#Sending love from the abyss. I hope everyone is thriving and doing well

[crazydazeymuses-archive]

// I know I’m gone, and most likely never coming back…but how many of my remaining mutuals actually did enjoy having me?

I hope I at least made a positive impact on someone here. Even just one person.

[cursedcola]

Prompt: "Will You Marry Me?" - Proposal Headcannons Characters: Everyone :) Part(s): Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, Octavinelle, Scarabia(Here!), Pomefiore, Ignihyde, Diasomnia(Pt.1)(Pt.2) Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Warning(s): None. I mean, unless you don't want to marry any of them. Just don't read if that's the case. Note: There may be some comma splicing here and there. Sometimes doing bullet works is more difficult than full fics smh.

Kalim is a dreamer. His mind is full of visions of the past, present, and the future. Why else do we make memories, if not to reflect on them and imagine what is to come?

This is his outlook on life. He doesn't give energy to worries or threats. He physically can't, or else he'd likely fall into an endless abyss of self-doubt. Kalim has no space in his heart for such things.

His happy-go-lucky attitude combined with this free spirit results in a loose lip. He is constantly ranting and raving about his future by your side. Which is lovely, but his over-zealous behavior can cause others not to take him seriously.

Exhibit A: Kalim proposing. Now, is this Kalim *actually* planning to propose, or is it just him beginning his weekly rant about how cute he thinks your kids will look?

Kalim's heart is an open book. He doesn't care about other people's opinions. He loves you, so he's going to say it. Every. Single. Day.

Can you blame his siblings for not believing him? For his parents not taking him seriously? He comes home one random day and spouting a tangent to begin preparing for an engagement party which just sounds like common Kailm behavior.

Not even Jamil believes him. Not after countless years of hearing Kalim's lovesick Jargen. He just groans in exhaustion and signals for everyone to ignore it.

Sweet sunshine doesn't realize that he is being overlooked until he whips out a ring to ask his mother's opinion on it, and suddenly the room is drop dead silent.

Then uproar. All his siblings are crowding around to share his excitement and it's like the room's aura made a complete change. Kalim thrives in the attention and all the well wishes.

He hopes they'll be just as happy once you say yes! If not more!

.....cue Jamil's groan. Again. This time in frustration.

They should have know. Of course he would do all this before asking.

Bless you for your patience. With his parents' blessing, Kalim once again gets wrapped up in his excitement and runs off to visit you.

Moving on. This...overzealous...behavior Kalim exhibits does not only apply to his family and friends.

My dear, he has proposed many times to you in casual conversation. Dreaming of a big wedding with a feast to serve hundreds. He displays tooth-rotting infatuation to you on a daily basis.

Kalim sends flowers and fruit baskets to your home weekly. He cherishes you like you've been dating for months, not years. The man is stuck in the puppy love stage but for him it isn't a 'stage'. It's simply how he will always be. The spark has not dimmed. He still hums as he knocks on your door, bouncing on the balls of his feet, and shoves his shoes off with super speed to tackle you in a hug.

Get it?

This is why you are not taken aback by the rapid knocking on your door. Kalim stopping by on impulse just to see you is not rare. Although, he normally would send a plethora of texts while on his way.

Even so. You don't hesitate to dry your hands from cleaning dishes, and speed walk to the door. You can hear his shoes tap against the outdoor floor in anticipation, and swing the door open with a smile.

On the other side, is Kalim down on one knee with a hand aimed to knock again. When he sees you, the largest grin spreads on his face. You don't even get to question why he is on the ground-

"Marry Me!"

Used to his excitable greetings, you laugh heartily and throw the dishrag in your hand over your shoulder. "Mhm. Mhm. I missed you too," comes out between chuckles, as you turn around so he can let himself in. You miss the way his face falls and his lips purse, before he grabs your wrist and yanks. You twirl and stumble forward, catching yourself on the door frame, hunched over with your wrist still in his grasp.

Kalim is resolute, and you can't help but gawk as he pulls out a ring wrapped in a gold, silk handkerchief from his pocket

"Marry Me," he says again, this time more firm. His ruby hues lock with yours, and he looks both at and through you at the same time, "I love you. I want you. Only you,"

He says no more. There is a lifetime for flourishes, but right now Kalim only wants you to know what is in his heart.

When you don't back away, he slips the ring over your finger. His heart hammers in his chest in a mix of jubilation and happiness. Not a moment later you are in his arms, tackled to the ground in the doorway of your home. Kisses being peppered up your arms from your ring finger to your lips.

{A bright pink diamond sits amidst a sunburst cut, and is surrounded by other pure diamonds on a silver band. The biggest expression of wealth and devotion. This ring costs enough to make you feint, but is chosen with purpose. Many say Kalim is like the sun. Yet in his eyes, you are his sun. There is no comparison. Only fact. Pink diamonds symbolize love, creativity, and romance. You are his sun, with all his love residing at the core. Also, it’s just really shiny}

If mystery was embodied in a man, it would be Jamil. You never know what is going on in Jamil's mind. Sometimes he slips. Rarely. If you can fluster him enough or find him when he hasn't slept in days. Otherwise Jamil is a brick wall when it comes to his true emotions.

Especially when it comes to you. He has always been exceedingly careful. He is still careful. He takes no chances, but he loves your game. The way you can pick him apart, and how he always has to be one step ahead. It’s challenging. It’s exciting. It’s love.

You see how he holds back. That he reigns himself in. In the few years you have spent at his side, you've learned to read him in ways that other people cannot. There are times when you get to see him become overcome with passion. When he is dancing, or when he is broom racing with his dormmates. When he is cooking a new dish or haggling prices on shopping trips.

When he confessed his feelings. It was the greatest surprise since being transported to a new universe. You had no idea how he felt. Not an inkling. Had he not said anything….well, you may have gone your entire time at NRC believing your affections were unrequited. He had no tells. Permitted none for himself.

On one hand, his ability to dilute his emotions has created many opportunities for surprises. Getting to see those little moments of passion; being one. Each action of his has a meaning that only you understand. Every glance as you pass in the halls, the brush of his fingers against yours as you sit together to study, being allowed to braid his hair even if it’s just to “keep you quiet”, all his little quips and murmurs being whispered into your ear instead of under his breath.

On the other hand, there are still barriers. Some closed tightly and no matter how hard you search for a key - there isn’t one. It was broken a long time ago and only Jamil himself can remanufacture it. Sometimes his resilience makes it hard to tell what he is planning…which can be lonely.

In your final year at NRC, many things are uncertain. This place is all you have ever known in Twisted Wonderland. With it being taken away…you do not have a floor to stand on. On the other hand, Jamil looks fine, if not *eager*, to graduate. Neither of you addressed what would become of your relationship after graduating. Jamil had thought of it, no doubt. He thinks of everything. You had as well, but were afraid to ask. When it came to the future, Jamil was always so resolute. He knew his path in life and planned to continue carving it.

The question hanging in the air being if you’d be chiseling alongside him, or in a different direction. Unknown to you, Jamil had this problem solved long before you began to wonder - and he was one step ahead. As always.

