the rest is up to you

The Scary People Next Door part 3

Summary: Two women move to the neighborhood, it seems like there’s more to them than meets the eye.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Warnings: nightmare (let me know if there are any!)

Word count: 2299

a/n: Finally a new part! Hope you enjoy, feedback is always appreciated :)

Tags: @madamevirgo @fishlikestuff @hi-i-1 @d14n4ol @simpforwandanat @diaryoflife @emilyprentissslut @idek-5

Y/N declines Darcy’s call for the fifth time in the span of an hour. She has been trying to call her the whole day, even Monica called her a few times, but Y/N hasn’t answered to any of them. She knew Darcy would eventually end up knocking on her door and possibly breaking in with the help of Monica’s tech if she didn’t answer soon. She couldn’t bring herself to pick up the phone and talk to Darcy, yesterday’s events still clear in her head.

Groaning, Y/N plays a voicemail Darcy just left her. “Listen, I don’t know what is going on with you right now, but I don’t appreciate you ignoring me. So, you better answer my next call or I’m coming over with Monica. And if you even think about not opening the door, I’ll call Jane and drag her here to drag your ass out of the bed!” The voicemail ends.

Jane Foster, Y/N and Darcy’s best friend, who neither of them have seen in years. Y/N met her and Erik Selvig through Darcy while she was helping with Jane’s astronomy research for college credit. Y/N decided to tag along and help as much as possible. They became close, and still are to a certain extent, but things happen. Darcy had to leave to finish college and become an astrophysicist, Jane got a new job at S.H.I.E.L.D and Y/N had to find an actual job that is in her skill set rather than being strung along with different doctors.

Jane was always known to be a bit bossy. It wasn’t always a bad thing, she needed to be bossy as a woman in that field of work to be heard and taken seriously. For Y/N that meant doing things that she didn’t want to do, like getting a job. If it wasn’t for Jane, she'd most likely still follow Darcy around like a lost puppy, which isn’t necessarily a good thing. She is very grateful for Jane pushing her into getting a job. That being said, she knows Jane would come over and make her spit out everything if Darcy did call her.

Her phone goes off. Y/N rubs her eyes frustratedly before picking up the phone and answering it. “Hi.”

“Hi? You ignore my calls the whole day and all you say is hi?”

“I’m sorry.” Y/N sighs. “I really just don’t feel like talking today.” She mumbles while laying in her bed. She has been laying on her bed the whole day, only getting up to go to the bathroom and get something to drink. She tried to convince herself that yesterday didn’t affect her, but it did, a lot more than she’d like to admit.

”That’s usually the time you need to talk to people the most.”

She did need someone to talk to. The feeling of rambling everything she feels to Darcy was strong, but the guilt of making her problems Darcy’s problems was bigger.

“I’m just tired, nothing to worry about.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? Would you like me and Monica to come over?”

Y/N bites her tongue, Darcy’s words bringing her close to tears. The damned question: Are you okay? That one question makes her want to spill out her guts instantly. “No, I’d rather be alone.”

Darcy mumbles something that Y/N can’t hear, probably to Monica. They have a silent conversation while Y/N waits for Darcy to answer her. “We’ll come over tomorrow.”

Knowing Darcy wasn’t asking her whether or not that’s okay, Y/N just hums in confirmation before saying her goodbyes and hanging up the phone. After throwing her phone somewhere to the table, she closes her eyes, ready to fall asleep.

“Hello!” She yells to the abyss, her voice echoing through the never ending emptiness. “Anyone there?” When Y/N’s only answer is her own voice bouncing back to her, she starts walking. At least she thinks she is walking. The space she’s in is pitch black, so Y/N wasn’t sure if she was moving anywhere.

Suddenly she starts falling. Y/N screams as her body flies down with no signs of stopping. She desperately tries to hold on to something, anything to stop her from falling, but to no avail. There’s nothing around her to grasp onto, only darkness and quiet apart from her screams.

A punch to the face changes her scenery. She groans, trying to lift her hand up to her face but gasping when she isn’t able to. Y/N’s eyes snap open in panic. She looks at her surroundings, noticing it’s the same room she was in not too long ago. However, now it was just a little more unsettling. She didn’t know what it was that made her feel so different from the real thing, nothing was visibly wrong. It just felt bad. Perhaps it was because she knew she was in a dream and she had gone through this already.

“Pay attention!” A very distorted voice shouts, punching Y/N to the face once again. She lifts up her head. The what’s supposed to be one of the men that hurt her definitely didn’t look like one. Its whole body was blurry and it moved to every direction. Its voice sounded like someone spoke through a broken megaphone, the voice cracking every now and then.

“What the fuck are you?” Y/N’s voice was a mere whisper compared to the creature.

The thing doesn’t answer, simply smirks, or at least it looks like a smirk. It starts walking around her, glitching when it takes a step forward. As it stops behind the chair, it sets a hand on top of Y/N’s head. She screams, all the pain she felt during that day going through her body in seconds.

