hung out for enjoyment rather than as a punishment. Most people didn’t know we were brother and sister until we pointed it out, we never really looked alike and were absent of the traditional distaste and rivalry usually present between siblings. I knew, as he looked me in the eyes and said those words, this would be the last time I’d ever see him outside of a morgue.

I sat in my seat next to him with dry eyes, wishing desperately I could cry, needing to express the feeling of utter horror and despondency that completely overtook my body and mind, but I couldn’t. Barb told me time and time again that I was in shock, there was nothing I could’ve done, but I will never be able to believe that. I still remember the moment the final tear slipped down his face. He smiled at me, pain evident in his eyes. His entire body was covered in the metallic smelling red, and I wanted to vomit. I wish I could say the crash had sobered me, but it didn’t, not really. I was still entirely in a daze as I saw his muscles relax, smiling falling from his face, eyes not quite rolling back all the way but enough to give me nightmares for the next 20 years. The life had been absorbed from his body, leaving a heavy shell. I was told afterwards this all happened within the span of 10 minutes, but it felt like years. By the time the first responders had appeared I was an old woman. Grayed hair, and arthritic bones. Mourning for the brother I’d lost oh so many years ago, when I was just a girl. I think in a way I died in that car with him, I never was really the same. But who would be? Best friend and confidant, older brother, idol, dying in front of your eyes as you do nothing, knowing for the rest of your life that his death is – was – your fault. Knowing you could’ve done something, anything really, to prevent his untimely loss of life before the paramedics arrived. If I’d been the same after that night I would have to be much more disturbed than I ever thought.

I sat in that car beside Ray’s corpse for 3 more minutes before I heard the sirens closing in around us – me. I thought I might pass out, either from the toll of what I’d just witnessed or from my concussion, but I remained upright, probably from the adrenaline. I couldn’t move so I just waited, and hoped I’d die too before anyone reached the scene. It would be much preferrable to any other outcome I could think of at the time. I could vaguely register the pain in my wrist, but I felt so numb I’m sure you could’ve shot me in the foot and I wouldn’t have blinked.

A young fireman named Walter ended up getting me out of the car. The door was smashed and stuck which meant I’d been trapped in there either way. I was happy I hadn’t bothered trying to escape as I'm terribly claustrophobic and finding out I couldn’t would have thrown me into a proper panic attack. The fireman was incredibly nice, saying reassuring things the entire time they were opening the door with the “Jaws of Life”. I ended up seeing him again in the hospital actually, or at least that’s what my father told me. He wanted to check in on me and left me some hydrangeas in a vase. I always preferred chrysanthemums but I'm not that picky when it comes to a floral arrangement.

After the door was busted open I was carried out by Walter. I was shaking and apparently babbling nonsense but in my head I was trying to tell them to save Ray. I wasn’t really aware of all that much, completely blind to the crowd of spectators that had rudely gathered to witness the violence – wasn’t it supposed to be taboo to stop at a car crash? Wondering vaguely about what happened and wishing you could get a better look as you drive past the scene.  My head wound had made me a bit incompetent and the meth in my system was really not helping the entire situation.

I was laid on a gurney and rolled onto an ambulance. I don’t remember much about the ride; the sirens, the bright lights, a paramedic named Alice who spoke softly, smoothing out my hair while the other put an oxygen mask on my face (which I wasn’t entirely cognizant enough to question though now I'm not really sure why they did it) and splinted my wrist. Alice asked me if I was on drugs and I nodded but was unable to speak when she asked me what ( I would find this a common occurrence after the accident, my voice seemingly stolen alongside Ray’s). She just nodded and said something to the other ME that I didn’t quite pick up. She asked if I could tell her my name and I shook my head. She must’ve noticed the iPhone in my pocket and grabbed it, turning to the medical ID page.

“Is your name Begonia?” I nodded, though the name sounded foreign on my ears. I liked the way Alice said it though, she had a light Spanish accent and a matronly tone that made me feel safe. I wondered if she had kids of her own; she looked young, but my own mother had me at 19 so who could say? She told me her name after complimenting mine. “Begonia is a beautiful name; I love the flowers. I’m Alice, okay? We’re gonna make sure you’re alright and take you to the hospital.” Her voice was sweet like syrup and I became sleepy as she spoke.

“No honey, you can’t fall asleep yet. Just stay awake a little bit longer and I promise you they’ll let you sleep at the hospital.”

  I don’t remember anything of the rest of the ride to the hospital. I was dropped off at the Emergency Room at the Regional, head still too foggy to allow me to recall anything before I was sitting in a white bed, in a white room, with white sheets and a light blue hospital gown on. It was morning and my father was sitting at the end of my bed in an uncomfortable plastic chair, his eyes bloodshot and moist. He’d very obviously been crying for a long time and my chest panged with guilt. I reached up to feel my head and realized there was a cast on my wrist. With my other hand I touched the cotton that covered my forehead, wincing when I felt the sting of what had to be stitches in a nasty gash. I would spend the next 5 years of my life with a variety of diverse haircuts that attempted to hide the ugly scar that served as a reminder of the worst night of my life. Even now it is still extremely obvious, but I can’t be bothered to try and hide it, I so rarely look in the mirror that it wouldn’t matter if my skin turned blue.

My dad hadn’t looked up, so I attempted to gain his attention but once again found my voice failing me. I tapped on the bed a few times before he seemed to realize and face me.

“Nia… how are you feeling?” His voice was raspy and thin. He reeked of cigarettes and stale coffee, though this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. I remained silent as he looked at me, searching my face for something I'm not sure he found.

“Nia, I, I'm not sure how to say this to you.” Here it comes. Almost worse than watching my brother die, the confirmation. “Ray, he’s, well dead.” I saw my father’s eyes begin to tear up again as I stared straight ahead. I couldn’t feel the sobs that racked my body, nor the hot tears streaming from my eyes. I saw my dad start to move closer but sit back down when I flinched. Of course, I knew my brother was dead; I had front row seats to watching the event happen, but somehow I still didn’t believe it until the words left my father’s mouth. According to my dad, who many years later described to me how eery the whole event was, my sobs were completely silent, and I was entirely unaware of everything happening around me. This dissociation lasted the first few days after the accident, and the entirety of my hospital stay. Leaving the blissful gap in my memory I have now.

Barb told me this was my mind’s way of coping with the tragedy and stress of what happened. I was honestly just happy I had an excuse to skip some of the dreadful retelling she forced upon me.

 ❈

             The funeral was of course a depressing and solemn event. I was still yet to speak and found myself thankful for the way people gave up on trying to get me to communicate. I dressed in a black skirt with a black short sleeved button up. A dark coat thrown around my shoulders as the cast on my right hand was too big to fit through the sleeve. I looked terrible, barely a week out of hospital before I watched Ray sink into the ground. The wound on my forehead was still quite nasty, though it looked better than it did before. I tried to cover it up with my hair but was unsuccessful. I got bangs soon after.

           The matter was very traditional, taking place in a church even though none of our family was really religious. It was only the second time I'd ever been in a church, the first having been for my cousin Julie’s wedding when I was four years old. I don’t remember anything of it aside from the material of my dress itching at my neck and making me rather miserable. Of course, not nearly as miserable as I was the day of the funeral, sitting in a pew at the front of the church, listening to a priest claiming Ray would’ve wanted us to celebrate his life. I knew this not to be true; Ray was extremely dramatic and would’ve cherished the thought of everyone he’d ever spoken to moping around for weeks after his death, beside themselves with grief. He sometimes referred to himself as “Romeo” after having been broken up with by another girl he was supposedly in love with, stating he better just stab himself in the heart now if he couldn’t have her. On the rare occasion he broke up with a girlfriend, he’d lounge around, eating ice cream, pretending to not be upset and comparing his cold heart to that of Richard VIII. The concept of him being any different over his death was almost comical; Ray was nothing if not predictable.

           I sat beside my father, who sat beside my mother (it was an extremely awkward arrangement that neither I nor my father cared for) and seemed to have the idea that I could evaporate if I thought hard enough about it. Unfortunately, I did not evaporate, or even come close to it, instead finding myself exactly where I'd been the whole time. I mostly tuned out the service, only really paying attention when my father and Ray’s best friend, Jake spoke. I managed to escape the duty of having to speak that day thanks to my fragile mental state and mutism. Though I'm sure I would’ve been forced all the same if I had been able to talk in any capacity, regardless of where my head was at.

           Faun was sitting in the pew behind me, feeling quite guilty about the whole ordeal. Or friendship dissolved soon after, I think she blamed herself for taking me to the party. It didn’t bother me too much though; we were never the closest and I sometimes thought her to be extremely annoying. An endless stream of shitty boyfriends that she only acquired so she could further repress her sexuality. When we were 14 we kissed at a sleepover and she admitted she was in love with me. I felt bad for not returning the feeling and our relationship had been on rocky territory ever since. I don’t understand how she thought she was in love with me since she barely knew anything about me, but either way she never brought it up again and soon after the monsoon of boytoys had begun.

           My brother’s friends and ex-girlfriends also attended the event. I didn’t approach any of them, far too scared they’d blame me for the death of their friend. One of them, Alex, went up to me to say how sorry he was about everything that happened. He was crying quite heavily (I later found out he was the friend Ray had been drinking with and the second last person to see him alive) and I could smell alcohol on his breath. I stood there while he spoke, telling me about how great my brother was as if I was wholly unaware. Body waving side to side as he stood with his hand on the wall beside me. He offered me some bronze liquid in a flask, and I obliged, savouring the burning sensation that followed in my throat. Alex’s voice was steady and deep, reminding me of my father’s. I’m not sure how long we stood there, him spinning a fantastic web of anecdotes and stories about my brother, some entirely new to my ears. We passed the beverage back and fourth until it was empty. My head felt lighter and heavier somehow simultaneously, and I found it much easier to listen to Alex talk. Later he tried to kiss me in my bedroom during the wake. His mouth was sour, and his tongue seemed too big for his mouth. I wondered how he was able to talk so much without it getting in the way.

             We moved in procession to the cemetery after the service. The grass was a vibrant green colour, and I didn’t understand how the world kept turning after Ray’s death, for mine stopped the moment his heart failed to beat. The sky was a lovely shade of cyan-blue, with clouds so perfect they seemed animated. Pink carnations were planted near the outskirts of the yard and I could smell spring in the air; a heavy, floral aroma that never failed to comfort me. I thought it should be raining, it felt inappropriate that the weather refused to match my despair. My mind wandered as we approached the empty grave and I considered what it would be like if Ray was here beside me. He’d probably be making jokes, telling me to lighten up for a minute or my face would get stuck that way. He’d mock my silence, saying how I never managed to shut up for a minute before but suddenly I'm as proper as a nun. I'd smile, ruffling his hair to piss him off and try to refrain from laughing aloud. The absence of him only felt stronger as I imagined this scenario, so I shoved it out of my head.

