“You’re not going to settle for that. Not if I have anything to say about it.” from the random otp prompts please :)
Exhausted, grimy, and feeling lower than she’s ever felt, Bril kicked her boots off as she walked in her apartment door with a sigh. Shoulders slumped, she made her way to the couch where G’raha was curled up with a book in one hand and a glass of tea in the other. He looked up at her as she flopped down on the opposite end, a small smile on his face.
“Long day, love?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe. I never want to adventure again.” The next words out of her mouth were low and he couldn’t quite catch them all, but he thought he could make out, “Whose idea was this anyway? I’ll punch them--...” Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he caught her clenching her leather glove clad fist. Oh, this won’t do, he thought to himself.
G’raha closed his book after flipping the corner of the page down, a bad habit he picked up from Alisaie, and sat both it and his steaming tea on the coffee table. He moved closer to the warrior, hands coming up to her shoulders so he could begin rubbing them gently.
“Would you like to tell me about it?” He asked softly, rotating his thumb on a particularly hard knot between her shoulder blades. For a moment, all she could do was groan happily as his fingers worked magic on her back and shoulders. He was about to ask her again when he heard her take a deep breath.
“I found a lost little girl today.” Bril recounted her misery, that’s where it had all started at least. “She was hurt, a skinned knee and a bruised forehead, and she was crying so hard, I could barely understand her.” Suddenly, the emotions of the day caught up with her and she felt tears prick her eyes. She gave a covert sniff, hoping G’raha wouldn’t notice, and turned her head down as he worked lower down her back.
“She couldn’t remember where she lived and she couldn’t tell me her father’s first or last name, so I had nothing to go on. She couldn’t have been more than 5 or 6. Little Miqo’te girl, red hair, and the prettiest green eyes.” Even to herself, her voice sounded thick. There was no way he didn’t know she was crying.
“I walked her around the marketplace, asking vendors if they’d seen her before, if they knew who her family might be but all I got were headshakes, so I wagered she might be from another village, just come to the market to shop and then go home. Closest one was Black Brush, so she and I walked the few thousand yalms. She was in better spirits when we started walking because I promised her I’d find her father and everything would be alright. I asked her to tell me what happened and she said the strangest thing. She said, “Daddy brought me to the man who sold toys and told me to look for one, but when I turned around to tell him which toy I chose, he was gone.”
G’raha hummed as he worked his fingers along her spine, “That…sounds more like abandonment than getting lost.” She cleared her throat a little, and continued.
“We walked into Black Brush and a guard was able to point me to her father’s house. When I realized she’d been abandoned, I was furious, but I tried to calm myself down and convince myself that it might have been a misunderstanding. But sure enough, when the man in question opened the door and saw me there with his daughter, his face fell. She had no idea, ‘Raha. She just hugged his legs and smiled. Said, “Thank you, ma’am.” as sweet as she could be. Her dad had just left her, like she was a stray. He didn’t even say anything, just slammed the door in my face. When I told the guards, they shrugged me off. Said this wasn’t the first time someone else had brought her back home.”
By this point in her story, steady tears were rolling down Bril’s face, cheeks splotched with pink from her left over anger, her nose clogged from crying so much. G’raha’s hands had stilled on her back. She chanced a teeny glance behind at him to find his face contorted with anger; eyebrows drawn together, mouth frowning deeply. He moved to get up.
“Wh-what are you doing?” He was putting on his shoes is what he was doing. He was opening the closet to find his staff, he was pulling on his regular clothes, he was moving with singular purpose. He didn’t answer her.
She stood, placed herself in front of him, between him and the door he was headed for. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Black Brush.” He made to move her out of the way, but she stopped him.
“You can’t! I don’t--...he didn’t even do anything to me.”
“He slammed the door in your face, you said. You’re not going to settle for that. Not if I have anything to say about it. That little girl doesn’t belong there; this won’t be the last time he does this to her. He’ll keep dropping her off in places until she doesn’t come back.”
“What can we do about that?” She asked, sniffling a little, heart hopeful.
“We can stop the cycle. We can take her to your mother in Gridania. He won’t get to hurt her anymore.”
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so while i was writing the book, i became violently suicidal.
this was mostly due to the fact that i had a very bad reaction to some meds and my brain stopped producing any serotonin. also i was in the last semester of grad school where it's actually illegal to feel anything but dread. so it wasn't going well.
somewhere in the fog of it i became aware i needed help. nobody was taking clients or my insurance. i didn't want to do inpatient care - it wasn't right for my needs. there's not really an "in between" stage between "inpatient" and "no care," but i was trying to do the right thing. i was trying to activate the chain of command that was my emergency plan. i knew i needed help now.
i used betterhelp.
i know, i know. i'm a straight-A student and so smart and so clever, how could i ever use something so blatantly bad. to be honest with you, i didn't feel particularly keen on it from the getgo - things that seem too good to be true usually are. also, if something online is free, the price is usually your privacy.
