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katsukiizmoon · 1 year

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╰┈➤ ꒰🍓🧋┊boba time ┊hold me tight

You like to pretend to be strong. You keep your shoulders pulled back, eyes forward. You repeat those words over and over again in your mind.

Eyes forward, darling.

Waves of sadness crash over your body despite this. No amount of angry looks, putting on makeup, doing your hair, fixes it. Even on your best days, you are still pretending.

You like to pretend to fit in.

Wide smiles and giggles. Brightly saying hello to everyone and offering aide to those in any need. Agreeing with what people say, laughing at jokes you don’t understand, keeping the conversation on what they enjoy.

But regardless, you do not. You don’t go out with anyone because they don’t give you enough notice. You’re scared, too. Social situations are not your strong suit. Even on the days you laugh loudly with a drink in hand, you are pretending.

You pretend to love yourself.

Hyping yourself up in front of everyone, wearing cute clothing, giving people advice. You repeat confident phrases like a mantra. Look at what I did, you say. I’m so proud of myself, you tell yourself. But even on the days your chest doesn’t ache with hatred, you are pretending.

No one bats an eye, notices, nor cares. People are people after all, the bystander effect. Why would they? Even your closest friends are far away. Your real opinions are unpopular. No one minds and you suppose neither do you.

Katsuki knows this. He noticed. He batted his eyes. He cares.

For him it’s plain, in big bold neon lettering. Time either moves too fast or too slow for your pretty eyes and body to catch up. Your eyes move faster than your body and your body trips over itself.

And god, it moves something within him. To see someone in a similar position to his own. Watching you rip yourself apart time and time again.

That’s how he finds himself in your room, fingers running over the little dresser. He chews his lip and grits his teeth, huffing. Chest heavy and shoulders tight.

You’re sitting on your bed, gawking. Eyes wide, mouth open—frozen.

“You can stop pretending.” Katsuki’s deep voice rattles in his chest.

You scowl, lips pulled back and eyes narrow.

“Fuck outta here. I’m not pretending. What’s you come here for, to mock me or some shit ?” You spit. Venom laces your every word.

“Fine. What’s your favorite animal?” He grits.

“Cat.” You quip, fingers digging into the plushie in your hands.

“Liar.” He bites, amused.

Katsuki looks at you, brow cocked, like it’s funny. He opens his hand and gestures loosely to your bedroom.

“Sharks. I can count at least five shark related items in this room by looking at any given area. Hell- the fuckin plushy you’re holding is a whale shark.” He muses.

He’s right. You know he’s right. Frustration— no, embarrassment rises and makes your skin burn and eyes sting.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Yeah yeah, you shut up. Somethins’ under your skin and I know it. So spill, sharkie.” Katsuki crosses his arms over his chest and looks down at you. Your eyes widen and narrow again before you turn away and fall into the bed completely.

“Get out, asshole.” You mumble, beginning to retreat into the safety of your blankets and pillows.

“God you’re so fuckin annoying.” He groans, smacking a palm to his face. You can’t see it but heard it clear as day.

You stay silent, maybe if you pretend he’s gone he will be.

Pretending always works.

Katsuki kicks his house slippers off and presses a button on your humble TV. He stretches his arms over his head and grabs the tiny remote. When taking in your surroundings, he noticed an aquarium night light. He flicks it on and turns off the light, heading over to your bed.

It creaks under his weight, as it isn’t memory foam like his. You still try to pretend he isn’t there until he speaks again.

“Alright, my little pony or totally spies?” The blonde inquires, softer than before, and with a sigh.

Your mumble is hardly audible.

“Got it.”

Katsuki moves back and waits for you to stop sulking. Eventually you give in and he’s against the wall side of your bed. You don’t speak and he tells you not to run your mouth to others about this. You nod.

His body is warm against your own. It takes him a while to get you to warm up, to relax. You start off rigid like you are in public. It only takes two episodes for you to sink into his chest a little.

Thick fingers work their way through your hair, scratching lightly at the scalp. He doesn’t mention that it needs to be washed again, though he will in the morning.

Eventually, he looks in the mini fridge and grabs what seems to be a sippy cup of chocolate milk. He hands it over and gets back into the bed.

A few more episodes pass and you’re blinking slowly. Eyes fixated on the show, trying not to get embarrassed that he’s in your bed holding you. His arm has moved to lay over your waist and secure you against his chest.

“Are you ready to talk now?” Katsuki breathes, chin resting on top of your head.

“M just depressed, I dunno though. Just- yeah.” You get out and a weight is lifted off of your chest. Tears threaten to sting your eyes and you grit your teeth and spit at the thought.

“Are you okay, though?” His arm tightens around you and he breathes deep into his chest. His shoulders drop.

Your chest rattles and your eyes water. The dam breaks, tears spilling over the bridge of your eyes.

“So no, got it.” Katsuki rumbles, and you spend time like that. He holds you tighter.

Laying silently as he coos and calms you. Your eyes are swollen by the end of the night and you fall asleep like that.

It’s out of character for him to be this affectionate, you think.

That starts a trend with the two of you. Weekly visits in your room or his, curled up sharing what’s bothering you both. This goes on for months on end, secretly. No one knows about your meetings or even that you’re closer than basic friends.

It morphs over time into more affectionate holds. More forehead kisses and hugs. More intimacy. His guard comes down over time, allowing you to understand him more. His hands linger a little more sometimes. He doesn’t want to leave in the morning, sometimes.

Katsuki doesn’t tell you that the reason he came over in the first place was out of worry. He’d noticed you fidgeting, scratching, zoning out. Sometimes you looked like you were moving more slowly. No one else noticed.

You pretend you don’t like him.

You smack his arm and call him an asshole. Tell him you hate him in public, complain to your friends about him. But even on days you swear you can’t stand him and stomp to your room to sulk, you are still pretending.

You pretend that you aren’t getting hot and bothered when he touches you.

You never mention it, staying relaxed and against his chest. Eyes fixated on the screen and not on the feeling of his hand on your hip. Even on days when you fall asleep against his chest without speaking a word, you are still pretending.

It comes as no surprise when he calls you annoying again, pressing his lips to the crown of your head. Yet it somehow still scares you a little when he asks what’s bothering you.

“I- I like you? Love you?” It comes out small, from your throat, raspy. He wouldn’t hear it if he wasn’t so close. Embarrassment is crawling up your neck and you push down the urge to cry.

Telling him makes your heart beat through the cage of your chest. He sighs, breathing into the crook of your neck. That’s when he places a kiss to the edge of your jaw.

“You don’t have to pretend, it’s okay. Me too.” He whispers.

Silence is loud, wrapping the two of you in something a little less than comfortable. You’re happy, confused, terrified. Pretending has always been easier. To everyone else, at least. But you think this time not pretending might just be better.

