dollypartoncbdgummius

[happyheidi]

Pink-necked green pigeons. x

[glitching-desert-snake]

“Last time I ask you for a favor!” with some venom sibs! :^)

It 'tis done! 3k worth of venom siblings and some lovely StarParty for ya. Hope you like it!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31265705

(appologies if the read more doesn't work smh)

:readmore:

"Order up! Can we get two blue plates and a Destroya special, hold the cactus!" Party called from the booth they're waiting to Ghoul and Kobra in the kitchen.

"On it!" Ghoul called back.

"Hey," a voice said from behind them, tapping them on the shoulder. Poison turned around to see Jet Star and their cheeks flush.

"Did you um need something Star?" They asked

"It's noon so Venom's are off, I can take it from here."

"Right" They hand him their notepad and pen, "Oh the girls over there want just one milkshake to share so make sure Ghoul puts extra in it."

"Got it, have a nice break." Jet smiled and they try not to beam right back, a small wave and they are hanging up their apron and heading outside.

"Heyy, Party Poison." A killjoy was at their heels as soon as they exit the swinging doors.

"And who might you be?" They pause and lean on one leg as the 'joy caught up to them.

"The name's Band Saw, and well- you don't happen to like roller skating do you?" It took Party a moment to hide their curiosity. They didn't care for tricks or anything but you could find them rolling around. Not like Show Pony who was on quads 24/7. But they did know a certain blue haired someone who was dying to learn to skate.

"Say I did,"

"Well would'jya maybe want to come with me to the rink party Pony's holding this weekend?" Party Poison looked up with intrigue but quickly hid it with a long eyeroll, "I would sooner go with you than get my finger stuck in a band saw." The joy recoiled and took a deep sigh, "Oh ok um, nevermind then." they scurried off. Poison felt a twinge of regret but then happily didn't as they looked up to see Kobra Kid leaning on the back wall smirking.

"Don't they know the first rule of The Diner is no flirting with the waitstaff." He chuckled, "I made the rule to get rid of goonies like that."

"Eh, they technically weren't in The Diner when they asked." They noted as the two walked out to the fields.

"I guess. Here, slap up the sun's nice today." Kobra handed them some sunscreen and went to find a spot in the dry grasses to lie down. "Ghoul said Helibomb is going to come by on Sunday to see about the warm water not working."

"Oh the gal who wears heelys everywhere? I didn't realize she did more than just well work."

"Yep, they say she can even roll on her heelys up hill."

"Seems like just a frequency static rumor to me."

"If it's true then I'm taking one from her book for my bike. I don't care if it's magic or what, I want a piece."

"I'm sure you do. Hey Kobra, could you do me a favor?"

"Sure, what's up?"

"Did you hear about Show Pony's gig this weekend?"

"The partner skate? Sure I have, but I'm not planning on going on account of too many love birds in one flock."

Party swallowed and went red even though they knew better.

"Well duh, I know you're not going. That'd be like me walking into the bathrooms at Hyperthrust during a party." They both laughed and fake gagged.

"But man, for all that I'm supposedly talk of the town, apparently I'm also the last to hear about major events." They threw up their hands. "Anyways, think you could be a messenger pigeon?"

Kobra grinned, "Party,"

"Look- I can't go asking myself, I have an image to uphold!"

"A damn bitchy one" Kobra quipped, chewing his lip. "But no, I get it. Who's the lucky 'joy?" he looked sharply into Party's eyes and they quickly looked down.

"You're going to hate me for this." They said with a flush creeping onto their cheeks.

"I'm not gonna be mad Pois, you know that." he said, hugging his knees and looking at them.

"It's Jet Star." They say with a gulp.

"Party fuckin Poison, what to say." Kobra was grinning and shaking his head as he spoke in a sing song drawl, "You pick good ones. Aesthetics? Top game."

"Shut up!" Poison giggles

"And yes, of course I can do the honors for you- but it better be at The Nest because we all remember the last time drama happened while at work."

"Yeah, bacon and avocado do not belong on the ceiling." Party shook their head and smiled. Their face is still hot but they stand up and shake twigs from their jacket. "Thank you for this, Kid, really."

"Oh I wasn't done-" Kobra said, standing up and pointing a finger at them. "Because I want a favor in return."

"Alright shoot,"

"I don't know what it is yet," he said as they began "It all depends how much of a chaotic disaster the ask winds up being." He laughed and the sun glinted on his braces.

"Of course," Party said with a chuckle but they can't help their mind racing with every dismal possibly that could happen.

"So we only sold five milkshakes today on account of the machine breaking, big deal! Helibomb is coming Sunday afternoon, don't stress it Ghoul." Jet was leaning on the table and poking through music to put on.

"You know they're are biggest seller when it's hot out." Ghoul reasoned as he reached for a brush from the couch and worked on undoing his braids.

"Pst, Poison get over here." Kobra tapped his sibling on the shoulder. "I'm not being your wingman if you're just going to hide in the kitchen." Poison gulped and reluctantly drifted into the living room and stuck to the side of the wall. Kobra looked back at them and smiled and then walked over to Jet who was putting Earthling into the cassette player.

"Hey Jet, I've got a proposition for ya." Kobra grins as Little Wonder came on intermixed with static.

"Oh yeah?" Jet tucked a curl behind his ear. Party cringed at The Kid being so formal but couldn't look away.

"Party Poison here wants to go to the skate party at Pony's rink tomorrow night. And they want to know, if you'd do them the honors of being their date." Kobra put his hands in the pockets of his jacket and rests a contented look on his face. Jet for his part looked astonished.

"Really?" He asked, with a smile creeping over his face, looking from Kobra to Party and back.

"Yeah- but like, only if you want." Party said. They got themself off the wall and managed to stay standing despite harboring no trust in their legs to function.

"No I'd like that, sound's rad. It's just- man I don't even know how to roller skate."

"Oh"

"But I'd love it if you showed me how." Jet finished and Party beamed

"Hey you should pick some skates from the shoe pile, I think TCM dropped off some that might fit you."

"Oh yeah!" Jet bobbed his head and smiled.

He left to the nest and Party followed after him but not before siding up next to Kobra to mutter, "Thank you," with a breathy sigh.

"'Course" The Kid chuckled, "But remember, you owe me."

"Yeah yeah." Poison smiled as they exchanged their secret hand shake. Poison bounded down the hallway after Jet.

"Hi." Star said, quickly turning around. He brushed his hair back for like the fifth time that day and Poison couldn't help but notice all the freckles that had come out from being in the sun on the walk home from The Diner where Kobra's whispered heckling and teasing just made Party more giddy than they already were.

"Hi" They repeated. They knew enough to not think that something like What's your shoe size? was a deemable conversation but were lost of what to say instead.

"Did you really mean me?" Jet was asking.

"What?" Poison looks at him with concern as they pull out the pile of shoes and start handing skates to Jet.

"I mean like, you really want to go on a date date with me, not just like as friends?"

"I- yes." they swallow and look away, "Jet if you don't want to go that's fine. Just tell me now so I can sort out my feelings in peace."

