#before but i never really spoke abt how severe my anxiety is

[rainparadefromhell]

had a really bad anxiety attack earlier today then it went away and i was fine and now i've gone back to feeling anxious and i'm trying to calm myself down.

anxiety is the worst feeling in the world and for me when i feel like there was no trigger or if the trigger was subconscious, it's exceptionally cruel. you just end up wanting so desperately to blame it on something and not feel crazy bc your brain is acting up and can't process stress.

my heart goes out to everyone struggling with this shit, no one knows how painful it is especially if it's severe. i'm really passionate abt this bc i've struggled/still struggle so much and i want this to be a place where ppl with similar experiences can feel understood and seen. a lot of ppl are not understanding bc they can't imagine how we feel. you do not need to just "get over it". it's not how it works.

pls remember you are also not your anxiety, even if it takes up so much of your life.

you're not broken. you're not less than. you're not a burden.

take care of yourselves ♥

[loser-writings]

Hihii you’re literally one of my fav Writers 🥺 could I get that one shot w Omega!Aizawa having a nightmare abt Oboro and the reader comforting him ?

This builds off of the Omega! Aizawa story I wrote a while ago! I hope you meant for the night I mentioned Aizawa having a nightmare in-between 2nd and 3rd year. If you meant adult Aizawa, please let me know! I’ll write a series of headcanons about how he deals with nightmares now.

WARNING: Spoilers for the Manga, Major character death, sexual implications

Nightmares || Young Omega! Aizawa

Oboro was gone. He had been for a few months now, but Aizawa wouldn’t have known that based on how frequent the boy appeared in his dreams. Always so supportive and kind, memories started to blur with his dreams which only caused more pain. 

Then there were those nights. The nights where he went to bed with high hopes that Oboro would be there to reassure him once again that he was worth it. That he was worthy of being a hero and that he was good for something, even as an Omega, but it only reminded him of how time seemed to move so slow during that moment. During his death. 

His voice was so clear too. The whole time he fought the villain after Oboro had been crushed, he swore that he had been cheering him on. Yet, he vividly remembered the bloody body bag as well. He was gone, and no matter what he attempted to do in his dreams, they always ended the same way. 

He launched himself out of bed once again, scent burning as several distressed chirps left his omega. He placed his hand over his chest, trying to calm his heavy breathing as well as his omega before taking a moment to look around. He was in his bedroom. He was awake. He could feel the hardwood under his feet. He was acutely aware of how his pajamas rubbed against his body. He was breathing. He was alive. 

His scent continued to burn as he slowly sat back down on his bed, resting his head in his hands as he tried to remember what exactly he did this time. The dream was already fading, but he swore it had something to do with those kids. God he felt so bad for those kids, barely older than pups and yet they already witnessed the cruel reality of the world.

Another chirp left his chest.

He groaned softly as tears threatened to spill and his breathing became uneven. He was getting in his head again. Overthinking. Oboro told him to stop that- Goddamn it everything brought him back to his friend. He needed a distraction.

He reached over to his phone and quickly turned it on, blinding his sensitive eyes as he clumsily turned down the brightness. After he could properly look at his phone, he quickly found your contact name and sent a simple text.

“Open your window. I’ll be there soon”

He pressed send before quickly gathering the bag he had prepared beforehand. Maybe he did overthink. Maybe he was in his head too much and overprepared, but that couldn’t have been a bad thing...Right?

He continued to ponder as he left his bedroom through his window, knowing he didn’t have to sneak out. His parents didn’t really care what he did, but he still didn’t want to risk waking them up. 

Once his feet hit the ground, he started walking towards your place. Luckily, it wasn’t that far away and it gave him enough time to compose himself. He stopped crying and his scent wasn’t as bitter as before, but he was well aware of how animals seemed to flee from him and other people seemed to cringe or cover their noses as he walked by. 

He never really cared for the coffee scent he had, finding it mildly ironic because of his disgust at the thought of drinking the bitter liquid, but you never seemed to mind it. In fact, it seemed like you were almost as addicted to the scent as a middle aged woman was to the actual drink. He smiled a little at the joke in his head before realizing he was almost to your house.

He noticed how your window was open and grinned a bit before knocking on the frame to alert you that he was there, only noticing you sitting on your bed in your favorite Pajamas after he crawled in the window and sat his bag down. Despite it being...Gosh it was 1 in the morning. Why did he wake you up? Well he might not have woke you up, you might’ve just been tired but how was he supposed to know-

“Shota.”

He snapped his head up at you only to see you with a small smile. It melted his heart and calmed his anxieties, seeing you look that way at him. 

“Come here, Omega. Tell me what’s got you bitter.” Your arms opened wide so he knew you wanted to hold him. 

He found himself quickly crawling into your arms, pressing his nose against your scent gland as you created a comforting scent to help calm him. His omega let out soft purrs as he felt your hands wrap around him, softly massaging his sides and hips while rocking him slightly. He found himself out of his head for once, completely focused on you and how nice it was to be in your arms.

“Omega, please talk to me” A soft kiss was pressed to his neck, above the scent gland, making him shiver and cling to you more.

“Just...A nightmare about him again.” His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, but you didn’t seem to mind. 

You let out a soft hum and pressed your lips to his temple before moving one of your hands into his own. Despite the little time you both had been courting, only a few weeks now, he found out that you knew the answer to the majority of the questions you asked and often could tell what was wrong before his scent could change or a word was said. 

His arms slipped around your neck as he hid once again, relaxing once you pulled him closer once again. 

“Wanna talk about it, or be distracted?”

God he loved when you asked him that. You never forced him to speak about it and always gave him options. You let him think about the options for a second, but spoke before he could get too in his head again.