“Okay, hold me tight?”

His arm tightens around you and the familiar tune of your favorite cartoon rings through your ears.

#completely self indulgent #i have been sad lately #boba time #strawberry cake #sadness #depression warning #also neurodivergent tendencies lol #peaches writes #bakugo x reader #bakugo hurt comfort #katsuki bakugo x reader

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beyondthetemples-ooc · 3 years

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--she was irritated because each time she tried to blunt the razor edge of her tongue, he somehow grasped the blades of her anyway.

Personal note.

I feel that irritation to the depths of my soul.

Because I’ve always struggled with speaking sharply, even when I’m not angry, not intending to. My tone, in the average day-to-day situation, is rather flat and my word choice rather succinct. It makes me come across as a lot more irritated than I am. More critical than I want to be.

(self-reflection and inevitable rambling below the cut. also mention of verbal abuse.)

There’s probably an explanation for why I’m so incredibly self-conscious and conscientious of it, something-something trauma, something-something verbal abuse, stepmother pulling her usual tricks to beat me down at every available opportunity, always, ALWAYS attacking my voice. “It’s not what you say, it’s how you say it.” That was her mantra with me. I repeatedly asked her in childhood what it was about “the way I say it” that she took offense to, and she told me “It’s the sound of your voice.” And then she’d go on to accuse me of being condescending, snotty. I really didn’t mean to be, though. I wasn’t trying to condescend. I wasn’t even angry, most of the time. Just curious. Maybe a little hurt, but I only lashed out when she REALLY pushed me.

Her in particular, I think, made me relate to that line. Because no matter what I said, she took offense to it. Until the day I was 15 and realized she wouldn’t listen to me no matter what I said, and basically took a vow of silence with her. Even now, I only talk to her when I need to. I’ve learned to just make noises that show I’m listening, and only comment if I agree with her. You know, typical “walking on eggshells around your abuser” stuff.

I’ve learned, over the years, that communication is equal parts what the speaker is saying, and how the listener interprets it. “You can’t say the right thing to the wrong person, and you can’t say the wrong thing to the right person.” With stepmother especially, she has a few insecurity complexes she refuses to address, and with that I’ve learned that not everything I say was, in fact, offensive to the ears of everyone around me. She just has issues.

But the worst of it is, the more I learn about communication (I’m being mentored in that very strongly, since February of 2018).... The more I realize there’s a part of me that’s lagging behind. I know how to phrase things delicately, if only I have the time to sit down and write them out! But in conversation and self-talk, I don’t.

I keep catching myself saying things sharply, sounding rude when I really don’t mean to be. I was frustrated at work this week, because twice I caught myself sounding snotty.

1.) There’s only one printing/copy machine at work. I needed to copy something, so the printing person had to stop printing for a moment so our papers wouldn’t get mixed up. So I went to her and said “I need to copy something. Could you stop printing?”

And after a moment, realizing that my phrasing came off as demanding/rude, and my rushed tone probably read as impatience, I tried to add a meek “Please?” at the end. I think the effect just made me sound exasperated.

2.) I have to keep track of a lot of numbers with the new job they’re training me on. My boss kept trying to get me to explain my tracking, and when she walked away, I muttered, “I passed high school algebra. I think I can do this.” I said it with my normal flat voice, even tone. It’s my “stating facts to myself” voice. The intention was actually self-soothing, reassuring myself that even with dyscalculia, I can figure out how to work the numbers as long as I have a calculator.

One of my co-workers looked at me and was like “Gosh, okay.” I immediately jumped on the defensive, “I didn’t mean anything by that! I’m hyping myself up.” But I don’t think she believed me. And the more I think about it, the more I think it sounded like I was arguing with my boss under my breath. Giving her lip. Which, uhh... definitely NOT my intention.

And maybe there’s something shifty involved in that, but shifty or not, it’s entirely my natural inclination to just... be blunt, concise, stating things flat-out.

Believe it or not, with all this typing I do. I deliberate over my words with great intention at the keyboard, with much more time to scour my vocabulary for the right way to explain things.

When I’m emotional, I don’t even get that.

So this turned out a lot longer than I meant it to already, but it’s been... a lifelong struggle, dealing with a brain that barely wants to come up with anything to say in a conversation, let alone dress it up in pretty words and social graces. And un-learning that my very voice is offensive and snotty.

My self-talk is still pretty brutal, but at least *I* know when I’m being critical and when I’m just weighing facts. 8P At least I can’t possibly offend myself any more than I’m already offended by my own inadequacies.

like my total inability to speak softly, apparently.

#rhs personal posts #rhs tlt #htn spoilers #not tagging this one further because... wow it got Personal #posts for the blackwinged blog

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undergradnerd-blog · 7 years

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🌸 mental preparation before a new destination🌸

In two weeks Senior year of college will begin, and with it only FIVE CLASSES before I am student teaching and then on my own in the big, big world of school systems and job applications.

Anyone who is going into a new grade, school, job or any other change can totally relate. If you're anything like me, the only thing that's consistently running through your head is "Am I ready? Can I REALLY do this?" But I know in my heart that YES, I can do this and YES you can do this too! With that being said, here are some tips to mentally prepare yourself for any new changes:

🌸BREATHE. It's the most important thing you can do. Take three deep breaths and remind yourself that you've been through changes before and you will again. You've got this.

🌸Find a Mantra. Anything. Any phrase that you can repeat to get you through it. Mine is "Remember why you started"

🌸Fake it 'till ya make it! A cliche, but totally true. I hype myself up and PRETEND I'm ready and excited for everything and soon enough, I believe it!

🌸Stay POSITIVE! A little bit of optimism goes a long way☺️

🌸Prepare. Mentally, physically, emotionally. Do everything you can to get supplies, get a head start, and be ready so that you feel confident with your next step.

🌸Find an outlet. Whether it's friends, art, music...just find something that helps you let go and express your emotions. It doesn't do much good to keep feelings bottled up.

🌸 BELIEVE!! Believe you can, and you will. It might not be perfect, but you WILL get through it and be better and stronger because of it.

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kpopfanfictrash · 7 years

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Addewid

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Kai (Jongin)

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 5,137

Summary: “You cannot appeal to my better nature, for I have none. I am not human, little one.”

You’ve always known you were different. You’re able to see them, after all, able to see the Others. You’ve also always ignored them. Until the day comes where you’re forced to make a choice - one that throws your world into chaos. And sends you down a path you might never return from.

I - The Promise

Most people grow up thinking they’re different. One of humanity’s greatest fallacies is that each person believes himself an outsider when the truth is, each man is an island. Each man is alone. Each man is different and so, every man is the same.

Except for me.