"What? No no I'm not breaking up with you- I mean I'm not- I'm pastel for you too, Party." It's Jet's turn to look away but Poison drops a skate in their lap to stare at him. "I didn't think you felt any way for me, I mean you're Party 'I insult everyone' Poison, I never thought you'd like someone like-"

"I don't insult every one." They interject with a sigh. "You and Kobra both on top of me over this." They shake their head, Ghoul understood the need to cover everything up and keep things safe with a shell of spite but Kobra and Jet would just zip shut over anything touchy. Well, or punch your lights out if it was Jet.

"Wait a minute, what were you going to say?"

Jet turned  slightly towards them, "I didn't think you'd like someone all well, quiet n' stuff. Man, I come home from work and then just work on my bots whiles you off partying the lights away."

"Pff Star, you think I go to parties to pick up 'joys to date?"

"I mean, yeah?" Jet looks at them confused as he puts on another skate, "Think these fit." he said absent mindedly, still looking intently at Party.

"Star, I go to parties for the music, for the friends, and yeah maybe sometimes to blow off some adrenaline without a raygun, but I-" they stuck out their tongue slightly as they slipped the lace into an eyelet, I don't take people home from parties and I'd never fuck anyone, ever they want to say but instead just mutter, "I don't go to the club for crushes. And besides, I didn't think you liked me. Whyd'ja think I sent The Kid to ask for me."

"Party what do you mean! How could I not be pastel for your smiles and when you wear tank tops while tagging up the radio station, or skirts out to parties, and the way you get all nervous before reading."

"Okay now that's just not fair. You're so cute when you're covered in motor oil and showing me your bots, not to mention how sharp of a shot you are both at darts and dracs. But also you know you make the best milkshakes this side of the radiation pools."

"Stoop now you makin me all melted." Star shoves them and laughs,

"Not before you did!" Party retorts and they dissolve into a fit of laughter.

The following night Party and Jet rode down to the rink. The lights were bright and the pizza was pretty shitty but it was ok. Jet told them about his plans to try to make a drone while Party tied his skates for him. They stepped out on the rink and skated in a small circle then rolled back to the edge where Jet was still standing on the carpet. On other days they would stare at the black and bright colored carpet wanting to look like it but they knew Jet was just scared.

"If you fall, I've got you." They whispered in his ear and he looked up. Poison hadn't seen Star actually scared, not since ray blasts streaked the sky. He stepped onto the rink and diligently kept his feet exactly parallel.

"Here see, you skate like this." Party kicked off and skated a few feet, then turned and slid back to Jet.

"Here goes nothing." Star said and tried to put his feet into a V like theirs. He started to pick up his foot but fell off-balanced onto Party who hit the rink on their wrist guard. Star was mortified but his body was so close, Party reminded themself to breathe. They ran their hand along his arm.

"Hi" they breathed

"I suck at this for real." Jet groaned and then took their hand. Party got onto their feet and pulled Jet up to standing.

They spent most of the night very close to the nice friendly padded wall. Party showed Jet how to get comfortable on his skates and every once in a while left him on the shore of the rink to practice a spin or skating backwards.

"Now you're just showing off." Jet laughed as Party vogued to the song playing.

"C'mon you can at least do this." They insisted and rolled their wrist against their neck. Jet was much better at voguing than skating, shaping his face square and sweeping circles in the air. Party watched with a quiet smile intently trained on Jet, watching him slowly get more confident until the fear from the beginning of the night melted away.

Eventually Jet did manage to skate without holding onto anything, only to realize he didn't know how to stop. Veering towards Party, he pressed them up to the wall. Poison just laughed.

"Can I kiss you Star?" Party asked

"Only if you show me how to stop after." Jet smiled and Party pressed a kiss to his cheek. Jet held onto the wall as Party kicked off into a simple forwards skate.

"Point your toes and bring your legs together." Party half shouts over the music. Jet takes a couple of tries but eventually gets the hang of it. He skates up to Party and stops right in front of them. They hold his hands and he kisses them. Poison flips up to stand on their heel stops and leans into him. When they finish skating Jet's legs are shaking. He thinks it's on account of it being his first time skating. Party can't tell if it's from skating or being on a date with Jet. But really it's all three mixed into a wavering walk home bubbling with laughter and then dying down to quiet murmurs on the wind.

"So, what's your revenge against my innocent little ask?" Party said with their hand on their hips and a sarcastic lilt in their voice.

"You know how little Mr. Tommy Chow Mein's got that one spot on the back shelf that damn no body supposed to touch?"

"Oh noo, what about it."

"Well, I've been peeping this helmet he's got up there, right? And I think it'd be perfect to go with my wheels now that I have some races under my belt as Lucky No. 27 this dinky BLI helmet got nothing on the other guys. I want you, with all that charisma you got packed away in there, to get it in my hands."

"Oh come on Kid, it's TCM! I can't just walk up to our used-to-be-dad and ask him to sell me contra!"

"It's not actually contraband though, red." Jet Star chimes in from where he's listening bemusedly to the venom siblings. "Hand me a hair tie would you Ghoul?" he asks Ghoul, who's patiently getting his hair braided by Jet.

"I got 50 carbons you can use for bartering."

"Oh sure that'll help but it's still the no sells shelf. And TCM isn't pastel for you like Mx. Propulsion here." Ghoul said with a smirk and Jet flicks hair in his face.

"Alright alright, I'll try but no promises alright Kobra."

"What? Just try, that's BS."

"Hey I didn't know if I'd be getting a joyfriend or not out of your favor, I don't know if you'll be off with a helmet or not."

"Fine." Kobra said in a drawn out whine.

Poison grabbed the ring of carbons and Ghoul tossed Jet the keys to the Trans Am.

"You're coming too?" Party asks as Jet leaves with them

"You know I want to see how this plays out." He said with a laugh and Party rolls their eyes.

"Make sure they're putting in effort, I want that helmet next sunrise race!" Kobra called as they left.

"Heyy Tommy C! How's it hanging?" Party said

"It's hanging like a plastic bag in a 'crow's nest- what do you want Party?" Tommy shuts off whatever audio drama he'd been listening to and leaned on the counter looking down at Party.

"Jus' wanna talk, that so bad?" Tommy just rolled his eyes.

"Look are you buying something or just here to make me change the station. I've heard enough of your rants, I'm not turning on the radio my books are just fine."

"So listen, I was just wondering about that helmet you got over there. It's pretty bonus track and a uh, associate of mine was looking into it."

"This is not the helmet you're looking for." TCM said and a wave of calm washed over Party. They were immediately confused, they were never this calm. There was something they needed but it wasn't here. Wait of course it was. Jet wouldn't be standing in the corner watching the whole scene amused if it hadn't been for Kobra. What was it about Kobra? He wanted the helmet right. It took half of Party's effort just to remember this but then he was at it again.

"Where'd you get it anyways?"

"A long time ago. It's very old, your sibling doesn't want it."

"Oh yeah?" That pang hit their thoughts again but they kept going. "Where'd you get it?"

"No where near here, a galaxy far far away, you could say."

"Well look, since you already know it's The Kid who's trying to get his hands on it what do you even have against him?'

"Yeah, Jet pipes up- me and Ghoul were the ones always pulling pranks on you. He didn't do nothing to you."

"Let me do this, it's not your trade." Party said, putting their hand on Jet's chest.