           The casket was lowered into the ground, my father was a pallbearer and I often think about how he must’ve felt carrying his son’s body before watching him being buried. My mother sobbed loudly which annoyed me, it felt a bit exaggerated. I had a few tears falling from my eyes but mostly, I just felt numb. Incredibly and absolutely empty inside. To onlookers it may have seemed as though we weren’t very close, my reaction being similar to that of his ex-girlfriends’. However, this didn’t account for the loss of my voice, or the broken state I was in mentally. Maybe it was better that my reaction was rather dulled. It meant people didn’t feel the need to approach me as they did my mother. Less concerned given she was the one playing up her emotions to the point of embarrassment. My father cried, more than I but far less than my mother. He didn’t cry very often – I'd actually only seen it once prior to the whole event – and I figured he probably needed it. At this point I felt as though I'd shed enough tears to last a lifetime so Ray wouldn’t mind if I was a bit subdued in comparison. He never was a crier anyways.

           As I sprinkled soil onto his casket I imagined he was right beside me, watching, ready to criticize as usual. The dirt stained my hand, clutching the sweat and turning my skin a muddy brown colour. As I wiped the dirt on my jacket I could hear him nagging about how I better go wash my hands, what was I, a six-year-old? He was in denial about me growing up and took every chance to remind me I was still just a kid. Not that he had much on me, but I enjoyed it. I never was one to shy away from attention; at least not before. Little quirks and inside jokes between us were always some of my favourite things, the type of humour you could only get from living with someone your whole life. No matter how much his memory will fade there are some things I can’t let myself forget. His mocking tone when he’d make fun of me is one of those things. If I ever managed to let go of that sound then I must be dead as well.

           The sun beat down on my back, my skin burning in my black clothes. I wasn’t sweating yet, but most of the men around were – suit jackets aren’t exactly known for their breathability. My nose was dry and aching red, sore from how much I'd been wiping it the last couple days. Still the sweet seeping tinge of flowers and spring managed to crawl into my nose, settling underneath my skin, the buzzing from before had returned, I could feel my heartbeat loudly in my throat and had the desperate urge to just run. Instead, I just followed the rest of the party, sitting down in the passenger seat of my dad’s car. The silence that settled over us was uncomfortable and stale. He turned on the radio, Led Zeppelin filled the air around us, thankfully relieving some of the tension. I felt in my left pocket for one of the carnations I’d picked from a nearby grave earlier. The flower had begun to wilt, heat taking effect on its delicate composition. When I got home I put it in between the pages of my oldest copy of Romeo and Juliet. Ray would have found it funny if he was around to see.

The drive to my mother’s house was short and minimally awkward. We sat in silence – aside from the music – only because there was no alternative. My hand remained clutched around the dying flower in my pocket as we left the car and entered the home. Other people had already arrived, clustered in the living room, picking at tiny ham sandwiches and various desserts my mother had undoubtedly stress-baked the day before. I wasn’t hungry so I sat as far away from the food and people as humanely possible while staying in the living room, not wishing to hear my mother’s scolding about how I need to socialize more. Eventually I managed to slip away into my old bedroom, where Alex was sitting on my bed drinking a mickey of Smirnoff I assumed he swiped from my mother’s freezer. He offered it to me, and I accepted, the weird repetitive déjà vu like act, mirroring earlier and making the whole day feel like somewhat of a dream.

When I went over this part with Barb she always felt the need to emphasize that it wasn’t a dream. I knew this, obviously, which I told her every time, but she was inclined to disbelief when it came to my denial over my brother’s death. “Begonia, you must realize he’s gone. Dwelling is helping nobody, especially not you. This isn’t a healthy mindset for you to have. Always comparing living to your dreams. I want you to tell me you understand this isn’t just some dream you can wake up from.” The first time she said that to me I was thrust into a bout of wordlessness, as it struck a bit too close to home. The next time she brought it up I just told her of course, though even now I still cannot say I fully understand. How can I when all of my assumptions have been constantly disproven time and time again. How can I ever say this isn’t a dream when I'm not even sure I'm real? James always tries to reassure me, “Bee, I'm telling you, if you can feel this beat, the pulse in your wrist, your neck, your chest, you are alive,” he’ll say while pressing my hand to my wrist, but we both know it isn’t that simple.

Me and Alex made out for a few minutes until I managed to excuse myself. He was a bad kisser and tasted disgusting. I left him sitting on my old bed while I went downstairs to find my dad. He was sitting at the counter with a can of root beer, blank expression sat upon his face. When his eyes met mine he sighed, grabbing his keys out of his pocket. It was obvious neither of us wanted to be here, for numerous reasons, so we left. And if the radio stayed off as we drove home we didn’t acknowledge the silence that time. In my hand was the crumpled carnation, and for some reason it made my chest hurt. A deep ache of dread. I could feel my heartbeat, hear it over the drum of the car engine, and I crushed the flower further. I was careful not to rip it though, as if that was crossing some kind of invisible line my mind had set for me. My fingers felt waxy when I finally let go.

Back home, I opened the copy of Romeo and Juliet. I retrieved the deteriorating plant from my pocket and placed it in the center. Closing the book, I stacked it under a few dictionaries, a magazine under it so it was trapped on either side. I sat down in front of it and cried. Not the huge gasping sobs my mother seemed to fancy, nor the quiet weeping of my father. No, I cried the tears of a child who just found out their grandparents died, the soft uncomprehending grief that overcame them as they first learned what death really meant. How long forever was. My legs pulled up to my chest, hands loosely hung around knees, unable to clasp together because of my cast. I closed my eyes and I swear I could hear the sound of Ray sighing behind me, but when I opened my eyes I was alone. I went to bed, earlier than I ever had in my life, still believing it was a dream and I'd wake up like Alice after her adventures in Wonderland. But when I awoke, I was met with the slow, oozing perdure of my reality. The one which I could not wake up from, and the one where my brother was dead.

#my writing #writing #original writing #original content #original fiction #creative writing #dark academia #tw death #tw drugs #tw mentions of sex #tw swearing #tw mental illness #tw medication #alo writes

[lanaisnotwool]

416 Achieving impossible goals - Interview with Rod Khleif

http://moneyripples.com/2020/08/18/416-achieving-impossible-goals-interview-with-rod-khleif/

Have you ever noticed a big opportunity before anyone else… and just felt like the slowpokes who miss this are absolutely insane?

Well, that’s Rod Khleif when it comes to multi-family real estate.

His love affair started in 1977 when he was just 17. Mom bought a neighbor’s property that grew in value $20,000 in just three years.

He was blown away that she’d made $20k in her sleep and was sold on the power of real estate. That ROI meant a fortune to a poor immigrant family like ours who could only afford to shop at Goodwill.

2,000 properties later … He's gained a wealth of lessons, strategies, heartbreaks, and little known secrets to help you build endless wealth and cash flow through real estate.

In particular, that multi-family investment IS your safest, most reliable, and most recession-proof ticket to leaving the rat race and retiring rich, passionate and fulfilled.

Listen to our Podcast here:

https://www.blogtalkradio.com/moneyripples/2020/07/10/416--achieving-impossible-goals-interview-with-rod-khleif

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Chris Miles (00:00): Hello, my fellow Ripplers! This is Chris Miles. Your Cash Flow Expert and Anti-Financial Advisor. Welcome you out for a wonderful show. A show that’s for you and about you. Those of you that work so hard for your money, but you’re ready for your money to start working harder for you. Now! You want that freedom. That cash flow. That prosperity. Today! Not 30 or 40 years from now, if you’re lucky and the market smiles on you, right? But today, so you have that life of freedom being with those you love doing what you love whenever the heck you feel like it. But guys, it’s so much more than just your own prosperity and financial abundance, right? It’s about becoming a Rippler. By creating a ripple effect in the lives of others. Because as you are blessed, you can turn around and bless the lives of those around you. Now only in your family and generations beyond you, but even across the community and the people that surround you and you come in contact with.

Chris Miles (00:52): And guys, I appreciate you allowing me to create that ripple effect through you because without you guys, that would not be possible. Again, thank you so much for tuning in. For bingeing. For sharing with others. This has been fantastic. Thank you so much! Quick reminder. Check out our website, MoneyRipples.com There’s some great blogs on there, as well as the free ebook, Beyond Rice & Beans, Seven Secrets to Free Up Cash Today. That you can find now. So check it out.

Chris Miles (01:16): Alright, guys! So today I’ve got a special guest. I’ve got Rod Khleif here where I’ve known through reputation for quite some time. Both in the investor space, but also the business owner space as well. So definitely man of no small reputation. In fact, I guarantee that several of you have even heard him before, whether you’ve heard him speak or know of his, the different deals he’s done or whatever it might be.

Chris Miles (01:36): But a little about Rod, he is a multiple business owner and philanthropist who is passionate about entrepreneurship and giving back. So he’s got his own ripple effect. He’s creating himself. As one of the country’s top business, real estate and peak performance luminaries. Rod has owned over 2000 homes and apartment buildings and has built over 22 businesses in his 40 year business career. Several of which have been worth tens of millions of dollars. He started from humble beginnings and we’ll have talking to him about that, but now he’s big on the psychology of success and mindset and whether it’s in business or investing or whatever, it might be. Huge guy, but also a great heart does a lot with benefits and charities and the likes. So rod, welcome to our show!

Rod Khleif (02:16): Thanks, Chris! Let’s have some fun today. I appreciate you having me on brother.

Chris Miles (02:19): You bet! So I definitely want to save some of your story for these listeners. So those that have never been interest in you before, tell us more about you and what led you down this path.

Rod Khleif (02:27): Sure! Sure! Sure! So I’ll go back all the way. I immigrated this country when I was six years old from Holland. I was born in the Netherlands and with my brother Albert in my mother’s mansion. And we ended up in Denver, Colorado, where I lived for 30 years. And I’ll tell you, we didn’t have much growing up. In fact, well, you know, my mom bought expired food cause it was half price and she gave us powdered milk because she thought milk was healthy. And you know, and I grew up wearing clothes from the Goodwill and the salvation army all the way through junior high school till I lied about my age and got a job at Burger King and was able to buy my own clothes. But you know, and I’m sure you’ve got listeners that had it harder than we did, or maybe have been hard now with all this COVID nonsense. But thing is I knew I wanted more. And luckily my mom had an incredible work ethic. And so she bought the house across the street from us when I was 14 for about $30,000. Now, when I was 17, she told me it had gone up $20,000 in her sleep. And I’m like, what? You made 20 grand? You didn’t do anything? And so as a screw college, I’m getting into real estate. So I got into real estate when I turned 18, I got my real estate broker’s license and I was going to be rich selling other people houses. Well, my first year in real estate, I made about eight grand. My second year, maybe 10 grand.