I’m different because I see them. Everyone in my family can – so really, just my dad and I. We’ve lived our whole lives this way, isolating ourselves in the city because of it. We surround ourselves with the hum of iron and rust and steel. Though these might not kill them, the others fear them. Manmade technology depletes their power and without their magic, they’re little more than human.

When I was younger I saw them more often. Maybe because I was curious, maybe because there were more of them back then – I’m not sure. Even in the city they found me, waving in the park or sliding through water beneath my feet. Nature can be found anywhere, even when man begs it not to be.

The Fey were never threatening, despite the fact that I could see them. Mostly they kept to their side of things, displaying little desire to entangle in our mundane human lives.

I don’t know whether this was out of self-preservation or not. Perhaps they saw us so far beneath them, we weren’t worth their time. It’d be like if I saw a nest of ants off the sidewalk. I could go out of my way to step on them – but why would I? The fey are much the same, keeping to themselves and pretending we don’t exist. Much as I pretend I can’t see them.

It’s easier this way. This way, I don’t let things slip. People tend to react poorly when one sees things they can’t. It only takes a few instances of being called crazy before you learn to blend in. One can convince oneself of anything, if one tires hard enough. It soon became second nature to assume the whispering shadows were the wind. To think the buzz of wings was hummingbirds and the eyes beneath the overpass were raccoons.

I’ve gotten fairly good at pretending. Most children play make-believe. Mmost children think they see monsters. I’m no different. I’m not special.

It’s strange how this phrase which seems to terrify most has become my mantra.

Still, despite this, I know they’re there. They appear when I let my guard down, just when I think I’m safe. It’s like they have a radar, as though they don’t want me to forget them.

The past year has gotten worse. Ever since my father moved us out of the city and into this boondock town of Point Park. A nondescript name for a nondescript place. Dad says it’s for research purposes but honestly, any research having to do with his latest project I don’t want to know about.

My father is a professor, a man of arts and humanities. It’s hard for anyone like us to be scientists, since we’re burdened with the knowledge that those truly fantastical elements of myth and lore are real. They exist, they’re real and it’s maddening to argue otherwise.

Some have gone mad. Like my uncle. His death certificate reads drowning but my dad and I know better. He could swim, was on the swim team all through high school. No, his death was textbook will ‘o’ the wisp. The fact that he let himself be led astray meant he was long gone by the time that fairy found him.

My mother left when she found out.

Before I was born my dad covered his gifts fairly well. He was social, able to play off of most of his unusual circumstances as larks. Pranks. Whimsical stories from his childhood, research for his next book.

Once I started to see the creatures too, my mother grew wary. She began to watch. And when she finally understood her daughter was entrenched in the same maddening world as her husband, she grasped the truth of things: we were crazy.

And so she left, not caring if I succumbed to my madness or not. Not caring that when I woke in the middle of the night, screaming her name, there would be no one there. It explains why I’m so close to my dad. He’s been the only one to care for me, the only one who ever understood.

“Morning, sweetie.”

The smell of pancakes greets me as I enter the kitchen, accompanied by the sizzling sounds of bacon. My dad faces away, flipping stacks over one at a time on the stove.

“Morning.” I pull out a chair, dumping my backpack on the ground. “Pancakes?”

“And bacon.” He flips the pan. “For energy. Can’t have you falling asleep in class.”

“Right. However would Finance 101 survive?”

Finance 101, the bane of my existence. Currently I’m enrolled at the local community college, taking classes while helping out my dad’s bookstore. The classes are boring and teachers not worth their salt – but my dad absolutely refuses to let me help full-time without a college degree.

Turning from the stove, he dumps a stack of pancakes onto my plate. “Eat up, kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” I grumble as I tie a napkin around my neck. “See, look! I tied the napkin myself this time.”

“At this rate you’ll be tying your shoes by end of next week!”

“From your mouth to God’s ears.” I shovel a large bite of pancake into my mouth. “Oh my god. This is so good.”

Taking his usual seat, my dad cuts off a smaller piece. “Wow. Am I an excellent cook or what?”

“Or what.”

He snorts, prompting laughter from my end of the table. My dad is young compared to most parents of kids my age. So was my mom. Which is why my dad often says her leaving was inevitable. She was young, flighty and not ready for kids. That’s a much easier explanation than, we’re freaks and she hated that.

I let my fork clatter to the table. “You need to stop feeding me like this. I’ll be ten thousand pounds and then I’ll never learn to tie my shoes.”

“Run around the block a few times, you’ll live.”

His words prompt me to glance out the window, something I immediately wish I hadn’t. As soon as I look, something small and agile darts out of sight. Small, agile – and electric blue. The kind of color not easily found in nature. I look back. My dad is still eating happily, not having noticed. This kind of thing has been happening more and more lately, ever since we moved. Ever since my dad’s latest project.

From the start I told him it was an awful idea. A complete anthology of the Fey people: stories, legends, facts and figures. For most people the book is a fantasy, one of those odd compilations of Faery and myth.

Most people would be wrong. Dad’s idea is to make the first true anthology of the Fey. All he sees and knows will be immortalized in print. Which to me, sounds like a terrible idea. Better not to draw attention, better to stay firmly entrenched in the human world. The Other is dangerous; a place where dreams tinge reality and nightmares garnish both.

My dad stands, draining the last of his coffee. “I’ll be closing late tonight.”

“Oh, really?” I grab his plate before he can, moving both towards the sink.

“More work.” He sounds excited at the thought. “So many things I’m discovering, Y/N.”

“Like?”

“Like how upper levels of Fey use deals as currency.” Though I can’t see him, I know his eyes are shining the way they do whenever he talks about the Fey. “There’s money, sure but a promise is considered more valuable. They call it Addewid and it’s unbreakable. In some courts a Knight can only trade on promises. He actually cannot break his word. Wild, right?”

I shove open the dishwasher. “Wild, right. Why do I care?”

“Great question!” My dad, ever the professor, dips into his lecture voice as I try not to roll my eyes. “Imagine you’re walking and you come across a broken bridge. A fairy says he’ll take you across – what do you do?”

“Turn around and go home.”

He snorts. “Or you could offer them something. An answer to a question, perhaps. A name. Something in return for your safe passage over the river.”

I pause, considering before turning to cross my arms. “What about once you get to the other side? You just offered a hobgoblin the name of your firstborn and suddenly you have no guarantee of your safety after.”

My dad purses his lips. “See, this is why I say you’re the smartest in the family. It’s not to hype your ego, you need none of that.”

I smile, leaning on the kitchen counter. “No, dad. I’m just a realist who doesn’t mess with the Fey.”

“Like I said, smarter than I am. And before you ask – no, that doesn’t mean I’ll stop.”