"Fine." Jet sighed and went back to browsing the zine rack.

"The Kobra Kid can't have my helmet, and no one else can either."

"Ok but what if I gave you 50 Cs?" Party asked, stifling the blow to their train of thought.

"Agh! Why don't these work on you rascal?" Tommy threw down his sunglasses in annoyance. "Fine you want to know about this helmet. I got this helmet pod racing until my rival decided to blow out my hyperdrive frequency and led me to crash land by ship on this measly planet. And then what? Jammed radios from a certain somebody meant I couldn't fly anymore. Set up shop instead, an the rest's history.

"But you know what? If it's useless to me, it's just as useless to you and yours." Tommy sighed and took the carabiners of 25 carbons each and slid them onto the rods in his cash register and begrudgingly passed the helmet down to Party.

"Kobra! We're home!"

"Did they get my helmet?" Kobra asks as he runs into the nest.

"Sure did! Diligently and without help from yours truly." Jet reported back and kissed Party quickly on the cheek to the return of a grin on their face.

Kobra ran over and took the helmet from Poison and immediately put it on.

"Uh Party?" He waved his arms around

"Do you like it?"

"Pois, I can't see a thing." Kobra took the helmet back off and examined the front, realizing that not only was GOOD LUCK painted across the entire screen but the inside was also painted black.

"What the-" Party grabbed it from him and put it on, only to find completely darkness and if they crossed their eyes, a bit of shine to the paint.

"Man you get a joyfriend and I get a fuckin useless helmet!? Last time I ask you for a favor!" He pouces onto Poison and they topple onto the couch, wrestling each other until it dissolves into a pillow fight.

[lcnelyinthesky]

that time - kenma x reader

a/n: good evening! i feel like i haven’t written in ages, but maybe i kinda wish this wasnt the piece i was coming back in with. in any case, here she is.

based on that time by regina spektor

genre: angst

warnings: heavy mentions of drug use and suicide.

word count: 1.4k

Do you remember the time when I found a human tooth down on Delancey?

It was a perfect spring day. The flowering trees existed in all of their beautiful glory, painting the green grass with splotches of pinks and purples. You walked around a park, looking to meet up with your boyfriend Kenma.

Hey, remember that time we decided to kiss anywhere except the mouth?

Your boots clunked around your feet with every step you took. The legs of your baggy jeans rubbed against themselves as you walked, creating the slightest vibration. The light cotton of your shirt melted into your skin. Your hands found each other behind your back, fingers interlocking. You looked around at the trees and benches and people in dark clothes as you strolled along the paths.

Hey, remember that time when my favorite colors were pink and green?

You remembered the past fondly, a small smile creeping to your face as you thought about the first time you met your kitten. You were at a party with your friends, passing drunken stories around the circle you had formed together. Your pastel pink shirt was tucked into your olive green pants, the fabric held together by a grey belt with a chain attached to the loops. You moved the silver links around in your fingers when a group of guys came in, a particular one catching your eye more than the others. 

Your fingers anxiously fiddled together while you dug deeply into the yellowish eyes of the man standing above you, who proceeded to shoot you a coy smile. He sat down next to you, maroon fabric of his shirt folding as his posture faltered.

He took a liking to you instantly, both of you clicking as stories continued to pass around the room. You giggled as his face turned red every time a so-called “Kuro” poked fun at him. 

Hey, remember that month when I only ate boxes of tangerines?

You were just broke college students, but you made it work. Your shared, albeit small, income covered the rent of a tiny studio apartment and you figured the rest out somehow. None of that really mattered though, because you’d take waking up in his arms, engulfed in his cinnamony scent, over a dorm any day. He was always so cute in the morning. His sleepy eyes told you they loved you without him uttering a word. His hair would be in every single direction but he wore it so well.

So cheap and juicy, tangerines.

Kenma spent most of his time at home. You’d carry him to bed after he passed out at his post, eyes glued to a monitor. You’d lay his exhausted body in bed before you went to shower, and when you’d come back to him, his position would have changed entirely. You’d climb in next to him and face him while he slept. The scent of orange on your breath became something that could never fail to lull him to sleep.

Hey, remember that time when I would only read Shakespeare?

You were always one with spurts of energy, whereas his energy was constant and unwavering. You’d randomly tell him something you wanted to do and he’d laugh, causing a flame that allowed you to actually get it done. 

“I’m gonna memorize Lady Macbeth’s monologues. All of them.” You looked up from your phone at your boyfriend. His gaze met yours as his mouth twisted into a smirk and his eyebrows raised.

“Definitely, baby. I’ll learn Macbeth’s and we can be them for Halloween.” He laughed at you slightly, but it was all out of love. It always was.

Hey, remember that other time when I would only read the backs of cereal boxes?

You sat at the kitchen table in a trance, staring down the box your breakfast came from. Kenma walked in, sleepily trudging towards you, and asked what you were doing. The words came in one ear and out the other, an empty haze going over your brain. He went to the kitchen and tried to hide the clinking of a pill bottle with a story about a woman he saw in the park. He swallowed something mint green with water, before asking you--once again--about your blank stare.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Kenma walked over to you and placed an arm around your back, bringing you back to reality. You shook your head and looked up at him, asking flirtatiously if you could join him in a morning shower. He stuttered out an “okay”, but that’s when the worry started.

Hey, remember that time I tried to save a pigeon with a broken wing?

“Kenma! Hey!” You shouted, panicked in front of your apartment complex, a bird in your hands. The sky was a pale grey that contrasted heavily with your bright yellow shirt. The terrace attached to your living room had someone standing on it now.

“What the hell is that?”

A street cat got him by morning, and I had to bury pieces of his body in my building's playground

You wore black the next day. Something in you became used to the lack of color. It wasn’t exactly a change in personality, and it sure was subtle. Kenma never noticed when your closet’s colors started to fade. Nothing confused him when you left your pink shirts at the laundromat on purpose. Yet he was so observant elsewhere.

I thought I was going to be sick

But maybe something went too deeply into his brain, occupying his every thought. Nothing really seemed too different because his focus was always deep in a video game, but then you beat him at Mario Kart.

Hey, remember that time when I would only smoke Parliaments?

He wasn’t as sharp with a controller in his hands. He stopped falling asleep at three in the morning, sometimes turning in at as early as ten. He started spending more time away, walking down the alleyways between office buildings before and after his normal desk job. 

Hey, remember that time when I would only smoke Marlboros?

You woke up at seven one morning to an empty bed, knowing you fell asleep next to your boyfriend at twelve the night before. You rubbed your eyes and stretched your arms, walking twenty feet to see a blob of dyed blond hair and plushy black fabric. 

Hey, remember that time when I would only smoke Camels?

The bags under his eyes were deeper and darker than you had ever noticed them. His eyes fluttered open at the soft touch of your hand and he groaned at the brightness of the light. 

Hey, remember that time when I was broke?

“Shit, y/n. My neck hurts.” His arm reached around to massage the back of his neck, wincing his eyes shut at the light movement. 

“What’s this about, Ken?” Concern littered your face and nipped from your voice. He came back to reality slowly.

I didn't care; I just bummed from my friends

“I- uhm. I got too warm and had to sleep on the couch. Sorry, baby.” He seemed genuine. He put on a genuine face for you. The stutter made you doubt him.