A ring. Unassuming and in plain sight, sat on the rim of the windowsill above the kitchen sink. How did it get there? You do not know, but it caught your attention as you cleaned up from breakfast. The morning sun glistened against the band, and you carefully picked it up to twirl between your fingers.

An engagement ring, but whose?

“Well, are you going to put it on or just stare at it?”

You jump and nearly drop the ring in the kitchen sink. In the reflection of the window you see Jamil, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed and his classic unamused deadpan. At your silence, he pushes off and comes to take the ring

“Last time I take advice from - ,” he grumbles and you miss the rest of it, too distracted with how he plucks the ring from your grasp, and holds your hand more gently than you ever thought he could. He stares down at it, content, and surprised you yet again with his tender touch“hmm…it fits. Good”

It slips on your finger smoothly, and he lifts your hand to wave in your face. This time, an unspoken communication passes between you. A promise that you are going to have a lifetime to pick apart those little mannerisms of his - and that he wants you to. He loves this game of secrets just as much as you do.

“Be my spouse. Go where I go, and we’ll be fine. Together….I can’t handle if you’re not near. I’ll lose my hair, do you want that? Want me to go bald?…come with me. You are the one happiness that I refuse to sacrifice,”

{ Rose gold with a floral cut and black gemstone accents. Jamil’s ring is small, unassuming, yet the closer you look the lore detail you will see carved into the gold band. You will note the little gems, upholding the core. Some pure as the ring’s heart and others a sharp contrast - drawing attention to the center. Jamil’s ring is somehow both modest and bold at the same time. A reflection of the giver}

[inkandpen22]

Shared Minds and Shared Souls (5/?)

Pairing: Spike x Female!Reader

Warnings: angst, swearing, depression, trauma, PTSD, some fluff 

Word Count: 2.3k  

Part Summary: After the hospital with Glory, Y/N falls into despair, unsure of whether or not the world around is real or Glory’s doing. Days go by and Spike grows frustrated as the Scooby Gang is lost on how to fix Y/N. So, he takes matters into his hands, doing everything in his power to bring her. 

Masterlist

"Bloody fix her!" I hear Spike yell at the others in the kitchen.  

I lay on the couch in the allusion version of the Summers's living room. All I can do is wait. Wait for the most-evil-big-bad to show up and take me away. I wait for this vision to end. Glory is messing with my head. I just know it. I'm still in her memories or worse, she dragged me down to Hell with her.  

"We can't, not yet at least," the imaginary Willow explains, sounding defeated.  

"We don't know the right spell, but we're not going to stop until we find it!" Tara assures, her tone carries a bit of hope in it. 

"What exactly did Y/N see when she entered Glory's mind?" Giles questions. "Perhaps that will help us figure out a solution."  

"Did she tell you anything, Spike?" The pretend Buffy inquires, her voice optimistic.   

"No!" The vampire shouts again. "You saw her! She won't even look at me, at any of us, and you think she told me everything?!"  

"Spike, we're just trying to help..." Willow mumbles, sounding mousey.   

“Yeah, since when do you care about Y/N or anyone of us for that matter?” Xander insults. 

“I don’t… ” Spike grumbles defensively. Then, he releases a deep sigh of frustration, “okay, look! The sooner Y/N is better, the sooner she can help with destroying Glory. Let’s pick up the pace here!” 

There's a prolonged pause and the allusion of Dawnie appears entering the room from the kitchen. She approaches me cautiously. Starring blankly ahead at the distant wall, the allusion of Dawn kneels beside me on the floor.

 "Hi Y/N," she mumbles, fiddling with the edge of her shirt nervously. "Do... Do you need anything? A glass of water? Some food? I... I can make anything you like!" She tells me with forced enthusiasm. "Oh, here!" She rises from her spot swiftly and reaches over me. 

Startled, I scream and fly up from my laid position. She's going to hurt me! She's a demon! She's going to kill me! She's going to drag me back to that place! All of the fire, the screaming, the pain! The others comes running into the room, the vision of Spike leading them.  

"I didn't mean to!" The fake Dawn urgently tells me, running to safety by Buffy. "I was just going to give her blanket!"  

The allusion of Buffy comforts her, "I know, you're okay! It's not you're fault. Y/N's just really fragile at the moment. We can't touch her or get too close, otherwise we'll scare her."   

Panicked, I shuffle my sight between all of them, waiting for one of them to charge at me. I curl up, bringing my legs close to my chest on the couch. Shaking, I can't find the words to speak. I'm afraid if I do they're retaliate and I'll be send back to the fiery place.   The figure disguised as Spike approaches me steadily, his hands up as a sign of peace. I don't believe it, not for a second. He's trying to trick me!   

He shushes softly, "it's okay Y/N. I'm not going to hurt you." 

I cower away, scooting to the farthest side of the couch from him. 

"You can also see people's energy. You can also see into people's minds, right?” He calmly moves closer until he's sat on the coffee table. “I want you to look into mine,” he instructs boldly, holding out his hand to me. 

I shake my head rapidly in a panic. No, I can’t do it again, not after what happened! Beside, my magic doesn't work in Hell. No, I saw it before. When the roots were attacking me, nothing worked. He's testing me. He wants an excuse to damn me to Hell. 

"I’ll focus only on the good memories! You told me that I can control what you see, right? If I remember that it’s all in my head and try hard enough! Let me prove to you that I’m really me and I’m not a threat to you!" The spirit disguised as Spike reasons. "Come on, use your powers, Love. Show yourself that I won't hurt you," he says in almost a plea. 

I hesitate, afraid of the repercussion if I do as he asks. He could show me more traumatizing images. I want to believe he's the real, do more than anything! If it were really him, it would mean I'm safe and truly out of Glory's nightmare. 

Buffy quietly steps forward to protest the idea. “Spike, I don’t think-”

“Just let her try for Christ’s sake!” He snaps, standing up to face everyone. Clearly, he’s hit his boiling point with all the bickering. “You all bloody act like she’s a goddamn porcelain baby and you’re afraid of dropping her. She’s the most powerful whatever-the-hell she is I’ve seen in my hundred and forty-eight years on this planet! Now, shut up!” He finishes, sitting back down on the table with a dramatic huff. 

Calmly, he looks at me and requests again, “try it, Pet. I know you can do it,” he encourages softly. 

Slowly, I meet him gaze. It’s the first time since the hospital I’ve look at anyone in the eye. I’ve been afraid that if I look, I’ll see the red eyes that frighten me more than I can bare to say. Instead, I’m meet with the familiar emeralds. They’re fake. They must be fake. They’re a part of the allusion. 

“Please…” Spike adds almost inaudibly. He eyes peer at me, filled with what appears to be despair. Reaching out his hand again, he waits for me to take it. 

I don’t feel threatening energy radiating from him, at least not directly. Then again, I don’t know how well the demons mask their intentions. My chest rises and plummets as my nerves and mind warn me not to do it. Yet, my gut is telling me to at least try. My heart is telling me to give him, the allusion, a chance.