Rod Khleif (03:41): But my third year I made well over a hundred thousand dollars. Which back in 1981 for 21 year old was some decent change. And so what happened between year two and year three, that caused me to 10X my income. Well, what happened was I met a guy that taught me about mindset. Taught me about psychology. How really 80% to 90% of your success in anything is your mindset in your psychology only 10% to 20% is the skill set. The knowledge. You know, if it was just the knowledge, there’d be a bunch of wealthy librarians and college professors out there. It’s the do. It’s the taking action. It’s to getting back up when you get your nose bloody. And so, you know, again, fast forward to today, I’ve owned over 2000 houses that I rented longterm, multiple apartment complexes. That bio you read from is actually dated.

Rod Khleif (04:24): I built 24 businesses. And yes, several have been worth tens of millions of dollars, but all the rest were, I call them, I don’t call them failures. I call them seminars. All the rest were spectacular flaming seminars. And because it’s only a failure, if you don’t get back up, you know, or you don’t get the lesson. But in 2006, my net worth went up $17 million while I slept. Okay. And you know, when that happens, people could tend to get a big head. Well, I got a big head. I thought I was a real estate God. And when that happens, sometimes God or the universe, whatever you believe will give you a nice little SmackDown. Well, that was 2008 for me. I lost that 50 million and a whole lot more. And I’m in the 17 million a whole lot more. I lost $50 million.

Rod Khleif (05:08): And one thing I like to talk about Chris, if we have time, is the mindset it took first of all, to have 50 million to lose in the first place, but then to recover from that and to the success that I’m blessed to enjoy today. So if you’d like, I’m happy to drill down on that a little bit, you know, or we can go talk about the mechanics and multifamily. Whatever you want to go. But I think…

Chris Miles (05:29): Let’s go that direction. Yeah, because I know they’ve heard my story about my comeback after 2008 and everything, but I know they’d love to hear yours and see similarities.

Rod Khleif (05:37): Alright. Well, I hope you didn’t lose 50 million brother. That’s all…

Chris Miles (05:40): Not even close. No.

Rod Khleif (05:41): Alright! Well, so how did I recover? Well, how I recovered was knowing exactly what I wanted and knowing why I wanted it. Now, I used to do sold out live events when there were live events. My last one was supposed to be in Orlando with 700 or 800 people. And of course we know what happened. So I’ve turned them in. They become livestream events now, and I had 900 people in my last one. One of the first things we do is what I’m going to share with you at a high level very quickly, is a goal setting workshop on steroids. Now, if you want to see me guide you through this, I did this on my Rod Khleif official page on January 1st. And I guide you through it with music and I give you a guide you can download and everything. So feel free to do that, but I’m going to give you the highlights right now. So what you’ve got to do is get real clear. So pick an hour when you have a lot of energy and don’t do it right after a meal, make sure you’re well-hydrated and sit down and write down everything you could ever possibly want in life.

Rod Khleif (06:37): All the stuff. The houses, the cars, the boats, the jetskis, the planes, everything. Take the lid off your brain. Imagine if you write it down, you’re going to get it, which is not outside the realm of reality because you know, I’m sure if you’re listening to Chris, that you already do your goals, but this is, this process is going to be deeper. So trust me on this. It’s not just the stuff, but write down all this stuff. Cause we want stuff. We all want it. The, you know, all that stuff and there’s nothing wrong with stuff, but we’re going to go deeper. So, but when you write your goal down, what it does is it trigger something in your brain called your reticular activating system, which is that filter that subconsciously you don’t even know it’s happening. Filters out. It directs you to what your brain thinks you’re interested in. You want to focus on.

Rod Khleif (07:22): And the greatest example is when you first buy a car. You never really noticed them before and you buy one and they’re everywhere. Were they there before? Of course they were. But that’s your reticular activating system. And that’s the power of reassociating with your goals as often as possible. So sit down, write down everything you could possibly want. Big things, little things, how much cash you want in the bank say in three years, how much cash you want 10 years also write down how much income you want from your investments. Say in three years, and in 10 years. Then write down what you want to do in your lifetime. Maybe you want to, you know, climb all the mountains over 14,000 feet in the world. I’ve got a friend doing that. Maybe you want to, you know, write a book. Maybe you want to jump out of a perfectly good airplane.

Rod Khleif (08:04): I did that about eight months ago. I’ll never freak and do it again, but it’s off the list. I got it done. So write down everything you want to do, but also write down everything you want to learn this lifetime. Maybe you want to learn a foreign language. You want to learn a skill. If you want to learn multifamily, come see me. I’m at my next bootcamp in July, but whatever it is, write down everything you want to learn. Then lastly, write down who you want to help. Maybe you, you know, family. I bought my parents a house on a canal in Florida, took them, you know, when they were alive and come on cruises, bought them a car. Who do you want to do something for? Write that down. And then, and if you’re analytical, please don’t stop and analyze it. Just keep writing until you can’t think of another thing.

Rod Khleif (08:49): You can always scratch it out later. Once you can’t think of another thing, then it’s not real. What you’ve written down is not real until it’s measurable. So write down how long it’s going to take you to achieve it. How many years? Put a one, a three, a five, even a 10 or a 20. Recognizing that as human beings, we will overestimate what we can do in a year and massively underestimate what we can do in 5, 10, 20 years. You know, I’ll give you an example of this. When I was 18, I always knew I wanted to live on the beach. You know, and there’s no beach in Denver. And so I, you know, I would visualize the Palm trees and the surf and the sand. And of course the bikinis. I’m a guy. And what’s crazy is 20 years later, I built this magnificent mansion on the beach, 8,000 square feet, you know, I’m sorry, 10,000 square feet, $8 million property just magnificent home, which was unthinkable when I was 18. So the point is take the lid off your brain. And just, if you write it down, you’re going to get it. That’s how you want to play this. Then once you’ve got a time limit on each goals, a couple more steps. I want you to pick your number one goal. That goal, when you get like, Oh my God! This is amazing! That goal. Put that on another piece of paper. Then pick your top three, one year goals, put those on a separate sheet of paper and leave some room in between them.

Rod Khleif (10:06): Now the goals are important. You need them. But what we’re going to do next is even more important. You need to write down why those goals are an absolute freaking must to achieve. So you want, and you want to use emotionally charged words in what you want to use emotion to drive this. Words like amazing, incredible, wonderful, beautiful. Use emotionally charged words so that, you know, maybe it’s. So you’re going to put so we can have freedom. My family can have freedom. We can go do whatever we want. Whenever we want, bring whoever we want, you know, whatever it is. Maybe you put so I can show my kids what success looks like, or I can show my spouse what success looks like, you know, and you know, whatever it is for you write it down. Then once you can’t, you know. You’re going to write the positive reasons why it’s an absolute must to achieve the goal.

Rod Khleif (10:52): But I also want you to put some negative reasons or negative things down. If you don’t achieve the goal. And here’s why. As human beings, we will do more to avoid pain and gain pleasure. She want to use this because this is the fuel to get your butt, to stay up late, to get up early, to, you know, to push this side hustle. Like most of us doing this as a side hustle, when we start, you know, to grind now and play later. We’ll live a few years, like most people won’t. So we can live the rest of our lives. Like most people can’t. And so put some pain in there! If you don’t achieve the goal. So I don’t feel like a failure. So I don’t live a life of regret. So I don’t fail my kids. So I don’t fail my life for my husband. Make it freaking painful!

Rod Khleif (11:31): You know, there was a nurse in Australia, Chris, a hospice nurse, her name was Bronnie Ware. And she asked people that were dying a question. And she wrote a book about it. But the question was, do you have any regrets? And the books called the five regrets of dying. You wonder what? The number one regret was. It was not living the life I could have lived. Living someone else’s life, not living up to my own expectations for what I was capable of. Guys, screw that! As well. I got to tell you, and that’s why we’re doing this goal setting workshop. So you’ve written the positive reasons. Why negative reasons, why it’s an absolute must. Last thing is you got to get pictures of your goals because you manifest this stuff in your life. I’ll give you some public examples of it. Jim Carrey. When he was flat broke, if you Google Jim Carrey check, you’ll see this wrote himself a check for 10 million bucks.

Rod Khleif (12:21): And he used to go by the Hollywood sign. He’d sit at it. He put in the little remittance. Those of you that are millennial, a check is something used to write to pay for things, right? But he’d look at it. And that’s how much money he made for Dumb and Dumber. One of his first movies. I’ll give you a more recent example. Demi Lovato. When she was an unknown. I don’t know, it was American idol or how she got known, but 10 years ago said she was going to sing in the super bowl. She sang in this last Superbowl, I’ll give you some personal examples of mine. You know, when I got my real estate broker’s license, I was going to get rich selling people houses. So I got a four door car, cause I got to show people houses, right? So I got this Ford four door, Granada. Bone ugly bench seat in the front ugliest freaking piece of crap you’ve ever saw in your life.

Rod Khleif (13:06): But I worked with a guy that had a Corvette. And he let me drive it. And I’m like, Oh my God! This is incredible! So I, this was before you could spell internet that hadn’t been thought of yet. And so I got a picture out of a magazine of a Corvette put on the visor of my Granada. Every time I sat in the car was right there in front of my face, within a year or two, I had a Corvette. I’ll give you some more examples, but please know this is not me bragging, none of this because this stuff doesn’t even interest me anymore. But I’m hoping to inspire you guys. So this is back when the TV show Magnum PI was around and it was a detective story. Actor’s name was Tom Selleck and he drove this awesome Ferrari 308. And I saw that.

Rod Khleif (13:43): I’m like, Oh my God, that thing’s amazing. So I got a picture of that actual car put on the visor of my Corvette. Then a year or two, I got a Maserati looked just like it. Last example, car example. I’m the guy that always wanted a Lamborghini. I had posters in my bedroom of the Lamborghinis and the bikini’s in the soap and the whole thing. Yeah. All through high school. What’s funny is my son collected models of exotic cars. And he had a model of the exact same color and style Lamborghini that I ended up getting. Like, let me show you something. I don’t know. Do you put this on YouTube as well? Okay. Hang on one sec. I’ve got my planner here. This is my planner. Okay. In the back, Yeah. I’m a dinosaur. I use a paper planner. I also use outlook though, but I’m not completely, you know, Neanderthal, but in the back of this thing are pictures that have been in here for 20 years.

Rod Khleif (14:31): Okay. 20 years they’re in plastic. And first pictures of my gratitude pictures. They’re pictures of my kids when they were very young. Okay guys, because everything starts from a place of gratitude. That’s the foundational emotion. That’s the most important emotion there is. So pictures of my kids. Then I’ve got pictures of the houses that I wanted. This top picture is just like that house on the beach. Look, the travertine floors, the 10 foot high glass, just like that. This bottom picture. It looks just like the compound I live in. Now. I live in a compound at six buildings. I lost the house in all the craziness, but I’ve got six buildings, giant, main house, a beautiful guest house on the water. I’ve got an exercise facility, a media center with a theater room and a video studio. And it’s just magnificent because God’s got a sense of humor.