“But why?” I laugh despite myself. “The Fey have only brought pain. It’s dangerous what you’re doing and I just don’t understand why you’d provoke them ”

“Because.” My dad is silent and I think maybe he’s forgotten the question until his bespectacled eyes meet mine. “I feel something is brewing, Y/N.” At his words, a chill travels my spine. “Something big. And if something were to ever happen, I’d like to think you had a fighting chance.”

His words give me pause. The steady drip of water the only noise in otherwise silence. But it’s more than just that – there’s a pause in the air, one I’ve been trying to ignore for a while now. It’s as though the world is holding its breath, waiting. My dad’s words push this into view, making it obvious. I’ve been shoving things aside for so long it’s hard to open up again. Hard to see again.

But for just a second, I do. And it terrifies me.

Then I blink, and the moment is gone. “You’re being dramatic,” I say, attempting a smile as I grab coffee and silverware from the table. “The Fey exist but they don’t bother us. There’s no reason to pretend otherwise.”

“Maybe.”

He looks like he wants to say more but he doesn’t and I shut the dishwasher with a snap. “What time will you be done tonight?”

Living in the middle of nowhere means we only have one car. It’s not like there’s anywhere I need to go anyways. Every morning I drop off my dad at wrok and every night I hang at his bookstore until it’s time to go home. I don’t really have outside friends and there’s no other family nearby.

“Mm. Ten.”

“Dad!”

“Fine, 9:30.”

I groan but don’t argue. Getting my dad to agree to earlier would be a miracle in itself. He’s single-minded, oftentimes to his own detriment. Much like someone else in our family – cough, cough.

“Okay, 9:30.”

“Thanks kid-o, you’re the best.” Kissing my brow, my dad ignores my fake shudder. “To the shop?”

As we leave, I tug my ball cap lower. My dad likes to joke that I often dress like an eighteen year old boy. If said boy were a bit gothic and into sports. Take today’s outfit: black hoodie, leather jacket, skinny jeans and boots, all topped with a black baseball hat. There’s a pink key ring on my belt though. Can’t be too monochromatic.

It doesn’t faze my dad at this point. “Hope the classroom isn’t too hot,” is all he says as he walks past. I scowl, my not-so-subtle attempt at intimidation. My dad just grins – he’s used to all my tricks by now.

He always jokes that it would take a much braver man than most to approach me. I’m never that amused by this, since so far I’ve had zero luck in romantic interests. No one has caught my fancy, turned my head, left me wanting.

It’s enough to make me wonder if there’s something’s wrong with me.

“Ah, don’t worry.” My dad brushes aside my concern whenever I bring it up. “There wasn’t another woman in the world for your grandpa. Even before they met, he knew he was waiting for someone. You’re the same.”

Of course now we live in the middle of nowhere. It seems unlikely I’ll find this mysterious someone here in Point Park.

Our car’s engine thrums to life beneath me as my dad continues to talk, rambling about something else in his research. I’m distracted by movement at the corner of my eye and against all better judgment, I look. Just the barest of shadow, something tall and thin slipping into the forest.

“Y/N!”

Sometime in the past few seconds, I stepped on the gas. My dad yells, leaping forward to pull the key from the ignition. I yank my foot from the pedal, though it doesn’t matter much by this point. We’ve rolled to stop an inch from our house, my father breathing hard in the passenger’s seat.

He straightens, glaring over the top of his glasses. “What was that!”

Rather than answer, my gaze moves to the forest. There’s nothing there. No shadow, nor shadow-like object. Just the large, empty swath of trees. Something my dad thought would be a good thing when we bought this house. Isolation has always boded well for us. Now I’m beginning to wonder if perhaps this was the wrong way to think about things.

“I’m so sorry,” I mumble, blinking at my dad with puppy-dog eyes.

He sighs, rubbing his forehead. “Well, that’s one way to wake up I guess.”

“Tomorrow I won’t skip the coffee,” I promise, sliding the car into reverse. Slinging one arm over the backseat to pull from the driveway. As we round a corner, I take one last look towards the edge of our property. Nothing.

The rest of the drive passes uneventfully, much like the rest of my day. My classes are long and boring. The other students there are only half present, going through motions of taking notes while really considering what color to dye their hair next. What text to send to that boy they kissed that one time at that one bar. What outfit to wear to their next, boring class.

Small surprise I talk to no one. More accurately – no one talks to me. I’m that weird girl, that maybe-mute girl, that she-would-be-hot-if-she-weren’t-so-terrifying girl. All of these are things I’ve overheard about myself.

To the guy who said that last comment, I didn’t respond – just bared my teeth. He left, unsurprisingly. These are the things that make my dad say I’m anti-social. Grinning, I duck my head and stand from my table. There’s a slight overhang, so the ducking of my head part is necessary. Even at my height, perpetually short.

It’s raining as I drive to the bookstore, a slow mist that turns to raindrops the closer I get. I squint through the deluge, slowing so that my headlights cut through the fog. “Just a little bit… further.”

I scream when something large and heavy thwacks my windshield. Seeing that it’s just a branch I clutch at my heart, breathing hard as I allow my pulse to settle. Nervous laughter leaves my lips as I turn the radio up.

There’s nothing to be afraid of. Nothing.

Still, I walk a little faster entering the store. I feel as though there are eyes watching, which is probably just my imagination but by the time I’m at the door I’m borderline running. My dad jumps as I enter, slamming the glass door behind me.

“Y/N!” He eases from behind the counter. “What’s wrong?”

Pushing my sopping hair back, I peer into the gloom. “Nothing.” I sigh shrugging free from my jacket. “Just spooked.”

“Mm.” My dad looks past to the unleashing monsoon. “Understandable. It looks like the wrath of Maeve herself out there.”

“Not funny,” I scold, collapsing into my usual chair. “Though shalt not speak her name in vain.”

“Too true. She’s not one to be trifled with.”

I stare at the open page of my calculus book, trying to think of something besides Maeve. The eternal dark Queen of Faery, who rules over the Unseelie court. I’ve never seen her. If I had, I’d be dead – at least, that’s what the rumors say.

I’ve actually never seen a noble fairy at all.

The noble Fey are the ones my father spoke of at breakfast. They’re the ones dealing in trades and promises, the ones that look most like us. The only Fey I’ve seen are animalistic beasts, answering to various factions of Seelie and Unseelie Lords.

Pixies are the most familiar looking. Sprightly, small and if you look too closely, they’re blurred around the edges. It’s because they’re made of light - but don’t let that fool you, they’re devilishly tricky. Pixies are just as likely to lead you astray as not. If it wasn’t a will ‘o’ the wisp that killed my uncle, it was definitely a pixie.