Y/N screams as she sits up and looks around her, hands swatting away any remaining feelings of the thing. Her room is darker now, the clock being almost 11 pm. She stands up, runs downstairs and out the front door. This most likely isn’t the best idea, but Wanda did ask her if she wanted to stay at their place. If the question was genuine or not wasn’t clear to Y/N, but right now she’d like to think Wanda meant it.

She didn’t even know why Wanda and Natasha’s house was the first place she thought of. Maybe it was because she felt weirdly comforted by Wanda’s presence, or because they simply were the only people who know what happened.

Knocking on their front door, Y/N starts doubting herself. She almost turns around and leaves, but Wanda opens the door before she can.

“Hey, are you okay?” Wanda’s concern fills her ears. And so the waterworks start. Wanda gasps lightly, pulling Y/N into her arms as she sobs. She whispers sweet nothings to her ear while guiding her inside to sit on the couch. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

Y/N leans more into Wanda, putting her head on Wanda’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.” She mumbles. “I couldn’t sleep, I just can’t be alone.” She sniffles, backing away from the hug as she tries to stop crying.

“That’s okay.” Wanda has a gentle smile on her face that melts Y/N inside.

The feeling makes her question everything. Why is she feeling this way? She met Wanda only a week ago. These kinds of feelings weren’t supposed to awaken so soon.

“What’s going on here?” Natasha, who neither of the two noticed coming in, asks.

Y/N looks down, letting Wanda take control of the situation. “She’s staying the night.” She says as if it was obvious, which makes Y/N frown. It wasn’t her plan to stay the whole night, not wanting to bother the two, but she isn’t opposed to the idea.

“Only if that’s okay.” Y/N adds, lifting her head to look at Natasha, who only glances at her before turning to Wanda. They seem to have a silent conversation going on. It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing for Y/N if they were talking telepathically, knowing Wanda did have some kind of powers.

Her eyes widen. Is she able to read minds? Has she ever read her mind?

Wanda pulls Y/N up from the couch, bringing her back to the present. “Come on. You seem tired.” She leads her upstairs to her room. “You can sleep in my bed, I’ll take the floor.”

“What? No, I can’t let you do that.”

Wanda smiles, taking Y/N’s hands to her own. “You’re my guest.”

Y/N stares at Wanda’s green eyes, finding herself mesmerised by them. They are beautiful, she could look at them all day. It feels like Y/N is transferred into a whole new world as she feels herself falling deeper into her gaze. Soon she starts relaxing her muscles, Wanda’s gentle smile and sparkling eyes bringing her comfort. Y/N glances at her lips, wondering if they are as soft as they look. Judging by Wanda’s widening grin, she is listening to her thoughts. Y/N averts her eyes back to Wanda’s.

“Go ahead.” Wanda says with a playful tint in her voice. Y/N frowns, making Wanda giggle. “Ask what you want to ask. I don’t mind”

She blushes, trying to drop her head down to look at the floor, but Wanda’s hand on her chin stops her. Wanda knowing what she wanted should have scared her more than it did, but right now she didn’t care.

Y/N gives Wanda a shy smile. “Can I kiss you?” She whispers. If Wanda hadn’t been so close to her, she would’ve missed it. When Wanda nods, Y/N pulls her closer and kisses her. Wanda sets her hands on Y/N’s waist, while her hands travel through Wanda’s hair.

Wanda pulls back, tightening her grasp on Y/N’s hips. Her eyes are a darker shade of green as she kisses Y/N again and again.

For the next two weeks Wanda and Y/N take it publicly slow, hiding whatever they have going on from their friends. Of course, Natasha being a literal spy, she caught on pretty quick. Not that the couple were that good at hiding it. Wanda spent a lot more time at Y/N’s house, sometimes even nights. Natasha wasn’t mad per se, Wanda was so much happier now, but she was hesitant. Dating someone outside of their field of job always proved to be difficult, no matter how many times one of them tried to have a successful relationship. It always failed one way or another.

Wanda didn’t want to think about that. She had heard a lot of dating horror stories from the other Avengers, but she knew she could make it work. She just needed to be careful and choose the best approach of telling Y/N what she really did. She already knew she had magic, that’s one difficult conversation out of the way, and she knew Wanda’s job is something dangerous because of the kidnapping. Not the way Wanda would’ve wanted Y/N to find out, but it’ll make the actual telling easier.

“I’m going to check up on Y/N!” Wanda tells Natasha as she opens the door. She had different excuses to tell Natasha. Checking up on Y/N, helping her cook or fix something, comforting her through hard times and so on. Sometimes they were true. Wanda did help Y/N during a nightmare or a difficult day many times after the unfortunate event.

Natasha hums, her eyes never leaving the television. “Make sure to check her neck better this time, it had quite many bruises on it last time.” Her voice was completely monotone, but she had the tiniest smirk on her face.

Wanda freezes, almost dropping the piece of cake in her hand. “I’m sorry?” She squeaks out.

“I’m just saying.” Natasha turns to look at Wanda. “You two are doing an awful job hiding the signs.”

