#i wrote this instead of going to therapy

[dragonagitator]

Since people enjoyed this post so much, perhaps you will also enjoy this snippet from my "Modern Girl in Faerun" author self-insert isekai WIP.

For context, it's the first long rest, and we've been to the Grove but haven't encountered Karlach yet.

Scene under the cut. Criticism welcome!

The fire was warm, but the ground was hard and cold, and my scavenged bedroll was too thin to provide much cushioning.

"Gale?" I broke the silence after a couple of minutes of tossing and turning.

"Mmm?" he responded sleepily from his side of the fire.

"Why are we sleeping on these bedrolls when you can summon beds? Because I know you can summon beds, I've seen you do it in my previous, um, 'time loops.'"

"Ah, well, while I could certainly 'summon' a bed, it would only stay 'summoned' for as long as I am able to concentrate on maintaining the spell," he explained. "So, as soon as I were to slip into slumber, the bed would wink out of existence, and its occupant would tumble to the ground rather abruptly. Counterproductive to a restful night's sleep, as I'm sure you would agree."

"Oh, that makes way more sense than my theory," I said.

"Oh? And what was your theory?" Gale sounded excited over the prospect of having someone to discuss magical theory with.

'Oh, my adorable nerd,' I thought fondly.

"That the spell's somatic component was an erection," I teased.

Wyll erupted into peals of laughter while Gale sputtered indignantly.

"What? No! Why would you -- that is absolutely not how it works -- whatever in the world gave you that idea?" Gale demanded.

"Context," I replied mysteriously.

"Will you lot be quiet?" Shadowheart interjected disapprovingly. "We've all had a long day, and it sounds like we have many more long days ahead of us. We need rest, not this late-night foolishness."

"You know, for someone who doesn't remember shit, you sure do a keen impression of a Mother Superior scolding the girls' dormitory," I retorted sulkily.

"The istik priest speaks truth. We would be wise to rest while we can," Lae'zel chimed in.

'Dang, Lae'zel and Shadowheart agreeing on something already? I'm such a uniter! Look at me speedrunning their friendship!' I began giggling to myself.

"SHUT. UP!" Astarion snapped.

'I don't know what he's so pissy about. He only needs, what, like 4 hours of meditation? Oh, wait, he's probably hungry and waiting for us to fall asleep so he can sneak off to hunt. Right.'

"Goodnight, everyone," I sing-songed sweetly.

Wyll's muffled snickering gradually faded as he regained his composure, leaving nothing but the sound of the crackling fire.

'When I fall asleep here, will I wake up back in real life?' I wondered as I drifted off.

[cazality]

social anxiety

[petrichor-moss-and-lightning]

undead

here is the unbuckling of knees, 

the unwriting of eulogies. 

------------------------------------------------------------------

here is rebirth;

embryonic plasma and placenta like bitter thing.

------------------------------------------------------------------

here is the unbowing from tombs.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

welcome to the final act.

this is the part where i play the miracle —

the thing raking itself from the soil.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

i’m alive 

and doing oh so much more than kicking.

[feluka]

i'll be having a normal day then BOOM trauma spiral and stabbing chest pain

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

oaughhhh. everything is stagnant again

[heartsofminds]

I just read your "cause ne one breaks my heart like you" and it was so good. So sad. But so true. It is so hurtful to realise that the person you love doesn't love you enough to try for you. And you wrote it so, so good.

awww stop it!! thank you so much for reading it and taking the time to leave this ask! it means so much!!

the feelings are things that i've kinda observed through the years not only through the marriages of the adults around me but also of my friends (boyfriends, girlfriends, fwbs, and casual but not so casual hookups alike). some of my own feelings are thrown in there as well as bradley's own feelings being loosely based on an ex-boyfriend i had years ago that i'm still good buddies with.

i just think that the error that comes with love comes from the fact that people interpret it and feel it in so many different ways that it's truly hard to know what it feels like and how love evolves no matter the person. this absolutely broke my heart to write at times and i'm so glad and blessed to have been able to share it on this platform.

[myfeelisfunny]

therapy Catharsis (a recollection) (2022) - an original poem.

[rainstormsandothersadthings]

There was an interesting thing Arthur learned when he was eight and three-quarters in the field on the right side of the castle. He was chasing the red ladybugs that flew and crawled up the castle walls as if unaware of the unavoidable chill of the stone; as if they didn’t know the castle was where things rot and everyone pretends they can’t smell the stench.