Hey, remember that time when you OD'ed?

You were still strolling about a park, waving hellos to birds as they flew by. The black denim of your baggy jeans rubbed together, creating the slightest vibration. A tear fell from your squinting eyes at the memory. The happy facade you created fell quickly and all at once. 

Hey, remember that other time when you OD'ed for the second time?

You were looking to meet up with your boyfriend Kenma at the usual spot. He would be sitting there happy to see you, ready to push your hair from your face the second you sit down next to him.

Well, in the waiting room while waiting for news of you

Plot 34D. There were always flowers placed in the small vase. Kuroo came every three Thursdays. You typically went on Saturdays.

I hallucinated I could read your mind

“Hey, Kenma. On the way over here I was thinking about that one summer I only ate those tiny oranges! Remember how you always said they reminded you of your friend Shoyo?” You giggled, tear falling onto the well-maintained grass. “I stole one from a little farmers market in town and ate it right there. You would’ve scolded me so bad.”

And I was on a lot of shit too, but what I saw, man, I tell you it was freaky

[whumphoarder]

Morgan Stark, M.D.

Summary: While playing doctor at the lake house, the five-year-old decides to break out the big bandaids for Peter’s injuries.

Word count: 1,180

Genre: fluff, humor

Link to read on Ao3

A/N: Thanks to @awesomesockes for beta-reading and ideas :D

“I can hear your heartbeat,” Morgan informs, pressing the bell of her pink plastic stethoscope to the middle of Peter’s chest.

“Oh yeah?” Peter grins at the five-year-old, who is currently wearing one of Tony’s white button-downs as a lab coat. “What’s it sound like, doc?”

“Like”—Morgan rapidly taps her hand over his heart, adding a sound effect between each pat for emphasis—“badumbadumbadumbadumbadum!”

Peter laughs lightly. “That’s pretty fast. Might have a problem there.”

“Nope,” Morgan says knowingly. “It’s perfect.” She pulls the stethoscope out from her ears and shoves it back into the purple Doc McStuffins bag, exchanging it for a thermometer. “Here,” she says, thrusting it at Peter’s closed mouth, causing him to flinch backwards in surprise. “We gotta take your temperature now.”

Peter takes the device from her and holds it as close to his lips as he can without actually touching them. Prior to Tony and Pepper leaving for their date night earlier that evening, both had warned him of their daughter’s newfound medical obsession. Apparently, she’s been giving out check-ups to every toy, doll, and family member who’s crossed her path the past week.

(Gerald the alpaca was less than pleased about this.)

After about three seconds, Morgan pulls it away again and glances at the number display before letting out a little shriek. “You got a fever!” she cries.

“Oh no!” Peter gasps, pressing the back of his hand to his own forehead in a dramatic swoon. “How high is it?”

She shakes her head back and forth solemnly and lets out a sigh. “Sixty-two percent.”

Peter has to bite the inside of his mouth to keep his face straight. “Sixty-two percent?” he clarifies, raising an eyebrow. “Pretty sure if it hits seventy, I’m toast.”

“Not if I give you the medicine!” she exclaims. “It’s, um…” She whips a plastic syringe out of her kit. “It’s five hundred shots!”

Peter sticks his lip out in a pout. “Aw man, but I don’t like shots...”

“That’s silly,” she says simply, and immediately jabs the bony part of his elbow with the point of her plastic needle, eliciting a yelp that was only partly faked. “You need to get better or you’ll die.”

“Fair enough,” Peter allows, grimacing. “So… only four hundred and ninety-nine more to go?”

Giggling, Morgan proceeds to poke him with the syringe a few dozen more times in quick succession until she declares him cured.

“Now you need a bandaid,” she says, grabbing the box of Doc McStuffins sticker ‘bandages’ from her kit. She opens it and then frowns. “Aw, they’re all gone.”

Peter laughs a bit, recalling the picture Tony texted him yesterday of a rather grumpy-looking Happy covered in colorful stickers. “Guess I’ll just bleed out then.”

“No you won’t! I know where Mommy keeps more!” she exclaims, jumping up.

Peter frowns. “Well, you probably shouldn’t use the real ones…” he begins, starting to get up from Morgan’s pink bean bag chair, but she pushes him back down quickly.

“No no you can’t move!” she insists. “You’re really sick.”

At the little girl’s stern look, Peter settles back down into the bean bag. “Alright, alright, I’ll stay here. But don’t use too many, okay? They’re supposed to be for real owies.”

“Okay,” she agrees, scurrying off down the hall.

While he waits, Peter checks his phone. There’s a Baby Yoda meme from Ned, along with a two-paragraph rant from MJ about pigeons being soulless creatures that he’s just started to skim when Morgan bounds back into the room.

“I got them!” she cries happily. “I got the big bandaids.”

Peter glances up to see the five-year-old run over and dump an armful of colorful square-shaped items out onto the floor in front of him. His eyes widen as realization dawns.

“Wait, uh, Morgan? I don’t think those are—” he stammers. “I mean, uh… where did you find those?”

Morgan is already tearing open one of the pastel floral wrappers. “In Mommy’s bathroom drawer,” she reports as she unfolds the white pad inside.

Peter feels his cheeks flush. “Right, but, uh, I don’t think they’re really, um…”

As he speaks, Morgan peels off the final strip of paper over the adhesive and sticks it to his elbow. “They’re for big owies.”

“No, Morgan, listen,” Peter protests, starting to take it back off. “These aren’t—”

“Hey!” She swats his hand away. “You need to keep that on! Or it’s gonna bleed!” she emphasizes.

Covering his face with his hands, Peter blows out a deep exhale. “Morgan…”

“Oh no!” she gasps, causing Peter to lower his hands to look up at her. “You got another owie!” From the pile of pads on the ground, she produces another and tears the wrapper off.

Peter holds up a hand. “Wait, wait, we can’t use all your mom’s…” he trails off when Morgan tilts her head to the side questioningly, “uh, supplies.”

“She’s got more,” Morgan says with a shrug, peeling off the paper. “There’s lots in the bathroom. And more in her purse.” Adhering the pad to his opposite arm, she explains, “You got another owie there.”

Peter glances down at the new pad-bandage the little girl is wrapping around his elbow. “Oh. Bummer,” he sighs. “Guess I should be more careful.”

“Don’t worry,” she assures him, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to the top of the pad. “I’m gonna make you all better.”

X

Ten minutes later, Peter has just crunched his way through at least ten tablets of SweetTart “medicine” and is sipping room temperature water from one of Morgan’s tiny plastic tea set cups when the bedroom door creaks open to reveal a surprised-looking Tony standing in the entryway.

Peter’s eyes widen in horror. “Mr. Stark! I can explain!” he blurts.

Tony blinks at him. “Please don’t.”

“Hi Daddy,” Morgan says, waving at him.

Tony inclines his head in the direction of his giggling daughter. “Morgan,” he greets. Then shifting his gaze to the red-faced teenager—on which every exposed area of skin is covered by sanitary napkins—he gives him a solemn nod. “Pad-Man. You two having fun?”