“I-I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, so someone else must’ve done them. Or perhaps a mosquito, hair straightener, a match... I know all the tricks, Wanda.”

Wanda closes the door, sighing. “Fine, you’re right. What now?”

“That’s not up to me, it’s your call. Just be careful. These kinds of pairings don’t usually last.” Natasha didn’t want to be so pessimistic of their relationship, she has actually started liking Y/N, not that she’d ever let either of them know. She still wanted Wanda to know the hardships these kinds of situations brought into their lives. “Besides, we can’t live here forever, the mission is almost over, then we go back.”

“I know, Nat, I do. I’m not letting that stop me though, because I really want this to work.”

Natasha nods with a smile. “Then I’m rooting for you two.”

“Thank you.” Wanda’s smile returns to her face as she opens the door again. “Now, I’m going to go and spend some quality time with Y/N, don’t wait up.” She steps outside and closes the door, not waiting for Natasha’s answer. It would’ve been something witty.

Wanda knocks on Y/N’s door, feeling nervous. Natasha was right. Soon they’d have to go back to the Avengers compound and she couldn’t see Y/N whenever she wanted. It also meant going back to no contact missions. They could last months. Wanda didn’t want to disappear for months with Y/N having no way of knowing whether she was okay or not.

Y/N opens the door, but not with the excited look Wanda was waiting for. Her brows were furrowed and she looked almost angry. “Why didn’t you tell me you are an Avenger?”

WHO YOUR LIPS KISSED. -JJ MAYBANK X READER

Summary: A letter to JJ, makes him understand what he lost and what he’ll mostly regret.

A/N: Here’s another JJ x Reader I wrote. It’s emotional...too emotional.

The tip of her shoes, hit the wooden doorstep. Her shaking hand refuses to form a fist and knock on the door; a white envelope squeezed in it. Rather, she kneels down, and leaves it on the doorstep. Taking a last look, at the place of many wonderful, and many miserable moments, her back turns to the small house. As if she's held by chains, her steps are slow and heavy, somehow the house keeping her from leaving. Her head unglued from the ground, coming face to face with her blonde friend, who's been waiting for her next to the old Volkswagen. -It was for the both of your best. -said Sarah, rubbing her back. Y/N's feet were glued to the dusty ground, keeping her from making any other move. She knew that her step out of the Chateau, was another step to ending everything; to killing the Y/N she became long time ago. There were no tears in her eyes; all of them wasted too many nights. Her look turned to Sarah, getting a short, sad smile from her, gesturing Y/N to walk out of the place. She followed; she followed with a heavy heart. Maybe, it wasn't something she looked up to when expressing her feelings and leading the relationship with her heart, absolutely ignoring her brain, but it was something she expected to come one day. Sarah was there with her, to give any support at any time; promising not to tell John B anything. Y/N's house came in sight. Giving a hug to Sarah, and thanking her for being there, she unlocked the door, to reveal her mother, laid on the couch. -Hi. -she said softly, barely any sound coming out of her mouth. Bruised eyes, white and chapped lips and a pale face. She's been battling them for years and the clock was ticking on the wall. The remaining time, marked on the calendar. -Hi, mum, how are you feeling today?- she knelt next to her, fixing the blanket and pulling it up closer to her chin. -Better...and a bit cold. -I'll turn on the heating now, wait. -she jumped from the position and turned the heating, taking off her jacket and placing it on the chair. The house was cold and she had to do something to warm her mother, so a soup was the first thing that came to her head. Proceeding through the cabinets, to find the right pot, she filled it with water and made her mother the soup she's been making her when sick, since childhood. Putting a bowl of soup and a spoon, and also cutting half a lemon; Y/N brought everything on a tray to the living room. -Look at you...you'll take care of me like I did when you were young. -Yes. And it always made me better, that's why I'll give it a try now and take your place for a bit, so you could feel better. -said Y/N, fixing her mum's positing, so she's leaned on the pillow. -You did a great job on the soup, butterfly. -said her mum, slurping the soup, Y/N gave to her. -But, you don't have to feed me, I can do it myself. -I'll put some lemon as well. -she took the lemon, and squeezed it with the spoon. -Where were you? -I-I went with Sarah, she needed to get something done. -I thought-Y/N cut in with another spoon of soup. -Let's not talk while you're eating, it's a rule you used to always tell me. -Okay then. After her mother finished her soup, and fell asleep, Y/N sat at the table with a cup of tea in front of her. The small window that overlooked at their garden was too interesting to her. Her eyes moved with the design on the curtain; totally lost in her thoughts. The white papers were on the other side of the table, reminding her of the amounts of time she crumbled them and threw them away, before getting the right words on them. It was a painful moment of freedom and curiosity. Curiosity, because she wanted to know, why'd she have to be the one to write such a letter, to the person she'd barely every put herself in a position of letting go? She craved an answer, but couldn't find it.