[lizzobetumblin]

Melissa hated her feelings. 

She buried them in a chest in the 5th grade (along with her ability to express them). Other peoples' feelings on the other hand was her forte. She could process, decipher and regurgitate other peoples emotions effortlessly. This gift could’ve taken her through college, all the way to a degree in psychology. Distinguished Dr. Jefferson with a PhD and a cozy office and impressive roster of high-profile, weallthy clients was a shiny idea. Fate would have a different hand for Melissa her talents were exhausted on mediating family fights, friend group drama, and charming her way out of confronting her own feelings. 

“Feelings.” Even saying it out loud to herself seemed silly. Something reserved for ‘cry babies’ and water signs. Typical Sunday nights started tame, reading or writing fan-fiction and drinking cranapple juice. And then like clock work her father would yell her name, 

‘MELISSA!!!’ Emotionless, she’d get up dust off her Winnie the Pooh shorts and make her way downstairs. On the long walk down the hall to the stairs leading to the living room brawl, she’d go through her check list: 

1.) Don’t cry.   

 2.) Stay neutral; Deescalate

3.)Don’t take anything personal. This isn’t about you

She padded down the carpeted stairs in her old soft socks to see her mother tightlipped and tear streaked thinking, 

‘she broke rule number 1’. Her father, Michael was proud and angry, his big belly filled with self righteousness. She knew he would be unyielding in his resolve and at this point her only option was to deescalate.

 ‘Rule number 2’. Then her sister the water sign and calamity for the evening sat on the floor nearly fetal, face red and raw with emotion. 

‘Its not your fault’ Melissa wanted to say ‘You just didn’t follow the rules… you’re loved.’ But she couldn’t say that because she’d be breaking rule number 3. It wasn’t about how Melissa felt. Even though she felt like screaming,

“VANESSA, YOU DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG. DAD—YOU JUST HAVE PENT UP ANGER BECAUSE YOU GREW UP IN THE HOOD OF DETROIT AS A BLACK MAN IN THE 60s AND 70s. YOU NEED A HEALTHY OUTLET LIKE.. I DONT KNOW… THERAPY?!?!?! THIS IS A WASTE OF ALL OF OUR TIME. I LITERALLY JUST WROTE THE BEST SAILOR SATURN x CHIBI USA FANFICTION EVER AND THIS IS KILLING MY VIBE!”

Instead, she decide to hear every one out. She decided to help. To calm her dragon of a father down. To be a translator for her emotional sister. To not take it personal. To stay neutral. To not cry. 

9 years later, at her fathers funeral she still never broke the rules. She played her flute and spoke at his memorial. She was present for her mother because it wasn’t about her. When other peoples' emotions bubbled up she stayed neutral. She sat through both services and she did not cry. It wasn’t until she excused herself to make a phone call outside did she collapse onto the stairs of the funeral home and weep alone in the cold Detroit snow. 

It’s okay to break the rules sometimes, she reminded herself. As long as no one else sees it.

Traumas began to compact on Melissa, as they do. Humans tend to collect traumas like pebbles on a long hike. We toss them into our backpacks and keep moving forward. Some hikers would falter, but Melissa was built for this. She’d carried the stones of her family’s traumas uphill for years. She was strong. 

When men began to befriend and reject her, saying ‘you’re too good for me’ but not too good to make them feel good. She carried that. 

When childhood friends began to cut off the strings of her heart, saying ‘We can’t be friends anymore’. She carried that.

When her family separated like dandelion seeds, it seemed like they’d never be together again. Melissa slept on so many couches, floors and car seats sometimes she didn’t know if she’d see them again. 

She carried that. 

Dying was never an option though sometimes she didn’t mind the thought of it. Peace and warmth were two things she’d desperately yearned and hadn’t felt fully since the womb. Then one night in the pitch black of the hot, sweaty, roach-infested studio in southeast Houston she slept in she wondered:

‘Why can’t I break the rules?’ She’d seen everyone else in her life break them like popsicle sticks. And she didn’t just want to break the rules, she wanted to break them boldly and loudly and annoyingly and honestly and sloppily like every one else gets to do. It was in that moment, tucked in a thin jacket inside of an 8-foot high instrument cubby in the inky darkness—it hit her. 

‘Is my suffering for a high purpose? Or is my suffering trying to kill me?’ 

