#but this kind of poison is seeping into creative spaces more and more is worrying

[projectdestati]

it's really more important now than ever before to appreciate actual real creatives. I love seeing brushstrokes that have different line weightedness. i love hearing music with variable dynamics. I love reading fics with a unique language style. When you put YOU into your work, it's very obvious and it's very wonderful

[joaquinwhorres]

Nervous

IMAGINE: Imagine Bucky thinks you're afraid of him because you avoid him since you have a huge crush on him.

WARNINGS: Adult dancing? But otherwise none.

AUTHORS NOTE: I'm vaguely considering re-working this and turning it into a bit of a mini-series, but I'm not sure yet.

"Gather round, people," Tony announced clapping his hands. The team hesitantly followed instructions. It was one of the few times he had been out of his workshop since Pepper left. Nobody wanted to jinx it. Darkly, Natasha had joked that nobody wanted another Ultron.

"We're having a party tonight."

"Is that the best idea?" Steve asked, lightly.

"Maybe, maybe not. But it's what we're going with."

You looked around. You did not belong at this party. All of them were friends already. All of them were Avengers, and you were the new fitness trainer. Something you hardly even thought the Avengers needed. But, here you were, working and even living alongside the Avengers. It was probably because they had accidentally razed your place to the ground earlier on a mission.  Guilt was a powerful thing.

"I can't--" you started to protest.

"Nope, you're coming," Tony declared. You weren't even sure he knew your name.

"I don't--"

"You can borrow one of my dresses," Natasha grinned. You bit your lip and nodded.

And that was what led you to be up in Natasha's room at 10:00 at night, when you'd much rather be down in your room, reading a book, doing some yoga, really anything other than going to a party where you already felt like you didn't belong.

"Y/N, they're not that bad," Natasha looked up with a half-amused smile.

"What?" You came out of your daze, and looked up at her as you sat on her bed.

"Tony's parties. They're not that bad."

"I didn't--"

"You look like you're going to a funeral," Natasha smirked. You clenched your jaw, staring at her. Maybe one day, you'd actually be able to finish a sentence.

"Here, put this on--and before you say 'I don't,' 'I can't', 'This is,'--just try it," Natasha scolded, ushering you into her adjoining bathroom.

It was a simple black swing dress. No frills. No back. Just a really short hemline.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, piling your hair on top of your head to give a better look at the dress--or lack thereof. Definitely a hair-down kind of dress. Maybe Nat had a better option secreted away.

"Don't you think this is a little…short?" you asked coming out of the bathroom. Natasha's eyes widened as she looked at you from where she finished zipping up her tight green body-con dress. A slow smile crept across her face.

"It's perfect," she grinned. "Definitely going to turn some heads. Well, Bucky's head."

You felt like a deer in the headlights. Completely frozen and utterly terrified. If there was one thing you'd learned about Nat in the past couple of months you'd been here, it was that she did not let things go. Ever. You had seen her wait a week to get revenge on Sam for accidentally leaving the seat up in the communal bathroom one time too many. If she knew you had even a slight crush on Bucky….

"Why Bucky's head?" you asked, trying to look confused and nonchalant at the same time, and instead it looked as if your face had a spasm. Natasha's smile grew even bigger. "Because I'm a spy, Y/N, and as a spy it's my job to notice things."

"And what have you noticed?"

"You train shorter when Bucky's in the gym. You're quieter at breakfast when he's around. You're consistently a shade pinker whenever he talks to you or about you."

Instinctively, you lifted a hand to your cheek.  "I do not," you whispered, mortified. Natasha just laughed in response.

"It's cute," Natasha comforted, putting an arm around your shoulders. "And I don't think anyone else noticed. Well, maybe one person."

"Who?"

A knock came from the door, and Wanda poked her head in. "Are you coming down?"

"Be right there," Nat nodded, guiding you to her bedroom door.

"Who?" You repeated, but Natasha just shook her head as the two of you headed for the elevator, slightly behind Wanda.

"Don't worry about it. Don't worry about anything. Have a beer. Have some fun. Do something you may or may not regret tomorrow morning," she winked before heading to catch up with Wanda.

You groaned and followed her because what other choice did you have?

 "Is that--is that Y/N?" Sam asked in mock surprise as the three of you joined him, Tony, and Clint at the bar. You flushed, and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

"I didn't know you owned anything other than running capris," Tony joined in.  "I always imagined your closet as just a rainbow of brightly colored spandex."

"This is Natasha's," you admitted, gesturing to the dress, your cheeks still red. "My wardrobe is 80% spandex."