the thing is that there was kind of a global pandemic happening at the time and i worked 5 jobs alongside of being a fulltime student and also like writing a book on the side. it is a miracle that i even thought about getting help. i would love to tell you i had the mental wherewithal to like, process whether this was the right choice for me. mostly i was desperate. i was so suicidal that i was trying to find a reason to stay inside of fortune cookies. i was the kind of suicidal that looks like splatterpaint. i hadn't been that bad in an entire decade.
they took my data. i gave them it freely. somewhere out there, they have a dossier on me. on everything i survived. my story in little datapoints, scattergraphed beautifully.
the first woman told me that really i should be grateful, because (and this is a direct quote): "at least you're not anne frank." i said that i felt that statement was antisemitic, as anne frank's life and experience shouldn't be compared to like, a nonbinary lesbian in western massachusetts. the therapist said that i should try to use lucid dreaming to try to picture myself in an actually scary situation, like running from nazis.
i applied for another therapist. i was willing to accept the possibility that there was a bad apple in the bunch. the next therapist and i even laughed about how inappropriate that statement was. and then, in our next session: the new therapist said if i was struggling with body image issues, i should just work harder on my appearance. she spent 3 sessions in a row talking about how she was grieving, and made me memorize facts about her grandmother so "she can live on through my clients."
i am a three's-a-charm kind of person. okay, so what if the last person made me uncomfortable. i figured it was just a misunderstanding of priorities - she had felt she was sharing with me, i had felt like i had to take care of her. i applied for another therapist.
the last woman asked me to help her pray. she bowed her head. i stared at her, frozen, while she said: lord, i beg you: cure her. take the pain of being gay away from her.
i spent somewhere between 2.5 and 3 months on betterhelp. in that whole time, i was not getting the professional help i so desperately needed, even though i was fucking trying.
in the end, i survived this because i finally could get off the meds that were literally killing me. a request for a real therapist finally went through. i survived because my friends saved my life. because nick let me sob myself dry in his arms. because maddie took the razors out of my room when i asked them to. because grace slept over in my bed for like 3 weeks in a row since nobody trusted me not to hurt myself when i was alone. i survived because i got fucking lucky. because even when i was desperately suicidal, i was too old and too self-aware to take "you need to be prettier" as good advice.
the thing is that there's a 19 year old me who isn't like that. who would have heard "just think about how grateful you should be" and said - oh, i see. i would have assumed that is what it means to be in therapy: the same thing my abusers used to tell me. that i am just pretending and lazy. that i am ugly and unworthy.
betterhelp positioned itself to take advantage of an incredibly vulnerable community. it preys on desperation. it knows it is serving people who are not doing well mentally. it saw that there is a huge need for real, immediate, compassionate mental health care: and then it fucking takes your money and privacy.
i still get their ads on instagram. last night i watched as a woman in a pool pretends to talk to a different woman. they discuss her anxiety.
there's a 19 year old version of me, and she didn't survive this. she was too tired, and drowning. i almost fucking died. this thing almost fucking killed me.
in the ad, the woman playing the therapist takes a note on a clipboard and then nods once, sagely.
i have to admit it's a pretty scene. the steam and light coming off the pool water lands on the actresses. like this, it almost looks baptismal, holy.
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Sending this ask to you because I've seen your comments under their fics but toomuchplor is such an insane writer, I need to rave. I've literally spent the last two months working through all the hp they've written and it still isn't enough 😭 it's all so clever and perfect and ugh I will always get overwhelmed with the joy of discovering a great author
Yes, Anon, totally agree! I think I've read most of Plor's work over the last few months, and that's one of the most exciting things about fandom to me—getting to fall headfirst into a writer's work and just enjoy every word. @toomuchplor come and get your love!
Here are links to my two favourite Plor fics:
O Come, All Ye Faithful - absolutely beautiful, tightly-written, and very moving. One of those fics I desperately wish I could have written.
I've Got a Beautiful Feeling - charming, realistic, and extremely hot long-term relationship sex. I'm a real sucker for smut that feels very in-character, and this is a brilliant example of that.
Plus, while I'm here let me drop the links to five newer Drarry fics I've loved recently (this is no way exhaustive, I've not been reading a lot and I'm sure I've missed loads, plus my brain being what it is 😅)
Crossed Wires by @skeptiquewrites - laser sharp political fic and absolutely brimming with the best sort of tension (ie sexual I SAID WHAT I SAID), Tee is the sort of writer I would love to be.
By Any Other Name by @dracognition - funny and chaotic and so rich and energetic, i rocketed through this absolute delight.
Nothing Gold Can Stay by @moonflower-rose - this is a heartbreaker and heart healer all at once, feels like an absolute classic to me and one of my favourite "glimpse of another universe" fics ever.
Clear Skies, Full Hearts by @sorrybutblog - full of the best sort of sporting fic energy, while balancing that with gorgeously clean writing and a bone-deep sense of pining. Loved it.
Heart to Hearth by @jtimu - brilliant world-building, perfect pacing, and the most organic and charming relationship arc. An absolute treat.
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