She cried. 

She escalated. 

She took it personal. 

But it wasn’t enough. She wanted to scream in a microphone in a sea of shadowy faces. She drank whiskey and wove her pain into rock music. 

‘Music is my boyfriend’ she declared. The only man that kept his baggage to hisself. And it healed her. It gave her voice reason and purpose. 

The pebble-laden hike became lighter with time. The incline eventually evened out to flat, beautiful landscapes where the breeze finally met her back. She knew it wasn’t gonna be easy or sunshine but even the rain cleansed her and it was beautiful too. 

Somewhere in the rain she decided rules were meant to be built and broken. Like trust and love and friendships and families. Because every thing deserves the opportunity to change and grow. 

So... She broke rule number 1 on stage while singing a beautiful song. Dr. Jefferson (PhD) screamed for her to stop but she didn’t listen and the tears flowed like rivers of emotion down her cheeks. 

Rule number 2 was broken when she grew older and saw the injustices of the world. Marching with hundreds in protest she realized not everything needs to be pacified. 

And one day when she finally fell in love, she broke rule number 3. No matter how much training she’d done she couldn't help but take every thing her lover said and did personal. But it was ok. Because in all her resistance she realized breaking rules was her power. 

Melissa began to fall for her feelings. Her feelings gave life purpose. They weren’t always logical, as feelings seldom are. They were sloppy and embarrassing and rude and so fucking uncomfortable. But they were hers. And they were real. And when she sat alone sipping wine, staring at the moon…They were the only ones still by her side. Ready to break the rules for her because they loved her. 

And she finally loved them back. 

[dragonagitator]

is there a term that means the total opposite of a Mary Sue because I'm pretty sure that's what I'm writing my author self-insert as

she's like the worst possible version of me and it's glorious

“Now I have a question for thee: what is the worth of a single mortal's life?” I was still too pissed about his “no soul” remark to remember my lines, so I simply snapped, “200 gold, same as in town.”

oh my god what is wrong with you, that is NOT what we say to the God of Death

[jonny-b-meowborn]

guess what I've been doing in the past few days when I had no internet

take a guess

[bumblequinn]

hi @sourpatchsquids! thank you for your question.

as an artist with ADHD, i know this struggle very well. unfortunately offering advice on this kind of thing can be tricky, because what works for me may not work for you (and vice versa!). nonetheless, i can try; take whatever works for you, forget the rest, or reshape any part of it as you see fit. :)

but before i offer any actual tools, i have one caveat. i want you to take a moment to reflect and consider if you should be:

changing expectations

the timing of this question seems fated, because just the other day i had a therapy session wherein i expressed my grief and frustration over struggling to work lately due to my seasonal depression. it's not fair that i'm struggling just because it got a little darker outside! i just want the spark i had in the summer! i was so much more consistent!

my therapist's response: nothing about human beings is consistent. we get sick, we get tired, we get hungry and thirsty (and thirsty) and sad and lonely and restless and stressed and overwhelmed. this all gets amplified for folks who are atypical in some way or another.

when my therapist compared our seasonal cycles to those of plants and other animals, who wilt and slow down and hibernate, i protested aloud that i wanted to be a perennial instead. at this she said: even perennials change with the seasons. rose bushes have to be pruned, sometimes down to half their height! it was a dose of perspective i didn't particularly want, but really needed.

so when you're struggling to work through executive dysfunction, burnout, or brain fog, it can help to first check in with yourself about a few things. what do you have the capacity for right now? do you need any accommodation? and if so, what changes you might make to accommodate yourself?

with practice and self reflection, i've learned a handful of specific routines that help me when i'm struggling with creative work, which i'll detail next. note that while your question is specifically about music and i am specifically a musician, i believe that all of these suggestions can apply to most any form of digital creative work.

with that in mind:

#1: work slower

when i'm at the top of my game, i can get a LOT done in a day. but when i'm depressed, fatigued, or distracted, i just can't go full steam. sometimes i'll try to convince myself that i can if i just push harder, but what actually ends up happening is that i'm just fiddling with settings and going in circles rather than moving forward.

instead of that, when i want to work a lot but can't, i try to work slow. how slow? however slow i need to. take four hours to figure out the melody for a single verse. take all day to figure out that drum groove. yeah, i take a lot of breaks in between. who says i have to be my Absolute Most Productive Every Day Or Else? that's the puritan work ethic talking. kill it. be kind to yourself.