“Uh huh!” Morgan says brightly. Gesturing to Peter, she says, “We’re playing hospital. He’s the sick guy, but he’s all better now.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony chuckles and Peter's face flushes. “What was the diagnosis, doc?”

“He had...”—her expression screws up in thought—“broken everything.”

Tony winces. “Ooh. That’s rough.” He steps over and gestures to the pad stuck across Peter’s forehead. “And these are…?”

“Big bandaids!” Morgan says cheerfully.

“Ah. Got it.” Tony nods, the corners of his mouth turning up into a grin. “For all the blood. Of course.”

Feeling his cheeks burn, Peter mutters, “Just kill me now.”

“But you just got better,” Morgan complains.

Tony smirks. “You know, Pete, if you ask Pepper really nicely, she might share her chocolate stash with you. That always makes her feel better.”

Morgan lets out an excited whoop at the prospect of candy, while Peter just covers his face and groans.

X

Link to all my fics

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[silverphanblood]

Suicide in Narnia

Word count: 1,719

Warnings: Hallucinations, delusions, unreality, loss of control, mention of unintentional assault, near death experience

Summary: Recently, Phil has had a lot on his mind. But when he gets trapped inside his own mind - these doubts completely consuming him - how will Dan react to the danger he causes? 

🌸 Phil bolted upright. He inspected every inch of his body - rotating his ankles, stretching his arms, circling his head - ensuring he had regained control. He glanced towards his clock which dimly displayed a “1:30”, he had hoped Dan was awake, it was no surprise when he heard the floorboards creak from his usual pacing.

🌸 Knocking before entering, dazed and confused, Phil sat down beside his ruffle haired boyfriend. After a few silenced stumbles he placed his broad but cold hands on Dan’s thighs. “Dan?” He finally managed to splutter. Dan raised an eyebrow before looking the panicked boy in the eyes. “Yes, baby?” swiftly followed by a concerned “is everything okay?”. But everything was far from okay. Recently, Phil had been experiencing delusions as if he were trapped in his own mind. Sometimes he would even lose a complete sense of feeling, incomparable to how one would experience sleep paralysis.

🌸 “Phil that’s ridiculous! You’re just tired, go to sleep.” Kissing Phil gently on the cheek, he edged him towards the door. “I love you,” he said softly; Phil did not answer. Instead, he wiped away the developing tears and clumsily walked back into the bedroom.

🌸 It was now Saturday morning, the birds were tweeting and Phil was back to his chirpy self: today was the day. Phil bounced into the living room; Dan was already awake, well, if he had slept at all. “So I was thinking we could go get ice cream or something today?” Phil looked at the obstinate man in the eye pleadingly. “Fine” he replied with a disinclined demeanor.

🌸 By the time Dan and Phil had gotten anywhere near the ice cream parlour (being stopped by fans and Phil attempting to feed every pigeon he saw obviously was not quite the catalyst Dan had hoped for) it was noon. Phil could see the irritated look of boredom in his boyfriend’s eyes and quickly reassured him that it was just across the road. The dazzling pink neon sign caught Dan’s attention. Pretty pastel props allured him closer to the well deserved destination, despite the busy road that separated the two. He inched closer, unable to mute his more than satisfying craving for what was only a few feet ahead. In hindsight, he wasn’t the only one.

🌸 However, the screeching of tires only a few centimetres away from Phil was enough to bring sheer panic (which was most definitely an understatement) to the previously carefree, content man. But it didn’t do the same for Phil. There was a complete pandemonium as mass hysteria surged through Dan’s body to his head. Staring in shock, he didn’t move. Everything happened in slow motion: angry people pushing each other out of the way; muffled yelling of displeased drivers; and overwhelming bursts of confusion about Phil. Phil? PHIL!

🌸 Dan attempted to grab his lover to prevent any further harm, almost too abruptly, causing his body to jerk forward and ungracefully collide with the man in front of him. He collected his long inconvenience of a body and proceeded to move Phil away from the road and onto a nearby bench shielded by an eyesore of a commercial parasol. Placing a reassuring hand on Phil’s shoulder, Dan started to tear up shortly accompanied by a face heavily painted with perplexity. “Phil?” he choked, trying to contain his fear. Hardly moving, Phil responded with a panicked “Dan? Wh- where are you?” taking short breathy pauses between each syllable. He didn’t know how to respond. “I’m.. right here? We’re sat near the ice cream parlour?” “Dan? I can’t see the ice cream parlour!” Unintentionally sarcastic, Dan replied with  “What do you mean you can’t SEE the parlour? Did your contacts fall out again? Look Phil, you didn’t need to stop in the freaking road for goodness sake!” raising his voice enough to gain unwanted attention from passers by. “Dan?” His voice was becoming more alarmed by the second. It was then when Dan realised what was going on.

🌸 Phil stood still, staring at the eternal winter that covered the world like a blanket of white. So white, it was almost artificial. There was no sight of Dan, yet he could hear him like a booming over-worldly God. “I’m going to take you home, I need you to co-operate, okay?” He looked around frantically, but the voice seemed to come from every direction. He felt a firm hand grip onto his arm, pulling him out of the heap of cold crystallised confetti. Shortly following his resistance to the unknown force, another combination of sounds in the form of words fell from the sky: “Phil, trust me”. 

🌸 He had lost control of his legs, every time he attempted to walk in the opposite direction it was quickly trailed with a stern “Phil! I’m trying to guide you home. Will you please stop!” from Dan who was rapidly becoming annoyed at his confused companion. As he apparently had no say in where he could walk, Phil decided to put up with the chilly wind that was as bitter as sucked lemons and take a good look at his surroundings in case he needed to find his way back to the barely lit lamppost faintly flickering in the distance.

🌸 Trying his hardest to let Dan have absolute authority over his actions, he reached out in front of him to grasp a beautiful blossom poking out from beneath the snow. The winter winds were a stinging, icy slap in the face; however, this was a real slap because the blossoms were not. Phil was bombarded with several provoked yells and shrieks from invisible citizens. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” “You’re sick in the head” “Get that man away from my children!”. Instantaneously, he began to cry.

🌸 Dan cradled Phil into a soft embrace and politely told the woman what was going on, as best to his understanding, hoping she’d understand too. Instead she just scowled and walked away, muttering violent words venomously under her breath. Why did this have to happen now? Dan sighed as he looked over to his boyfriend, unsure of what to do. Medical help? Leave it to fade away? He had to choose quickly. In a moment of panic, he decided to take Phil home. Well, that was until Phil broke free of Dan’s arms and began to run.

🌸 Meanwhile, Phil stood still, feeling Dan’s reassuring heart beating as the tears were gently wiped away from his pale and distraught face. As he was helplessly guided away, the hostile voices trailed into soft murmurs. Phil focused on the crunching snow beneath his heavy body, setting each foot down cautiously as his vision was becoming more distorted by the second. The white wonderland was viciously disrupted by a burst of bright colour. He wanted to look away, he wanted to go back the way he came but was quickly edged forward by an agitated Dan “come on Phil, you can’t just stop in the middle of the street! I’m taking you home, remember?” he spat, slightly more aggressive than he had intended.