Will ‘o’ the wisps are funnier-looking. Like little old men, or what some people think of as trolls. Tree stumps come to life, which is what I thought they looked like when I was little. Their skin is bark, all leathery and wrinkled with tan-colored moss. They’re mean as hell. Pixies at least have their good days but will ‘o’ the wisps lumber about, beckoning weary travelers onward.

Until they step off a cliff. And then that’s that.

All of this is pittance though, compared to Maeve. Her legend precedes her in hushed tones. As opposed to the King and Queen of Seelie, the rulers of the Summer Court - Maeve rules her lands with darkness and ice. Her court is friendly to neither Fey nor Mankind. The Unseelie is the stuff of nightmares, reigned by things that go bump in the night.

Legend has it Maeve’s ire can be called just from speaking her name out loud. My dad dismissed this in his research though, calling it an actual superstition. Still, one can never be too careful.

I resume reading, curled up in my chair as rain pelts our windows. The light fades as sun sinks below the horizon and soon the shop is a lone oasis of warmth in the dark. Around nine, I set my homework aside. “I need a new book.”

My dad doesn’t look up, giving a quick thumbs up and a wave. I weave towards the back of the shop, hands trailing over titles. Leather bound, paper bound, hard cover, soft cover. One of the best parts of moving to this nowhere town is that we currently hold the monopoly on books.

In the city everyone buys from Amazon or Barnes and Noble but out here there’s no guarantee anything will arrive before next month. Or that you’ll even get the right thing when it does. Mailmen are easily confused by the winding roads and unnamed streets. As a result, Dad’s bookstore has held fairly steady business ever since our arrival.

I’m reading the dust jacket of a morose-looking fiction when the lights go out.

“Fuck,” I sigh. At least it’s not completely dark – the lights from the street are still on, filtering through the rain and windowpanes. “Dad?” I retrace my steps. “Dad, where’s the generator?”

When I reach the front of the shop, my feet freeze in place. One emergency light flickers over my dad, casting his profile in shadow. All I can see from here is the overly stern set of his mouth.

“Daughter.” His voice is calm, firm. “Get out.” He doesn’t meet my eyes, too engrossed by whatever’s at our threshold.

Before I can move the thing steps inside, shutting the door softly. The motion is menacing without meaning to be, terrifying in its casualness. His features aren’t visible, but there’s something ethereal in the way he moves. Ghostly, regal, without a sound.

When he steps into the light, I choke back my gasp.

His eyes sweep over me. Cold, dark, calculating. One could lose themselves in those eyes. A chill creeps down my spine as I consider the notion that people likely have. That’s not the most terrifying part, though. The long ears just visible through silvery hair are pointed.

He’s Fey. Of a kind I’ve never seen before.

The stranger is dressed all in black, his clothing a weird mix of formal and armor. A sword hangs from his hip, sharp and wicked looking in the twilight. Around his neck gleams a smooth, silver collar. Metal, from the looks of it.

The stranger smiles, though the rest of his face doesn’t move. “James Tyson?”

“That’s me.”

I have to give it to my father, he doesn’t flinch. Instead he stands tall, determined not to show weakness. Beneath the counter his hands tremble, though. I watch his fingers twitch towards the phone.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The thing tilts its head, looking more Fey than before. “The power is out. There’s been a sudden cold snap and your lines have frozen over.” With a flick of his wrist, ice encrusts our doorknob.

My father sucks in a breath, wonder obvious. I want to strangle him for that look. He needs to get a grip. This is our time to escape, not gape in awe at some pretty demon.

The thing faces me. “This one has violence in her,” he comments, tilting it’s head. “Interesting.”

My gaze narrows. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me, as though I’m a snack or a toy and he hasn’t yet decided which. “Why are you here?”

“Questions, from a human.” The stranger’s lip twitches, amused. “I have a few questions of my own. For him.”

“Then ask them of me.” My father’s face remains calm though beneath the counter his fingers move. I realize he’s tracing something - over and over again, though I can’t make out what.

“Why did you speak Maeve’s name?”

My father stiffens, clearly not expecting that. “H–how did you know?”

The thing smiles. “It seems you’ve gotten quite a few things wrong in that anthology of yours.”

“You know?” My father’s eyes widen. “About my anthology?”

“Yes.” His lip curls. “Detestable piece of rubbish it is.”

Without quite meaning to, I laugh. “Except it’s not, is it?” As soon as the words escape my mouth, I wince. The stranger turns, disdain evident on his beautiful face. His incredibly lovely, heart-breakingly beautiful face.

The fairy tilts its head. “Pardon?”

My father closes his eyes when I take a shaky step forward. His fingers resume tracing with greater urgency but I ignore him, focusing instead on this creature. I can distract him long enough for my dad run, long enough for him to get away.

“If my dad’s book is so rubbish,” I say, lifting my chin. “Then why are you here?”

The fairy blinks. “It would seem as though you are the more intelligent of the two.”

Recognizing my father’s words, I recoil. “Have you been… spying on us?”

“Spying?” The thing’s hand comes to rest on the pommel of his sword. “I would be quiet, little one. My orders are not to take you away.”

That’s the moment when I realize what my dad has been tracing. Over and over on the counter.

Run. Run, run, run, run, run, run.

For a moment, I consider. For just a second, cowardice wins and I want nothing more than to be at home – safe and hidden by blankets and denial. Then I come to. What home? Without my father, I have nothing.

My father sighs, recognizing my expression. It’s the expression I get when I’ve decided not to listen to a word he says.

“So you’ve come to take me away?” My father’s face is that of a man struggling to remain calm while his world crashes down around him.

“Yes.”

“You’ve come to take only me away.”

“Yes.” The stranger nods. “Those are my orders.”

“But why?” Two pairs of eyes turn, as I’m unable to keep my mouth shut. “You just said yourself – my dad’s anthology is the problem. Why can’t he just stop writing and you leave us alone?”

“I’m afraid that won’t do.” Strangely enough, there’s a glimmer of sincerity in the thing’s eyes. “Your father knows things that cannot be divulged.”

“Then make him forget!” I snap. “Take the book! Take his memories but please,” my voice breaks on the word. “Don’t take my father. He’s all I have.”

There’s a long beat of silence before he speaks again.

“What do I care what you have and have not?” The thing’s voice is soft, unyielding. He walks forward and his stride brings him close enough to touch – close enough to see every eyelash on his skin, the midnight black of his irises. “You cannot appeal to my better nature, for I have none. I am not human, little one.”

His stare bores into mine and it’s all I can do to keep from flinching.

“Enough.” My dad steps from behind the counter. “I will go with you, so long as you promise to leave my daughter unharmed.”

The male lifts his gaze. “Hm. And what would you offer in exchange for this promise?”

My eyes dart to my father’s. No – he can’t do this. He can’t leave me.

“My anthology.” My father shoves his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I will give my anthology, follow you and never return. For the rest of my days, I will reside in Faery and not try to escape. What I have learned will die with me.”