Rod Khleif (15:14): I can see my old house across the Bay. Every time I go in my backyard, it’s right there. But this is what it looks like. There’s a wall like that behind me. It usually, I’m in an asset right now. 403 unit asset we have in Louisiana. So I’m here. So I don’t have my backdrop, which is my backyard. And that wall, these walls is what I have behind me. It’s just crazy! From 20 years ago. And then I’ve got, you know, stupid shit like watches. I’ve got a few hundred thousand dollars of the watches. Again, Lamborghini before I ever got it. You know, the Rolls-Royce, the Bentley, all this stuff that I got because I had pictures. So, you know, I know I lost some of you analytical ones, but I’m here to tell you a big mistake because this freaking works! Okay. So get pictures, put them around you. Put them on your screensaver, put them on the wall. And at some point you’re going to have this stuff gets into your subconscious. Anyway, I’m off my soul box. Chris, thank you for letting me rant.

Chris Miles (16:04): Hey, no, that’s cool! And even if they’re analytical, man, this is actually the meat and potatoes right here.

Rod Khleif (16:09): This is it! If you want it. I mean, this is how I recovered from losing 50 million bucks. Some people don’t recover from that. I mean, you know, it was refocusing on what I wanted. It was reassociating with what I wanted. You know, so easy to focus on the pain and the hurt. People connect through pain. They don’t connect through positivity. They connect through pain. How you doing? Oh, my back’s killing me! Oh! Come here brother. But if you go, how you doing? Fantastic, man! Life is great! There’ll be like, take 10 steps back that guy’s crazy. Some people connect through pain and, but what you focus on gets bigger, you know? And a great example of this is Mother Teresa. They asked her if she was anti-war. She said, no, I’m pro peace.

Chris Miles (16:46): That’s right. That’s right. No, it’s fascinating you’re bringing this up because just last night, my wife and I were talking about some different cases of people that they’ve been doing personal development for decades, some even decades. Right? Doing it forever. But the crazy thing is that the biggest block they have is they have no clue what they want. And it’s like that Mark Twain quote, right? It’s like, I can get people whatever they want. I just can’t find anybody who knows what that is. And most people know what other people want.

Rod Khleif (17:18): How are you going to ever get it?

Chris Miles (17:19): Yeah.

Rod Khleif (17:21): Before I met my wife, I literally wrote a four page full typed up of high level of detail, exactly what I was looking for in this human being. And the minute I met her, I knew it was her. And the minute I met her, because I had clearly defined what it was. That’s the only way you’re going to get it guys with clarity. Clarity is power. Okay. Do you want as much detail as possible? And these things that you want, you want to go experience them? One of my bucket list items now is to get a yacht, either to rent one or to own one and go around the, we went to the Amalfi coast spectacular! And that the yachts there. And I want to take the, take a yacht around the boot of Italy and go to Croatia, Greece and Spain and everything else. So I went to the Miami boat show back in February when there was no Corona virus. And I BS my way onto these super yachts and sat in the captain’s chair and visualized it because it freaking works. Guys. I visualize myself owning this thing, laid on the bed, walked around. Like I own the place because I know it works. It gets your brain going and honed in. So…

Chris Miles (18:24): That’s a key point. You know, like if you’re trying to figure out a way to image it, cause for me, if it’s imaged in my mind, it will happen. Right? Like if they can go from the page to my brain and I can see myself there and one of the best ways is trying to experience it. So like, I remember a guy said, Hey, his goal was to buy a Mercedes McLaren. He’s like, I want a McLaren. I’m like, well, great. You don’t have to buy it today. Like go rent it for a week. There’s exotic cars that are for rent. Like go rent it. You know, if after a week you’re bored of it and then great. At least you don’t have to buy that thing. You know, at least to say, Hey, for a week, I enjoy this. It was awesome. You know, and I think that’s the right way to do it.

Rod Khleif (18:58): Sure. No, you, you need to experience it. And like I said, I drove that Corvette and that was it. I knew, I knew I had to have it once you experienced something. There’s no going back. Let me say one other thing about goals. So this is really important cause I know we’re low on time. I remember I talked about that house on the beach. You know, I built this house. It was magnificent. Okay. I mean three stories of giant waterfall out of the second floor balcony into the pool. Elevator wine cellar. I mean to give you an idea of the house and this a giant spiral staircase that went up through the middle and on the second floor, there was an aquarium that I had custom built that curved around the staircase that cost me almost 200 grand. So that gives you an idea of the house. So two months after I moved in, and I worked for this thing for 20 years, I just want to mention this because it ties into goals. I worked for this thing for 20 years. Two months after I moved in, I’m floating in the pool at night.

Rod Khleif (19:44): My family is inside asleep and the pool is changing colors. It’s got fiber optic lighting and I got depressed. I don’t mean I just got a little bummed. I mean, I got really bummed. And I’m like, what the hell! I had just achieved success like times a thousand and I’m bummed. And so I went and bought some books and one of them was Tony Robbins book. He’s got several, it was online. It was a Unleash The Power Within. It was the book, the particular book. But, so I went and saw him live and I found out that he fed families for the holidays. I’m like, wow, what a concept? Do something for someone else. Cause I had been totally focused on me. Okay. And you know, I built this house. This Testament to my ego is what I call it because it was just proved to the world that I was good enough.

Rod Khleif (20:22): That’s the truth of it. It’s embarrassing to admit that, but that’s the truth. And it was just to prove myself. And so I’ve been, it was all Rod, Rod, Rod, me, me, me focus on Rod and I. And so I came back from that event and decided to feed five families for the holidays. It was Thanksgiving back then. Now we do it for Christmas, but that gave my life fulfillment. You know, there’s a big difference between achievement and fulfillment. In fact, Tony calls it, the science of achievement versus the art of fulfillment. So there’s one thing to be successful, but it’s much more important to be fulfilled. And so now i fed 75,000 children for the holidays over the last 20 years, we’ve done tens of thousands of backpacks, full of school supplies for local kids. We’ve done tens of thousands of Teddy bears to give to police departments for their officers to keep in cars when they encounter a child.

Rod Khleif (21:08): And again, I’m not trying to brag or tell you, you have to do anything this grandiose, but I know if you’re listening to Chris, you want success. And you may be thinking when I’m successful, I’ll give back. Big mistake! Give now! Because your success is going to come faster and you’ll be happier and more fulfilled on the path. You know, my podcast just hit 8 million downloads and I’ve interviewed huge people in the space, but I can at millionaires billionaires. And I can tell when someone’s like I was back then totally focused on themselves. And I feel sorry for them because I recognize that it was me. And so guys, if you’re listening and you’re thinking, you know, you want to achieve to be happy. I’m going to tell you to give back in some fashion. It doesn’t have to be huge. Just pick a, pick a cause children, the elderly, pets, the environment, whatever it is. And give back now, because if you’re going to get there much faster, if you’re happily achieving versus achieving to be happy.

Chris Miles (22:04): Amen to that! That’s exactly the point I would make too, it’s all about what you can create. You know, we’re only here for so long in this planet, what kind of legacy we’re going to leave behind and that’s gotta be greater fulfillment of our lives.

Rod Khleif (22:16): Anything in this universe that does not contribute. Believe it or not is actually eliminated. Contribution’s a basic human need. We have to contribute in some fashion and we are not whole, if we don’t. So it’s very, very important that we do.

Chris Miles (22:30): I love it! So Rod, if all of our people here, our listeners want to follow you, like, and learn anything from you. How would they do that?

Rod Khleif (22:37): I’m having a two day virtual bootcamp, July 25th and 26th. I’m not selling anything. It’s 16 hours of, if you’re interested in multifamily real estate, it’s kind of a dud it’s $97. Just come. Just trust me. You’ll be glad you did. It’s a no brainer. And it’s me teaching multifamily real estate, you know, and mindset as well. But it’s drinking through a fire hose. I will tell you that if you’re not interested in multifamily, you just, you want the boost. The motivational boost, my podcast, I do a clip every week called Own Your Power. It’s five minutes and it’ll juice you. Okay? I play music and it’s motivational. It’s powerful stuff. I’m really proud of those. I’ve done hundreds of them. And so, you know, just even if you’re not interested in multifamily, come see me there. But the bootcamp is if you text Rod Live to 41411, it will get you the website. The website’s, MultifamilyVirtualBootCamp.com I have a lot of fun with it. Again, I had to shift, I had to pivot. I mean, we’re innovating right now. We’re in COVID. So we had to change things and you know, the website, you’ll see me in the backyard, filming the video about why it’s important to come spend two days with me. Cause we pivoted like in three days I got that website up. But we got rave reviews. We had 900 people in the last one and we never dropped below about 720 people watching the entire two days. So…

Chris Miles (23:54): That’s excellent!

New Speaker (23:55): And then my website as well, my podcast, by the way, if you put Real Estate in your iPhone, I usually come up number one or two with Bigger Pockets, but it’s Lifetime CashFlow, that’s the name of the podcast. Lifetime Cashflow through real estate investing. And then my website, I’ve got tons of free materials, books and articles and videos, just hundreds. And it’s RodKhleif.com My last name. My full name, Rod Khleif. And my last name is spelled K H L E I F. So…

Chris Miles (24:21): Awesome! Well that’s, should definitely put that in the show notes so everybody can tune in whichever resonates with you, whichever you say, Hey, this is where I need to be right now. And we’ll make sure we get that there. So everybody, if you’re listening to this, Hey, the next event’s 25th and 26th. So make sure you’re there. That’s not far from there. So…

Rod Khleif (24:38): No, no, no. You’ll be glad you came. I promise! Promise you. We had hundreds of raving testimonials after this last one. So we have a lot of fun. We have a lot of fun with it. Life’s about having fun, right?

Chris Miles (24:49): Absolutely. That’s it. It’s all about that quality man. All right, well, appreciate your time, Rod. It’s so much great value in such a power pack short amount of time. I appreciate it so much!

Rod Khleif (24:59): Thank you brother!

Chris Miles (25:00): And the rest of you guys. Hey, it’s one thing to be a hearer of the word. It’s another to be a doer of the word. I challenge you to be a doer to actually go and take this and apply it. That’s the difference between successful and those that aren’t. Is those that actually go and do what we talk about here. So guys, I hope you make it a wonderful and prosperous week. And we’ll see you later!

#Anti-financial Advisor #Cash flow #Cash flow Expert #Debts #Entrepreneur #Financial Freedom #Money Ripples

[allthebooksandcrannies]

Just some thoughts on maturity...

This is going to get long so there’ll be more under the cut.