i'm reminded of advice i once read about some super successful and prolific author (gaiman? king? pratchett?) who said they wrote only four hundred words every weekday. that's already less than the word count of this post, and i'm only—[travels into the future to check my final word count]... 22.8% of the way through writing it!

now, i don't think i could function that way, because ADHD means some days i'm hyperfocused like crazy, and other days i just have no steam at all (more on that in #4-6). but it seems to me that if even someone highly respected in their profession can achieve what they have with only a little bit of work on a regular basis, maybe i don't have to punish myself for not pumping out a finished work every single week.

doing less work per day means you're much less likely to burn out, which does a lot for working more consistently. if that consistency still doesn't look like a five-day work week, that's okay! as long as it helps you work even a little more often when you want to, it's something worth doing.

however, if you're still feeling truly stuck, all hope isn't lost. you can still try:

#2: switch projects

sometimes the reason i'm moving slow is because of a bad brain day, but sometimes the reason is that i just cannot muster the motivation to do the specific task i'm trying to do right now. ADHD is fueled by novelty and interest, and if i'm not interested in what i'm doing, or it's feeling stale, that's a sign that i need to switch gears.

this is why first it's helpful for me to have more than one project going at a time. this might mean completely unrelated works, or it might just mean related tracks as with the music for a game like SLARPG or susan taxpayer.

the idea here is not to start a dozen different projects and bounce around them like i'm playing whac-a-mole—though i have done that. (i don't recommend it.) the idea here is to have a manageable number of different projects i can be working on so that if i get bored or stuck on something, i have fallback options.

what that number of projects is depends entirely on the week. maybe right now it's two, maybe another time it's three. i would probably be getting carried away if i tried more than that, but that's just my own limit. maybe yours is different. that's something for you to think about.

but it doesn't have to stop there.

#3: switch focus

maybe there is this one project that i just HAVE to work on, but the task i'm trying to do at this stage just isn't coming to me. okay, well, why don't i try working on a different task?

let's say i can't figure out what i want to do with the melody in one part of the song:

what if i try jumping ahead to a different part of the melody? ...no, i'm stumped on melodies today. okay, how about working on the drums instead? ...hmm no, i think i'm just completely tapped out on writing parts right now. alright, what if i organized my tracks, making sure they're all grouped and named in a way that i can work with easily? what if i did a rough volume balance for the mix?

and so on. if that's not enough to shake the off stuckness, i might consider: what can i do to make this project more interesting to me?

what happens if i try using an instrument or effect that i almost never reach for? what if i try sampling something obscure? what if i bang out the drums using my midi keyboard instead of drawing it in on the piano roll?

any approach that breaks me out of my usual habits is bound to get that feeling of novelty and fun back when i need it.

or maybe i can't do any of that right now, and so i take the time to answer a question from a fellow musician instead. i consider that part of my work, too, in a broader sense. check in with yourself and figure out what you can do right now. the rest will still be there later.

but okay, let's say you try switching gears, and switching again, and again, and nothing is moving. you try new approaches, but that wall of awful is insurmountable in this moment. it happens! the next thing you might try is:

#4: learn something new

when you aren't able to make progress on your projects, you can still make progress on your knowledge and craft. i often find this stokes a flame of inspiration in me where there wasn't one before. and even when it doesn't, it still gets my brain out of that feeling of stuckness and dread and into one of thought and action. learning also benefits in the long term because it adds to the well of knowledge from which you draw for all your future works.

for all the awfulness that exists on the internet, it remains an absolute treasure trove of teaching. there's an endless ocean of videos, blog posts, and articles from which you might learn something about your craft. (and if you sail the seven seas, plenty of book PDFs as well. 🦜🏴‍☠️)

it's true that the quality and depth of information out there can vary wildly, but in my experience most resources get at least some things right. and the more you research, practice, and figure out what works for you, the better you will learn to differentiate between the advice worth keeping, and the advice to forget. (that goes for all of what i'm saying here, too!)

that said, since our shared focus is music, a few resources i would highly recommend are:

music theory and composition music matters, 12tone, charles cornell, music with myles, 8-bit music theory, and this introduction by andrew huang

mixing and production dan worrall (especially this series for fabfilter), kush after hours, red means recording, andrew huang, alice yalcin efe, in the mix

general inspiration nahre sol, ben levin, david hilowitz, game score fanfare, posy, jerobeam fenderson, open reel ensemble, and ELECTRONICOS FANTASTICOS!