Steadily I ease my shaky hand out to interlock with his own. Our hands meet and our fingers glides between each other. Gently, Spike rubs his thumb over my hand, doing his best to ease the shaking by squeezing it. He stares into my eyes and gives me a sharp nod of confidence. His features, however, express uncertainty and worry. I feel a surge of energy, the warning before the storm. I blink rapidly as the sensation of falling consumes me. Then, my vision goes black… 

I’m sat in my mother’s old parlor on the rug as I read her my newest poem. She rests on the loveseat behind me, petting my head gently. I worry for her. Her health hasn’t been ideal in recent weeks.  I read to her, knowing how much it makes her feel better. All I do when I can find a free moment, usually when she’s asleep during the daylight hours, is write more poetry in hopes that it heals her ailments. 

“William, my love,” she groans, moving to sit up. She holds out her hand and swiftly I assist her. She mutters a ‘thank you,’ expressing a weak smile. 

I peer up at my mother admiringly. I feel the fierce duty to protect her. She’s my whole world, I love no one more than her. 

She caress my cheek, “you, my William, are my angel on this Earth. All I want, as my dying wish, is for you to be happy and settled.” 

“I am happy, Mother,” I tell her, truly content. “There’s no other woman I need in my life than you.” 

She grins, releasing a soft giggle. Oh how I long to hear her laugh. It reminds me of when she was healthy and thriving. Gently, she guides me to rest my head in her laps as I did when I was a child. Steadily, she brushes her fingers through my hair comfortingly. “Early one morning…” She starts to sing her lullaby to me. It’s our song. She’s been singing it to me since infancy. It’s brings me unparalleled peace. I adore her voice. I adore her. There’s no one else in the world I need but her. 

With a jolt, like bringing dragged out to see by a strong wave, I’m back in the Summers’s living room. I gasp for air as I settle back into my body, my senses returning to me. The energy surge slowly leaving my bloodstream. Everyone’s eyes are on me, waiting for my words or at least a reaction in someway. 

Spike looks at me eagerly, a faint bit of hope in his eyes.  “Did it work?” 

Silently, I slowly move off the couch, standing to my feet. Spike leaps up from his position, causing me to jump a little. He frowns, disappointment returning to his face. Wrapping my arms around my body safely, I turn and walk out of the room. As I head up the stairs, discussion erupts in the living room. 

“What does this mean?” Xander questions urgently. 

“Well, did it work?” Anya adds. 

“Clearly it fucking didn’t!” Spike barks, followed by a thud and the sound of the coffee table dragging across the hardwood floor with a screech. 

“Spike!” Buffy shouts, “that’s not going to help Y/N!” 

“Screw this,” he curses, storming around downstairs. “I’m out of here! You lot aren’t going to do anything to help her! I’m going to find a way myself!” I hear the front door slam shut moments after. 

_______________________

Days later and I continue to lay in my bed as I have since fake Spike’s attempted to fix me. Alone and silently, I wait for the black smoke-like figures to come haunt me. Sleep is nonexistent because every time I try all I see are those red eyes starring back at me. They wish to drain me cold and consume my soul. The allusions of Buffy, Joyce, and Dawn take turns checking on me. Joyce worries and Buffy tries to get me to eat. Dawnie begs for me to return to normal. What is normal? I can’t remember what I was like before. There’s nothing waiting for me but the Hell I saw. I’m not okay. I’m slipping into an abyss of darkness. 

As night falls, the door to my room creaks open behind me, revealing a strip of light from the hall. Distant voices from downstairs linger in and I see someone cross in front of the light as they enter the room. I remain emotionless on my bed, facing the opposite wall. As a figure appears in my peripheral vision, I focus ahead blankly. 

“Hello there, Love,” Spike whispers, squatting at my bedside. 

I don’t react to his presence physically. Inside, I’m reaching out to him. I’m in a prison made up by my own mind. 

Spike hasn’t seen me since the day after the hospital. When I left the living room and he stormed out, he never came back to be exact. Fake Buffy told me in passing while she was bringing me food that he went away for a few days. I didn’t ask, she just told me. She went by his crypt after he hadn’t come around, he wasn’t there. He left a note saying he’d be back. 

“I won’t touch you, promise! Yo don’t have to worry about that,” he assures with a frown. “They say you haven’t eaten since…” he shakes his head, refusing to speak of that faithful day. “You need to eat Y/N. You look like you haven’t slept in days.” 

He worries, they all worry. What will worrying get them? Why don’t they just put me out of my misery? When will this vision end?! 

“Y/N!” He whispers my name harshly, not to alert the others downstairs. “Come on, Love, I know you’re in there somewhere! I don’t know exactly what Glory did to you or what you saw, but you have to fight this! It was another vision! It was only in your head! Dawnie, Buffy, Joyce, they need you…. I need you….” He barely says the last part, looking down at his hands. 

I process his words, but everything is delayed. Time has been off since I awoke in the hospital or at least changed visions. In my head, time moves slower and the agony is more intense. I’ve missed Spike more than I care to admit, even if he’s not really here with me and it’s all in my head. I welcome the allusion. 

Spike rises from his position with a sigh upon receiving no sort of reaction from me. “I heard of a guru in India who’s apparently dealt with this sort of things before while I was looking for help amongst the covens in New Orleans. I only came back to see if you’ve improved at all...” He moves to step away toward the door. “I’ll check back in before I leave for India,” he informs over his shoulder. 

No, no he can’t leave me, not again! Please, don’t leave me. On impulse, I break free of my mental prison and grab Spike’s wrist. His head whips around as his attention lands on my hand. His eyes meet mine wide-eyed with amazement. 

“Stay,” I struggle to speak for the first time in nearly over a week. 

Spike places his hand over mine. He lowers to my level, knelling beside my bed. A bright smile of glee spreads across his face as relief relishes in his emerald eyes. He cautiously reaches up, cupping my face and I don’t cower away. I ponder the feeling of his touch, leaning into his palm. It makes me feel more alive than I have in days. When I don’t flinch away, he releases a soft chuckle of joy. Before we have the chance to talk, my vision goes black.

____________________________________________________

Masterlist

Tags: @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream​

@hexmancia

[bakusquadup]

(omg i hit send accidentally!!! I'm so sorry!!) hi!! i noticed your writing's incredibly good and i couldn't help myself from requesting! i was wondering if it was okay to ask for a scenario of bakugou's s/o being insecure of how great uraraka and him are getting along and just overall really insecure about her?? and one day she misunderstands something she sees going on between them? and she becomes a zombie (+)

Hey friend! I’ve been planning to answer this ask for awhile now because GOD I LOVE ANGST. Fluff is great, but I thrive off angst, so I’m excited to write this. Also, I deleted the first message you sent awhile ago because it was cut short, so I don’t even remember if you accidentally did it off-anon anyway! Anyway, enjoy! (It’s about 2.5k, so it’s more fic length than drabble)

-Shelley

Bakugou Katsuki

“Don’t think you’ll get away with that next time, Round Face.” You rounded the hallway corner to overhear your boyfriend intimidating Uraraka; except, he didn’t sound threatening in the way he usually did, voice loud and coarse with a handful of curses thrown in. Instead, Bakugou spoke in a goading, playful manner. You felt your chest clench in protest and your muscles tighten in fear, but you fought off the jealousy, knowing it was completely unnecessary. Bakugou cared about you and Uraraka was your friend. They’d never do anything to hurt you. Your anxiety could just shove it.