"And what's the other 20%?" Sam wiggled his eyebrows.

"Wouldn't you like to find out, Wilson," Natasha stepped in. "Y/N, pick your poison."

"Jack and Coke, heavy on the Jack," you ordered.

"What, like another 80/20?" Tony asked, picking at you.

"To deal with you? She'd need something a lot stronger than that," Nat shot back, walking away and pulling Wanda with her.

The circle grew quiet in Natasha's absence, and you looked around taking in the crowded room. People were everywhere. Chatting by the bar, filling up the dance floor, hanging out by the food table. "Who are all of these people?" you asked, eyes flitting from group to group.

"Family and friends of those who work here, and you know, others," Tony shrugged. Clint rolled his eyes at the non-answer, and you smiled at this.

"And, uh, where is everyone else?"

"Why? Are you looking for anyone in particular?" Tony asked, and immediately you shut your mouth. Was he the person Natasha was talking about? It couldn't be. Knowing Tony, he would have made an announcement to the entire Compound by now.

"Just anyone to hang out with other than you," you quipped, attempting to channel your inner Natasha. Tony raised an eyebrow at this as Sam and Clint burst out laughing.

"You've been spending too much time with Natasha," Tony accused, pointing a finger at you. "I'm cutting you off."

"I'd like to see you try, Stark," Nat said, reappearing with your drink. You gratefully took it from her and immediately started sipping it down.  "Wanda and I are going to hit the dancefloor, anyone else in?"

"Hell yeah," Sam agreed, following Wanda in, and you nodded too.

 The dancefloor was packed. Everyone around you seemed to be keeping themselves up by pressing their bodies as close as possible to someone else's. You were no different. Natasha had taken you by the waist and pulled you close to her, grinding against you as if her life depended on it. At first, you were unsure what to do. It wasn't as if you'd never danced with anyone before, but these were people you worked with. And lived with. It was already a precarious balance, to mess it up by letting yourself go the way you had back when you were in school…And then Don't Be So Shy came on.

You weren't sure what it was. Maybe Nat had gotten a little creative with your drink order. Maybe you had decided you were tired of being cautious as Natasha rolled her hips against you. Maybe you took the lyrics of the song as a bit of inspiration, but the next thing you knew, you were flush against Natasha's frame, your ass moving in time with her, and Wanda gave a cheer. You gave half a smile, proud of yourself, as you bent over, and then stood up.

"Someone's watching," Natasha whispered into your ear, and you looked around the room as you continued to move trying to catch whoever it was' eyes. "By the bar," she added, and your gaze snapped over there.

Bucky stood with Steve, and both of their eyes were on your small group. Unable to help it, you snapped your head back in front of you to a dancing Wanda and Sam as Natasha laughed. She make any other comment. You passed the time dancing, changing partners between Natasha, Wanda, random guys, and once even Sam. A couple of drink runs had been made, leaving your limbs feeling heavier and invigorated as you danced. You weren't sure how long it had been since the party had started, but your legs grew tired and you excused yourself from your latest partner and pushed your way to the bar. The only space available was by Steve and Bucky, so you found yourself joining their group.

"Tired?" Steve asked, the laugh evident in his voice. You just nodded, running your hands down your thighs and giving them a light massage. He leaned over the bar and flagged down the bartender. "Can I get a water?" The bartender nodded, and filled a glass, passing it over to Steve who handed it to you.

"Thanks," you breathed out, gulping down the water quickly.

"How come you're not dancing?" you asked Steve, careful to keep your eyes off of Bucky who had been staring at you quietly.

Steve shook his head. "That's more Buck's kind of thing," he answered, clapping Bucky's shoulder. "Anyway, I'm going to go check on Stark, and see what he's gotten himself into," he declared starting to wlk away. He missed your brief panicked stare at being left alone with your crush while drunk. You watched him go and were only pulled back to Bucky when he spoke.

 "It's ok if you want to leave," he gave a tightlipped smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I get it."

"Get it…?" you asked, trying to follow his words.

"Being afraid of me," he commented, taking a sip from his drink. Your cheeks grew warm, and you just knew your face was red. He could probably tell even through the darkness. "I don't blame you," he added. "It's really ok. I'm used to it."

"I'm not…" you stuttered. Stopping and starting again, your heart thundering and stomach twisting as the awkwardness seeped in. "Why do you think I'm afraid of you?"

He leveled a look at you as if trying to convince you to be honest. "You avoid me," he shrugged. "I saw the look you gave Steve."