“Darling, You know you don-” 

“Distraction. I don’t think I can talk about it without getting emotional.” He admitted and pulled away, not realizing how his hands slipped into your hair until he pulled them away to cup your cheeks. He grinned a little at how you seemed to lean into his hands as yours rested on his hips. 

“Fair enough. Just know that you have every right to feel the way you do, he was your best friend.” His grin faded and his scent started to turn, but you quickly pulled him close and pecked his jaw, hands moving to his sides before your fingers started poking at him. He gasped and jerked away from you, glaring at you while puffing out his cheeks. 

“Stop that,” He demanded as his hands moved to hold yours. “You know I can’t stand being tickled.”

“But it’s so cute. Hearing your omega chirp from the sudden poke.” You smirked and went to do it again but the Omega continued to wrestle your hands away from his sensitive sides until you managed to push him down on your bed. Neither of you thought about the position you were in, only that he was starting to giggle and smile again as he continued to wiggle, squirm, and fight you.

When you finally let him win, his scent had switched to a much sweeter and happy scent, something that made your Alpha boom with pride. His arms managed to wrap around your neck before he leaned up to kiss you. He hardly ever kissed first, so your eyes widened at the sudden action of the other. You kissed him back and noticed how his hands seemed to wander. Starting on your cheeks but moving to your hair, only to slowly move down your shoulders and arms as the makeout session continued. 

His omega and your alpha were purring up a storm, enjoying the affection in the moment. Your hands caressed his body but the second his back lifted off of the bed, you pulled away. He whined loudly, pink cheeks and sweet scent filling your room.

“Whyd...you stop?” He asked softly, looking at you with lidded and lustful eyes. Your alpha wanted to devour him, but you held back before moving to kiss his cheek.

“I don’t want to get carried away, darling...You deserve the best and you might not be thinking clearly.” You mumbled before pressing a few more kisses to the mans’ jaw.

He let out an annoyed whine before cupping your cheeks and kissing you once again, but it was cut short when he pulled away. 

“I asked for a distraction, so distract me. I promise, I’ll be okay and there is nobody else I'd want besides you.” He mumbled against your lips before pecking you again.

“You positive?” You asked, caressing your hands down his body one more time before meeting his gaze. He nodded and moved to hold your hand. 

“You’re overthinking. I want you to distract me and make me feel loved. I know that you’ll make me feel loved and special, so please. Make me feel loved.” He spoke clearly, fully submitting to you but also giving you that push you needed to take the next step.

Safe to say that Aizawa slept like a rock after.

[isolctions]

...........so let’s finally talk abt what the actual fucking fuck is wrong with ai’rina rue castillo, huh gang? :-)

(everyone go thank @armsdealing & @durcgs beating the anxiety out of me in order to post this info-dump.)

...before we get into things, now’s the part where i establish a warning for triggers to be discussed in this lengthy headcanon post. there’s gonna be some talks of mental illness, slight alcohol abuse, & breaking down topics of familial abuse, mental abuse, religious abuse, emotional manipulation, and elements of non-con. be warned.

a’ight, so look. i’ve hinted in between threads & development that rue had a not-so-fantastic upbringing that impacted how she perceives herself, how she interacts with others, (in terms of her career, at least) and how she views personal relationships, but i didn’t realize how........severely her upbringing messed with her mental health until i started working through how i wanted to plot out rue’s behavior for her next album release. at first, i had the idea that she decided to take more time for herself & sort of distance herself from the public / media circus plaguing her life so that she can create much more authentic music. then i actually listened to the EP that i’m basing her album off of and thought “...oh.” THEN, i looked over old meme responses & old threads / mentions of her family and how she grew up and thought, not for the last time since piecing everything together: “....oh. oh fucking boy.”

so, that horrible realization dawning on me, let’s talk about rue’s childhood.

i wrote a thing like, two years ago almost (that upon looking for last night, i realized i didn’t actually share it w/ anyone but alex in our discord server & only mentioned a portion of it in rue’s moodboard that i made) that talked vaguely about how rue felt growing up. and it’s worth noting that...she’s the middle of ten fucking siblings. and that’s just the brothers & sisters she knew of that stayed with their mother. and on top of that, not all of those siblings are the product of rue’s father, or even rue’s mother for that matter. and it’s also worth noting that rue not only grew up in poverty, but she grew up never having any actual space that had solely been her own, or even an article of clothing that had belonged entirely to her. so naturally, as a young child, rue sort of became torn between starved for attention & wanting someone to pay attention to her (whether that be her older siblings including her in something, whatever teacher they had for the next six months to call on her for something, for her mother to miraculously show up with her unknown father in tow one day, & for literally anyone to be her friend, pls god Notice her!!!) and for people to simply leave her the hell alone. obviously, this carried into adulthood.

and branching off from the whole “lack of space” point i made, rue wound up growing up to become increasingly more private as time went on because she literally cannot remember a single moment where she wasn’t squished between a bunch of people. driving around in their minivan? rue’s packed in the middle of the second row. nowhere to sleep while on the road? rue’s smacked between gigantic older brothers & clingy little siblings. need to use to bathroom? lmao, she better off going outside!!! gotta change clothes? yeah, good luck with that. it was to the point where, when rue got her first period, she was humiliated by it — not because ‘omg, am i a woman now?? wtf is this???’, but because she ruined the one good sheet that she slept on with her sisters & they were super pissed at her and her mother withheld pay from her for weeks. >:/

already, rue grew up never having shit to herself until the record deal. but she also dealt with literally...so much abuse from her mother. rue thought this was the norm growing up, because all of her siblings faced their mother’s wrath at some point & all of them eventually learned to just deal with the shit and do what she says if they wanted to avoid it. they all compartmentalized and repressed to varying degrees. there’s a lot in which rue has repressed so deeply, she doesn’t even remember if it seriously happened or if she was just making it up bc it was so fucking bizarre for a parent to act that way towards their child, lol?? (and this behavior of “i’m just going to do what you say bc i don’t want to deal with whatever bullshit you’re up to if i say no” also carried into business / personal relationships, which is...very Yikes it’s amazing she didn’t get scammed or worse!) 