You’d been resisting your jealousy over Uraraka for a few months now. Once second year started, the two had gotten much friendlier than first year, actually capable of holding continuous conversations without yelling – a feat for Bakugou with anyone. Once the sports festival passed, the two became obsessed with rematches and you felt that there wasn’t any room for you to fit in the middle of their relationship. You worried Bakugou was pulling away from you as well.

“Hmmmm,” Uraraka hummed to herself. “I’m pretty sure I will.” She giggled and spun around on her heel, leaving Bakugou to sputter a few words of disagreement before she was gone. He shook his head slightly.

“Katsuki!” you called out, walking toward your boyfriend. He turned to you, slanted grin leftover on his face from speaking with Uraraka. Your chest tightened again. “What were you two talking about?” You did your best to smile warmly and angled your head slightly in curiosity.

“Oh,” he paused, “nothing. Just something about training.” Hoping that he would explain further, you raised a brow. He opened his mouth for a moment, considering, but then closed it again, like a fish gulping water. His eyes darted up to the clock behind you. “Shit! We’re going to be late!” He snatched your hand from beside your thigh. He ran down the hallway and you stumbled after him. Guess that was all you were going to hear on the subject. It was probably nothing.

No, you trusted Bakugou; it was definitely nothing.

Later that day, you meandered down the hallway, heading back from Recovery Girl after receiving minimal injuries in training. The school was mostly empty as everyone had gone back to the dorms for the night. The late afternoon sun streamed through the windows, a golden glow being cast into your eyes and distorting your vision in a butterscotch hue. Still, it was warm, so you walked slowly. You had an exhausting day and fatigue was creeping up on you to begin with, the sun pulling it out faster than before.

“I don’t know how to say it.” Your boyfriend’s voice ripped you from your daze. “I just…I’ve never said it to anyone before.” You slowed to a crawl, sneaking toward the open door where the voice was coming from, quiet so as not to give yourself away. What was he talking about? And to whom?

“It’s okay.” Uraraka’s voice. There was the tightness in your chest again. You shook your head, attempt to expel the negative thoughts, but remained hidden outside the door, hoping to hear something that quelled your anxieties. From inside the room, you could hear Bakugou side.

“Okay, okay…fuck, I can do this,” he muttered. “Here goes.” A long stretch of silence. “I love you.”

Your stomach dropped. Your hearing went fuzzy as your mind went blank and the ringing drowned out any thoughts you may have had. You didn’t think. You couldn’t. Instead, you walked your numb body out of the building.

When you pushed the doors open, the sun which had previously felt warm and comfortable, was now harsh and blinding. The sounds of cars racing by and students milling about sounded loud and grating, yet simultaneously muffled by your buzzing ears. Suppressing your desire to cry, you shuffled your way back to the dorm.

Once in your room, you slinked your way to bed, fell face-first into the pillows and screamed. Not a real scream, but the kind of scream one does when they need to cry, but the tears won’t come out. The hoarse, choked scream that could only be heard by those listening very closely.

You rotated between crying, the hoarse screaming, angrily forming texts to Bakugou, and watching TV shows in an attempt to distract yourself. It wasn’t until just before two in the morning that you managed to finally sleep, having not been productive all night.

You awoke to find yourself still wearing your clothes from yesterday, your blanket and sheets on the floor, and your head twisted at an uncomfortable angle atop your pillow. Sitting up, you put your hand to the back of your neck and rolled your head around in an attempt to prevent further discomfort. While doing so, you caught sight of your clock from across the room. 4:15. After all the drama last night, the crying, the stress, the obsessively writing and rewriting – and eventually deleting – angry texts to Bakugou, you had been hoping you would be able to stay in bed late. Two and a half hours was hardly a full night’s rest.

Might as well use the time you had. You knew that sitting around trying to fall back asleep wouldn’t do you any good because you would just wind up thinking back to yesterday. You wanted a distraction for now.

Throwing your legs over the side of the bed, you felt the full weight of your fatigue as your creaky limbs settled back in place and your shaky lungs struggled to breathe normally. You stumbled about in the dark over to your dresser, pulling out a pair of joggers, a sports bra, and a long-sleeved t-shirt. Hopefully, that would be warm enough for the weather. You put the clothes on and snagged your phone and earbuds from your desk, heading out.

As you walked down the hallway, you were careful to move as quietly as possible – partially because you didn’t want to wake anyone, partially because it was late and you weren’t supposed to be leaving the dorm in the first place. You slipped down the stairs, swiveling your head as you went, just to be safe, but soon found yourself standing in the chilly morning air.

The moon had already set for the night, so the sky was pitch black, an expanse of inky abyss with the occasional light spot of the stars. It was cold – colder than you had anticipated – but you weren’t going back in for a jacket. You figured that the jog would warm you up, so you put in your headphones, queued up your exercise playlist, and cranked the volume way up. You bounced on the balls of your feet, then set out. No better way to fight off negative emotions than loud music and endorphins, right?

A little after 5, your phone buzzed.

You paused for a moment, leaning onto a tree and pulling it out of your pocket. Your breathing froze for a moment when you saw the text.

Bakugou Katsuki: I know it’s fucking early, but are you up? Thought you seemed weird last night, are you good now?

Something about seeing his name on the screen just made you lose it all over again. A sob welled up in your throat and you had to fall to the ground, nails digging into the crown of your head. You ripped your headphones from your ears, suddenly unable to stand the upbeat music. You sat there and you cried.

A week later and your routine had remained pretty consistent – maybe not healthy, but consistent. You had class, anxiously stressed about Bakugou, went to bed too late, woke up too early, went for a run before everyone else woke up, took a shower, did what homework you could manage, then stared blankly at the wall until class. Rinse and repeat. All while avoided both Uraraka and Bakugou, too afraid to hear what they had to say.

That Thursday, your class was set to do a battle-royale style training session. Every student for themselves, the goal is to be the last student standing. People get out by having their bandanas stolen – similar to flag football, or the like – that they must keep on their person. It had been announced a few weeks ago and you had been excited for it, but you weren’t particularly excited about anything the past week. You were mostly floating through the school day.

Still, you decided that you would go all-out. Running seemed to be a mostly effective distraction method, so a training session would probably be the same. You just had to ensure you stayed away from Bakugou and Uraraka.