John B and JJ fell asleep at the Chateau; worn out of the surfing and swimming the Pogues did that day. Kie and Pope were home. And even though Kie and Y/N were close friends, she only chose Sarah to come with her and be aware of what's going on; knowing she's the only one that won't hint it to the others. But, Kie, Pope and John B weren't the only ones that didn't know; JJ took the letter in confusion, getting excited at the name of his beloved girl. -What's that? -said John B, peeking over JJ's shoulder and sitting on one of the porch couches. -It's from Y/N, she wrote me a letter I guess. -said JJ, taking a seat opposite John B. He ripped the envelope open and took the folded piece of paper. There was a lot of writing:

" Dear JJ, the days folded into a whole year. A whole year, of many moments together. And as every day ended, my happiness and joy grew bigger, knowing I'll see you the next and then the next. At the start, everything went in a way I didn't even think of. You made me feel like the most loved person in the world and gave me more attention and time than I deserved. I was thankful; thankful for the things you did for me. I prayed the whole journey, for our relationship to last as it started; full of adventures together and days I'll never forget. You told me you loved me every day and how thankful you were to have me in your life. You looked at me with adornment in your eyes. And, when you thought I was asleep, while you muttered beautiful words to me, I was quietly listening to you; taking in every word and hiding it in my heart. But...just as I thought we'd form a forever, as every day ended, I was full of pain, instead of happiness and joy. You weren't there to treat my wounds; they crusted with your absence. The place on my bed was cold and dry; telling me the lack of your presence. Instead, it was full of tears; puddles of tears. Every night, I was thinking about who your heart started to love and also thought about asking you; but I had no strength to do it. It was never enough of what I told you for me; I had a person slowly fading in my life and didn't want to have another one, so I kept you next to me. I counted the stranger's scent on your clothes, messy hair, all the notes of numbers in your pockets, as my own blindness. And had no bravery to ask you who your lips kissed, praying it was only me. From those moments, I knew nothing was enough; your many kisses shortened, as well as your time spent with me; your hugs were long gone; but mostly you...I hadn't had enough of you. And let me answer all your questions. When you asked me why I distanced myself sometimes; it was because I knew why your excitement to see me, was expressed by cuddling me and kissing me. Also, when you asked me why I didn't return to your calls; it was because of the amounts of times I called before, that your phone was busy. And even if there was someone, I counted them as no one, hoping there's really no one that could get your phone too busy, as well as your room at John B's. So, please don't make me tired anymore, JJ. The amounts of times I fell and got up, this time I'm stuck to the ground and can't breathe anymore. I know you can't relate to me right now, and don't pity your feelings...I'll count them as nothing. But...I'll always count my love for you. I ignored all your mistakes, rough words and craziness, willingly. And those abysses I went to blindly, I'll ignore them too, as well as a whole wasted year. But please, for god's sake, don't create me more pain. Let the both of us go our own ways, because this doesn't work when we're together. I'll still remain the Y/N you met that day, and remember me as her, please. If you want to crumble and throw away this letter; do it. But know that all the words will stay in your head. Thank you for your time and love. And please don't come to my house...please. See you someday in the future. Sincerely, Y/N Y/L/N." The letter landed on the wooden floor of the porch, followed by a few tears. John B was confusingly looking at his friend, -What happened, dude? -It-it's over, John B. Y/N and I...we're no more. John B picked up the letter, his eyes moving through the rows of words. His face dropped from shock; eyes widened at his broken friend. -What happened to her? She seemed so happy yesterday. -She faked it. The whole time, she faked it. Y/N wasn't happy, she just didn't hint her pain to me. JJ walked back and forth, the floor squeaking under his feet. His hands were tightly tugging his blonde hair, as hot tears rolled down his face, -I messed up everything...I lost Y/N. -JJ...-John B was speechless, calling Y/N's number, but there was no answer. JJ's figure still couldn't shake off the stress and shock; just tears fallind down his face. He curled up in a ball on the floor, crying in his knees and swinging back and forth.

It passed a whole month of their absence at John B's; neither JJ was coming to ride with the Pogues of the HMS Pogue. Y/N normally worked in her life, taking care of her mother. There was no space for crying or closing herself in her room. Pope came a few times to visit her at work; feeling the need to be there for his friend, even though he knew her less than he knew JJ. Kie tried to take her out in town and distract her from the sadness, but it just didn't work; Sarah had the ability to do that more than Kie. Since, even though she didn't know it, Y/N couldn't have Kie next to her, knowing the big crush JJ had on her. It wasn't Kie's fault, Y/N just couldn't get distracted from her pain by talking to Kie. But one day, she came for something else. -Here's your invitation to my birthday party. -said Kie, sliding the invitation Y/N's way, -I'm looking forward to seeing you at the Wreck. -I'll try to come, Kie. -Okay, but try please. See you then, bye. With that, she left Y/N's work place. That happy and loved by everybody, Kiara Carrera. Sometimes she understood why JJ still might have a crush on her; the girl was smart and pretty.