so sure, people have complimented her for her exceptional manners & her cleanliness & how quiet / polite she is & how amazing her posture is, bc seriously, this girl will never experience back problems in her life bc her posture is so on par. but where rue typically smiles / responds bashfully, she can’t exactly just up and say: “oh, yeah, my mom used to slap the shit out of me ‘til i bruised if i spoke out of turn or talked back, and if i reached for anything in the store or put my elbows on the table she’d slap a ruler against my palms ‘til i got welts, and she’d make me read verses all night without sleep if i did anything wrong and make me straighten up and kneel on rice if i slouched or took a nap in church and humiliated me in public if i so much as looked at someone of the opposite sex on the street n oh, did i mention i also cleaned houses for rich millionaire snobs from ages twelve to sixteen and if they said or did literally anything to me i wasn’t allowed to defend myself?? ya i’m real proper :)”

(and normal ppl will go: “...................what the FUCK is WRONG with you????”)

but oh man, babe, we’re not done yet!!! rue, being the product of both a highly religious and a highly exploitative household...had difficulty when she started reaching puberty & noticing her classmates. plural, because it wasn’t just boys that she began to secretly have crushes on / fantasize abt, sexually or domestically. she also realized, oh shit, that she started looking at girls differently too. and that literally put the fear of god into her heart, bc if her mother ever found out that she was having non-platonic feelings for the girls in her classrooms, she wasn’t going to be pissed. her mom might have actually tried to kill her. or have her exorcised or something. she knew the shit would be severe, and she wanted no fucking parts of her mother or her siblings inserting the church into her personal life, thank u very much! so rue started suppressing her romantic feelings for people to the point where if adult rue receives intimacy, she’s like “...is this allowed? is this not illegal??????” while simultaneously being like “i will be a slut. just this once. as a Treat to teenage me. :>” regardless, rue learned to molotov cocktail literally any emotion or thought she had, bc she was paranoid that it would give her mother a vision.

now, onto the perils of exploitation...she should’ve been used to it really, what with her mother forcing herself & siblings to lure customers into their shop with promises of visions and palm readings and the wonders of the cards and overexerting their abilities. same with housekeeping, like being of service to people was normal! but when seventeen year old rue decided to sign a record deal and break from home, she wasn’t thinking critically about what the fuck all of this would entail. and as described in this headcanon post abt her discography, her early music was the product of allowing people much older & powerful than you to influence your work & manipulate your values. so rue was very much parading around as someone she wasn’t, someone much more confident and badass and self-assured than she really was, and she was so impressionable back then that it literally makes her sick to think back on it now. she calls it her puppy phase and phrases the eagerness to please execs as ‘tongue wagging’. homegirl hardly even knew her name anymore, bc all she was and all she would ever be was rue, the star, the vocal temptress. not ai’rina, the help or ai’rina, the seer, ai’rina, the weak little nobody. but later on, the subtle manipulation was less about decision making & how they wanted her to sound, and more about how they wanted to present the latest trophy star — because after all, she was pretty. people liked her. she sung really well. suitors weren’t too far off into the distant future. so why not kill two birds with one stone by having a high ranking label artist keep tabloids talking by being seen in public with a few heart throbs? surely, there’s no harm in manipulating an eighteen/nineteen year old’s love life! under the guise of improving her social skills & relations with fellow artists and the media and the like, rue gave into the pressures and let herself be taken out on dates & seen at awards shows with a few guys. no big deal. it was only for a night or so, she could handle the attention. then, one night appearances turned into week long appearances. pretending to date for only a month! completely innocent, positive exposure. :)

(adult rue, looking back @ younger rue: you stupid fucking BITCH-)

yeah, so once her label/management realized that she was turning into a hot commodity, they lost no sleep at allowing their nineteen year old artist to be seen ‘dating’ 20-24+ year old men occasionally. and whatever happened after their public appearances were none of their business. plus, she was good at pretending and being arm candy — so rue experienced her first kiss, her first dates, and her first times with people who she’s almost certain hardly remember their time with her, and really only got involved with her for a mutual career boost. very few of them does she actually remember in a positive light, and the ones that were positive, still depress her bc lmao all of it was fake, even if they were really nice & made it less like a chore and more like they actually wanted to be with her!! even fewer of them were actual relationships. meaning, said person asked her out of their own volition, not bc their managers thought it’d be a decent match on camera. it was evil, really, what her old label made of her. (like, she makes funny jokes that her first time having sex was awkward bc she had a vision halfway through that bummed her out but in reality it was just...really more of a transaction that made her feel icky n progressively worse abt herself until it happened more often and now she just doesn’t care anymore. sex is just sex, u know?? everything’s fake. why you gotta make it personal.) this whole fiasco took over the larger part of rue’s career from like, age nineteen to age twenty-two or so, and she suffered dramatically from this because what is even a genuine, authentic relationship at this point? what do u mean you want to get to know me? did ur manager tell you to ask so many damn questions & try to get to know me? obviously you want something from me bc that’s why everyone gets into a relationship or has sex with me, stop confessing feelings for me u fucking loser. >:/

like...rue doesn’t even have friends. outside of her relationship with marcelo / @armsdealing​ (which, AGAIN, i think was initially arranged to promote her song be honest, how fucking IRONIC), rue does not have any personal relationships with anyone. i mean, she likes her latest management team since switching labels...her hair stylist is rly cool & her make up artist is fun to vacation with...she met a few other celebrities at events that she occasionally texts & has dinner with...yeah, she’s basically a pretty hermit. her family is more or less out of the question — the few brothers & sisters she does still have a positive relationship with (like, four of them lol), they don’t see each other in person often / mainly communicate via groupchat and facetime calls when all of them have time. she tried visiting with her mother over the years, but the verbal & emotional abuse/curses placed on her/accusations of being an imp of satan for singing to the public/memories of being forced to perform psychic shows & clean for chump change keeps her from trying to mend that relationship. like, being gaslit by ur mother isn’t really the vibe, u know? and bottom line, rue simply is a very shy and socially stunted individual who does not know how to communicate like a normal human being anymore. hell, her life revolves around pretending for strangers at this point!