“Everyone has five minutes to find a place to start,” Present Mic stood in front of the class in the training arena. Everyone was dressed in their hero costumes and chattering excitedly to each other. “Remember, that anytime you take someone’s bandana, you must tie it to yourself somewhere and others may also steal that one from you. Any bandana stolen is an out. If you get out, return here.” You glanced away from the hero for a splint second to look at Bakugou who was on the other side of the pack. Noticing her was looking straight at you, you averted your gaze back to Present Mic. Bakugou would most definitely be angry about that, but you weren’t up for interacting with him just yet. “On your marks…” You prepped yourself to make a run for it. “Get set…” Knees bent, ready to go. “Go!” Everyone raced off in different direction. You chose to head toward a large building, give yourself room to blend in and sneak around. It would give you more opportunities to activate your quirk.

Once inside, you tucked yourself just beyond the entryway, ready to reach out and touch any passersby. After a few minutes, Kaminari darted by and you managed to graze his shoulder with your fingertips. Snapping, you activated your quirk. Kaminari froze, then spun around a few times, disoriented. Your quirk deprived a person of all their senses. The only requirement to activate it was that the person be touched first. The effects wore off depending on how much of them you touched and for how long, though.

“[Y/N]!” he yelled at full-volume. “That’s not fair!” Walking up behind him, you grabbed his bandana and snapped again to undo your quirk. He pulled back, surprised by your sudden appearance next to him. “I was really hoping to last longer…” He pursed his lips and raised his brows at you. “Give me a do-over?”

“Not today,” you said, already tying the stolen bandana to your arm. “I’m playing to win.” Leaving Kaminari to find his way back to Present Mic, you sprinted through a few back alleys to find a new hiding spot. Your muscles cried out in fatigue, probably from the extra running every morning, and your head went spinning in a series of sharp headaches. Fighting off the pain, you kept running. You slid behind a dumpster near the center of the arena.

You only had to wait there a moment before your next victim ran by. You managed to hit Mineta square in the back and made quick work of him, just as you had Kaminari.

That pattern continued through two more students, but the sprinting was starting to get to you. Pausing for a moment, you leaned against a wall to catch your breath, chest heaving with the labor of inhaling.

“[Y/N]?” Jumping upright into a defensive position, you turned toward the source of the voice. Uraraka stood at the end of the alley, brows furrowed in worry. She took a few cautious steps toward you. “Are you okay? You don’t look great.”

“Don’t move!” you yelled back. “Both our quirks require touching the other person and we both know I’m more agile than you.” You slowly backed up. With each step, Uraraka matched it with her own. “Don’t follow me!”

“[Y/N], I’m not trying to take your bandana.” She took another step. “I’m just worried about you. You look like you haven’t slept in days.” Step. You were frozen in place now. “Bakugou and I haven’t heard a word from you in a week.” Step. “What’s wrong?” Step.

You broke from your statuesque position, bolting forward at her. Crouching low, you aimed for just to her left. Prepared for her to fight back, you geared up to sweep her legs with one of your own. To your surprise, however, she remained where she stood. Your leg shot out and she tumbled to the ground, but the moment carried you with her.

Hitting the ground, you let out a sharp cough as the air was forced from your lungs. Your hand lifted to cover your mouth and when you looked back at it, your palm was painted with red. You knit your brows and turned to Uraraka.

“Oh my god, [Y/N]!” She rushed over to you.

“No…get back…” you managed. Why was she so concerned about how you were now? You sniffed. Your nose was running. Were you sick? You wiped it with your blood-covered hand only to find even more blood streaking across it. What was happening? You looked up at Uraraka. She wasn’t looking at you.

“What the fuck did you do to her?” Bakugou.

And you were out cold.

You blinked at the piercing fluorescent lights above you, the sharp white color hurting your eyes. No headache though, only squinting eyes. Had you been sleeping? How long were you out? It was probably a blessing, even if you had missed the training session, you were starting to suffer from the insomnia.

Groggily, you turned your head to look around the room. To your right, Bakugou sat in a plastic chair, scrolling through his phone with a scowl twisting his expression.

“Katsuki?” you mumbled. He jerked up from the phone, turning his head to you so fast you thought he would get whiplash. His scowl melted away for moment, but then it was back in an instant.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he practically yelled. Recovery Girl swiveled around in her stool and shushed him before turning back to her computer. “The old lady said you probably had barely been sleeping and tape-face said he saw you sneaking out in the mornings to go run.” You flinched. His expression softened in return. “And I haven’t heard from you in days. What has been going on with you?”

The tears welled up in your eyes before you could stop them, spilling warm streaks down your cheeks.

“I just… I heard you talking to Ochako in the classroom last week.” Why were you telling him about this now? “I heard you tell her that you-” You were cut off by another sob, broken and airy. “You said that you love her.” Bakugou’s eyes widened slowly as understanding rushed over him.

“No, no, no.” He spoke the words quietly with a pause between each one, half for you, half for himself. “You moron. That was meant for you.”

“What?”

“Round face was just, um,” he rubbed at the back of his neck, “helping me be comfortable saying it.” His face was turning red, something that you had never seen from him, and he mumbled the ends of his sentences, trailing off in embarrassment. “I’m not the best at, uh…conveying my…my feelings.”

“Oh, God,” you whispered. Another sob welled up in you, this time not out of sadness over something Bakugou had done, but shame at yourself for acting in such a way. “Katsuki, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, idiot. Especially when all you did was hurt yourself.” He gestured to the room around him. “You got yourself here.”

“I feel like such a jealous moron.” Letting your head fall into your palms, you heaved out a sigh. “Do you still want to date someone like me?”

“‘Do I want to date someone like you?’” he repeated back. Prying your hands away from your face, he cradled your palms within his larger ones. “I love you.”

[piggys-writing-blog]

WoW Fiction- “The Night Before”

It was late at night, when the world was still and slow. The midnight sky was dark and vast; little specks of innocent light dotting its black expanse. One bright light hung above, pouring its silvery rays onto the land below. Many believed that light was sacred and pure. They worshipped it and called upon its power to augment their own. Talondressa used to be one of them.

Now, however, she stood on the balcony staring out at this sky, her arms folded and leaned against the metal railing. The only thing keeping her from jumping to her death. What would be the use, anyways? She would just come back afterwards. So there she stayed; several hundred, maybe even a thousand feet above ground, taking in what she could of the ebon night. If she focused, she could make out the faint energy of the stars. But the moon...there was no denying its power. Gentle and frigid, yes; but also strong. Thriving. Pulsing. The Moon Goddess she once served was still just as luminous and breathtaking as she had always been. The man she now served paled in comparison to her--she knew that well.

Regardless, she would always be indebted to Illidan. Nothing she could ever do would be enough to fully remunerate him. Many called him The Betrayer. A heretic. A criminal. He committed many crimes against the Night Elves, yes. But Talondressa, the others--they knew the truth. They knew the reasons behind their master’s seemingly ill-meant behavior. He was the only one out of them all who would even take action. Nothing would have changed; hell, most of the elves would not be alive now if it weren’t for him. His followers knew that. That’s why they served him. Because they knew they could unquestionably rely on him to follow through, unlike anyone else. He alone could and would change things. Born with amber eyes, Illidan Stormrage had always been destined for greatness. And here he was even now, after everything, still doing his damndest to make things right. Talondressa admired him so for this.