🌸 A few more steps and Phil was standing in an open meadow, surrounded by harshly iced signs. Reaching out but quickly recoiling his arm, he approached the first signpost: “One Way” it read. How unusually misplaced. The next displayed a large “No Exit” boldly in red. Phil continued to inspect each one, his heart pounding on his chest harder than Dan’s which was increasing with apprehension. A wave of dizziness struck Phil in the head, causing the signs to circle around him. Spinning, he continued to decipher each one. “Married” “Kids” “Happiness”. They began to spin faster, ensuring he could only see the most important of the signs. “Life” “One Way” “Growth” “Death” “Time” “STOP”.

🌸 Phil Lester was 30, an internet sensation that fell in love with his best friend. He was happy, he adored Dan; although he couldn’t help but wonder what his life would’ve been like if he hadn’t started YouTube in the first place. Married? Kids? Happier? As much as he wished it had never crossed his mind, the racing thoughts still persisted to attack him. The man became jittery, resembling a very tall human jellyfish. “Phil? What’s going on? Is everything alright?” Usually the soft sound of his boyfriend’s voice was soothing but today is was quite the opposite. He choked on an ashamed response, he couldn’t tell Dan this. So he had to run.

🌸 The familiar screams of cars changing lanes to avoid hitting the loose mad man haunted Dan’s brain. At first he thought he was just reliving the terrifying past few minutes but it was very real just like the pain as a black taxi struck the side of Phil.

🌸 Phil bolted upright. He inspected very inch of is body: rotating his stiff ankles, stretching his bloody arm (only to be stopped by the tight grip of something holding him down), craning his pounding head and catching a glimpse of his red-eyed boyfriend who was in a state of complete distress. He tried to sit up slightly but was quickly pushed down by a blurred figure in pine green. “Careful. You’re in an ambulance, we’re taking you to the hospital” they hushed, making their way into the front seat before eventually taking off.

🌸 Only seconds later, his cold hands were clasped tightly to the sweaty palms of the wreck that accompanied him. At that moment, nothing mattered. The sweet sensation of Dan’s lips against his brutally destroyed all of his doubts. As best as he could (the ambulance bed being quite restricting of course) he reached into the pocket of his skinny jeans and yanked out a black box. “Today didn’t go exactly as I planned” he laughed, opening the velvet box to display a handcrafted ring that sparkled beneath the bright white medical light. “Dan?” He slid the ring out of the box only then realising he couldn’t reach where Dan was now sitting. “This is neither the time nor place that I had hoped to ask you this,” with tears of happiness beginning to glide down Dan’s face, Phil worked up the courage and asked “will you marry me?”.

[thisiswarfmp]

http://hiddencities.deviantart.com/art/Del-Pixel-673112385Artist Research - HiddenCities

1. Snow Leopard Kin - closed:   This piece shows a kintaur (a fantasy species created by TalonEX) holding a lotus flower in it's claws. The line work has been done with a marker tool, giving some of the lines a different opacity to others in certain places and Pine has coloured them in to better match the pelt of the Kintaur. The colours they have used combine both the markings of a real-world Snow Leopard as well as including a fantastical array of rainbow markings to give it a unique appearance. The way the kintaur is holding a lotus as well as the soft eye gaze suggests that the personality of this kintaur is gentle, kind, and caring. The body language they have used also shows they are relaxed and confident. Overall, I really love the style and brushes used to create this piece for it makes a soft, gentle appearance.  

2. Del Pixel:   This piece is a head shot of Pine's own character, Del. Compared to their other pieces, Pine has decided to give binary/pixel art a try. This art colours each pixel on a screen in bold unlike having any blending or blurred lines which give it the appearance of a real pencil or pen. The expression they have given their character is a soft and shy one, noticeably made clear by the small blush on Del's cheeks. We also see that Del is rather feminine due to the long eye lashes, giving him an innocent appearance. One thing I admire about this piece is how they have decided to show the eyebrow and lashes through the hair; showing that not only is hair not a block covering the face but rather strands you can see through, but also better presents the emotions the artist is trying to portray. In conclusion, I really admire how different the brushes are compared to pines other work, making the piece stand out from the rest.  

3. Diax:   This piece of Pines has always been a favourite of mine, mostly because of how unique and simple the composition and design is, whilst still being so beautifully crafted that it catches the attention of the viewer. I love the quick sketchiness of the art piece as it shows a fluidity in movement and that the artist isn't afraid of making mistakes. The softness of the lines also make the piece look more professional than just a quick sketch, and the boldness of choosing only 2 colours to colour the lines in make it stand out to the viewer. The calm expression on the characters face as well as the soft look at it looks directly at the viewer shows that this character is a calm and collective person. Unlike the snow leopard kintaur, however, the body language of the shoulders being slumped shows us that he is most likely an introvert, not really wanting to talk to others and shying away from a crowd. I really love the fluidity of the piece, as well as the way the eye looks directly at the viewer, drawing them in.  

4. Custom Floff for VesselofEve:   This piece I truly find interesting, both composition wise and design wise. Composition wise, I love the fluidity of the body language that this character has; the tongue poking out shows that they have a playful attitude, the little smile and looking directly at the viewer shows their confidence, and the spring in their step shows that they're all about having fun in my opinion. Design wise, they are based off of the gemstone Alexandrite. The artist has used the colours of the stone as the colour pallet for the piece, primarily teals and plumbs. Another aspect of this piece I like is how they have used the overlay/luminosity tool to create the highlights on the tail and fin. This gives the impression that the they are made of something different than the scales and fur, differentiating the two different textures. I really adore how they have been inspired by real-world gemstones for this character, and this is something that I'll have to look into possibly including in my work.  

5. Sona Design Ideas:   These pieces, as a character designer myself, really speak to me on terms of how difficult designing characters can be, especially for your own use. Here, Pine is looking to create a fursona; a character that she can use as a mascot for herself and to best represent her. She has three different designs, showing that she's not just going to try one idea but many until she finds one that suit her best, and we can gather a lot of information from both the designs and the composition of these pieces. The first design is inspired by a Bleeding Heart Pigeon. This can show us that they may just like the animal, or they had an overwhelming emotion at the time of creating them. They also decided to use blues and creams, possibly to suggest a calm nature about them. The second design is much brighter, though it still suggests a calm nature due to the fact they're based off of a sunset. Compared to a sunrise, sunsets usually make us feel sleepy and relaxed, getting ready for the long night ahead. Lastly, this design is rather different from the others design wise; it has a lot more darker colours compared to the others and tends to give off a more cold approach. One thing all three have in common, however, is something representing a heard on their chest - to me, this shows that Pine is a very emotional person and is loving and compassionate. As for the body language of the lineart they have created, the neutral expression once again gives off the calm vibe. Overall, I really admire how drastic some of the designs they have made are different from each other, yet all somehow express who Pine is as a person.  