now, onto how...all of That ties into her behavior / state of mind during this next album. so, after riding the wave of success from her third album & the circus that came with that. rue sort of had a fucking existential crisis. came out of absolutely nowhere. (not nowhere — one of her brothers called her out of the blue and called her ai’rina and she literally went “who the fuck is that?”) told her label that she was taking some time in between albums bc she was creatively zapped or whatever bullshit excuse she came up with that somehow worked bc this new label was a little more understanding than the last. vacationed for a little, did some hot girl shit, bought a house, tried to see her mother again for whatever reason then got the shit slapped out of her and finally screamed at her to never touch her again unless she wanted to Throw Hands. cried and got drunk abt it. that took six months. bullshat to her label again, dropped like two songs to smooth things over, decided to focus on magic for a little to ground her, started partying with label mates then going home shitfaced & hungover every other morning. that took eight months. dropped one last song, promptly deleted her twitter, tried to write songs again, got a call from her mother and panicked and got drunk. that took a year. vacationed some more, got even drunker, was bed ridden for like three months because holy shit i’m having so many visions and if i see One More Thing my brain is going to explode, couldn’t separate the present from the future for weeks after that, told absolutely no one about that, cried every day & had an identity crisis, dyed her hair to appease the identity crisis goblins. that took a year and a half.

now, she just chilling. dyed her hair again. scaring her siblings halfway to death bc she keeps going on benders & sending cryptic texts abt the visions she’s getting but they’re so incomprehensible that they’re seriously considering moving in to get her fucking shit together. had a vision that she was married with kids and had a two week identity crisis appeased only by moving houses. (she was in a neighborhood with families...too much Drama and visions. turned into a really cool song tho.) started calling herself by her birth name of ai’rina in private. reactivated twitter to send cryptic tweets that her album is coming. working on said album. trying to drink less but kinda failing bc how is one simply supposed to make a highly personal dual album without alcohol??? prbly somewhere crying in marcelo’s lap or smthn. just vibes.

like...i feel like, in my head, the Theme of her project is wrapped up in identity. her relationship with fame and whatnot. trying to coax her childhood self out of its’ shell so that she can function like a normal goddamn person for once and re-establish her values. like, if someone went to any of rue’s residences right now, it’s just songbooks everywhere and wine glasses and her crystals and shit, bc she still has people’s futures to read for money. (yes, she never really got out of that portion of her childhood, but hey it pays.) it was all very confusing to experience at once while in bed at four in the morning & even though i tried organizing and debated on this, it’s still a Lot. which is why i am once again asking for plots that would allow her to dissect all these Things

so yeah. album four otw, with a side of confronting our childhood & facing our traumas!

[oh-mother-of-darkness]

hello this isnt abt batfam or batman but i saw your age and was wondering how do i survive till 23? i am 18 now and 5 more years is very hard to survive please help

Interesting question. I turn 24 in ten days, and sometimes even I’m not sure. I guess I’ll talk about how I personally stayed alive this long before I try to give advice.

The very first thing I would say is that I am religious, and that worldview makes a difference. I don’t mean that in a “everything happens for a reason” kind of way, and as a matter of fact, I very much dislike that line of thinking. It does a lot of damage, and I’m aware that it rightly puts a lot of people off from religion in general. 

I hold two beliefs that I think are helpful in terms of survival. First, I believe that humans are by nature bad. Counterintuitive in this conversation? Stick with me. Every day, but especially at my lowest moments, I hate the things that I am. In a metaphorical sense, my mind whispers to me that I am selfish, that I am cowardly, that I think bad things and I am capable of worse. I’m hateful, I’m terrifying, and I am absolutely broken. At my core, there is something fundamentally wrong, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t fix it. 

I am disgusting. I’m several thousand evil things in a trench-coat pretending to be anything but myself, and I’m not fooling anyone. 

Well, yeah. Yeah, I’m all those things and more: manipulative, lying, self-obsessed, angry, unforgiving, and judgmental. I could, of course, go on.

Here’s the thing-- everybody is. I am no better and no worse than any other person in the universe, and though I am ever abhorrent thing, I am. I have the same dignity, the same worth, and the same life as any human anywhere. The dark things are part and parcel of my humanity, but although I am not good, I do good. 

I will never be perfect because that just isn’t possible, but I can be kind. I can be loving, I can be strong, and I can be wise. 

Shit, doesn’t that set me free?

There’s a lot more to this conversation, and the rest goes, in brief, like this: at the bottom of the darkness that is every soul, we have one great fear-- if I am truly evil, no one will ever love me. Good news on that front, there is a God who does. If that’s something you want to talk about, hey hit me up. I’ll evangelize on my own time. 

Back to it. My second belief is a kind of understanding about the passage of time, and it’s sort of hard to boil down into a few sentences, but I’ll try my best. I believe in a grand struggle between good and evil. I know the beginning of that struggle. I know the end of that struggle: that good will win. I am a part of the middle. 