But it was more than that to her. Not only did he save the Night Elf race as a whole; she felt he had also saved her, personally. He’d dragged her out of the hopeless and desolate abyss she’d found herself in--that everyone found themselves in. He told her, and many others, to get up and brush herself off, and learn to fight for what needed to be fought for: Azeroth’s safety, and that of its inhabitants, great and small. Even after being labelled a criminal and a betrayer, and called a monster by the woman he loved after being rejected by her as well, his grand plan at the end of the day had never changed. Protect Azeroth, no matter the cost. After Talondressa lost her entire family and everyone she held dear, she felt as though her entire purpose for being alive had slipped away, too. But Illidan gave her a new purpose. And she became one of his Illidari.

With all this in mind, Talondressa had begun to wander the castle in silence. By now, she had ventured from her chambers and up the many tall, wide staircases of the Black Temple. Up she climbed, lost in her thoughts and worries. Visions of the past filtered through them, and she sent them away without a care. Those were old and irrelevant now. She held her head high and reminded herself of her ultimate goals: protecting her home, and obeying her master. It was all that mattered now.

Eventually she found herself at the very top of the citadel, the sky open and endless above her. The many torches were lit and blazing brightly, guiding her way across the large roof before her. She wondered why she had ended up there, but didn’t think much of it. That is, until she was suddenly overwhelmed by the presence of another. She stopped dead in her tracks, eyeing the dark, shadowed blob a few hundred feet away from where she stood. The silhouette was difficult to make out, but after focusing her gaze a bit harder, she was able to recognize the energy signature. The swirling emerald power radiating off of the figure was so great and terrifying, it sent a shiver through her. It was her master. The demon within her quietly chuckled to itself.

Still afraid of him, are we? it taunted her. She ignored it. Squaring her shoulders, she took step after step towards him in a cautious but precise manner. If he were to send her away, she would not argue. But perhaps...perhaps he wouldn’t mind some company? Never had he laid a hand against one of his Illidari, despite being rather rough with the demons and the Broken Draenei. He was strong and very powerful, and was definitely not a pushover. But he never used force unnecessarily. So, though her demon was technically correct in its musing, she wasn’t truly afraid of him. Just...extremely intimidated.

“Did you want something?” came Illidan’s inquiry, all of a sudden.

Talondressa stiffened with a small gasp. She immediately dropped to her knees, unable to remain standing in his presence. “S-sir,” she stammered, “I was just wandering the halls unable to sleep, and I happened upon you by accident. If you would like me to leave, I will not hesitate to do so.” She squeezed her eyes shut, grimacing as she waited for him to send her away.

Alright, so she was afraid of him.

The Illidari Master was silent for a moment, and Talondressa was unable to see his reaction, for her head was bowed.

“...what gave you the impression that I would ask you to leave?” he then asked, in an almost confused tone.

Talondressa slowly looked up at him, shock evident on her face. “I-I was afraid I might have disturbed you.”

“Then why did you approach me in the first place?” inquired her master, smirking.

The younger Illidari’s mouth opened and snapped shut again like a hungry fish. He definitely had a point. Her cheeks began to heat up and she hung her head in shame. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, embarrassed.

A single, soft chuckle left him. Though it sounded more like a scoff, it was truly the closest thing to a laugh that she had ever heard come out of his mouth. Her eyes widened.

“Well, I won’t send you away, for now. Getting lost in my thoughts isn’t exactly something I enjoy. It’ll be nice to have a distraction, even if only for a moment.” The shifting of fabrics and the plop of a massive body setting itself upon the cold stone was heard. Illidan had sat down. Talondressa gazed at him again in confusion and gratitude as he patted the spot beside him once. With that, he turned his gaze to the sky and said nothing more.

Elated, the younger Illidari shuffled her way over to him, resting her own body upon the spot which he had indicated. It was so strange to be sitting beside him, as if they were equals. Her heart swelled and roared in excitement and uncontained emotions as so many things to say came to mind. She’d always had so much to tell him, to thank him for. There just weren’t enough words in the world.

None of this was spoken aloud, however, for she did not know if Illidan would want to hear them...or if he would even accept them. She kept it to herself once more, nearly exploding from the catastrophical amount of sentiments that were forced to remain within her.

Digging her nails into her palms, she tried and miserably failed to keep the tears in. Ah, yes. The tears. Sure, she had become one of the fiercest demon hunters around, and had lost or at the very least dulled most of her sensitivity to death and murder and the like--but that did not mean she didn’t cry over everything from seeing a cute rabbit in the forest to sitting beside the person she adored and respected most in the entire world. Blood trickled down her wrists; she had forgotten that her nails were now claws. Hundreds of years she’d spent harboring a large portion of a demon soul within her, and still she continued to forget that she also took on some of its physical features. She quickly hid her palms from view and took a breath, calming her tears as quietly as physically possible.

“Sometimes I envy those who can still express their emotions in such a manner,” Illidan mumbled suddenly, causing Talondressa to jump.

“Wh-what do you mean?” she asked him, bewildered, hastily rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands to erase any evidence of tears. She was sure there was no way he had actually seen her.

Her master turned his head and gazed down at her. “You. You’re crying.” He nodded once at her.

She simply stared at him in shock.

A sad smile played on his lips. It was so faint, it was barely even there. He let out a sigh and shook his head. Talondressa could tell he was troubled. She wondered if he would tell her or not. He seemed to be attempting to formulate words in his head, but nothing else came from him. He was silent. Eventually, he looked back up at the stars again, wordless.

Talondressa’s shoulders drooped. But it was at that moment when she caught sight of what was in his hand. It was a skull. Focusing harder, she was able to deduce that it was an Orc skull, or at least looked it. The Master looked down at it then, another sigh leaving him. His shoulders sank, too. Talondressa was extremely curious now. She decided to say something else, hoping it would eventually lead him to explaining what he’d meant by his previous statement.

“I was crying because...well, I’m grateful to you,” she said simply. “You’re my master and yet...here I am, sitting beside you.”

Illidan grunted. “Indeed, I am your master, but that does not mean you are not allowed to occupy the same space as I.” He glanced at her apathetically.

Talondressa felt herself smile at that. “Well, I’m grateful. I--we owe you so much, Lord Illidan. Our lives.”

Another grunt. He shook his head. “I’m just trying to make a real change in a world full of people too self-absorbed to do the same. You, and the rest of my Illidari, are the special few who followed me on this path because you share my ideals.”

Talondressa nodded. He was just being modest, but none of it was untrue.

Illidan took a small breath, hesitant before he finally went on. “...and...you know,” he took a moment to pause. “I’m...grateful to you, too. To all of you. Without you, I….” he trailed off, his eyes finding those stars again. Nothing more was said on the matter.