(if any readers have their own helpful resources for creating music or any other media, feel free to share in the replies & reblogs! 💓)

of course, on an especially bad day, it might be a challenge to seek out information, let alone retain it. that can feel pretty bad, but remember: be kind to yourself. the next thing you might consider trying is:

#5: consume art you love

not just music. books. shows. movies. games. illustration. animation. whatever moves and inspires you.

but do it intentionally. don't just pull up some random thing the algorithm suggested! check in with yourself about what you want (or are able) to engage with right now. choose accordingly. if you get a little way into it and realize it's not scratching that itch, hit the bricks. check in with yourself again. wash, rinse, repeat, until you find whatever it is that speaks to you right now.

and do it actively, if you can. don't just let it go in one eye and out the other! really pay attention to the work. what do you like about it? what are its themes and motifs? what makes it work so well? what are its flaws, and how much do they matter? what might you do differently? you can write notes as you do this if it helps, but even simply noticing and thinking goes a long way.

what you don't want to do is come at this with a lens of shame or envy. you're not here just to say to yourself, "ugh, if only i could do THAT." it's okay if it happens. use that thought as a springboard for curiosity: "well okay, how DID they do that? do i have the resources for it? if so, how could i apply that to my own work? if not, how can i adapt it, or what do i need to learn?" keep your mind open and approach the work with a sense of wonder.

as a creative person, it's very easy to think, "i should be making something right now, not watching a movie!" but that thought forgets something vital: your art is a response in a conversation. of course the "language" you use is your own, and maybe if you're lucky you'll invent a new word. but most of the words you use have been around long before you were born. you're just one voice in a dialogue that spans continents and generations, and that's okay. it's even the whole point.

none of us is an island. we are profoundly social animals. just as we can't live without eating, we can't make without learning. so half of making art is consuming it. consider this part of the process as well.

and finally,

#6: rest, and live your life

let's say you're in really dire straits. you've tried working slower. you tried changing focus, you tried changing projects. you want to take in new information or actively engage with your favorite art, but you're not in the headspace for it. what now?

take a nap. take a walk. take a shower. eat a nice meal, or an okay one. talk to a friend. maybe even do that chore you've been putting off (you know the one).

it's human to always crave making, but you're not a machine—and even if you were, machines need regular maintenance, too! you wouldn't drive a car that's completely out of gas, and you won't do yourself any favors treating your body that way either.

i know that when you take a break it feels as though you're not accomplishing anything, but you are: you're taking care of your animal self. and while you do that, your creative brain doesn't stop working! much like windows, it has countless background processes running at any given moment, with inscrutable names like "cbdhsvc_692da" or "Microsoft Edge Update Service." it's true, i checked.

when you're stuck on a project and you step away to rest, your brain is still chipping away at your ideas unconsciously. i like to tell people, "it's percolating." much like waiting for a pot of water to boil, that idea is still heating up, even when you take a step away. just be sure to check in on it once in a while. the time will pass, and it'll be boiling again before long. :)

before i go, i'll leave you with one last thing to keep in mind as you try all of these strategies:

be kind to yourself.

being human is just about one of the hardest things you can do. let alone being a human trying to survive capitalism while living with disabilities! the last thing you need on top of that is to overwork yourself, talk to yourself negatively, or treat yourself harshly. there are plenty of other people in the world who do that to you—don't be one of them.

i'm not saying that you shouldn't try to challenge yourself, to test your limits and go above and beyond your ambitions, if that's what you want to do. just remember that hard work and self compassion are not mutually exclusive. so be careful not to bully yourself. take pride in the progress you make, even when it seems small. encourage yourself like you would a friend who's going through a hard time. and when you challenge yourself, be your own cheerleader.

i hope you find this advice helpful! remember, this is just what helps me, so don't feel like you have to follow any of it exactly. maybe taking time to learn new information helps break you out of your rut more than working slowly, so you reach for that tool first. maybe having multiple projects going at once is too distracting for you, so you prefer to stick to one at a time. whatever your needs are, feel free to alter and adapt these ideas to fit you.

thank you for reading, and i wish you the best of luck in your creating.

with care, bee 🐦

[aceys]

my problem is every time i sit down to write a fic i blink and all of a sudden the main character is engaging in ed or self harm behaviours bro @ myself will you stop projecting it’s embarrassing

[imyourbratzdoll]

Hello my beautiful bubs💗 so I see you added Max Burnett to your list and like to request a little angsty and fluff. 