I see my role in the universe as extraordinary small but absolutely necessary. I have a two-fold purpose-- love God, love humans. I interpret both as a call to help others in any way I can, and I think in the way my life has worked out so far, that’s really the most important thing keeping me alive. 

I see all of this through the frame of my religion, but I would argue that everything I’ve said so far is applicable outside of that frame, because a lot of folks get to the same place from a fully secular point of view. I cannot be perfect. I should care about and fight for other people. That’s really all we’re working from here. 

A few years back, when people asked me this question-- how do you stay alive?-- I used to answer “spite,” and that’s not untrue. I am a very angry person, and the grand majority of that anger is directed at what I perceive as unjust acts. I have a deep-seated hatred of establishments (including the established church), and you’d be shocked at how much of a motivator that can be. 

I grew up in an environment that was very intentional in teaching me to identify injustice. Though I have radically departed from many of the teachings of my childhood, the part about fighting for others was something I learned at day one, and that bit has stuck around. For the most part, I grew up in an environment where everyone was on the same page about it. 

And theeeeeeen I went to undergrad. Hello, Texas A&M. I hit campus as an 18 year old fully incapacitated by anxiety. I was the kind of person who didn’t-- in fact couldn’t-- speak in front of others. I had always lived my life in a way that minimized myself, because if I never spoke, if I never disagreed, if I never drew attention, I would never make anyone angry. I knew from experience that angry people hurt me, and I was afraid of pain. 

Then I experienced the absolute shenaniganry of conservative Texans. The culture shock sent me to space and back, and on the return trip I decided that I couldn’t be quiet anymore. 

I learned to speak my freshman year so that I could scream FUCK YOU. It was incredibly painful, and I can’t tell you exactly how I managed it other than I was angry, and I didn’t want to lose. 

I fought a similar battle on my homefront against parents that didn’t know how to deal with a daughter that disagreed, or even worse, a daughter that wasn’t okay. I wasn’t a perfect child anymore. I knew I had anxiety, I knew I was depressed, and we all knew who I blamed for that. They hadn’t been the perfect parents they thought they were. 

I found myself growing, little by little, into a person that could write and argue and hold her ground. That’s personal growth for sure, but it didn’t necessarily help my mental health. As a matter of fact, my health declined all through undergrad, and in my third and final year, I cracked.

I was desperate. I was isolated. I was flooded by fear and despair, and I was falling apart. I don’t remember huge chunks of undergrad because I was so depressed that the memories didn’t stick, but I do remember my tipping point.

It was something small. The ceiling fan in my bedroom was broken. The lighting chain worked fine, but if anyone pulled the fan chain, the whole thing would stop working. I mixed up which chain was which, pulled the wrong cord, and broke it for the fourth time. 

For some reason, that was it. I lay down on my floor and cried for an hour, and while I did, my mind went to, as the kids say, a dark place. Finally, I called my mom and begged for psychiatric medication, something I had always been afraid to ask for. At the time, my parents believed that antidepressants were overprescribed, and they mocked parents that let their children take them. 

At around the same time, I was deciding what to do with my life. I was about to graduate, and I had always wanted to be a kindergarten teacher. Instead, everyone in my life pushed me towards law school. I didn’t know what to do, but I began fantasizing, not about going to law school exactly, but about being the kind of person that could go to law school. 

I knew that law school would be entail public speaking and constant conflict and the kind of work that would be hard for a person who sometimes couldn’t leave her bed. I wanted to be someone who could do all of that, but I didn’t believe I was.

Enter Donald Trump. Post-November 2016, I struggled to understand how something like that could happen, and I watched everyone else deal with it too. I began confused, moved to distraught, then returned to what I always am: angry.

January 2017 was the inauguration and shortly afterwards, the “Muslim ban.” I read the news on my bedroom floor, and there was one specific part that stuck out to me. There were pictures of lawyers flooding the airports. There was a court case headed for SCOTUS.

I suddenly realized that one group-- one very select group-- was doing what I was powerless to accomplish. I hated establishments, and there was one group that could challenge and change them. Some people could fight in the way I wanted to, and those people were lawyers.

I have a very distinct memory of looking into the bathroom mirror of my third-year apartment and thinking, “I will be miserable for the rest of my life, no matter what I do or what career I pick. I might as well be a miserable lawyer.”

So I took my antidepressants and I went to law school. I’m not going to rehash everything that happened there in this particular post, because in this topic, I don’t think it matters. The relevant part is that I went, and I had my reason why.

Sure as hell can tell you that law school wasn’t good for my health. The last three years have been, in terms of sheer stress and despair, the worst of my life. I picked up a self-harm habit, endured consistent humiliation, cycled through six different antidepressants, had horrible relationships, and developed a psychotic disorder. Don’t get me wrong, there were good things too. I met people that are important me, and beyond that, I grew. 

I know that 18 year old me would be absolutely flabbergasted by the woman I am now, cracks and flaws included. I wouldn’t say I’m healthy or okay, but I am more healthy and more okay. I’m coming out of this mess with the institutional power I wanted, and now I get to decide what to do with it. 

I was wrong three years ago when I looked in that bathroom mirror. I know now that I won’t be miserable for the rest of my life. I’m going to be happy someday, and to the parts of me that say otherwise: fuck you. I’ve learned to say it now. 

I graduated law school this week, and this month, I’ve felt better than I ever have before. I’m singing again, I dropped two medications, and suddenly, everything is so, so funny. I’ve been laughing so hard my face hurts the day after. 

This is a huge turning point in my life, so I’ve been meditating on my past. I’ve come to the conclusion that in most of the ways that matter, I won. My family has been forced to accept what I am. I became the person I wanted to be, even though I thought I wasn’t capable of that. 