You nervously pushed hair behind your ear, looking at the ground. "That wasn't why I gave that look," you muttered.

"Really?" Bucky asked, the skepticism obvious.

"No." You couldn't meet his eyes. Instead, you looked at the bar, and then out at the dancefloor, at your friends who were having fun and completely oblivious to the personal little hell you'd found yourself in. "I, oh, this is so embarrassing," you muttered. Bucky was quiet, his gaze intense on you. "I have a crush on you," you winced. "It's dumb, but I'm awkward, and I don't know, I was just hoping to get over it, so you know, this didn't happen," you gestured between the two of you.

"This?" Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You realize I have a crush on you and then I sit through the, 'I'm sorry' speech, and then things get uncomfortable between us for a while--"

"And if I had a crush on you too?" Bucky asked. Your head snapped up so your eyes met with his. He had a small half-smile on his face, the earlier strain replaced with amusement.

"If you--what?" you stuttered. Bucky moved closer to you, so you had to look up from his black-button up to keep your eyes on his face. He looked down at you and offered a hand.

"Do you want to dance?" You nodded and took his hand, letting yourself be led out onto the dance floor, briefly meeting the gazes of a grinning Natasha and Steve who gave you two a thumbs up.

[deborahcastellano]

[In the Name of the Muse] The Only Way Out Is Through: Are You Out There Can You Hear Me?

I.

So I asked a friend about it, on a bad day, Her husband had just left her, She sat down on the chair he left behind, she said, “What is love, where did it get me? Whoever thought of love is no friend of mine.”

This summer has been a complete headfuck.  The highs have been incredibly high but the lows have been incredibly low.  London was a super high high for me – being treated as a peer, making friends, drinks on the terrace on a perfect spring evening, seeing Six, being solo in a different country, the V & A museum.  It was exhilarating.  A super low low for me – having terrible poison ivy.  Sounds pretty low key summer camp right?  Except I was never allergic to it until this summer and I still have scars from it.  I was seeping through my loose bandages so badly that it would wake me up at night and I would need my mom to help me change them in the copy room at work.  I had to be bandaged up or I would be seeping all over my desk which is so attractive in the workplace.  I finally broke and went to my doctor for prednisone which I cannot standing being on because I am an aggressive hell beast on it as well as way too warm all the time.  But this time was extra fun because the tail end came with suicidal ideation.

I’m learning a certain kind of patience.  I’m learning how to watch The Wheel.  I’m learning that magic doesn’t always look the way I expect it to.  I’m learning that my Muse and The (Goddamn) Universe (Herself) don’t always work in ways I understand.  I’m learning how wide gratitude can be.  I’m learning how big love can be from all kinds of places.  I’m learning a different kind of grace.

I’m learning what Exile really is for me, too. And what it’s like to be exiled from yourself.  It’s a deep ocean.

II.

And all I could eat was the poisonous apple

And that’s not a story I was meant to survive

I was all out of choices but the woman of voices

She turned round the corner with music around her

She gave me the language that keeps me alive, she said“I’m so glad that you finally made it here

With the things you know now, that only time could tell

Looking back, seeing far, landing right where we are

And oh, you’re aging, oh and I am aging oh, aren’t we aging well?”

She has a way of having way more compassion than I have.  She says it gently, for other people I am feeling less kindly inclined towards while still acknowledging the validity of what I’m saying.  It’s a delicate high wire act that she balances well.  She doesn’t force me into kindness but she gives me a chance to open my heart.  We always knew each other from a distance, since we were eighteen, at our mothers’ circles and the adjacent circles we ran in together but separately in the dark of the night.  I asked her once for a favor, a big favor.  I asked her to form a burlesque troupe for me.  And she did it.  One of our first local troupes.  She asked to propose to her girlfriend with her husband at my event.  MTV was there and I was afraid of how it would shape my event through the media’s eye.  I said no at first.  She loves me, even when I’m not brave.  I couldn’t sleep that night.  I didn’t like being afraid of love.

We kept talking and she was so kind to me even though she had every reason to be angry with me.  She was so patient while I made myself brave and was so gracious when I relented.  I went against my board to do it, it was maybe the only time I used my power to go against everyone else’s wishes.  I couldn’t make myself go against love.  We went through our divorces at roughly the same time and this brought us closer together and soon we became Amazon sisters.  We hold each other down, we hold each other up.  We make each other laugh because our mean girl streaks go together – our good hearts, our bad mouths.  She has a spirit that I’ve always admired since I met her.  She’s so giving with her time, her patience, her kindness.  She has a strong spine and almost always stands up before I have the strength to stand as well.  She gives me the strength to stand up.  She’s an amazing teacher and speaker and has a willingness to share her flaws and her missteps.