A smile curves the thing’s lips. “It seems we have reached an accord.”

“No!” Before I know what I’m doing, I’m between them. “Please no,” I gasp, a hiccup forced from my throat.

My father turns to me and strangely enough, the stranger lets him. He does nothing to intervene when my father embraces me. “I love you,” my dad whispers. “Please stay safe.” Then he pulls away.

I nod, tears finally spilling down my cheeks. As much as I want to hear him say my name, want to hear him say goodbye – I know he’s only doing this for my protection. The fairy doesn’t yet know my name, which means I can still escape. I can still be free.

The stranger steps aside as my father passes. At the door of our shop he stops, hovering a moment before turning to face me. “Goodnight, nameless daughter.” His gaze is dark, unfathomable as he leaves.

I watch them go, watch my father disappear into the night. His body is so small and pale. I imagine what the rest of his life will be like as a prisoner of Faery. Living amongst strangers and terrors until one day he eventually dies of old age. Unless of course something kills him first.

My chest constricts and before I know what I’m doing, I’ve stumbled forward. “Wait!”

Slowly, the fairy stops.

My voice drops to a whisper. “You like making deals?” I watch him exhale, slowly.

“What do you want from me, little human?” Though he doesn’t move, I hear each word with perfect clarity. “I’ve already spared your life once today.”

“Take me instead.”

At this, his body stills. “What?”

It’s the first time it’s sounded unsure of anything, so I press on. “Take me in his place,” I say, staring at his motionless back. “Release him and take me, under the same terms.”

A long silence follows.

“Now why would I do that?”

“Because.” I steel myself for this next part, closing my eyes. “If you take me, you’ll have collateral. With me, you can be sure my father won’t tell. Whereas if you leave now, I’ll continue where he left off. I won’t stop until I discover every Fey secret. Until you’re all dead and my father returns.”

At last, the thing turns. Silence falls, heavy between us. And then the fairy laughs, a soft noise that stirs the base of my spine. My father’s arm falls from his grasp. “And if I say no?” His eyes glimmer. “I could kill you and take your father to Maeve anyways. What’s to stop me from doing that?”

Though his words give me pause, my gaze remains steady. “You won’t.”

“Won’t I?”

“No.“ I stare back at him.

As he holds my gaze, something in his expression changes. I could be imagining things, but something almost delicate crosses his face. It disappears quickly though, leaving him as cold and distant as before.

He raises his chin. “We have a deal.”

“We – do?”

The stranger smiles, bowing in a low, sweeping gesture. “I, Prince Kai of the Unseelie Court, accept your terms.”

At his words, a shiver crosses my spine. One that has nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the ancient bond that has just settled into place. Addewid.

Prince Kai nods, satisfied. “It is done.”

When his hand closes around my wrist, I flinch. Only because of the cold though – his touch is surprisingly gentle. Behind him, my father sags against the door.

“You can’t.” He stares in horror. “What of our deal, fairy? What honor do you –?”

Kai whirls, gaze like ice as my father is dragged across the room. “Do not question my honor, human.” His whisper is somehow more terrifying than if he’d yelled. Kai examines my father hanging from the edge of his fingertip. “I’ve made a deal with your daughter. Do you wish me to renege upon my word?”

My father draws a deep, shuddering breath. “No.” The word comes out defeated and for just a second, I wonder if I’ve doomed him more than saved him.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so, so sorry.”

My dad makes eye contact with me, shaking his head. “It’s not your fault.” He attempts to reach for my hand but I’m already being led away.

“Walk,” Kai commands, turning.

I obey. Refuse to look back for fear I won’t leave. The door shuts behind us, stifling the sounds of the shop inside. The night air is cold, unusually so. Typically even in winter, there’s life. Birds calling, animals moving, insects rustling.

This though… this is the absence of anything familiar.

My gaze falls on the silent fairy next to me, wondering whom exactly I’ve made a deal with.

As we step into the forest, shadows wrap themselves around us like branches and my breath catches. The enormity of what I’ve done crashes over me and I find it hard to stand.

I’ve just sold myself to the Unseelie court.

There’s not much time to think about this though, as the land of nightmares swallows me whole.

[Master List]

Author’s Note: So this was pretty long, huh? Sorry! Haha I just wanted to take a moment to explain the title. Addewid means Promise in Welsh. A lot of Fairy folklore is from Ireland, Wales and England, so some of the words in Faery reflect that. Anyways, I’m very excited about this. Can’t wait to update more :)

Playlist: Monster (Instrumental), EXO / Frozen Oceans, Shiny Toy Guns / Gravity, Sara Barellies / Three Wishes, The Pierces / I Of The Storm, Of Monsters and Men / Fantasy (Instrumental), VIXX

#kai au #exo au #exo kai au #kai fanfic #kai fic #exo fic #exo fanfic #jongin #kim jongin #kai #exo kai #jongin fic #jongin fanfic #jongin au #kai supernatural #exo supernatural #jongin supernatural #exo #Addewid

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alyssainminnesota-blog · 6 years

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A Journey Through Anxiety and Acupuncture

There was a point in life where my anxiety had completely overturned my true self. I was lost in this abyss of nothingness and had come to the conclusion that this was just how my life was going to me from now on.

Fortunately, I was very wrong.

For many people, though, the thought of being plagued by anxiety forever still exists. Over 40 million individuals in the United States suffer from some sort of anxiety disorder, with only 36% of them actually pursuing treatment. Society has taught us that it is “normal” to be anxious, making it difficult for a person to recognize any symptoms.

Before I begin the story of my journey, I want to give you a brief overview of what anxiety is.

When you Google the definition, this is what comes up: “Anxiety is a feeling of worry, nervousness, or unease, typically about an imminent event or something with an uncertain outcome.” While this definition is true and anxiety disorders do all share some common symptoms, each person still experiences it in his or her own form. Anxiety is unique in that way.

There are seven main types of anxiety including General Anxiety Disorder, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. You are most likely familiar with at least one form, whether you yourself has it or you know someone else who does. In fact, almost everyone will experience some form of anxiety in their lives at some point. The important part is recognizing your symptoms and taking action when it’s becoming too much.

I was in high school when I first started experiencing symptoms of anxiety. Prior to taking exams, I would get this repulsive feeling throughout my body, similar to that of food poisoning. No matter how insignificant the exam was, this was a common occurrence.

Also during this time, my nail biting was way out of control. I would bite them so much, there would barely be any nail left at the end of the day. It was such a painful tic, I ended up wasting my money on acrylic nails just so I wouldn’t be able to bite down my natural nail. This is something I still continue to struggle with when I am experiencing feelings of tension or nervousness.