I saw a post the other day about how it can be tempting particularly for the older crowd on this website to judge or condescend those who seem to struggle with expressing or holding truly complex ideas and instead getting stuck in a binary mentality of good vs bad or us vs them. then the post went on to point out that its not really their fault considering that a major proportion of tumblr users are under 25 (according to this report, 39% of users are under 25 and 66% are under 35) and devopmentally this is really where we see the ability to hold complex feelings and accept the existence of multiple realities really start to develop and it was kind of an epiphany for me. 

I don’t want to come across as condescending, after all, i’m part of that 39% myself and can admit that i’m still working on this skillset. But part of emotional maturity is being able to accept and understand that the world is a complicated or gray place and morality is, if not exactly relative, at least exists on a continuum (what is acceptable and even praise-worthy in one culture might be taboo or reprehensible in another [which is why we need to avoid judging past or foreign cultures by our own cultural norms/morals]).  

Just as it is possible to do the wrong thing for the right reasons or the right thing for the wrong reasons and it be both right and wrong at the same time, there can be multiple truths and “realities” at the same time without either being more or less correct than the other. I know that might sound confusing or convoluted but let me explain. You’ve probably heard the expression that there are three truths: your truth, my truth, and the actual truth is somewhere in the middle. I agree with this to an extent. People can look at the same experience and come up with radically different narratives to explain what happened to themselves or others and generally they are both a little biased because the brain naturally works from an egocentric point of view (this isn’t necessarily the same thing as a selfish/arrogant pov, but that we tend to view things based on their relationships to ourselves even if they aren’t actually connected to us, ie a child that sees that their parent is upset about something that happened during their day but assumes that it is somehow their own fault, which gets into some theory of mind stuff that is honestly a whole other post and not really the point). 

An example from my own life, is a common argument that my mother and i rehash a lot lately. Just going off of the things actually said aloud (which is only ever half the argument), my mom likes to ask for constant progress reports on things like my thesis or grad school applications or my love life and then proceeds to tell me what she thinks i should do. Sometimes i humor her and let it go, but other times i try to explain that talking about the things that i’m anxious about actually makes my anxiety related procrastination worse and that i would appreciate it if she wouldn’t ask as often. Those are the main events that lead up to it. 

From what i can tell, she views her questions as good parenting. She has told me before that she felt hurt as a kid by how uninvolved her parents were in her own adolescence/early adulthood and doesn’t want to make same mistakes.  She then takes my request not to ask as a rejection of her parenting, and usually responds by telling me that i should stop being bothered because she’s just trying to help and i’ll feel better if i just do what she’s suggesting (and then proceeds to say “see, aren’t you glad you have a mom who pushes you to do these things” once i finish a project.)

there really is no winning because my mother has never really learned that the things you do to be helpful can still be harmful. in her mind, she can’t be in the wrong because that would make her a bad mom and she can’t be a bad mom because she loves us. sure, she might be able to accept this idea in fiction or in the abstract, but isn’t able to put it into practice because that is a learned skill that she has never known to try to learn. i think a lot of people end up stuck there. tbh its still my first instinct a lot of the time and its only through a lot of courses geared towards developing critical thinking and empathy, a lot of fiction meta analysis, and reading about a million fanfics that each interpret the same canon event differently based on the author’s personal experiences coloring what they viewed as important.

my first instinct is to view my mother’s refusal to change her behavior as a disrespect/invalidation of my feelings. I feel guilty because i know that i should do the things she’s suggesting but that is never the issue, the issue is that i have trouble actually making myself do it. For a long time that egocentric worldview (and that instinct kids have to implicitly trust hteir gaurdians) told me that both the executive dsyfunction and the fighting were my fault. It felt like she was saying that if i was better or smarter or more mature surely i would be able to do this on my own. it felt like she was saying that if i was a better daughter i wouldn’t hurt her feelings like this. 

But i’ve been learning that neither one of us were truly correct and we both were at the same time. Those feelings and concerns were real to us, even if we were both projecting our own insecurities onto the other person. Those feelings were valid and understandable but (and this is incredibly important) that did not give either one of us a free pass on how we acted on those insecurities.  It didn’t make us bad people but it did mean that we were engaging in toxic behavior that just hurt both of us.

So, the question becomes “what do i do with that?” Now that i know we were both responding from a place of trauma and insecurity in the past, how do we change how we act in the future? I think we have to get to a point where we can look at a situation and truly try to understand the internal dialogue that the other side is experiencing in the moment (why they feel the way they feel, do we really have evidence that they feel what we think they feel or are we projecting, are they acting well-intentioned/malicious or are they even considering the ramifications at all/do they have any conscious intentions) and come to a point where we can truly empathize with them, not sympathize with them, not feel sorry for them, but truly see it from their side and understand where they are coming from. we should remember that we’re all a little broken. and we should be gracious and merciful. 

That doesn’t mean we have to be happy about it. We don’t even need to think that they have a good point or that their pov is reasonable or forgivable (sometimes it just isn’t, and its important to understand that too). But it means not dehumanizing the enemy or oversimplifying their position into the general “bad guy” role. You can forgive without absolving and you can understand and show compassion without forgiving or accepting.

You need to set boundaries, and you need to accept that at the end of the day the way that they respond is not on you, not if you’ve acted based on that understanding we talked about earlier and treated them with at least the bare amount of dignity we are all entitled to as human beings. 

Returning to the previous example, with my mother, i now make a point when we disagree of first summarizing and acknowledging the validity of what i understand her intent to be, making it clear that i appreciate that she cares and is trying to be helpful. Then i explain my point of view not as what she makes me feel (because that would come across as judgement that would prompt natural, though incredibly unhelpful defensiveness) but as to how i feel based on my interpretation of the action. I try to make this sound as nonjudgemental as possible without making it anyone’s fault, including my own (which i admit can be easier said than done). Then, i give an alternative suggestion for what would actually be helpful and then it is in her hands. It is up to her whether or not to accept the boundary i have set up.  

In an ideal world she would respect my wishes and alter her behavior. after all, she is supposed to be the adult/parent in this relationship. the emotional labor isn’t supposed to be on the child, at least not the majority of it. 

(side note: this goes for relationships of equals such as significant others, friends, siblings, extended families, and peers. in a healthy relationship of equals you should be splitting the emotional labor equally. if they aren’t trying as hard as you are, you probably need to have a conversation about that and based on the outcome then evaluate how much, if any, of yourself is safe/healthy to continue to pour into the relationship)

But because many people, adults and adolescents alike, have not reached this level of emotional maturity and can’t honestly/completely accept or acknowledge their own flaws and mistakes without their sense of self taking a hit, sometimes its not enough.  My mother, no matter how respectfully i phrase my concerns and request, continues to insist on asking the same nagging questions that trigger a lot of my childhood emotional drama related to being good enough for my parents impossible standards.  I understand why she behaves the way that she does but the fact of the matter is that she still continues to hurt me and no longer has plausible deniability in those situations.  I have the right to be angry, though i do not have the right to lash out or respond in kind. 

I do, however, have the right and the responsibility to myself to do what i can to protect myself from further harm. I still want a positive relationship with my mother, we have plenty of good moments and are very similar people. But i have to be willing and able to remove myself from unsafe situations. Usually that means making it clear that i won’t be answering the questions and not calling or texting with her until the point is made (even if this leaves her surly). 

I had to lower my expectations for her as well. I had a high opinion of my mother because she can be very nurturing and compassionate, especially when we are in agreement. So i thought on some level that if i shared the information and the sources that prompted me to begin my own journey of self-actualization and personal growth in earnest that she would react similarly and understand why i needed her to at least try to do the same. Piece of advice, kiddos, it’s not your job to fix someone, no matter how much you love them nor how much potential they have. It needs to be on them, and they need to make that decision for themselves or it won’t work anyway.

I am trying to accept that unless she makes the decision on her own, she isn’t going to become the mother i want her to be. That’s an incredibly sad thing to realize about someone you love, but its true. If i don’t let that expectation go, our relationship will always be one of disappointment and eventually resentment. Instead, I've had to evaluate what conversations we are and are not able to have in a healthy manner, and just let things be what they will be.  I know my own worth (when my brain chemistry cooperates) and i have a lot of good, healthy relationships in my life that i can turn to when i need something my mom doesn’t know how to give me. 

It’s painful to grow and realize you’re leaving people behind in the process. You can offer them the tools to follow, and give them the support that they need to do so, but only if they want to. 

But i promise you its worth it.  When you accept your own worth with rather than despite your own flaws, when you learn to do the same with others, you realize that there’s a lot more hope for humanity than you thought.  we are capable of so many great things if we are in an environment that fosters our best selves. and even when we are not, we are still capable of growing past our trauma and hurt so that we don’t have to continue the cycle of pain and misery. We can’t control everyone and everything around us, they still have a measure of personal responsibility to themselves and others that you can’t absolve them from.  But you can be an example to them. You can show them through your own life and actions that things can be better, even if they weren’t aware of how much they need things to improve, or how much they deserve it. You deserve good things but you wait for someone to solve it for you. You have to fight for yourself and struggle against falling into the trap of the familiar. It is going to be scary, it is going to be confusing. there will be times when you don’t trust your own interpretations of your emotions and perceptions (especially if you weren’t taught to do so as a kid, its not your fault, but what happens next is up to you). When those times come you’re going to want to have good friends or mentors at your side or as a source of hope that things will be better and that there are people who can and will offer you the help you need along the way. No one can do it alone, and you don’t have to.  For me, my college roommates were my first clue that maybe things weren’t as good with my mother as i assumed, they fostered my confidence and my self-worth and i was constantly afraid i was going to scare them away but they had my back.  I didn’t think i deserved to be happy, i didn’t think i was worthy for anything outside what i could do or give for others and they showed me that i was worthy just as i was.  it was creators like @goldkirk and @maychorian and @cdelphiki and @sohotthateveryonedied that taught me through their works what healthy family relationships (particularly between parent and child) should look like, what unhealthy relationships can do to you, and that families of choice are just as valuable as those of law or blood. And @goldkirk especially, i want you to know that reading your blog, be it the ups, or the downs, your knowledge of things like child development and mental health, and even the things that you find helpful and reblog have meant so much to me.  I have a lot in common with your Tim and with you and you have given me so much hope and confirmation and affirmation that i’m not alone in my experiences and that i deserve to be happy, even if the road isn’t a straight line. and lately i have to say thank you to @mahpotatoequeen for just straight up deciding to be my new mom this summer. I don’t have the words for how much i appreciate you and how much it meant to me that in one of the worst crisis of my life that there was someone who saw the things i had posted just to get out of my system, things i had never said to anyone before and that came from a really broken and painful place, and reached out and stuck around rather than just continuing to scroll and go about their day.