Still, just hearing those words from Illidan was enough to send her over the edge again, tears flowing endlessly from her fel-burned eyes. Her shoulders shook gently from the strain of trying to keep silent. She was embarrassed at herself for crying in front of him not once, but twice. She hoped at least this time he wouldn’t--

“You’re crying again,” Illidan noted, a hint of amusement coloring his voice. He hadn’t even moved.

“Gah,” Talondressa choked, a small sob leaving her. “I’m sorry.” Her words were barely audible.

Illidan heard them. He shook his head and stared at the faint power radiating off of the distant stars. “You’d better not cry like that tomorrow when you launch your assault on Mardum. Am I understood?”

“Y-yes sir,” Talondressa managed to say between sobs. She was hugging her knees now.

Illidan would offer her no comfort save for his presence, and a gentle smile that she would never see. “Good.”

[sarahburness]

Moving Through Grief: I’m Strong Because I Feel It All

“Grief is the last act of love we have to give to those we loved. Where there is deep grief, there was great love.” ~Unknown

It’s been almost six months now. Half of a year without my brother and the grief still visits. I’m pretty sure grief doesn’t actually go away, it just gets further and further apart.

People continue to ask me how I am so “strong” through all of this, mistaking my happy moments as the full picture.

I continue to tell them strength comes because I feel it all.

The story in itself is my therapy, my chance to relive the amazing memories, my chance to show you the waves of grief I ride.

The last thing I told my conscious brother was, “But I believe in miracles, I really do.”

To be fair, the last thing I really told him was a travel story about me using a squatty-potty in Thailand, in hopes that humor would bring him back to responsiveness.

The thing is, I really did believe a miracle was possible, or at least I wanted to believe. Surely it wasn’t his time to go. The all divine higher power wouldn’t take away my big brother, my role model, my mom’s baby boy. It simply wasn’t time.

The tumor on his spine seemed to disagree with me though.

My brother is gone now and there is a human sized hole in the universe that I am living in, and yet I survive; in fact, I am thriving in this life that I have now.

But let’s back up a little, because I can’t just tell you about how I move through this season of grief without totally and completely honoring the human my brother was. He called me his little buddy, and though my oldest brother was the babysitter, Kirk always whispered into my ear that he was for real the one in charge.

He liked Dungeon and Dragons, donuts, finishing a great book, writing and doodling in a brown journal probably made of suede or something cool like that. He loved to flip me upside-down or hold me down and tickle me until I was completely sure I would pee my pants. He would say things that didn’t make any sense to me until later when I would sit and contemplate in stillness.

Something about Kirk’s soul was so playful but inspired me to be still and live in the presence that I have. He did things like build houses out of mud for sustainability and turn medians into produce farms. He took killer photos and made clay statues that I used to think would move in the night and haunt me.

Kirk told me “to try everything once, unless that one thing will kill you, then skip that one.” Which is why you can catch me building a business that makes zero sense to who I am, traveling to foreign countries when I should probably be building a 401K or something else adults do. But when there’s a human size hole in your universe, you do things for joy. Maybe it’s to honor them, maybe it’s because you live life to the fullest possible amount there can ever be. Either way, I’ll keep moving only for things that light my soul on fire.

And then there was the cancer.

You know how if you endure something just the right amount, it kind of becomes your normal? Repetitive chaos in your life has a way of doing that. And after watching my grandma battle cancer and win, my mom battle cancer and win, and Kirk beating it over and over again, it felt like the norm. Like it was just a thing that plagued my family, but we always move out of it.

Everyone handles something like this differently; personally, I’m that “ray of sunshine, glass half full and hey, I’ll help you with your glass too” kind of girl. Sunshine and cancer don’t blend well together. I got really good at smiling, cheering people up, and ignoring the invader in our lives.

When I opened my phone and received the text reading, “He took a turn for the worse,” my soul didn’t believe it. I hopped on a plane, believing my sunshine would be enough to stop this spiral.

My sunshine was not enough to bring him back to life.

My sunshine was dimmed to its darkest.

My glass was tipped over.

Grief overwhelmed my soul. Gut wrenching, unexplainable, dynamic grief.

It has been almost six months now since this hole was created in my universe, and every day someone asks me how I am so “strong” or “positive.” I will tell you exactly how.

When I’m mad, I get mad. I allow myself to hear why I am mad because I know answers are on the other side of that. I don’t place my anger on anyone or anything. I just let it out as it is, even if it doesn’t make any sense.

When I’m sad, I get sad. Even if that means I cry in my car because I walked passed a flavor of ice cream that he enjoyed. Even if that means crying on my birthday because I realized it was the first year I wouldn’t hear from him. Even if that means I cry for no other reason besides missing my brother. I let it flow because I am alive and I can feel.

And when I’m happy, you best believe I’m happier than a three year old in between meltdowns. Because of all of the human emotions that I get to endure, the one he would want me to amplify the most is wild, epic, unleashed happiness.

They say grief is like waves, and I honestly couldn’t explain it any more eloquently than that. As a professional beach-goer, the thing I can tell you about waves is that they have two extremes; if you work with the waves they are flowing and forgiving, if you fight against them they will pull you under to the depths.

This is how you move with grace through grief. The fight creates a deep abyss of suffering, the flow creates a space for forgiveness. I’m not saying there won’t be pain; there will be deafening pain to endure on this ride. And on the other side of that pain is forgiving and wild happiness that I like to think our lost pieces are sending to us. This is how I am strong through my grief.

I am mad, sad, and happy sometimes all in one day. I feel pain and yet I live so passionately, exactly the way my brother would want me to. I am not strong because I am positive; I am strong because I feel it all. Strength hides in the depth of every emotion. Tap into each flow.

About Megan Seamans

Megan Seamans is a life coach for women who want to get out of their head and on with the life they're obsessed with. She helps them get back to their core being by supporting them in moving out of blocks such as fear, doubt, overwhelm, and their comfort zone. Grab her free journal guide 6 Steps to Clarity here!

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from Tiny Buddha https://tinybuddha.com/blog/moving-through-grief-im-strong-because-i-feel-it-all/

[lordk1997]

Porky's Smashing return PROLOGUE: The Darkness:

Hey everyone! I want to show you guys something I wrote up a while back for Smash Amino. It's a story focusing on the idea of Porky finding a way into the world of Smash Bros and how he causes mischief once he arrives, I plan to add the other parts to the story some time in the future, I hope you enjoy 😊 In a distant time all was darkness, just a black void of nothingness, a black void that covers every part of existence, nowhere to go, nothing to look at besides the colour black. No time passed in this desolate world, all life concluded a very long time ago. It was cold, blank, silent and seemingly endless, in the millennia the world has been in this state there was no sign of light and no trace of life anywhere; All except for a large spherical object that forever floated through the inky black void, the object showed no signs of ageing and looked brand new despite despite having a long history, on it's back "Property of Master Porky" was engraved and even this sentence remained intact and had no signs of disrepair, besides the engraving, all the object had was an emblem that bore resemblance of a pig's snout and above that a window which provided an obsolete view for the individual inside: King Porky Minch. Porky looked like a corpse, if one were to peer inside the window and take a look at him, they would assume he perished a very long time ago however this wasn't the case, Porky was alive, he was very much alive although he fervently wished he wasn't. Porky wanted death more than anything he had ever obtained however death was the one solace he could never recieve as at he was immortal and while inside his inescapable spherical prison, unharmable. Crippling hunger and parching thirst were all too common for him, but he could never die, ageing constantly, his organs slowly deteriorating and sharp pains all over his body, but he could never die, all as if he was being punished for something he did eons ago.