It wasn’t until I noticed my drastic mood changes that I decided to seek out advice from my medical provider. I noticed myself becoming uneasy in almost every situation, even ones as laid-back as being with my friends. I had heard this-and-that about mental disorders, but never thought I would actually have to face one head-on.

Turns out, all of us have the chance of facing anxiety head-on.

When my medical provider told me I had General Anxiety Disorder and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, I wasn’t surprised. She prescribed me some medication that would supposedly help me cope with it and any associated abrupt panic attacks. The medication is called Alprazolam (commonly known as Xanax) and it’s used to produce a calming effect on the central nervous system by enhancing GABA, a brain-boosting chemical found in our bodies.

As of April of 2015, I had been on Alprazolam for just over three years. I abruptly stopped taking the medication for a brief six-month period, but began to confide in it for another year following those months. During this time, I began my yoga practice, accompanying it with some meditation.

As in January of 2016, I made the decision to completely go off of Alprazolam, going against my doctor’s orders to keep on taking it.

Alprazolam negatively changed who I was. It changed my mood, my demeanor, my personality, and my feelings so much I wasn’t able to recognize myself anymore. It took one person and one phrase to knock me out of the false reality Alprazolam had created, and from that day forward I was determined to seek out holistic remedies and lifestyles that would help fix my anxiety problem, not mask it.

It would be many months of trial and error before I decided to pursue acupuncture therapy. I focused my nights on yoga, meditation, and plant-based eating but between full-time school and work, I found it difficult to find personal time for myself. Whenever I skipped out on a yoga or meditation practice, the feelings of tension and anxiety would fill my mind and body causing unnecessary worry.

A year into my self-healing, I was experiencing more of who I was. But my journey wasn’t over yet. Over the course of the year, I had experienced more panic attacks than before and started to see my anxiety take over in stressful situations. I became bothered by unimportant matters such as circular objects and the weather outside. This was when I realized I needed to give my anxiety a little TLC.

Last year, there was quite a bit of hype going around about this crazy alternative healing method called acupuncture. I started to do some research on the success rate of it, and how it could help my anxiety. There are countless articles out there about the process helping everything from something as simple as the common cold to something as significant as arthritis. The success was inspiring and I knew I needed to give it a try.

Conveniently, the studio where I practice yoga offered acupuncture. I signed myself up for an appointment, in hopes that this would open up a new door in my life.

My first experience was extraordinary. The acupuncturist spent the first twenty-or-so minutes getting to know me, and becoming familiar with how my body and mind were functioning. She took note of my pulse and tongue, explaining to me that these two crucial aspects will help her determine where the pins will go.

The whole process lasted slightly over an hour. She concentrated primarily on my upper shoulders, relieving the tension through about 5 or so needles and cupping. Essential oils were used to help relax my muscles and mind during this process, allowing my body to have full control to self-heal.

I had no words to explain how relaxed and tension-free I felt afterwards. She recommended I come in every two weeks to start working on acupuncture for my anxiety and palpitations.

Since that day, I have been going to acupuncture therapy twice a month. Panic attacks no longer take me by surprise, and I can now sense the onset of them. My acupuncture therapist has taught me a variety of methods to prevent panic attacks such as alternate nostril breathing and essential oil inhaling, which are my two go-to methods. (I will provide a list of my favorite anxiety-relieving essentials in a later post!)

Palpitations are also no longer part of my daily life. I went in to acupuncture with 10 or more palpitations a day, and now I barely have two a week. I was taught that these palpitations are simply “extra stress” my heart is getting rid of. Each time my heart experiences one, I focus all of my attention on thanking it for doing its job and for reminding me that stress is not part of me. If my palpitations are ever two or more in a row, I simply inhale rose essential oil three times, then place a drop on the outsides of my wrist (pericardium 6, or P6). From there, I place my index fingers on the points and sit in serenity for one to ten minutes, focusing on my breathing and a mantra of my choice.

I am not cured of anxiety, by all means, but I have learned how to cope effectively with it. My body’s energy flow is slowly finding its rhythm, and my mind is finally starting to understand it.

Anxiety and depression are tremendously close subjects to my heart, having experienced both myself and having seen others I love experience them as well. We are often told to mask life’s glitches with medications, but I’ve only known them to be a temporary fix for the underlying problem. It’s important we take time to understand what is really going on with our entire body, not just the portion that is unhealthy or hurting. There is so much more to our story than we, or anybody else, could begin to imagine.

I will be working on another post in the near future about the different methods I use to cope with my anxiety. For now, if you are experiencing stress or any form of anxiety, try clearing your mind, closing your eyes, and breathing deeply. The calming effects this has on a person’s mind and body is tremendous.

Your body is extraordinary, so take time to get to know it. A little tender loving care goes a long way.

“No matter how much it gets abused, the body can restore balance. The first rule is to stop interfering with nature.” - Deepak Chopra

Thank you all for reading, and for the continuous support. Subscribe or follow me on social media to stay updated on the latest news and recipes!

#health #lifestyle #anxiety #mental health #mindful

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samanthasroberts · 7 years

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RuPaul Is Ready for His Legacy

With a new game show, Gay For Play, and more than 100 episodes of RuPaul’s Drag Race, Mama Ru pauses for a moment of reflection: ‘I get to do whatever the f*** I want.’

“>

You dont question the motherfucking queen, bitch.

RuPaul Charles, at this point on a first-name basis with the world much like his fellow Unapologetic Bitch, Madonna, is nothing if not direct.

The host of RuPauls Drag Racenot to mention drag icon, activist, actor, recording artist, spiritual leader to a horde of fabulous worshippers, and, thanks to a recent, provocative as it was profound real talk interview with Vulture, the newest dream candidate for presidentis on the phone the week after a rare and shocking elimination on his cult hit reality show.

Asked to explain the atypical twist, RuPaul concluded his answer bluntly. Because the shows called RuPauls Motherfucking Drag Race, bitch. I get to do whatever the fuck I want.

Its an intimidating-bordering-on-terrifying reaction to a question, to be sure, were it not for the warm cackle he immediately delivers to diffuse any heart attacks. After all, the pulsing heart of nurturing compassion underwriting RuPauls unabashed realness is the driving force of his nickname, Mama Ru.

Besides, this is the RuPaul who, since the 1992 release of Supermodel (You Better Work) has become the face of drag, launched a long-running talk show, and became a spokesperson for MAC Cosmetics 20 freaking years ago, at a time when any conversation about drag going mainstream would have gotten you murdered with shade.

To that end, RuPaul just celebrated the 100th episode of RuPauls Drag Race, now in the prime of its eighth popular-as-ever season, in an age when talent competitions are wheezing their last breaths. (So long, American Idol.)

So yes, to be fair, RuPaul can do whatever the fuck he wants.