The day of Kie's birthday came and Y/N was busy with taking care of her mother, when someone knocked on the door. -Are you read- said Sarah, looking at Y/N, who was dressed in sweatpants, a t-shirt and her hair up in a messy bun. -When are you going to get ready? -For what? Ow, it was Kie's birthday, wasn't it? I can't come, Sarah. -said Y/N, keeping the door as close to her as possible, so Sarah doesn't take a peek inside. -Y/N you bought a present and said you'll come. Come on. You can avoid JJ all night if you want to, but Kie's our friend. -Fine...then I'll go and get ready, you, stay here, outside, please. Sarah was confused of why'd she rushed so much about her staying outside, by closing the door and the curtain of the living room window. She followed her friend's words and waited at the porch, observing the flowers Y/N took care of, even though she worked too hard. But, when she heard a voice from inside, calling for help, she swung open the door. A woman was laid on the floor, trying to reach for the coffee table for support. -Aunt, wait. -she said, jogging her way and slowly lifting her up. Sarah placed Y/N's mum on the couch and threw the blanket over her body, -Did you want something? -Just a glass of water. -Here. -Sarah handed her a glass full of water Y/N had placed on the coffee table. -Mum, I'll go to Kie's birthday and get back immediately, please sleep a bit, before I...- said Y/N, walking in the living room and stopping when Sarah's worried face comes in her sight, -come back. -Okay butterfly, don't worry about me. Enjoy the party.

Sarah was quiet the whole walk to Kie's birthday, as well as Y/N. She knew Sarah wanted to ask her everything and could explode of curiosity in any minute, so she decided to tell her what's going on in her life, that she doesn't know about. And why'd she never let them come to her house, when her mother wasn't at the hospital. -My mum's sick, Sarah. That's why I made you stay at the porch while I get ready. And I'm sorry I didn't tell any of you about my mum's sickness. -Y/N why? We would've helped you, you know that. -Yes, because I knew that, and that’s why I didn't tell you. My mum and I are no one's worry. And whatever I had to do about her getting well, I was going to do it alone. -I'm sorry Y/N. -Sarah gave her a side hug and the both of them entered the Wreck. They hugged Kie, giving her the presents.

It was a big party, with many people from her dad's business and a lot of the Kooks. Sarah sometimes excused herself, to go to John B. Even Y/N made her go, feeling uncomfortable to have her be at the table, when she could spend some time with her boyfriend. Y/N was now alone at the table and at her unluckiness, Rafe, Topper and Kelce stood around her table. -Why are you alone? -said Topper, and evil smile spreading on his face. -Sarah went to John B a bit, I'm waiting for her. Plus, loneliness makes me feel better. -she gave the three of them a polite smile. Their evil smirks, softed into sad smiles; there was no harm in her and would resist to create any to her. Somehow, those three, who are known to hit on girls at parties, quietly walked away from her table. Her eyes looked around the room and glanced at the well-known blonde. He was already looking at her. His figure turned towards her and unknowingly his feet brought him to her table. -Hi. -he said awkwardly. -Hi. -How are you? -I'm okay, how are you? -I'm doing fine. Y/N speechlessly nodded her head and played with the decorations, just to avoid any eye contact with JJ. -Haven't seen you in a long time... -Yes, it's been...uh...a long- -One month, Y/N...I counted. -One month? -she acted as if she's not aware of the number. JJ nodded, his face falling into a thousand pieces. -I don't know; didn't really have the time to count. -I did. I sat down and counted every second even. -Please...it's Kie's birthday. -I'll say what's in my heart and go, Y/N. -Don't! -she raised her voice a bit, -You don't have to. There's no words left in me, so I can't respond to it...please. Just when she was about to walk away from the table, her phone rang. It was an unknown number. -Hello?...Yes, that's me...What? I'm coming now. Her shaking hands put the phone in her pocket. Taking her bag, she rushed her way out the Wreck, trying to find a taxi that might pass next to the restaurant. Tears were streaming down her face. -Hop in the car. -said JJ, going around the jeep and sitting at the driver's seat. If she wasn't in a rush, she wouldn't even step in it, but it was the only choice she had at the moment. -Where are we going? -To the hospital. Please, be fast. -she said, playing with her hands and looking at the time.

-Mum?...-she said, putting her hand on the glass; her mum's sleeping figure on the other side of it. -I'm sorry....mum. -She called the hospital somehow, but when the team came she was on the floor. -said the doctor from behind Y/N. JJ had no idea what was going on. He looked at Y/N, the doctor and the person laying on the hospital bed with full confusion. -Don't worry. The sickness is getting to minimal amounts and as her body's fighting against it, she can't take too much, so she faints. It'll happen, but really, don't worry. Settle her on the bed and when she opens her eyes, a glass of water's enough. I hope she'll get better soon. -Thank you doctor. -said Y/N shaking hands with him. She sat down on the chair, rubbing her face. -I didn't know your mother was- -Because I didn't tell you,JJ. The name rang in his head. It was different when she told it and he's been missing her voice for a whole month. -I'm sorry. -It's fine... -she said and got up, to see her mother.