I know for sure that there will be times in my life where I hit rock bottom again, and that’s not gonna be fun. It’s likely that with my mental health issues, I will always have to work harder than my peers to get the same results. That’s unfair. 

I also know that high points exist, and I will have them. I am having them, and I will again. 

I guess in recap, I know that I have deep flaws and ugly parts, but I am at peace with that. I know that I must help others, and in pursuit of that goal, I became a person I like more than the girl I used to be. 

You have exactly the same potential. I want you to know that whatever you are now, that’s not your forever. Circumstances change, and you will change too. We’re human, you and I, and that’s an exciting thing to be. 

Your worth comes from your humanity itself, both evil and good, not the things you do or the fights you win. You never have to compare yourself to others because you are exactly the same as everybody else-- no better, but certainly no worse. You’re a person. That’s enough. 

I’m telling you all those things, and as advice, I’ll say this: get angry and fight. Fight for others. You can help them, and you should. Fight for yourself. You are worthy of respect, and everyone else should give it to you. Fight yourself. Any part of you that preaches despair is wrong. 

Find the thing that makes you angry and use it. Things are fucked up! There’s a lot to be angry about. I put it this way to my classmates, now my attorney peers: you get one hill to die on. What’s your hill? Go and defend it. 

Here’s an interesting thing, anon. Your hill can be yourself. There’s nothing wrong with that. You’re right. Five years is a lot, and all the years beyond that are more. Take your antidepressants and go.

[zayashmaya]

Gods and Monsters - 4 - Honeymoon (part 1).

Marvus x Reader; SFWish

Other chapters here!

In which the limo becomes the ultimate wingman.

There are violets in your eyes There are guns that blaze around you There are roses in between my thighs and fire that surrounds you It's no wonder every man in town had neither fought nor found you ... 

- Lana Del Rey

You were propped up on Marvus’s lap from the moment the chauffeur closed the door behind him. It was a rather intimate gesture, but Marvus had insisted, and you knew him well enough by now to expect this sort of behavior from him. You even questioned him once about his tendency to always touch you, and he had claimed it was because he enjoyed your warmth, so you happily obliged his cold-blooded yearnings.

Marvus had chosen his singular seat that was strategically placed between a mini fridge and a bartop upon which rested several bottles of faygo. You discretely scrunched your nose as he took a generous chug. Not even the atmospheric tunes playing from the speakers could appease your rising hatred for that drink.

But Marvus mistook your leering for thirst, apparently. “Wanna lil taste?” he offered, jostling the faygo with a slight shake.

Would it be rude to refuse? Would it go against his religion, even? “Is this the same faygo they serve during service … ?” you asked, remembering how Chahut had prompted you to partake in the ritualistic consumption.

“Na b dis ain’t the cheap shit, u gotta try it.”

You hesitantly accepted the bottle, using both hands to tip it up. The cold, acrid nectar electrified your taste buds with its overpowering sweetness. With the amount of sugar and other obscure additives mixed into this noxious concoction, no wonder the purplebloods were prone to sporadic bouts of madness.

The limo rolled over a bump and made you spill some of the faygo from the corner of your mouth. “Damn it,” you muttered, wiping it away with your hand as you leaned over Marvus’s lap to set the bottle down, unaware of his gaze on your lips.

Before you could settle back into place, Marvus caught hold of your wrist. You felt your pulse quicken — was he upset with how you’re conducting yourself, wasting his favorite drink?

Judging by his cheeky grin and hooded eyes, you knew that was not the case.

Your anxiety disappeared instantly, only to be replaced with frozen shock as his tongue darted out to slowly lick away the sticky faygo on the back of your hand.

“Wh — I — Marvus — “

“Can’t let it go ta waste, ya no wat i’m sayin?” he cheekily said as you wiped off his spit on your dress. “So, wat b da verdict?”

God, you still felt the residual chill on your hand from his tongue. It had been so wet and smooth —

“Yo buddy, u gud?”

What would it feel like in other places — 

You snapped out of your wandering thoughts and prayed you weren’t blushing too hard. “Wh — what? Oh, it’s … it’s something, alright,” you meekly replied.

Marvus chuckled. “Don't stress it babe, i can see u ain’t too keen on da wicked elixir. It b written all over your face.”

You smoothed your hands over your cheeks and cursed the heat blossoming forth. “Don’t tease me, Marv,” you whined, turning away from him.

He gently grabbed your wrists and pried your hands away with ease, smiling at your mock pout. “I juss can’t help myself. Look at dat cute redness all over u. How’s a bro supposed to resist makin u flush, ‘specially when i no it’s all for me?"

Revealing one’s blood color to another was considered to be an intimate display of trust, as you’d learned when you first met Vikare. Maybe Marvus was just eager for some reassurance of your friendship? Troll culture sure is confusing.

A short buzz saved you from further provocation. Marvus seemed almost disappointed by the interruption, judging by how his smile fell into a flat line. But he excused himself all the same, busying himself with his palmhusk while grumbling about not getting enough free time.

You were tempted to check out the television, but the remote was cast away on another seat, and Marvus had tightened his hold around your waist while he spoke to someone who might have been his manager. Trapped as you were, you simply leaned onto his shoulder and looked outside, letting the ambient rap streaming from the speakers set the mood.

Through the tinted windows you could make out towering high-rises and neon signs flaring with Alternian government propaganda. A particular sign caught your eye for a brief moment as it passed by — written into a giant billboard in magenta were the words, the revolution will not be televised, because it does not exist.

Marvus snapped his fingers in front of you, prompting you to look up. He was startlingly close, you realized, and you very nearly got lost in those impossibly dark eyes before he asked, “Whachu thinkin abt, babe?”

You regarded him silently.