So Maybe him and reader get into a ugly and heated argument or he leaves her with no explanation like he does in the movie but then they End up fixing everything after awhile. 

hey baby! I hope you like what I wrote!

summary - max left you with a word, causing you to go through many stages of heartbreak until you finally meet again after 5 years.

warning - angst, swearing, heartbreak, no happy ending.

the gif I use isn't mine, divider by @newlips and @firefly-graphics

He told you to meet him here. You were sure of it. You had reread the address and time he sent, not wanting to disappoint him. You waited anxiously on the bed, gnawing your bottom lip as you whipped your head from the door to your phone. You turned it on and went to the messages, opening his contact.

Max❤: Meet me at our spoken place, you know what room. No, later than 12.

You looked at the time, noting it was now an hour past 12, and you were all alone. You scrolled through the messages you had sent him.

You: I’m here. 12:00 seen

You: Max? Where are you? 12:05 seen

You: Max? 12:15 seen

You stared sadly at your last message.

You: I see… You’re not coming… 1:00 message could not be delivered

You blinked back the tears, wondering if you would’ve seen the signs beforehand if you weren’t so stupidly in love. You would’ve rathered him break things off face to face instead of leaving you like this. Did he even care about you? Were you nothing to him? All these thoughts ran through your head as you stared at the wall, not bothering to wipe the tears that rolled down your cheek away. You must’ve been there for a long time because you were only brought out of your zoned-out state when someone entered the room, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder and asking if you were okay. You painfully smiled, nodding your head before leaving. You made your way home, feeling drained of all emotion, not knowing if you’ll ever feel okay again. 

You slowly stripped from your clothes, turned the shower on and entered. Your head rested against the cool tile, letting the water run down your body as tears fell from your eyes. Your heart hurt more than ever, squeezing harshly inside your chest as if someone had reached inside and begun to squeeze. Your sobs filled the quietness of your apartment, showing you how alone you really were. Once you were finished with your shower, you slowly got out and dried yourself, dressing in your comfy clothes before crawling into your bed, ignoring the harsh rumbles in your stomach, begging for food, ignoring the dryness of your throat. You just wanted to close your eyes and never wake again. 

It had been about five years since Max left you without a goodbye and a shattered heart. You spent the first year numb, barely living or feeling anything. Your friends and family didn’t see or hear from you, and when they did, they noticed that you barely took care of yourself. They tried convincing you to go to therapy, but you stared at them blankly. Barely even hearing a word they spoke to you.

The second year, you spent grieving. Your feelings came crashing down on you one day, and you couldn’t stop the dam from breaking. You’d cry whenever you saw something that reminded you of him, and you’d cry if you saw his name or someone who looked like him. You’d cry when you came home and saw things he had gifted you or the jumper he had left behind. The people in your life were still worried, but they were relieved you were at least feeling something now, taking more care of yourself than the previous year. 

And now we are here. For the remaining years, you became cold, heartless, and mean. You had built walls so damn high around your heart that no one could penetrate it. This is what caused the meeting you walked into. Your friends and family sat in your loungeroom as you walked into your apartment, staring at you worriedly. Throwing excuses that they care about you, they're worried about your well-being, and that you need to get help. You left, slamming the door behind you and heading to the closet bar. You sat on the stool and ordered a whiskey, needing something strong. You barely took notice of the man sitting beside you, rolling your eyes as other seats were available.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you drink whiskey.” You scowled, knowing who was now sitting beside you by the voice. Max smirked, leaning against the counter. “What, no hug?” You skulled the rest of your drink, slamming the glass down before slowly turning toward him, noticing the smug look on his face. 

You smirk, causing his brows to furrow as confusion takes over his features before you raise your fist and slam it into his face, hearing the crunch of his nose. You slam some bills down onto the counter and begin to walk off, exiting the bar to get as far away from that asshole as possible. You rolled your eyes, clenching your jaw, when you heard him following behind you. “Hey! Wait up!” You don’t. You just pick up your pace until he grabs hold of your arm and spins you, quickly raising his hands as you go to punch him again. “I just want to talk.”