It's been a whole week from Kie's birthday and everyone came to visit Y/N's mum. She felt so uncomfortable having each of them appear at her house. That was also the reason why she never told them about her mother's sickness. Her mother though, got better. She started to heal from her sickness, and her face got a different tint of life. She was now able to walk, work in the garden and house, without too much tiring. -Who brought these? -said Y/N, looking at the presents on the table. -JJ brought them. -said her mother, washing the dishes in the kitchen. -There's a letter for you inside one of them. Y/N proceeded through the bags, taking out an envelope with her and JJ's name on it.

"Dear Y/N, you wrote me a letter and I guess it's up to me now. I've never written a letter to anyone, so I won't have the same word style as you. Also, I'll be very direct. I love you, Y/N, even though it now seems so fake to you; I love you...so much. I've been thinking about you since the day I got the letter. The only way you'll get to hear my sorry is through this letter...so I'm sorry...and I know it sounds so raw and dry, but I am sorry from the bottom of my heart. In my life, I never had someone who cared about me and I thought you'll leave like everyone else. So, the only escape from your constant love was spending time with other girls, even though I still had you in mind while kissing them. And, whenever I looked at their faces and realized it's not you and they can never be you, I excitedly walked to you, knowing your warmth and love. I remembered it; Y/N's warmth could never be replaced. I messed up my life, my whole life and have no idea how to fix it. A few days after you left the letter, drinking was the only escape from the pain. But, when one night I drank too much, your words came to my head: "Drinking is never a solution." And I stopped; throwing the glass bottle on the grass, shattering it to pieces. This wasn't the JJ that changed because of you; this wasn't the JJ you loved. This was JJ that tried to escape from life. Losing both you and now my friends. John B doesn't talk to me, because I started drinking and smoking badly. Pope hasn't been at the Chateau for a long time. Kie has her own life. Sarah didn't even talk to me long before you left the letter; now I understand why. And you...you are long gone from my life.

I'm going Y/N. Finally leaving the Outer Banks. I guess this is the only escape that's right, rather than kissing girls because I'm too in love with my girl. And like you always say: "Cheating has no reasons." You're right. I have the whole fault. And I can't do anything about it. So, leaving is the only option. I respect whatever you decide in your life. Know that I'm deadly in love with you and I'll always be. See you in the future, princess. You have my heart, always.

I love you, JJ"

Without thinking twice, she was out the door. Running as fast as possible, to reach JJ before he goes away forever, she arrived at the dock. He was loading the boat and untying the rope. -Wait! -she yelled behind him. Her feet hit the wet grass and made their way to JJ. His surprised look turned to the familiar voice, and just when he was about to say anything, Y/N ran and connected her lips to his. Everything, from her anger to her pain and love, was relieved into the deep kiss. Her hands were tightly cupping his face, as his arms hugged her body closer to his. Longing for both of each other's touch, Y/N nuzzled her nose in the crook of his neck, taking in the scent of JJ; that salt water and sunscreen mix. She relaxed at his smell, feeling the heat of the sun that warmed his body all day. -Don't you ever make me relive every moment that had you escape from me, ever. -she said, squeezing his body. -I'll never do that, ever again, I promise you Y/N. I love you so much, princess. -Please, don't leave. -I won't. I'll stay with you forever. -I love you, JJ Maybank. -I love you, Y/N Y/L/N. Carved on a piece of wood was a sentence: "All the ways, lead to you."

Winter Solstice Gift for sweetlittlevampire

Happy exchange to @sweetlittlevampire! You have no idea how much pressure I felt when I realized I was tasked with putting together your gift - your art is always so beautiful and detailed! I hope this checks the boxes for you: I aimed at driving home 'non-sexual intimacy' and 'found family', with lots of heavy fluff tones. Enjoy!

A quick note: because I have next to no familiarity with Chinese culture, either modern or ancient, I have set this story in modern North America. This means the wedding planning and cultural references adhere to North American styles.

Read on AO3

*****

The Award for Best Man

It’s an unusual time of day to be this exhausted, even by Lan Wangji’s supposedly early sleep schedule. The sun hasn’t finished climbing the sky yet and Lan Wangji can’t think of a single thing he’d rather be doing with a rare day off than this:

He and Wei Ying are together, lumped in the vertex of their L-shaped couch which sits directly in the morning sun. They have the apartment to themselves today, until this evening, when A-Yuan and Wen-popo will return their rabbits from babysitting. Wei Ying was still convinced that Bichen and Suibian would have been absolutely fine with them gone all yesterday to tour wedding venues; Lan Wangji had insisted they not be lonely.

Now he wonders if he subconsciously had the foresight to rid himself of anything that could have distracted him from an exhausted Wei Ying. He becomes so sweet and pliable when he’s tired, needy only for Lan Wangji’s affection and attention. It’s one of the only times Wei Ying lies still.

Usually.

Out of nowhere, Wei Ying springs out of his lap to sit upright on the couch. He must not be as tired as Lan Wangji thought.

“I just realized –” he says, turning back to Lan Wangji with a striking look of alarm on his face. “I can’t ask you to be my best man. Lan Zhan! You’ve ruined my wedding plans!”