Here you were, legs propped up over the lap of a dangerous highblood. He had finished with his phone call, grazing his knuckles over the expanse of your leg. Strange, how you felt completely at ease with him, despite knowing what he was capable of. You were not an idiot — Marvus could command thousands of mindless trolls with the same flair of a ringleader in a circus, fanning the flames of crowd-induced mania simply for his own convenience. Blood spilled for his sake, sacrificial lambs led to a euphoric slaughter.

The propaganda sign was still burned into the back of your retinas, a haunting after-image that colored your world a dizzying lime, and you were reminded of Tyzias’s hushed whispers of a caste long-forgotten, lost to the depths of a magenta shadow.

Dead. The limebloods were all dead, as decreed by the Condesce.

Limelight, you thought. The focus of public attention. How ironic.

Marvus would one day have to carry out the Condesce's whims. He was certainly fit for it, having honed his craft as a global superstar. All of his life had been dedicated to his adoring fans, painstakingly perfecting his performances with an avid devotion to not only the populace, but to his very namesake, to whom he was destined to become.

And that is precisely why you pitied him. How different could his livelihood have been, how evolved beyond its empty meaning could it become, if only he could create music for music’s sake. Not for an inevitable life of servitude, forced to use his powers to control the masses.

If only he knew what true freedom meant. Not that your world was perfect by any means, but still, you wondered.

“I was thinking about music,” you replied.

He quirked a brow. “Don’t leave me hanging like dis now, i gots to b knowin wat’s cooking in that funky think pan of yours.”

“Well,” you started, wondering if what you were about to say was considered heretical. “I was just wondering what music means for your people. For my people, it’s traditionally been used for all sorts of reasons, but at its core, music has always been a form of self-expression, rebellion, and spreading messages of awareness. You know, like … problems with our society, and stuff.”

You paused and glanced at Marvus. Nothing about him seemed out of place — except behind his ever-present grin and hooded eyes hid a keen glint of intuitive understanding. “Dont lemme stop u bb,” he said with a wink. “I like to hear u spit sum faxxual truths at me abt alien culture.”

“You’re not going to rip me in half for saying these things?” You knew he wouldn’t, but it was your turn to tease.

Marvus had the decency to look scandalized. “Daaayum, dat hit me rite in the blood pusher,” he dramatically replied, slapping a hand over his chest. “I ain’t never given u no reason to think i’d hurt u!”

You smiled softly at his genuine concern, shuffling around for a moment to bring your knees on either side of his hips. Marvus looked a little out of sorts with your repositioning, eyes roaming over your further-exposed thighs as your dress rode up from straddling him.

“I know you wouldn’t hurt me,” you quietly said, placing your hand over his. “But I’ve been on this planet long enough to know danger when I see it.”

His fingers entwined with yours. “Damn strait, cuz.” He brought your hand up to his lips and gave a quick nip to your fingertips, gently so as to not scratch. You snatched it back with a giggle. “But btwn u and me, i think u’d give me a run for my cas$$shmunny, hunnie.”

“How so?”

He tapped two fingers against your temple. “The danger b all up in here.”

“The only thing dangerous about me is my lack of a brain — er, a think pan.”

“Na don’t sell urself short like dat, i b tellin u dat u wouldn’t have survived without sum street smarts.”

“That’s what I thought in the beginning,” you wistfully said. “Until I started realizing how my life has turned into an endless stream of do-overs. At this point, I’m more inclined to think that there is a higher power watching over me, guiding my way.”

Marvus hummed in answer, short and deep and with a hint of questioning. “Hey babe, lemme axe u sumthin.”

You wordlessly nodded, sobering up from the sudden change in mood. This was, perhaps, the first time you had ever seen him with such a thoughtful look on his face.

“You really believe in the Dark Carnival, sis?” His eyes appeared to flash with each passing lamp post, like a dangerous creature prowling in the darkness.

Long ago, you might have hesitated. Longer still, you might have faked your devotion in favor of friendship. Now, though … now you knew with resounding certainty.

“I really do,” you answered.

“How do u no for a fact?”

“Because I’ve been there.” Marvus frowned and leaned back against his chair. You did not let his skepticism deter you. “I died once, you know. I don’t really remember it, but I know it happened because whenever I’m in church, I can practically feel myself being lifted into another plane of existence. And — and there was a carousel,” you animatedly recalled, each bit of recollection stringing together lost memories until it felt like you were there again. “There were two angels who came to get my body, and there were weird mannequins occupying the other horses on the carousel, and there were paintings of clowns with smiles and frowns … And a purple figure holding something, and there was a lot of red and green — “

Marvus placed a hand against your cheek, and you felt your zealous excitement cool down to a happy daze. “Either u hittin da incense too hard, or dat was a mutherfxxn prophetic vision.”

“I dunno,” you slurred, leaning into his touch. “But it was real, Marvus. It was fucking real, and the only time I’ve ever really felt at peace since I got here.”

“Shiiiiit, lil mama,” he breathed in awe, running his fingers through your hair before grabbing your waist. “I ain’t gonna doubt u no more. If da messiahs deemed u fit for such an honor, then i fxxn bow to u.”

You giggled. “You do that anyway! Since I’m so short, ya see.”

“Yea, short n sweet,” he rumbled low, and you felt his touch run down your sides to end up at your thighs. At this point, you were fairly convinced he had a fixation.

It took a moment to catch up with his words. There you go again with your blushing. “Wh — what are you saying … “ you trailed off, shyly looking away.

“Only truths,” he replied. “Cuz all i see is truths all over u. Your skin b glowin like its covered in sum kinda special stardust n shit. Makes perfect sense tho.” He bared his sharp fangs in a wide smile, his eyes raking up and down your form as you felt his hands grip your thighs a little tighter. “Them leg struts b a muthafuxxin miracle, babe. And that’s a true fact, strait up.”