6. Floff Set 3 - Closed:   These designs are some of my favourite that pine has produced and shows that they have a wide knowledge on colour theory and aren't afraid to combine colours together. They have produced a variety of designs, my favourites being 1, 5, 7, and 8. I love how they created 1 since the pastel colours give them a loving and playful vibe, the hearts showing that they are a compassionate character with a fun-filled charm. I love number 5 due to the aurora Borealis like design on their pelt as it brings a mythical vibe to the character, as well as the blue to pink gradient on the tail which stands out next to the darker pelt, catching the viewers eyes. 7 is rather different compared to the other designs as it's one of the only design inspired by a naturally occurring pelt; calico. This adds a sense of realism to the mythical character, helping us connect to them more so than the fantasy coloured ones; especially for owners of calico kittens. I also love how they've used a different, softer brush to make the fur seem fluffier compared to the others. 8, to me, reminds me of both a butterfly and royalty, the colours tend to reappear through media accompanied by knights and the royal guard, and they're also the colours of a warm summer's day. This warmness is pushed further by the sun on their tail, and their elegance is also expanded upon due to the intricate pattern on their legs and hind. These are another great example of trying out different designs before settling on a a definite character design, testing different brushes, and trying out different colour combinations - something I will take away and influence my own work with.

Original Links:

1. http://hiddencities.deviantart.com/art/Snow-Leopard-Kin-closed-682598488 2. http://hiddencities.deviantart.com/art/Del-Pixel-673112385 3.  http://hiddencities.deviantart.com/art/Daix-447881348 4. http://hiddencities.deviantart.com/art/Custom-Floff-for-VesselofEve-669077386 5. http://hiddencities.deviantart.com/art/Sona-Design-ideas-645049856 6. http://hiddencities.deviantart.com/art/Floff-Set-3-Closed-666027992

[lalobalives]

Writing has been a struggle over these last few weeks. I’m still revving up, as I described in my last essay. I am still that race car with its burning tires and smoke and trembling body. All this revving is painful but it is what it is, as it should be…or so I’ve told myself.

The spring session of my Writing Our Lives class just ended last Saturday. I am always surprised by the mourning period that follows. The melancholy that takes over like a surprise wave that pulls me under and fills my lungs. That’s all exacerbated by the fact that it’s Mother’s Day this coming weekend.

The countdown starts in April, just after Easter. That’s when Mother’s Day everything starts, the cards, the emails, the “make this your mom’s best Mother’s Day” ads. I hunker down. I get ready for the onslaught. That’s what it feels like–an onslaught. On past Mother’s Days I’ve avoided the world. I’ve shuttered myself in. I don’t even look out the window, worried I’d see an adult daughter like me holding her mother close. Mother is holding a bouquet of flowers and balloons, a new bracelet on her wrist… For the world, mother is altar, mother is sacred goddess, mother is everything. But what about those us for whom mother is abyss?

***

Facebook has this sometimes wonderful and sometimes frustrating and annoying and downright disrespectful “on this day” memory list that shows up at the top of your timeline every day. I assume it happens to everyone. It can’t just be me it comes to torture, right?

I’ve been taking note of those that have appeared in my timeline over the past few days.

Two years ago today, May 11th, I published my essay “Unmothered on Mother’s Day”  with this intro: Today, the day after Mother’s Day, I was finally able to finish this essay. Maybe I just needed to feel all of it, the loss, the sadness. Maybe I needed to explain to people that this unmothered life is not an easy one and feeling this pain doesn’t negate all the beauty in my life, of which I know there is so very much. Maybe I just needed to sit here, in my messy room, flowers I bought myself to the right of me, gerber daisies and sunflowers, a picture of my brother and me to my right, to remember that though I may feel untethered sometimes, letting myself feel these emotions has made all the difference. Letting myself be vulnerable isn’t easy but it’s what I must do. As Leslie Feinberg said in Stone Butch Blues: “surrenderin is unimaginably more dangerous than struggling for survival!” But we ain’t surviving anymore, Vanessa. We’re learning how to live.

Before posting the essay, I shared excerpts as statuses: 

Excerpt 1: “I’ve been trying to write this essay for days. On Mother’s Day, I woke up and ran to the park. I sat on a bench by the water. Watched as little kids skipped by innocently as children do. One kicked a soccer ball, his cleats tapping on the pavement rhythmically. A woman sat on the other side of the bench with her son, who must have been three. They blew bubbles and I watched as the child ran after them. He laughed when he poked them and they burst. One splashed in his eye, he shrieked and mom came running. She pulled him close and soothed him. I saw that child lean into his mama, his safe space, sure that momma would make the ache go away. My chest tightened.

“A pigeon pecked at the floor. White with splotches of gray on its small body, his heart hung out of its chest. A soft mound that throbbed on the pigeon’s undercarriage. I marveled at this bird who still fed, still flew, with its heart softly pounding outside of its chest. I marveled at that heart that still sustained and kept that bird alive, pulsing just beneath where it’s supposed to be housed. I wondered about that heart. How it kept going, unaware that it was exposed and raw. It did what hearts do—it beat, it lived, it thrived.” ~excerpt from “Unmothered on Mother’s Day”

Later, when I was reading Nayyirah Waheed’s poetry collection “Salt,” I thought of this bird when I came across this poem: “in our own ways we all break. it is okay to hold your heart outside of your body for days. months. years. at a time. – heal”

Excerpt 2: “I know I am fierce and relentless. I know that I give my entire heart to everything I do; all the students I work with and have guided through the years. I am proud of the life I’ve created for myself. I also know that this pain of being unmothered is real and there will be times, like on Mother’s Day and the days leading up to it, that despite all my accomplishments and all the love I have in my life, that first wound will sting especially hard and I will feel untethered and unanchored in the world. I will feel distraught. I will feel like I’m not enough. I will be terrified of repeating that cycle, of failing my daughter. This has always been so; this fear, this suffering. And letting myself feel it when it comes does not negate the rest. It just is.” ~excerpt from essay tentatively titled “Unmothered on this Mother’s Day”

More statuses from that day:

I asked the universe, “And what of us who are not mothered? Whose mothers are incapable of mothering us?” The universe sent me Nayyirah Waheed’s “birth lessons”…

cruel mothers are still mothers. they make us wars. they make us revolution. they teach us the truth, early. mothers are humans. who sometimes give birth to their pain. instead of children.

Other “On this day” memories that have shown up this week include:

May 8th 2012: Memoir: a desperate attempt to chew yesterdays into smaller morsels easier to chew & get over…

May 7th, 2016:

***

I’ve cried quite a bit over these past few weeks. I’ve cried for the girl I was, for my mother, for my students, for this healing.

Last night, during the full moon, when my daughter and partner were asleep and the house was quiet, I sat down in my writing room, surrounded by my books and pictures and the collage on Tuesday with my junior writers, the room lit by the string of lights that surround it’s circumference at the top. I didn’t want to write or, rather, I didn’t feel like the writing would cooperate. It hasn’t been over these few weeks, or rather, it hasn’t gone the way I’ve wanted it to. We so often think we’re the ones in charge of our creativity when so often it’s the opposite–we are servants to it most, if not all, of the time. Still, I sat. I put on Pandora’s The Winter Radio, dabbed my wrist and third eye with the Writers potion my brujermana Lizz gifted me, and I started typing. 

One of my students sent me Chani Nichol’s newsletter titled “Truth and Transformation: Today’s Full Moon in Scorpio.” In it, she writes:

Nothing about our lives or about this world will ever change without our willingness to be relentlessly honest. Especially about our past. Especially about our present. Especially when accepting the truth means that it’s time to let something go.