Lan Wangji blinks, a little surprised. ‘Ruined’ seems a touch dramatic – if anything, he thinks recasting his role as ‘bridegroom’ is an upgrade over ‘best man’.

But because he’s tired too, his only response is: “Me?”

“Yes, you! Silly. What did you think I was gonna do? Get married at an altar where you weren’t there beside me and, wow, oh my god, that seems too revealing now that I say it out loud.”

Lan Wangji’s heart glows and he tucks a loose hair from Wei Ying’s face. The gesture makes them both smile. “I pictured you, too.”

“Aawww!! You did??” Wei Ying’s cheeks are flushing and his eyes are tearing up, but Lan Wangji is 85% sure it’s for dramatic effect. “Wait, like, always or...?”

Lan Wangji boops his nose, a private joke between them for every time he deems Wei Ying to be ‘nosy’. He knows it used to be a gesture exclusive to Jiang Yanli, his future sister, and every time Wei Ying lets him get away with it, bubbles simmer in his chest.

“Since Gusu,” he admits.

“Gusu Elementary?! Lan Zhan, you flirt! We were twelve! I waited until at least Qishan High to fall madly in love with you.” Assured, as he always is after successfully fishing for flattery, Wei Ying starts settling back into his sprawl inside Lan Wangji’s arms. “Ugh, remember Wen Chao, the principal’s kid? He’s a dad now. Facebook told me earlier.”

He isn’t pleased to have the memory of such a vile personality sour their cuddle time. He shifts, gathers Wei Ying closer, and switches the topic. “What about Jiang Wanyin?”

Wei Ying startles up again, though not all the way out of his arms, eyes wide with anxiety. “What about Jiang Cheng. Lan Zhan. Do you know something I don’t? When did Jiang Cheng get a kid – where did Jiang Cheng get a kid?! I KNOW Wen Qing has an IUD!”

Ah. He sees the problem now. “For your best man,” he explains, coaxing his fiancé back down. It marvels him how much one can struggle to relax.

“Oh, thank god,” Wei Ying says, slumping back into the pillow that is his betrothed before smacking a sweatered pec. “You worried me! We’ve both seen how A-Cheng is with Jin Ling, I shudder to think how he’ll be with his own.” He really does shudder, from his head down the base of his spine. Then he fidgets, rolling up his hands in the folds of Lan Wangji’s minty blue sweater. “But yeah, I suppose he’ll do for a best man. I’ll never hear the end of it if I ask Wen Ning over him.”

He sends a grin up at Lan Wangji, happily sharing the mental image of Jiang Cheng blowing a fuse. It’s a thought that never fails to tickle him.

“What about you?” Wei Ying asks. “I assume you’ll ask your brother but isn’t he still in the arctic?”

He was. Three weeks ago, a Waterborne Abyss had somehow broken loose from the ocean floor and wound up on the surface of the Pacific Ocean. When Xichen had first gone to cleanse it, it escaped the pre-set array and fled. Xichen had been tasked to pursue and had chased the demon around the north pole for nearly eight days now with scarcely a word of update.  

Lan Wangji doesn’t like worrying about his brother. Luckily, it’s an even rarer occurrence than a truly exhausted Wei Ying.

Still...

“Mm...”

Wei Ying cuddles closer. “Ahhh, don’t worry too much, Lan Zhan, he’ll be back before you know it. He certainly won’t let some puny abyssal keep him from his didi’s wedding! I can’t wait to see him cry actual tears, I’m going to bribe Mianmian to take so many pictures.”

Lan Wangji flushes a little. He loves his brother and he knows Xichen loves him, but they never make a show of it in public. He suspects Wei Ying is correct in thinking their wedding will be an exception. Xichen has requested time to make a toast, after all.

“Hey, not to jinx it or anything, but who would you have as a best man if Lan Xichen couldn’t be? Not for a sad reason! Like, uhhh, say his wedding was on the same day, at the same time as ours. Yeah, that works.”

Lan Wangji raises an eyebrow. “Who is he marrying?”

Wei Ying’s smile goes crooked to match his brow, bemused as he is every time Lan Wangji indulges in these kinds of playful hypotheticals. “Does it matter?”

“Indubitably.”

Wei Ying laughs so hard he snorts. He is so exquisitely beautiful. “Well, if my future husband insists, I’ll paint you the whole picture. Um. Let’s say he marries... Jin Guangyao.”

Lan Wangji hums, a little put-off by the idea. It’s nothing against Jin Guangyao as a person, but he’s always been singularly difficult for Lan Wangji to read. All his favourite people – Xichen, Mingjue, Jiang Yanli, and of course Wei Ying – don’t make their thoughts or feelings hidden the way Jin Guangyao does. It leaves Lan Wangji with a very unstable opinion of the man – more than once he has badly misread a situation and felt insecure about the cues he must have missed.

Not to mention the history the man has with Wei Ying. They never talk about it, and Lan Wangji has never pried, but he knows the two were close friends as children before something fell apart between them. Wei Ying still sends a birthday wish to Jin Guangyao every year, in part because he always receives a card on his own. The card always includes a sheet of red stickers – anything red: anatomic hearts, parrots, chilli peppers, firetrucks, Santa hats, and ladybugs. Lan Wangji has never asked why he sends them or what Wei Ying does with them. It’s enough of an intrusion to watch that wistful smile play out.