(As Ru says on the show, You dont have to be gay to play. But it shore do help.)

More than that, as becomes increasingly clear over the course of our conversation, what RuPaul motherfucking wants is to make an impact, to leave a little something behind should he ever sashay away to the catwalk in the sky.

Hes passionate about it, too, as soberly earnest as he was playfully intimidating at the start of our talk. The fame, the money, all the stuff: after a whileIve been doing this 34 yearsits about the legacy work, he says.

Referencing the Drag Race contestants, he continues, The legacy lives through these girls. And the kids who love the show and who have learned so much about themselves and about the history of the bohemian through our show.

Make no mistake, Gay For Play is a very silly showloud and giggly and naughty and campy and, because of all those things, a whole lot of fun. But its also part of that legacy. Watch an episode and listen to the language, the proud way the celebrity contestants talk so very, well, gay.

Weve seen this language being tapped into by mainstream culture everywhere, RuPaul says.

He remembers when he first heard everyday people on the street saying, You go girl! and Hey, girlfriend! which has been taken straight from gay vernacular. It used to take about 10 years, he says, for the phrases to get to Betty and Joe Beer Can, the masses, but now because of social media the turnover is exponentially faster.

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And so you have celebrities like Amber Rose and Ross Matthews being quizzed about Meryl Streep and Shonda Rhimes shows, with innuendos and entendres abound. There are hot, mostly naked male dancers everywhere. Michelle Visage, as always, reigns queen.

In many ways, RuPaul expects the appeal of Gay For Play to mirror what has become one of the more powerful hooks of RuPauls Drag Race. Again, its that vernacular. Its that language.

We encrypt Drag Race with the secret language that kept gay people linked for many years before the 80s, he says. Gay people had to be secretive. There was a certain way, a certain vernacular, a certain approach to pop culture that we maintained. We lost that in recent years, but we encrypt our shows with that secret language of our gay brothers and sisters past.

And for all of the shade, reads, and spilled tea that defines any stellar season of RuPauls Drag Race, the show and Gay For Play share another crucial elementagain, one that sets it apart from other talent competitions and game shows that populate TV.

Theres a palpable sense of fun that radiates from it. These people are enjoying themselves. In some ways, they feel free. The word that Ru uses: Joy.

Whats happening is that these kids are outsiders, and theyre coming together with other outsiders on this show, he says, speaking specifically about Drag Race.

Earlier in our conversation, he talks about the show being, at its core, about the tenacity of the human spirit, which is something that connects not just the contestants, but the fans who obsessively watch it as well. Especially those who feel disenfranchised from society, he says. Like, wow, here is my tribe.

He again brings up the secret code, the shared vernacular and shared spirit. Its why Judy Garland and Joan Crawford speak to us so much, he says. Theres a certain desperate, dark, painful element to these people that we can relate to. And in spite of that, they have overcome it and become glamorous, joyous, beautiful fun-loving people.

He pauses again, breaking a rule of his not to think about the past and reflect. Always think forward is a rule of his, as is not to have any expectations, a lesson learned the hard way in three decades of show business.

And certainly, theres no way he could have expected to launch the careers of 100 drag queens, or a fanbase that debates every lip sync, drag look, and challenge performance with rabid sinceritysome becoming encyclopedic scholars of the shows history. (Not to mention who worship the show even if theyre given a disappointing Snatch Game episode.)

Its the tribe, RuPaul says, that theyre all connecting to, whether they realize that or not.

These are boys who were ostracized from everyone in the community and against all odds they were like, Fuck it Im going to do this anyway, he says. They made all the way to RuPauls Fucking Drag Race and here they are. Its so fucking awesome, I love it.

On Monday night, the night that Gay For Play premieres, RuPaul will host the 107th episode of RuPauls Drag Race. And, for the 107th time, at least on Logo, he will preach his famous affirmation to end the episode: If you cant love yourself how the hell are you going to love somebody else? Can I get an amen?

RuPaul has been saying that at every performance, not just on Drag Race, for 30 years, along with two other phrases he refers to as his doctrine: Everybody say, Love! and You were born naked and the rest is drag.

What is it like after all this time34 years and 107 episodesto say those words? Does he still feel them? Does the message change?

The truth is that I say that every single time not for the audience, he says. I say it to remind myself.

Again, he reflects. This time, back to when he was 14, maybe 15.

I was going through such a hard time thinking, Im becoming a young adult, how am I going to manage this fucking mediocre hypocritical world? Well, Ru, the only way I can do this is to make a pact to never drink the Kool-Aid, to never join the matrix.

Then RuPaul starts invoking the film InceptionI know, I was surprised, too.

Specifically, he references the totems that the characters in the film set to remind themselves that theyre in a dream. Ru has his totems, too. Theyre those three phrases. His doctrine.

Youre born naked and the rest is drag: Dont believe the hype, dont believe what it tells you on your drivers license. You are an extension of the power that created this whole universe. Dont forget it, and dont take any of this bullshit too seriously, because its hypocritical and mediocre at best.

The love yourself mantra, he says, is to remind you that it comes from the inside out.

The meaning behind Everybody say, Love! after our conversation, becomes more essential.

This is RuPaul, who began our interview with suchhow should I sayverve. Whose interview with Vulture clapped back at (and for good reason): Ellen Degeneres, David Letterman, the mainstream, the Emmys, Lip Sync Battle, the relationship between the drag and trans communities, educating youths, political correctness, and the wigs in The Danish Girl.

Everybody say love, indeed.

Its a neutralizing mantra to say to everybody, I come in peace, he says. I come in peace. Thats why its important.

Can I get an amen?

Source: http://allofbeer.com/2017/10/11/rupaul-is-ready-for-his-legacy/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2017/10/11/rupaul-is-ready-for-his-legacy/

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adambstingus · 7 years

Text

RuPaul Is Ready for His Legacy

With a new game show, Gay For Play, and more than 100 episodes of RuPaul’s Drag Race, Mama Ru pauses for a moment of reflection: ‘I get to do whatever the f*** I want.’

“>

You dont question the motherfucking queen, bitch.

RuPaul Charles, at this point on a first-name basis with the world much like his fellow Unapologetic Bitch, Madonna, is nothing if not direct.

Asked to explain the atypical twist, RuPaul concluded his answer bluntly. Because the shows called RuPauls Motherfucking Drag Race, bitch. I get to do whatever the fuck I want.

So yes, to be fair, RuPaul can do whatever the fuck he wants.

(As Ru says on the show, You dont have to be gay to play. But it shore do help.)

Weve seen this language being tapped into by mainstream culture everywhere, RuPaul says.

Cheat SheetA speedy, smart summary of news and must-reads from The Daily Beast and across the Web

By clicking “Subscribe,” you agree to have read the TermsofUse and PrivacyPolicy