Being incapable of movement himself, all Porky could do was watch the black void for what felt like an eternity, he would blankly gaze into the abyss and attempt to clear his mind from all his suffering, however the pain is too much to ignore, he would sometimes lose consciousness while looking out into the darkness but usually never notice he did as the view was always the same. Porky would sometimes close his eyes and reflect on past memories, despite how hazy they've become. He would sometimes remember being in a cult, or sometimes helping an alien take over the world or even remember being a king, some days the memories of his past are clearer while other days they are just as empty as the world around him, however some of the memories he held onto never left and no matter how hard he tried he would never forget them, one of those was of his terrible childhood and how he felt he had nowhere to turn after years of neglect and bullying, another was of a boy named Ness, someone he loved and loathed equally as much, he believed this boy was his one true friend despite their bitter rivalry and yearned to see him again as he wasn't like the others, he found time to take pity on Porky and had a heart of gold, he was truly special. A third memory was of another boy, while his name was long forgotten, this boy reminded Porky of himself, he too had a rough past,his whole life was turned upside down as his family and livelihood was ripped apart at the seams. Porky would sometimes remember he was responsible for the misery inflicted upon the boy and his home, did he feel sad about what he caused? Did he feel like he has done wrong in the past? No, the only thing Porky felt at this point was boredom, on times where he wouldn't think about Ness he would dwindle on his boredom and how he wants more people to put beneath himself, this feeling lingered for thousands of years and never stopped. Porky would sometimes toy with the idea that eventually he would find someone out there in the dark, someone to understand his pain but he knew all well that everyone died a very long time ago and he is the only one left, or so he thought...

As the object drifted through the void some Porky once again felt his consciousness slipping, he felt as though he was entering a lucid dream, he heard a voice murmur his name and concluded it was all in his mind, but ever so slightly the voice got louder and louder and seemed all too real to be a dream, a half conscious Porky didn't know what to think until suddenly the voice screamed "PO-PORKY!!" Porky was startled, this was the first voice he'd heard in a long time not coming from his head, his breathing became heavy as he grew more and more fearful of the source of the voice. A small ball of light began to form in front of him and once again, it spoke "Pork-no "Your Highness" should I say" Porky was hesitant to reply as he was slowly forgetting how to speak "Wha-who, who are you?" "You sure do look sorry for yourself, I'm well aware of your past and your uncountable crimes; but to be honest I feel bad for you, spending millions of years trapped in a small prison that really is a fate worse than death" spoke the ball in a condescending tone. A perplexed Porky replied: "you still haven't answered my question, I don't think know who you're talking to, I-" "You're Porky, the world's most amusing jerk" the ball interrupted "and since we're dealing with formalities I might as well introduce myself too, I am the source of the world's power, I possess the power to create and destroy, I harbour unspeakable power and I am the catalyst that sets both friendships and conflicts in motion for people who quite frankly weren't meant to meet" "get to the point..." Porky replied impatiently, "Point being, is that while the two of us exist here in this abyss I will be making the rules, why you ask? I am the Core, or you may refer to me as Master Core" the ball concluded. "Master? Master?! No way in hell would I bow down to a talking ball! I'm not some simp, I'm pretty sure I was once a powerful king who ruled over a lot of feeble minded fools, I stand above even Ness himself!!" Porky shouted in his withering voice "Temper temper piggy, shouting that much will give you a heart attack, not that it matters as you can't die but still... Perhaps I didn't state the affairs clearly enough before, whether you like it or not while you're in this "time out" of yours, you will be looking up to me" Core replied in it's usual condescending tone " and in case you've forgotten, I am the wielder of massive strength, and if you cross me.. If you cross me..." Core suddenly created lots of small black masses that swarmed round like insects, the mass grew larger and larger until it took a humanoid form, it grabbed the sphere and held it close to it's wicked face "THEY'LL BE HELL TO PAY!!"

The mass put the sphere back in place and began dissolving to look like the ball it did before, Porky sat there paralyzed with fear but at the same time feeling bitter anger "There, I think. I made my point, but don't take it the wrong way chubs, I want you to see me more as a friend than an a supreme ruler, after all I can only imagine how hard it would be for you of all people to call someone "boss" again!" Core chuckled to itself while Porky once again stared daggers at his company "now then more about myself, I also have the power to bend time and space at will, I can craft together all sorts of timelines and events to piece together one big cluster of strangeness, one time I-" Porky froze for a second and pondered about what the Core boasted, then suddenly a wicked grin beamed onto his face, it had been a long time since Porky had smiled this much, so much so it begun to hurt but he didn't care, oblivious to the Core's narcissistic tangent and his usual pains, Porky had a new thought, something that truly excited him more than anything had in a long time, "S-so umm, Corey, you said something about shaping time and space to your will didn't you?" Porky asked, "you know that's not my name but yes I did, why do you ask? And what's with the strange grin all of a sudden, you're looking odd" Wondered the core as it was suspicious of Porky's new demeanor. "Well I have a bit of a business proposal for you" Porky continued "if you were to do you time space doohickey and rewrite my past slightly to get me out of this mess maybe I can get back at Ness and... shape my destiny as King of the universe" "Slow down there oldster I'm the one who thinks and comes up with the ideas and besides, you said this was a business proposal, what do I get out of that? To be honest as much as it would be interesting to piece together your broken past and watch more chaos unfold in the land of existence I find it much more amusing watching how pathetic you are here in the dark..."

Porky thought for a moment and eventually spoke again "While I remain King, you will be the god of the new utopia I create, you can watch as all the fools bow down to us, think about it, no one will be able to touch us, I'm sure it beats being stuck here in this boring wasteland" "hmm... Very well chubs, you've twisted my arm, I guess it would be funny seeing everyone bow down to a pig like you, well what I'll do is send you back to time where life thrived the most, as well as this I'll age you down to a point in your childhood and give you some familiar weaponry to help along the way, you owe me big time for this, I'm being way to generous giving you all of this" Core grew brighter and brighter as the light engulfed the sphere "now go, go and make this world ours Porky, but remember, I'm the one running the show, get on my bad side and you'll pay dearly" the core uttered before it vanished in the bright light "I won't let you down Master Core, I'll bring everyone down to their knees, even that loser Ness and that other guy with the hairdo, they'll be no match for a new and improved Porky Minch! This was the best thing that happened in thousands of years, thanks to you Core, I'm gonna have lots of new toys, now I'll never be bored again, get ready to bow world, Porky means business!

[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…