But I digress. My point is that there are people out there that you can learn from and there are people out there who will care. And maybe we all owe it to each other to strive to become the healthiest version of ourselves, so that maybe someday we can be that for someone else.  just a thought.

(I can’t find the original post i referenced earlier but if someone knows what i’m talking about plz send me the link so i can give credit where credit is due)

#emotional maturity #tumblr meta #child development #cognitive development #cw: anxiety #cw: discussion of conflict with a parent #healthy relationships #unhealthy relationships #emotionally immature adults #on a related note #go read 'adult children of emotionally immature parents' #its a good resource for learning about emotional maturity period #warning: i caught feelings halfway through writing this #i love my friends #and i love you guys #you all deserve nice things #unsolicited advice #im an older sister its in my blood #cw: insecurity #i tell my life story for the millionth time

[marshmallowprotection]

Man, I love the Choi twins so freaking much, but when I truly imagine myself in the MC's place, I can't help but question my ability to handle some of the things they go through, especially in Saeran's route. I have ADHD, and from that RSD, which is basically when my brain goes, "Even if it wasn't actual criticism/rejection, here come the tears anyway!"

I honestly think I do a very good job and turning my ADHD into something positive; I make jokes out of the quirks that it comes with, and sometimes I don't even have to try, because things like bursts of rapid-fire questions only for me to answer them myself all within one breath tends to elicit laughter on its own.

But RSD, my emotional sensitivity, I hate it so much. I hate it; I hate crying in front of others. I don't even like it much on my own. I don't care how much people say my feelings are "valid" because sometimes they aren't! Sometimes it's really a stupid thing and yet the tears come anyways even though I don't deserve to cry over that, I don't need to, it's not something to cry over.

...I don't work well under pressure. Under time limits. I freeze up, my brain goes blank. I literally cannot think well until I'm calm, and staying calm can be very difficult. I just... I'm not sure I'd be good enough, strong enough, for either routes, and I know it's not really a big deal, but I can't help but feel a little... disappointed in myself.

I have a better chance in Saeyoung's route; my determination to help him, my stubbornness, could be enough for me to pull through, but I'd probably be so damn hesitant and nervous after his cold demeanor sticks around. Even a quiet, level, but cold, statement such as, "We can't even be friends" would probably bring the tears and UGH I hate it. I hate it I hate it I hate it.

Saeran... that's a special case. And, again, I know it's not a real situation, but I can't help but think about it, and I'm sorry I'm ranting like this, but it just kinda got to me and I needed to write this out kind of in depth. Thank you for reading this far...

Due to a friendship in my past -- my first best friend -- I think I would struggle with him a little. Not so much during his route, although the ADHD and RSD would make that difficult, too. Man... I wouldn't give in, not at all, but you can bet 100% that I would cry at least a little every damn time Suit Saeran came in to verbally torment me. Literally none of what he says would actually hurt me, but just because they're harsh words... And I wouldn't put it past him to actually reach into my insecurity of my ADHD making me annoying and overbearing, because I likely would've mentioned it to Ray once or twice or a million times lol.

But past that, GE Saeran seems to be heavily emotionally dependent on the MC -- no surprise there, but I... My friend. She was like that. Different issues, though: depression, anxiety, self-harm, and eventually suicidal thoughts.

I carried all her secrets, all her problems. I was in middle school. I was eager that someone would trust me so much. I was certain it had no impact on me.

And then it did. And it still does. I took on an... unfavorable habit. I still do it on occasion -- and I do small versions of it everyday. It's a terrible and destructive coping mechanism, but I... I like it.

We had a fight. I told her parents everything. They got her help. I'm happy for her, always still worried about it, but we're not friends anymore. I couldn't take it.

Ever since that, I get cautious around people who show similar behaviours to her -- thinking, I can't deal with a repeat.

Saeran isn't exactly a repeat, and I'd still want to be there for him 100%... but I'm afraid of how it might affect me. I don't know what would happen. Maybe I'd accidentally end up distancing myself from him, or maybe I'd fall back into the position of taking all of his burdens onto myself, as much as he would let me...

I realize Saeyoung would likely also be a little emotionally dependent as well, but I still think I could handle that a little better... maybe... Geez. It's not a big deal now, but... I mean, people like that -- people who are or get emotionally dependent -- exist. And if I meet someone who I really like, platonically or otherwise, and they end up being even a little emotionally dependent, I fear I would unintentionally distance myself, and end up losing an amazing relationship... This is why, I believe, the thing with the Choi twins affects me so much. That, and I know I would really want to help them, but I would struggle with so much feelings of inadequacy... No, I'd struggle with emotional inadequacy itself...

Sorry for this long post, but thank you for reading... ^^"

[417]

There can be a true catharsis in writing out your feelings so I hope that you feel a little better now that you’ve gotten it out. The fun thing about games is that it is allowing you to range outside of your comfort zone and put you on a playing field where you can click things that you may feel too nervous or unsure to do in your actual life! It’s good that you can find comfort in these characters, as well, and I totally get where you’re coming from. 

Here’s the thing, yes, there are hard times emotionally with both of them but do not think for a second that they wouldn’t stop themselves in the middle of what they are doing if you start crying or get upset. Neither of them wants to hurt you or make you cry. They’re both fully aware by the ends of their routes that they’ve got a lot to work on. 

It’s not easy. But, coping and learning how to deal with your trauma in a healthy way takes time. Realistically, the events of the game should happen over a much longer period and that would make it easier to put yourself in the situation and deal with as it comes. Especially with Ray’s Route, specifically. Because there is such a drastic change in his feelings. Falling in love and playing with the line of what he knows and what he doesn’t... that’s a whole thing. 

Yes, to an extent, he leans on his MC. I’ve talked about that before. He’s going to lean on them a lot. He won’t mean to do it but he’s only ever lived his life in the sense that he can please others and do for them. Everyone gave him a reason to be alive and to exist, and now that he doesn’t have that, he doesn’t know what to do and that’s hard. That’s going to be a battle in itself but he’ll get better in time with therapy and positive support from everyone. However, that can be exhausting, so that’s something to take with care. 

Saeran knows that he needs to work on himself and he’ll apologize and work with you when he does that. You just have to be gentle with him and be honest about how exhausted it makes you feel. He’s willing to work with you and take care of this. He wants to get better. He wants to fight for his health. But, Rome isn’t built in a day. If you love him and he loves you, he wants to make this work. 

Saeyoung is hard in the sense that yes, he loves you and he would do anything for you. His issue is that he can be skittish and paranoid. In the events of the SE, he and his brother still have to live with the fact that their father is still out there and could still hurt them. He’s not going to push that fear onto you specifically but it will show in what he does. He sleeps with his back to the wall. He needs to double-check when you go out alone on CCTV. He watches over you and he can get really scared. 

It’s not smothering, per se, but it is something that he needs to work on and very well acknowledge that he is doing. It’s not healthy for him to live like that, but the fear is warranted so that’s hard to fight. He, just like Saeran, understands that he has a long road ahead of him to get better... but he wants to, and the willingness to be ready to fight for yourself is the first step in the long battle. If someone isn’t willing to fight, then it’s not going to work. 

With your own fears, I think they would both be happy to help you work on your own fears and help you in your own battle. Support systems are important, and the Choi boys want you to feel safe and loved too. Fear is fear, but love is love, and it’ll be okay. If you find comfort in them, don’t fear that things would spiral out of control, there will be hard nights, but it will be okay. At the end of the day, you’ve got someone that cares about you as much as you care about them.

It’s about being willing to be honest. 

Being honest is hard, but you have to acknowledge it. It’s something that the three of you can work on together, no matter what timeline this is. Like, to give you a personal example, even though I love Saeran, I would have a hard time myself being there in the physical form. One of my triggers is loud voices, and I would have an issue with Suit Saeran as well even though I tend to try to rationalize anger and fear to combat my anxiety. I can’t control the fact that I cry when people scream at me, though. 

But, I do control how I let it affect me afterward and that’s a part of my personal battle to cope and to heal... and knowing that Saeran is just fighting so hard to control himself and he feels so twisted up, well, I have faith in him even when he is angry and lost. That’s me though, I have faith in people. It’s just good, to be honest with yourself and know that you can find comfort and rationality in that love. 

#tw depression #tw anxiety #417 anon #ask #mod kait

[atc74]

Take Me Home - The End

Square(s) Filled: Heaven for @spngenrebingo​, Reunion for @spntfwbingo​, Heaven, Hell, or Purgatory for @spnbromentbingo​

Warnings: TRIGGER WARNING: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, mentions of death, Dean taking a drive down memory lane, panic attacks, fluff, flangst, fluff, like floofy floof. 

Summary: Dealing with the aftermath of Chuck’s rage, Sam Winchester calls in additional hunters so they can keep fighting, until they can’t. Dean wakes up in a strange house but the resident isn’t a stranger. How will he cope with a reunion he never expected to have?

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2835

Written for: @spnbromentbingo​, @spngenrebingo​​, @spntfwbingo​

Beta’d by: @amanda-teaches, thank you for being so many things, but most of all, my true north. And to @alleiradayne​ who commented “Fuck you lady.” Thank you for everything. I love when I can pull that kind of response from you. I love you both!

A/N: This is the second and final in a two part series. I hope you made it through The Beginning to see it through to The End. This is my prediction for the end, not all of it, but part of it. Thank you for sticking with me, if you’ve gotten this far. I will make you feel things, but I promise to kiss it and make it better. Loosely based on the Phil Collins song Take Me Home. 

Take Me Home - The Beginning

Dean blinked, the sun shining bright through the curtains. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he stumbled out of bed to the bathroom. He didn’t remember any motel they ever stayed in being this nice. Sam must have gotten them a suite this time. He took care of business and brushed his teeth. Shuffling back into the bedroom, he stopped dead in his tracks at the framed photos on the nightstand. There was a picture of him and Sam and their parents at what looked like Sam’s graduation. And another of him and a woman...at their wedding? Panic set in, and he flew around the room. There were women’s clothes in the closet next to his. The other side of the bed had been slept in. He threw open the door and rushed down the hall. He wasn’t in any motel, or hotel for that matter. This was a home. And from the numerous photos on the walls, his home. One he shared with a woman he had married. 

“Fuck! Where the hell is my phone?” Dean ranted as went back and searched the bedroom. He flew down the stairs. His jacket! He searched the pockets but came up empty. On a small table by the front door were a set of keys and a wallet. He opened the wallet and it was him alight. His full legal name, but the address was in Lawrence, Kansas. 

“Babe? Everything okay?” A sweet, but concerned, somewhat familiar voice made its way to his ears. “Dean?”

Dean braced himself for the inevitable and followed the voice through the first floor of the house, taking deep breaths. He stopped. That was the last thing he remembered. He was thinking about Sam, then he was on his knees in front of his car, feeling like he couldn’t breathe. Garth was with him. Something about a panic attack. They’re on a hunt and something went wrong. He needs to find Sam. 