“Talk?” You growl, stepping closer to the man. “Now you just want to talk? After five fucking years, you finally want to fucking talk?!” You scream, punching his chest until he grabs your wrists and stares at you. You huff, glaring at him. “I don’t want to talk, Max. I want you to fuck off. I want to return to five years ago and get the shattered pieces of my heart back.” You lick your lips, “I want to go back to before I met you so that I could have never met you and fallen for your stupid words and your stupid face. I want to be me again, but guess what? I can’t! Because I fell for you.”

He raises a brow, gulping as he continues to stare at you. He took in how beautiful you had gotten and how your sweet scent wafted through the air and into his nose. He missed you and feels it’s too late to make it up to you, but god, he will try his hardest too. “Are you done?” 

“Let me go, you asshole.” You growl. You wouldn’t let him back in. You couldn’t. You don’t know if you’ll survive another heartbreak and aren’t willing to try.

“Just listen to me, okay? I’ve been looking for you for five years.” You scoff, rolling your eyes at his words. “It’s true, goddamit, Y/n! Will you just fucking listen to me.” 

“Or what? What are you going to do, huh? What’s worse than you pretending to fucking love me and then leaving me without so much of a word?” Your glare sharpens, desperately wanting to get far away from him. 

“For fuck sake! I didn’t pretend to fucking love you! I still fucking love you! I didn’t have a fucking choice, okay?!” Your brows furrow, wondering what the fuck he means by that. Max sighs. “They were onto you and me. They threatened to hurt you if I met or even spoke to you. It took me four years to get away from them, to get them off my radar. You disappeared. I’ve been looking for you to ensure they didn’t do anything. Fuck! I didn’t want to fucking hurt you!” 

You shake your head, not wanting to believe him. You couldn’t. Sure, you still had some love for him, but you couldn’t put yourself through that again. Max cups your cheeks, looking into your eyes with his tear-filled ones. “Please, just give me a chance… Even as a friend, I just… Please, I need to have you in my life.” You shrug against him, stepping back and away from him. 

“I don’t know… Maybe in another life, but I don’t know if I can put myself through that again.” You swallow the sob that tries to pass your lips before turning away from him and walking away, holding back the tears that want to fall.

“Y/n! Please!” He cries vision blurred with tears as he watches you leave him like he left you. 

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[bioethicists]

The only good therapist I ever had told me that it was my choice to commit suicide, and that he had no say in my decision. It was incredible. Anything else would have made me worse. But this made me feel so much safer, and I was actually able to keep working because I knew my rights were not going to be taken away from me. That's why I think therapy cannot exist in an ethical way within the psychiatric, institutional & carceral system, because I know this guy would have gotten into a thousand problems if this interaction had been recorded or heard by anyone else.

i agree completely! there is a tremendous peace in being trusted with that- being told "i love u + i'm glad that you're here + this is your decision to make". i rlly do have empathy for ppl who can't bring themselves to offer this to loved ones who are suicidal but this should be an expectation of providers!!! of course, a person skilled at emotional healing would be able to read whether someone needs to hear this or instead hear something like "i value u. i want u here. i would miss u greatly. u are loved." for ppl who feel disposable or unwanted, this may be the better approach- but i do believe most if not all suicidality can be addressed through consensual compassion.

i wrote in my piece for the psych survivor's zine "you are no longer permitted to be anything but safe". this is how i experienced psychiatry. "safety" was them using coercion + lies + threats to Make Me be safe. i was suicidal bcuz i felt trapped in my life, my body, my family. i wanted freedom. continuing to restrict that freedom only made me thrash more.

it's more helpful, i think, to look at suicide as a thing with many possible causes (feeling trapped, feeling afraid of your own mind, wanting to stop experiencing pain, feeling there is no path forward for u, anticipating a future devastating event, feeling overwhelmed) rather than a Symptom which must immediately be dealt with via incarceration + medication.

not to quote nietzsche on main but "The thought of suicide is a great consolation: by means of it one gets through many a dark night." has always hit a chord within me

[hellcat8908]

Come Home Poly Batboys x Female Reader

Note: This is part 2 of Let Her Go

Warnings: Language

Over the last few weeks, the letters from Azriel and Cassian had piled up in a basket by the door. They sat unopened and ignored as you gave yourself the time to process the events of that night. It was no surprise that Azriel had learned where you were living, not that you were trying to hide anyway. The gossip around you and your mates had only worsened since you left. You first tried therapy, but they only seemed to be interested in details about your mates and not what you needed to work through, so you quickly gave up. Instead, you turned to journaling as a way to get your emotions and thoughts out and somewhat organized.