A hope. A fear. A fantasy. Whatever it is, Wednesday’s full moon at 20° of Scorpio at 2:42pm PT is asking us all to be relentlessly honest about it…

Later Nichols writes: “Scorpio will drag you.”

And that’s so much of how I’ve been feeling these past few weeks: like I’m being dragged. What I’ve realized this week is that it’s not that at all, it’s that I’m shifting, and changes so big require an unraveling. I did say I was a revving race car, right. That kind of shaking hurts.

  I have been carrying this unmothered wound for so long. I will always carry it. But as Mother’s Day approaches, I have been thinking about how I can reinvent myself. Reinvent how I exist in it and with it. How can I take my power back?

On April 28th, I wrote: When I write about being unmothered, when I say it’s a journey to navigate this reality, that sometimes it digs in and doesn’t let go, that I dread Mother’s Day and the cards and balloons and ads, it’s not that I don’t know that I’m blessed, it’s not that I can’t celebrate the mother I am that mothers in resistance to how I was mothered, it’s that this pain and this joy can exist in the same place at the same time. Life isn’t black and white like some of you think, fam. And ignoring the hurt of it won’t make it go away. The best antidote that I’ve found so far, is facing it and writing about it and dissecting it and getting to know this heart of mine and how it beats and how it’s triggered and how it, no matter what, holds on relentlessly to hope and faith and all that is good. This is what I know today. This is where love lives.

On May 1st I wrote: Today I described my sadness as a fog that rolls in and out. Always there, waiting off the shore for the right conditions to thicken so it can roll back in. I’m sharing this because I know so many who are not okay. We’re told to get over it, move on, work through it, do this, do that, but the thing is that we do. I go for hikes. I work out. I throw on the gloves and punch and kick the air. I grab the weights. I eat well. I read. I write. I go to therapy. And, guess what? The sadness is still there. I’m not asking for advice. I am holding up my mirror. This is my reflection. Look at yours.

Earlier this week I wrote: It is Mother’s Day this weekend. Sending love to those of us holding our breaths, sighing deep, squeezing our eyes tightly shut against the barrage of ads and balloons and cards. I see your soft hearts and hear your crushed whimpers. Know that you aren’t alone in this. Know that the mother myth is just that, a myth. Know that you are a warrior for having survived your mother. Know that though the world doesn’t understand you, I do. And I honor you and all your beautiful scars and tears. Thank you for reminding me that this too I’ve survived, and though holidays like these push and twist the thorn in my side that is the mother wound, I am doing what I can to push back and live and love in resistance. And some days, that is enough.

For the past several Mother’s Days, I’ve opted to avoid the world, the balloons and cards and folks dressed in pastels holding mama’s hand and glorifying her. This Sunday, I’ve decided to not do that for reasons I’m still finding words for but they include celebrating myself as a mother and my mothering in resistance. I can feel my unmothered wound and still celebrate. The thing is I’m still figuring out what that means…this is a step.

***

Over the past few weeks I’ve started several lists. A list of things I didn’t learn because I was unmothered. The first item was: how to have relationships with women… I had to teach myself that.

I have started a list of things said to me about my being unmothered by people who don’t get the profundity of the wound or just don’t want to understand. It’s more absurd and insulting and triggering than you can imagine. The first item: You have only one mother. You need to love her. 

I started a list of times I’ve dealt with toxic masculinity and male fragility, prompted by a friend’s post when a guy came on to say “not all men” and accused my friend of being divisive and being a part of the problem because heaven forbid a woman actually take men to task for their problematic behavior.  It starts:

When: early 2000s Where: club in NYC I walked by a guy in a crowded club. He grabbed my arm. I pulled away and kept walked. Next thing I knew, his entire drink was on my back. 

That list is several pages long.

I started an essay on rage, how anger is a form of anxiety–the fight in the flight or flight response. I’m chronicling this research I’m doing on anger and what it’s helped me understand about myself. How trauma exists in the body…

I started an essay on my shifting role as a mother, now that my daughter is months shy of 13 and doesn’t want to be with me all the time like she used to. How triggering this particular stage is for me because I left my mother’s house when I was 13 and never returned. The reality that I don’t really have a model of a mother-daughter relationship to go by.  I was already out 

I’ve told myself I haven’t been writing but I have. I just haven’t been finishing and that is okay too. This is my process. I go through months of being extremely prolific, then periods of seeming drought that aren’t really droughts. I am revving up. Today I was reminded.

***

May 28th is the 7th anniversary of when I quit my job to live this writing and teaching life. What is it about the seven year itch? I’ve been feeling drained. Exhausted. Bone tired. I’ve questioned what I’m doing in my teaching. I’ve wondered if this life is for me. If perhaps it was time to take a bold move like I did in 2010, so I made moves to do exactly that. I resigned from some of my steady teaching artist gigs. I said that this was my last semester teaching.

Then two weeks ago, I started working with my juniors. It was the first day of the college writing class where I introduce them to the college application essay and take them through the journey of writing a draft before they leave for the summer. I was rethinking my approach and decided to reinvent it: I introduced them to identity via the paintings of Frida Kahlo. I discussed how Kahlo’s identity influences her work: her identity as a mestiza, as a disabled woman and artist, as a queer woman, as the wife of muralist Diego Rivera, etc. I guided them through the process of critical analysis. Their faces lit up as they picked apart some of Kahlo’s iconic paintings. They made the connection to their own identities, and how the goal of the essay is to express a piece of their identities via words. I teared up as I watched them do group work, each group with a specific painting to analyze. I felt torn as I headed home. I remembered that I love this work I do, that it’s important and necessary. So what does that mean? I thought. I sat on it for a few days and came to this: it’s a break I need, not to quit.

So that’s what I’m doing: taking a sabbatical over the next year. I am listening ot the universe’s call to “go where your heart is…” I am taking some time off from some of my teaching to focus on developing my Writing Our Lives Workshop and, yes, bringing it online. I am going where my heart is. I love this work and am forever grateful that this class came into the world through me. It’s time to expand it, and to do that I need time and space so that means less teaching for a year, and more Writing Our Lives.

I also need to finish my memoir “A Dim Capacity for Wings.” I need to get this book out of me. I need to write it the best way I can, and to do so, I have to sit with it and be with it, and that requires time. I am gifting myself time.

Sometimes you have to dare, you have to risk to make this life happen. I am blessed to be able to do that.

***

I’ve found some incredible hiking trails in my new neighborhood. There are paths that go for miles, paralleling the Hudson River. Each day, I hike further and discover new paths and sights. Last week, the woods called me early, before 7am early, and I acquiesced. And I hiked and explored further, five miles of hills and trees and chipmunks and birds of various species and sizes, some I can name and some I cannot. But when I came upon this tree, I was stunned into silence and gratitude.

I touched her and said thank you. Here she is, sheathed in half, internal bark exposed, she is scarred but she still blossoms and gives us oxygen and shade, and so much beauty. Gracias arbol maravilloso, for reminding me that we can continue to thrive and grow and give life and serve, even with our scars and pieces of ourselves missing…& perhaps this is what gives us the fuerza to keep doing it all–not unscathed but still fierce.

Relentless Files — Week 69 (#52essays2017 Week 16) Writing has been a struggle over these last few weeks. I’m still revving up, as I described in my last…