“Baby, are you okay?” She asked again, this time her voice was closer. Oh god, she was right in front of him now. He stared long and hard at her. Her face softer, fuller than he remembered. But, she couldn’t have been more beautiful. 

“Y/N?” He gasped and grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her tightly to his chest. “Oh my god! I’ve missed you so much!” 

“Dean! Stop it! You’re squishing us!” She laughed. A laugh he hadn’t heard in more than ten years. 

“I’m sorry. It’s just-I, god you’re a sight for sore eyes,” he stammered, taking her in. She looked healthy, happy, very pregnant. “You’re pregnant.”

“Are you feeling okay? You’re starting to scare me, babe.” Her voice was filled with concern. Something he had heard a million times before. 

“I’m-I’m okay. Just a really messed up dream,” he stuttered again. “You’re just so beautiful.” 

“Thank you, but right now I feel like a whale. Your son won’t let me sleep so I’ve been up for hours. I didn’t want to wake you,” Y/N smiled at him, pressing up on her tiptoes to kiss him. 

The kiss caught him off guard, but he recovered quickly, kissing her back with fervor. God, he missed her. She even smelled the same, and all the memories he had pushed down for a decade came rushing back to him. He pulled back, breathless, but didn’t let her go. 

He wanted to spend the entire day loving her and relearning everything about her. “Y/N, do we have any plans today?” 

“I’d love to say welcoming our son into the world, but I think he has other plans. So stubborn, you Winchester men!” she laughed. “Only your parents’ surprise fortieth anniversary party.”

“Forty years?” Dean marveled. He had glanced additional pictures on the walls of them. They looked happy. He needed to talk to his brother. “Have you seen my phone?”

“Yes, it’s right here on the counter where you left it to charge last night,” she handed it to him. “Oh, your brother called. He and Jess will be here by three. He had to work this morning, but promised they would be on time.” 

“Jessica?” Dean asked, his voice barely a whisper. Sam always wanted to go to Stanford, it only made sense that he would still be with Jessica. He got the normal life he always wanted and, from the looks of it, Dean got his apple pie life, too. 

“Now sit and eat breakfast. We’re starving!” Y/N set a plate and a cup of coffee on the table and Dean wondered how he got so lucky. Even if it was a monster-induced dream, it was much better than the last one. Where he and Sam were barely brothers, and their father was still dead. 

Dean listened as he ate, Y/N listing off the things they needed to get for the nursery and the cake they needed to pick up. He looked up and smiled at her, agreeing with everything she said. She leaned in and kissed him. The minute her lips touched his, it started as a flash, like a camera flash, but it morphed into almost a video clip. He saw their first date, when he proposed, their wedding day, the day they moved into this house. He pulled back quickly. “Whoa!” 

“I love that I can still get you going, even looking like an elephant!” Y/N giggled. 

“You’re even more gorgeous than the day I met you,” Dean whispered, squeezing her hand tightly in his. Dream world or not, that was the truth. 

 ~*~

“Damn, it’s good to see you, Sammy,” Dean mumbled, hugging his brother tight that afternoon. 

“Dude, I just saw you last weekend,” Sam laughed, returning his brother’s embrace. “You okay?” 

“I’ve been asking him that all day!” Y/N piped up. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Weird dreams last night is all,” Dean commented, brushing off their questions. “Jessica, come ‘ere.” He pulled her in for a hug as well, holding on a little tighter and longer than he should have. 

“We really need to get going if we’re going to be on time and get the cake,” Jessica told them, tugging on Sam’s arm. 

“Honey, there’s something I’ve got to do first. Can you ride with Sam and Jess, and I’ll meet you there?” Dean asked, kissing her sweetly on the lips. 

“Yeah. You sure you’re okay?” Y/N whispered in his ear when he hugged her. 

“Yeah, it’s a surprise. I’ll see you soon,” Dean promised. He grabbed his keys and was out the door before anyone else could protest. 

~*~

Driving down the streets of Lawrence made him queasy, and Dean had a strong stomach. He felt the now familiar tightness start growing in his chest so he pulled over. Slow, easy breaths, he told himself. He closed his eyes and the flashes returned. Sammy learning how to ride a bike, losing his first tooth, graduating from high school, then college and marrying Jessica, the girl of his dreams. Dean snapped back to reality. He hadn’t seen Sam look that happy in ages, maybe even ever. He knew he had to get out of this dream and wake up. He knew he needed to take out the djinn. 

But this life? The one the djinn created for him or he created in his own mind, it was damn near perfect. It wasn’t like the last time, or the first time. He hadn’t been able to find fault in this one. His parents were alive and still together, celebrating forty years of marriage. He and his brother were best friends, not strangers raised in the same house. He was married to the love of his life and they were expecting a child, a son. He had a steady job as a mechanic in a shop he owned with his dad. Winchester and Sons. And, someday, he’d be able to pass that on to his own son. If that’s what he wanted. Why would he want to leave? Here his brother is alive and Dean can protect him, like he failed to do in their real life. It’s an ordinary life. He worked when it was light and slept when it was night. He wasn’t looking to the horizon or wishing on a star. He had everything he wanted. 

He looked up from his spot at the curb to find he was parked in front of the house where he and Sam were born. He knew from his research earlier in the day that his parents had moved, but the last time he had been in that house, for real, was almost a decade ago when there was a case involving a young family and their mother’s spirit. Dean was glad they didn’t live there in this world, because he vowed he’d never step back inside that house. 

He checked the time and pulled away from the curb. He needed to be on time to the party, to see his parents. 

~*~

“I’ve got my girl and my boys and that’s all I’ll ever need,” John Winchester addressed the guests at the party. “Thank you.” 

Dean had never been so speechless in his life. But, he couldn’t think of a single thing to say when it was his turn to give a speech. He kept it vague, but that couldn’t stop the well of emotion inside of him. His voice broke and as soon as the toast was made, he darted out of the hall, letting out everything he had been holding inside for almost forty years. 

“Babe?” Y/N shuffled her way toward him and he hastily wiped the tears from his face. “You’re not okay.” 

“I will be. I promise. It’s just the dream, more like a nightmare, then all this. I’m just so happy for my folks, and I hope that that’ll be us someday. I’m already lucky, but if you keep me around that long, I’ll be the richest man in the universe.” 

“You’re such a sap,” Y/N giggled, leaning into him, yawning. 

“Want me to take you home?” He asked, one hand rubbing small circles on her swollen belly. 

“Not yet,” she replied. “Let’s go back inside.” 

Sam rushed out the door before they made it back inside. “I need to take Jessica home.” 

“What’s wrong? Is she okay?” Y/N’s worry bubbled to the surface. 

“Yeah, we’re great. We’re freaking awesome, but she’s a little green in the gills,” Sam smiled. 

Y/N elbowed her husband in the ribs. “Ouch! What was that for?” He looked down at her with a shit eating grin on her face. “Oh! OH! Sammy, you sly dog! Come ‘ere! Congratulations!” 

“Yeah, thanks. But she’s ready to kill me right now, so I gotta go,” Sam rushed toward the car. 

“I’ll go with you. I’m tired anyway,” Y/N followed behind him as quickly as she could only a week from her due date. She turned to Dean. “Have fun. Call me when you want a ride. I love you.” 

“I love you, too,” he smiled. His smile couldn’t get any wider. He was going to be a dad and an uncle. Life was pretty damn good. He picked up his feet and walked back to the building when it hit him. This wasn’t like the previous flashes he’d had that day. This was painful, and it knocked the breath from his lungs as he landed on his knees on the patio. His father, dead in his hospital bed after making a deal with a demon. Bobby, dead from a bullet to the melon. His mother. Charlie, Ellen, Jo, Y/N, and Sam. All of them dead, their lifeless bodies flashing before his eyes. He knew it must be the end. 

He collected himself enough to walk back into the party. Dean took a seat on the barstool. He didn’t know if his legs would hold him much longer. How could this life feel so real? And, why couldn’t he stay?

“What can I get for you?” The bartender asked. 

Dean looked up into the bluest eyes he hadn’t seen in too long. “Cas?”

“Sorry, the name’s Jimmy. Just moved here from Illinois. You guys throw one hell of a party,” he chuckled. “Sorry, my people skills are rusty. What can I get you?” 

Dean stared at Jimmy, at Cas’s vessel and shook his head, smiling. “Nah, I’m good.”

He graciously said goodbye to his parents and the other guests before stepping outside. He strode with purpose to his car, his beloved Impala. He opened the door and sat in the driver's seat like he had a million times before. He closed his eyes and prayed. “Cas. I’m ready. Take me home.” 

~*~

Dean blinked, the sun shining bright through the curtains. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he stumbled out of bed to the bathroom. He didn’t remember any motel they ever stayed in being this nice. Sam must have gotten them a suite this time. He took care of business and brushed his teeth. Shuffling back into the bedroom, he stopped dead in his tracks at the framed photos on the nightstand. 

“Y/N!” Dean bellowed from the bedroom, seeing she wasn’t in the bed with him. He ran down the hall and into the kitchen, seeing her bend over the sink. “Honey!”

“Hey, I was wondering how long you were going to sleep,” she chuckled, then grimaced. 

“What’s wrong? Is it the baby?” Dean rushed to her side, but slipped on a puddle of water on the floor. “Shit! Why the hell is there water all over the floor?” 

“Um, that’s not water. That’s my water. It broke about 10 minutes ago,” she laughed. “I’m sorry. That’s not funny, but you should see your face!” 

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Dean scolded her, pulling himself up off the floor. 

“My contractions are still ten minutes apart, we have time,” Y/N replied. 

“Son of a bitch!” Dean ran out of the room, back upstairs. He changed his clothes in record time, grabbed Y/N a change of clothes, and pounded on the door to the guest room before he threw it open. “We’re having a baby! Get up!” 

With Y/N changed and comfortable in the front seat of the Impala, Dean threw the bags in the trunk before waving goodbye to his brother and Jessica. They would meet them at the hospital with their parents later. 

~*~

“Welcome to the world, Henry Samuel Winchester. Meet your family,” Dean beamed with pride as he introduced his son to his parents, as well as Sam and Jess. 

Visiting hours were almost over, and Y/N was exhausted. Dean walked John, Mary, Sam, and Jess out into the hall where they said goodbye and kissed Henry, promising to see him again the next day. Dean, walked back into the room, his son in his arms. Y/N was already asleep, and he took a moment to himself to sit back and just breathe. Since he had woken up that morning, the day had been a whirlwind, but he had never been happier. He didn’t know what breed of djinn conjured up this dream, but it was okay with him if it never ended. He didn’t mind this life. Not one little bit.

“Mr. Winchester?” A nurse was gently shaking him awake. “I’m going to take your son to the nursery so you and mom can get some rest, okay?” 