“Mingjue,” he answers, refocusing on their game. “To spare the heartache.”

Wei Ying nods appreciatively at his wisdom. “Yes, yes, I agree. He’d cry, get sappy drunk, and trash the cake just to be a torturous mess at a Xiyao wedding, wouldn’t he? Best have him at ours, where he’ll cry, get sappy drunk, and sing all the worst love songs at karaoke with Nie Huaisang.”

“‘Come What May’,” Lan Wangji suggests, to Wei Ying’s delight.

“Justin Bieber’s ‘Baby’!”

“‘Your Song’.”

Wei Ying’s smile turns sweet. He nuzzles into Lan Wangji’s chest and mutters quietly, “I already have one of those.”

They fall into peaceful near-quiet for a minute, Wei Ying softly humming out the score Lan Wangji composed for him years ago when it was the only way he knew to publicly dedicate his heart. During the last measure, Wei Ying’s stomach growls and he loses himself giggling. Lan Wangji smiles, rubs his stomach for him and lightly shushes it, which makes Wei Ying laugh harder.

“Alright, alright,” he says, whipping out his phone from between the seat cushions. “Time for lunch! Sushi okay with you?”

Lan Wangji nods, sneaks in a quick peck to his forehead, and says, “Whatever you want.”

“Sweet-talker,” he chides, but a flash of teeth betrays his happiness. “What rolls do you want?”

He can’t help himself. “Volcano roll, seared salmon roll, and spicy tuna bowl, extra wasabi and spicy mayo.”

Wei Ying gives him the sweetest side-eye and Lan Wangji swears the next words past his lips will be ‘I love you’: “Then I’m ordering yam rolls, cucumber rolls, low sodium miso soup, and tamago nigiri with no wasabi whatsoever.”

He knew it.

He pulls his fiancé up into a kiss, chasing down that ‘I love you’ with his tongue, certain it must taste as good as it had sounded, maybe even better than it feels, right now, against his lips and zinging down his body like welding sparks.

Wei Ying looks absolutely dazed when he releases him. “Happy with that?” Wei Ying asks, referring to the rolls.

“Besotted,” Lan Wangji confesses, absolutely lost in this man.

“Damn right,” Wei Ying whispers, voice breathy with reciprocation. It’s another fifteen minutes of playing kiss tag before their stomachs overrule them and get their lunch order placed.

With nothing to do but wait the thirty-five minutes it will take for their delivery to be made, Wei Ying brings them back to their earlier game, before the kissing.

“So what if Lan Xichen was marrying Nie Mingjue? Who would be your best man, then?”

It’s a slightly harder question than the last. Since he can remember, Nie Mingjue has been a brother by proxy, which means Lan Wangji must consider best men that aren’t brothers. Surprisingly, a person comes to mind rather quickly.

“Jin Zixuan.”

Wei Ying may have fallen to the floor if Lan Wangji’s arms weren’t such a secure tether to the couch. “WHAT?! WHY? Don’t tell me you’ve become friends with that Peacock behind my back! Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan, how could you betray me like this!?”

Lan Wangji frowns. “We were already friends.”

Wei Ying scoffs, “You were not.”

“We had coffee last week.”

“YOU HAD COFFEE?!” Distressed, Wei Ying drops his head into Lan Wangji’s sweater, whining about the slew of injustice. “Unacceptable... already friends... didn’t even rub off on the peacock at all, stupid... without telling me , Lan Zhan... such betrayal, much scandal, wow...”

Despite the energetic upset, Lan Wangji feels a yawn against his chest. Wei Ying’s exhaustion is finally catching up to him. “There, there,” he comforts, patting his head.

“Mmmm...” mutters the mess of hair. “Feels good, keep doing that. It eases my betrayed and deceived heart.”

Wei Ying’s requests are never difficult to fulfill – this one, especially so. Lan Wangji lets his posture relax further, content to sit in the sleepy energy of Sunday. Wei Ying keeps purring against him, breaths slowing and lengthening. They’ll both sleep through the food delivery at this rate.

Lan Wangji adds a light scratch to his pets and says, “Take a nap, Wei Ying. I’ll wait for lunch.”

Wei Ying hums in disagreement. “You’ll get bored, Lan Zhan. Here...” He rouses himself enough to stretch for the coffee table and grabs Lan Wangji’s reading glasses and latest novel. “Read. I can prop it up for you, like an actual supportive fiancé.”

Lan Wangji chuckles under his breath as he unfolds his glasses. “You are undoubtedly the best fiancé.”

Wei Ying bats blindly at the hand that pets him. “Shush, you! I’m sleeping now.”

Later, when their stomachs are stuffed full of too much rice, Lan Wangji thinks he’ll request they return to the couch. This is a day full of rarities and he’s determined to savour every minute of this sleeply, perfect man that it will gift him.

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…