She has a silliness that I love – I see her and C. laughing with me at an event in my room on one of my beds about the tiny copper mugs that I serve them champagne and St. Germain out of, being both willing to have my grown up doll’s tea party with me and gently giggling about the ridiculousness of it.  She gives me space to be ridiculous in my glamour, so much space.  Which makes me brave enough to lean into my glamour.  I stood once in a high tea at an event she helped organize in a full Georgian gown, letting the tea servers fuss over me, standing so still and letting everyone look at me.  I served Babalon tea that only I would serve, making everyone wait to be served by me.  She stood in the back, watching the tableau I had created with her help and then she drank from the pink tea pot I served out of before she had to dash out to run other things.  I never would have been able to have done that without her.  We share headphones over the internet, she’s one of my favorite musical garbage animals.  We share secrets, we share songs, we share magic.  Sometimes, all we say to each other over and over again is, I’m here.  I’m here. I’m here.  

Sometimes, that’s all we need.

III.

Perhaps I am a miscreation

No one knows the truth there is no future here

And you’re the DJ speaks to my insomnia

And laughs at all I have to fear

Laughs at all I have to fear

You always play the madmen poets

Vinyl vision grungy bands

You never know who’s still awake

You never know who understands andAre you out there, can you hear this?Here is where I find myself trapped in the last days of vacation.  I’m paralyzed with knowing that returning to my work place is imminent, I’m immobilized by the fear that all of my creativity will once again completely dry up in the face of the crushing tedium of the workplace and essentially never being complimented, often being criticized and striving for an impossible level of perfection that is only noticed when one has failed to achieve it.Usually I’d be shouting at her or being shouted at her here.  I’m too afraid to shout, too worn down to scold.  I worry that I will never be in a place to pick up all my threads.  I worry that I will keep not being able to balance having my literal soul crushed on a daily basis with finding something to write about.  I have become dull witted, not with obsession but with the tedium that is the majority of my day.  I have plans, of course I have plans.  But the closer I come to changing what I need to change, the farther away it feels.  Sometimes I think, this is the rest of my life.  Sometimes I think, my spirit has been broken.  Sometimes I think, I will never be clever or witty or magical again.  Sometimes I think, my heart has died.  I try to hold space for the things that are lovely, that are enriching, that are meaningful, but it all slips through my fingers.  I am not hollowed out by austerity or full of words of promise and action.  I am instead a cluttered downtrodden thing.And sometimes I think she has left me forever.  And I can’t blame her.

IV.

But the weather changed quickly, oh the ocean said “What are you trying to find, I don’t care, I’m not kind I’ve bludgeoned your sailors, I’ve spat out their keepsakes Oh it’s ashes to ashes, but always the ocean”

I have been visiting her daily, collecting shells and driftwood on her shores.  Much more than in the last decade.  I feel more centered and calm and more in tune with my magic, even though I’m not doing anything really yet.  I greeted her formally and got a sharp sassy retort back.  I sighed.  Sometimes it’s difficult being constantly surrounded by wise and powerful women, in whatever form they take.  I think about how I started swimming again this summer and I think about how I’m slowly winding my way back to her – the rum, the melon boats, my feet in her waters in January.  The depth of her love, the purity of her white foam, the vastness of her patience while I’ve been very busy being very busy.

I still listen to her (recorded) waves every night before bed.  I sometimes wonder what she whispers in them, if i allowed myself to listen.

I am the daughter of the deep blue sea, I am the daughter of the pounding waves, I am the daughter of the bright ocean foam. Oh, my mother Yemaya, queen of the great salt sea, Oh, my mother, Yemaya, descend and counsel me.

V.

Listen up let me tell you a story

A story that you think you’ve heard before

We know you know our names and our fame and our faces

Know all about the glories and the disgracesI’m done ’cause all this time

I’ve been just one word in a stupid rhyme

So I picked up a pen and a microphone

History’s about to get overthrownHow do you pick it all back up?  How do you reweave the threads?  How do you find space for what is meaningful?  How do you not get run over by everyone else’s struggle?  How do you get out of bed after reading the headlines that morning?  How do you create in the face of oppressive adversity where you are so worn down all there is energy for is work, housework and the gym?This is where I’d have a pithy answer for you, usually.  But I’m not there yet.  Just know if you are struggling too, I’m there, your Sister Queen in arms and exile.  The answer is there.  I just have to find it.