Dean blinked groggily in the dimly lit room, Henry sound asleep in his arms. He looked up at the nurse with trepidation. “Amara? What are you doing here?” He pulled Henry further from her reach. 

“Dean, I realized what Chuck was doing but I was too late to stop most of it. He’s gone, locked away and you’re safe,” she promised. 

“Safe? I’m in a freaking dream!” He hissed. “A monster-induced dream!”

“Not anymore,” Amara mused, a smile on her lips. “While your life on earth ended, yours and Sam’s, I couldn’t just wake you from the dream and let you rest in Heaven wondering.” 

“What are you talking about? I’m dead?” Dean gasped, tears welling up in his troubled eyes. 

“I’ve tried to right the wrongs that my brother did you. You’ve been a prisoner all your life. You’ll be happy here, with your family. This,” Amara whispered, patting Henry on the back, “this is your home, Dean.” 

“This is my heaven?” Dean muttered, shocked at her confession. 

“It’s what you’ve always wanted. Your parents, Sam, your family. Y/N. I created this for you, because you’ve done so much for the world and never asked for anything in return. This is my gift to you, Dean Winchester. Rest well,” Amara murmured and in a wisp of smoke, she was gone. 

“Honey, you okay?” Y/N yawned from her hospital bed. 

Dean rose from the rocking chair and settled Henry in her arms, before kissing them both. “I’ve never been better. I’m home.”

Did you like it? Did I redeem myself? The nicest thing you can do for a writer is reblog their fic and tell them, and others, how much you loved it. 

The Whole Enchilada: @iwantthedean​​ @dolphincliffs​​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​​ @meganwinchester1999​​ @cherrycokegirls1​​ @closetspngirl​​  @roxyspearing​​ @flamencodiva​​ @blacktithe7​​ @sis-tafics​​ @just-another-busyfangirl​​ @evansrogerskitten​​ @amanda-teaches​​ @hannahindie​​ @wotinspntarnation​​ @winchesterprincessbride​​ @winecatsandpizza​​ @kickingitwithkirk​  @wi-deangirl77​​ @hobby27​​ @mogaruke​​ @gh0stgurl​​ @alleiradayne​ @idreamofplaid​​ @seenashwrite​​ @crashdevlin​​ @thoughtslikeaminefield​ @emoryhemsworth​​ @manawhaat​​

The Dean’s List/Jensen’s Jamboree: @jerkbitchidjitassbutt​​ @dean-winchesters-bacon​​ @maddiepants​  @adoptdontshoppets​ @mtngirlforever​ @supernatural-jackles​

#spnbromentbingo #spntfwbingo #spngenrebingo #tw: major character death #dean winchester #sam winchester #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fluff

[andersfels]

this is controversial i know but like. i really do want to talk about why ~friendly advice~ isn't always so helpful.

because to start with, for one piece of advice to really be helpful across the board for a mental illness, everybody has to function the same under that illness.

alright, okay, let's just assume that's the case.

well then have to assume...everyone is correctly diagnosed, and also not additionall dealing with co-morbid conditions.

this is an incredibly big deal to me, because i was diagnosed with depression instead of adhd. this is not an uncommon misdiagnosis, especially for women. but what happened is that i sat here struggling with issues i didn't understand, and they were not being explained to me.

all i knew is a doctor told me i had depression, and everyone around me kept giving me generic advice for a misdiagnosis, and i couldn't for the life of me figure out why i couldn't follow it. i couldn't figure out why my attention was constantly shot to hell even on depression meds. i couldn't figure out why i had no motivation for shit even when i didn't feel depressed. i couldn't figure out why it was so hard to do things like maintain a schedule, regularly shower and brush my teeth, and keep my space clean. i didn't even remember to drink water.

and the advice? "keep a schedule. keep yourself and your space clean. keep healthy and drink water."

i felt like a fucking failure, doomed to depression for all eternity because the advice for my issues was to...do all the things i couldn't do. which WAS my issue.

and it's funny, because people hand out mental illness advice like candy while also condemning self diagnosis, which is wild because for all intents and purposes, that advice rides on the belief of the person giving it that they know the solution to someone's problems. which is itself an armchair diagnosis, something even less educated than self dianosis.

every bit of advice i got over the years made my life feel so much worse. people looked at me and assumed i was depressed, and i never got help once. they did shit like looking at my sleep schedule and blamed it for my problems, instead of considering once that my sleep issues were a goddamn symptom.

their advice was the opposite of helpful. and i don't say this to be like "don't try to help people!!1!" but i do mean to open a discussion of like...the fact that advice is not super helpful when it's not educated.

i don't really care if you think yoga and water and sleep schedules are helpful. you don't know my condition or how i function or what my very specific issues are, so you CAN'T be helpful. and even if you did know, you are not educated enough to know if whether something helpful seeming to you has harmful effects, such as encouraging manic behavior in the name of "self care" from people experiencing lack of impulse control.

and i really have taken enough time coddling the feelings of mentally healthy and NT people who are "just trying to help." I've seen way too many people beat themselves up because they either can't apply the advice given to them, or it's been wrongfully given to them.

you as someone without a degree might look at me and think i have depression instead of severe rsd and trauma and exec dysfunction from adhd, and the resulting advice would be so incredibly unhelpful because it's almost exactly at odds with my specific issues. i have known depressed people to have chronic fatigue or mono and get told they need to do yoga to be cured.

general advice is not "apply to all." it's an indisputable fact that the article you read online once that gave suggestions on how to handle mental illness is not applicable to everyone.

and i don't care if people make posts reminding people to drink water or stretch or clean. that's not what I'm talking about.

i mean if you meet someone with depression, and you want to tell them they need to do x thing in order to get better, you aren't really in a position to say shit. saying "if you don't exercise you'll stay depressed" is not fucking helpful advice. it's assuming the role of a doctor for a condition (or multiple conditions) you neither know, understand their individual function of, or have been educated and certified to treat.

and your words have power over the people you speak to, expecially considering conditions that are mental. losing motivation to take care of yourself because you can't meet the standards someone else has set for your health is a VERY common experience of ours.

if that person you hypothetically spoke to cannot for some reason exercise, they might then decide to give up on whatever other self care they had been managing, because you just told them since they can't do what you expect of them, they'll never be healthy anyway.

they might be like me and feel like failure pieces of shit, because they have been misdiagnosed with depression or affected by other conditions that stop them from being able to follow the depression advice, triggering actual depression over what originally was something else.

and i know the "I'm not neurotypical karen" response to advice is not helpful either, but we don't have to literally bounce between two extremes here.

mentally ill people need to be receptive to basic shit like "drink water," but NT people need to also accept they aren't in a place to be telling us what the fuck to do when they don't even know who to direct their advice at or who it might hurt, and that people that their advice doesn't help are not obligated to accept it.

i literally got accused of being "anti recovery" by MULTIPLE PEOPLE on this site for saying their depression advice wasn't helpful to me. turns out it's because they were trying to make me follow depression advice for having adhd, which frankly usually the ONLY fucking advice people ever have even though depression is only one of a million mental issues people have. it's fucking ridiculous.

[shadowsinger11]

Trigger warning: mental illnesses, suicidal thoughts etc.

Do not read this unless you want to have your day ruined, I guess. I really recommend you to skip all this crap and move on, please and thank you. If you get triggered, don't come at me at the end because I did warn you. I would've used a "keep reading" tab but unfortunately, I'm using my phone.

Alright, this is probably going to get sappy which I'd hate, but yet again there's not really any other way to say all of this. Again, I suggest you don't read further. I'm only writing this as a way of putting it out there, considering all other options went to shit.

For the past three years I've been struggling with anxiety and depressive episodes. I don't dare to say I have depression since I've only been diagnosed with anxiety disorder more than half a year ago, even though my psychiatrist confirmed that I do show symptoms of depression as well. I used to be on light medication for a few months but I stopped taking it some time before the situation with the global pandemic happened. I abruptly quit taking my meds instead of continuously decreasing the recommended dose as advised and I guess this somehow affected the way I felt. In all honesty, those pills only helped with some of the physical symptoms of my anxiety and did not do much in the first place.

I have self-harmed in the past which I won't get into detail about. This was the reason I was taken to a psychiatrist though I did not go to therapy at all, I just had occasional appointments to let the doctor know how the meds were working.

It all basically meant that my depressive symptoms went untreated. I tried all the things I could in order to get better: positive affirmations, spending time outside, engaging in hobbies (most of which don't even bring me joy anymore), eating healthy, working out, socialising. I tried opening up to loved ones and many of them did not take me seriously, some of them acted like nothing had happened and forgot about our conversations, others tried to fix or change me. I was rejected by family. I was told to "suck it up", "toughen up", "stop being emotional", "get a hold of myself" etc.

This hurt. At some point I thought I was actually getting better. But I was still questioned if I was putting any effort at all, I was blamed for doing this to myself. And I realised I had been engaging in all those activities just to distract myself from the fact that nothing was fine at all.

My clock is ticking, I have no time to pursue the career I'd want. I don't even know what I wish to accomplish but it's even worse since I'm currently working on something which terrifies me and I have no idea if this is exactly what I want. It's too late for me to change the path I've chosen and even if I do, I would've wasted so many people's time and effort to turn me into something I'm not even sure I want to be. That would be incredibly selfish of me, I'd present myself as an ignorant and arrogant person who was way too hopeful and was leading everyone on. But in fact, I am just afraid of speaking up and have no idea who I am.

Stop reading right now.

I realise I'm blessed to have a home, a family, education and access to things which would seem like a privilege to millions of people and I truly am grateful for everything I have. But I'm tired and terrified. I feel like I'm bursting at the seams and barely keeping it together.

On June 7 I tried to kill myself. I overdosed that night, but I was lucky enough or cursed to have survived this without any severe damage even though I had taken a dose that was larger than the average lethal one. But yet again, it works differently for everyone. I had a horrible following week afterwards due to physical and emotional reasons.

The aftermath - I was not taken seriously by those who I hoped to get support from. My action was called "stupid" and "bullshit", I was refused treatment in order for me to "grow stronger" and now I'm forced to deal with everything on my own. Family turned their back on me, I was blamed and mocked and then we all moved on as if nothing had ever happened.

I cannot imagine a future for myself. I can't take it anymore. I doubt I'd try something "foolish" like this again because I'm afraid the outcome would be the same and I have no access to anything else which would make the attempt successful. I wish my first one had been.

If you read this far, you probably know more than most of the people around me do. I now suggest you go watch tiktok compilations and eat because you gotta take care of yourself. This will soon be deleted anyway.

I'm fine. I have no other choice but to be.

#bobi speaks #getting personal #trigger warning: mental health #trigger warning: depression #trigger warning: suicide #trigger warning: death #tw depression #tw: depression #depression #tw: anxiety #tw suicice #mental health