You felt the gears turning in your head while you processed what he said. Was he … ?

“Oh!” You leaned in towards him and bunched your hands into the fabric of his coat. Marvus craned his neck to bring his face closer to yours — for what reason, you couldn’t imagine — and it almost looked like he planned to close his eyes before you excitedly spoke, “You’re talking about that sparkly powder you guys use during prayer, right? And you use this stardust to pray for miracles, ergo my strut sticks, which apparently even the Grand Highblood approves of. That’s pretty poetic, Marvus. You really have a way with words! Although I guess you have to be, since it’s quite literally your livelihood."

Holy hell were you rambling.

Marvus reared back, eyes wide and mouth pursed in confusion. Whatever he saw in your oblivious face had him soften his expression, a light smile playing on his lips. “Pfft. Yea, lil mama.”

The limo suddenly lurched. You were propelled face-forward into Marvus’s chest, and you were tempted to compare his pecks to airbags, but that was too gauche, even by your standards.

“Sorry!” you squeaked, ready to scoot back to put some respectful distance between you, but his hands found their way around you and held you in place.

This was intimate. This was far more intimate than his usual touchy-feely self. You were frozen in hesitation, a bundle of nerves and unexplored emotions rising to the forefront of your mind. “Marvus … ?”

You couldn’t see his face, but you could feel him. Solid, sinewy flesh pressed against your cheek, cold to the touch and yet pulsing with a living beat.

“Wanna know another fact?” he quietly asked. You slowly nodded, and he continued, “You’re kinda one dense mofo, too.”

Well, that took a turn you were not expecting. Marvus loosened his grip to let you look at him face on. Your nose wrinkled in confusion as he watched you with an amused expression. “What do you mean?”

“Babe. Do i rly gots to spell it out for u? Maybe free-style some sicknasty beats to get dem thots cookin in ur think pan?”

You opened your mouth to speak before closing it to think for a moment. The prospect seemed rather exciting; how many people had the privilege of having this talented troll customize a rap for them? “I wouldn’t turn down a verse from you.”

“ :o) “ He reached out to carefully tuck your hair behind an ear — your heart fluttered — and leaned in to murmur:

”Lover lovin herself all up on me, Luscious hips, all curves and dips, And a burning touch That I just gotta worship like an effigy Ya hear me baby — “

Your hands clenched into fists against his chest.

“Red flushin and rushin like a river that flows I wanna b known how far down it goes."

You felt your breath leave your body.

Marvus finally leaned back to gauge your reaction. God, he was so close, hypnotizing you with those deadly bedroom eyes. You couldn’t look away. “Catch my drift now?”

It was at this very moment that your predicament became utterly, embarrassingly aware to you. “You wanted to pail me this whole time?!”

“Ye ;o) “

“But — but why?”

He furrowed his brows and tilted his head. “Whutchu mean why?"

You felt your cheeks burn as the onslaught of past remarks about your appearance surged forth to the forefront of your mind. “Because I’m not attractive to your kind,” you bluntly replied. “I’ve been compared to a mutated lusus, for goodness sake!”

“Hahaha lol!”

“That’s not funny!” You lightly smacked your palm against his shoulder.

Marvus settled down from his laughing bout, completely unperturbed by your attack. “U ain’t gotta give those muthafxxkas any of ur time or energy. Who gives a damn wat they b thinkin, they ain’t the ones who get to have u at the end of the nite. I like u for ur cute lil booty — “ He shamelessly patted your behind, and you admitted to yourself that it wasn’t an unwelcome advance. “ — and most of all, i fxxks whichu for how chill n funny u are. So don’t be all up and worried bout any of dat. Wouldn’t have u here otherwise.”

It was time for one of your famous, long-winded internal monologues.

Did you want this? Did you feel attracted to Marvus Xoloto?

Hell fucking yes, don’t ask yourself such stupid questions.

With that out of the way, on to the next point of consideration — were you ready to accept his propositioning?

Oh, how badly you wanted to say yes. The urge for friendship had long ago morphed into a consuming hunger for stronger bonds. You had even caved in to your whimsical desires and became rather well acquainted with troll anatomy … except everything crashed and burned right after your romp.

Lanque’s cutthroat critique bore into your heart and grew there like a festering wound ever since that fateful night. As such, you could not help but wonder whether Marvus would find you boring, too. Even worse than that, you wondered whether he was doing this to satisfy some sick curiosity about your body. Just another exotic thing to cross off his bucket list.

You did not want to believe those dark thoughts. Marvus had never treated you badly before — in fact, all evidence pointed to the contrary, that he was genuinely into you. But try as you might, your self-confidence was at an all time low. You were afraid to open up again.

Marvus patiently waited while you chewed on your bottom lip and looked away. As soon as your face darkened, he was there to reel you back in with a tap against your nose. You snapped out of your thoughts and drew your attention to him, afraid to see him irate or disappointed by your silence. Instead, you found him to be his usual smiling self.

“Don’t stress it so hard, cuz. U ain’t gotta do anythin u aint keen on, ya dig? I’ma getchu home like i promised, and we gonna forget dis happened.”

It should have been enough. You should have been happy with his suggestion, eager to put this all behind you and remain platonic friends, because you were still hurting from your last tryst.

So why did you feel bothered?

Marvus pressed a button off to the side of his armrest, and the driver’s voice crackled through a nearby speaker. “Yes sir?”

You were about to miss out on an important situation, your senses told you. And you needed to make a choice.

Some other you chose the sensible route. Some other you would return to your watchtower and never get this opportunity again.

But you were strong enough to push through your doubts, right when it mattered most.

You grabbed hold of his loosened bowtie —

“Sup buddy, we gotta — “

— and yanked him down to your level, smashing your lips against his.