You currently sat in your favorite chair with your journal in your lap as you wrote out your feelings for the day. A series of harsh knocks disrupted you, causing you to leave your journal on the end table. You were surprised to see Rhys standing at your doorstep. You're tempted to slam the door in his face, but think better of it. "What are you doing here?" You ask cautiously. "I want to talk to you." He says, his voice sounding rough. "We have nothing to talk about." You answer. "I think we both know that's not true. Please, y/n." He says with a certain sadness.

"You said everything you needed to say that night. You made it clear where I stand with you." You say as his words come flooding back to your mind. You move to shut the door, but he stops it with his foot. "Please, I'm only asking for a few minutes of your time and for you to listen." He says pleadingly. Your anger rises at his words. "Only asking for a few minutes of my time and for me to listen?! No, you're asking for so much more than that. You're asking for me to relive the worst night of my life. You're asking me to let you in and open wounds that's that haven't had a proper chance to heal because I'm drowning in it. I have no one to talk to while the three of you have each other. So, no, you're not only asking for my time and for me to listen!"

He at least has the decency to look apologetic. "I'm sorry. I didn't think-" he starts to say, but you interrupt him. "That's the problem, you don't think, especially when it comes to me. You only think about yourself and your court. You're an amazing high lord but a terrible mate." You say as you let the anger take over. "I think it's best if you leave." You tell him. "I'm sorry." He says brokenly as he turns away. Once the door shuts behind you, you crumple to the floor, allowing the pain and anger to consume you as you fall apart. You let all the hurt and anger flood the bond so they might finally realize what they've put you through.

You manage to force yourself out of bed two days later. You make breakfast before grabbing the paper from the doorstep. Your eyes widen at the headline. You throw on some clothes and quickly braid your hair before making your way into Velaris. You don't bother knocking and let yourself in. You practically run to Rhys's office where you find him along with Cassian and Azriel. They stare at you in surprise. "What do you think you're doing?!" You demand as you focus your attention on Rhys. "What needed to be done." He says. "No! You stepping down as high lord is the worst thing you could do for this court!" You respond angrily.

"But the best thing I could do for us! You're tired of coming second to my court. Well, this is the solution." He replies. "It's not the solution! It's you overreacting!" You shout. "You're not stepping down as high lord! If you do, I will disappear without a trace, and you will never see me again!" You shout. "There is just no winning with you. Is there?! No matter what I do, it isn't right!" Rhys shouts. "Why does everything have to be so black and white with you?! All I wanted was for you to respect my feelings and stop treating me as anything less than your mate!" You shout before you feel the warmth of Cassian's arm as he pulls you from the room while Azriel stops Rhys from following.

Cassian carries you to the bedroom and blocks the door before sitting you down. "What the hell, Cass?!" You ask. "You tell me!" He says as he crosses his arms. "What is it going to take for you to forgive us?!" He asks angrily as he runs his fingers through his hair. He doesn't give you a chance to answer, "Those months of silence you're punishing us for are bullshit. You didn't speak up either. You never once addressed it with us or the ones gossiping. We just assumed you were ignoring it like the rest of us. You share just as much blame in this as we do." He says before storming out, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You sit on the oversized bed you all once shared. You run your fingers over the comforter. You curl up in the bed and allow a few tears to escape. You hold the pillow that smells of Azriel as you find comfort in it. You think about what Cassian said as you lay in silence. You zone out until a knock pulls you back to reality. Azriel opens the door, "is it ok if I come in?" He asks. He takes your silence as a yes and sits on the bed beside you. "Did you come to yell at me too?" You ask. "No, I brought you some tea and a muffin from your favorite bakery." He says.

"How did everything get so bad?" You ask, ignoring his offer. "A lot of things went left unsaid from all of us until it spiraled into something toxic." He says honestly. "Think we can ever get back to the way it was?" You ask. "Do you want to?" He questions in response. "I want it to be better." You answer honestly, "but I'm worried we won't be able to move past this." His shadows gently play with your hair, causing you to visibly relax. "All we can do is try." He says softly. "They hate me so much, though." You say as you choke back a sob. He wraps his arms around you, "Nobody hates you, princess. We all just need to calm down and discuss what needs to change moving forward." He says, always being the voice of reason to you.