#i want them to be in a perpetual state of pining and also hating each other but also wanting each other so bad i will not settle for less

[cchipollo]

the worst ship chart ever

[lost-inyourwords]

the dance

A/N: so this is my first crack at a Sex Education fic. I basically rewrote the night of the dance as an au where Otis and Maeve end up together. Hope you enjoy! If you have a request, just send it my way!

Warnings: fluff, bit angsty

Also, T H E S E T I T L E S are to announce the POV of that character.

M A E V E

maeve wiley didn't get nervous. it was a fact. a fact as unrefutable as the fact that the earth orbited the sun. and yet, as she gnawed on her nail for the umpteenth time, she felt nervous. she wanted to capture the butterflies in her stomach and squish them under her boot so they'd just stop bothering her. eyeing her reflection up and down in the mirror, she fidgeted with her hair again. 'God, since when did I care about what some guy thinks?' she mentally kicked herself for doing all this just to impress Jackson. a part of her subconscious knew that he was probably only still with her because of this stupid dance. why else would anyone stick around for some grotty cockbiter who lives in a caravan? another part of her brain silently wished that Jackson would get out of the picture because her feelings for Otis weren't going away any time soon. she thought of that night on the bridge when he gave her his jumper. they had been so close, but Otis knew better. why hadn't she just kissed him?

a thousand thoughts rattled through her head at break neck speed but she just shook them away. just get through tonight and then tell Jackson how she really feels. then this whole nightmare would be over and she could go back to being cockbiter and being invisible. just get through tonight. should be easy enough, right?

when she walked through to the kitchen, she was met with a stressed Jackson who rambled on about how his mum wasn't letting him stay out long, completely ignoring the effort Maeve had made for him. 'At least you've got parents that care,' she thought. when Sean offered to drive, she knew straight away that this night would turn into a disaster sooner rather than later. arriving at the school, Maeve tried her best to urge her brother to just go home, but Jackson was adamant that she let it go. not wanting to cause a scene, she traipsed into the building.

Otis wasn't supposed to be a part of this night. he was supposed to be at home, rejecting the idea of school dances and making excellent points about the stereotypes that they perpetuate. she should've been there with him. agreeing with him. talking to him. laughing with him. leaning in. kissing him. Jackson's grip tightened on her arm as they approached Otis and his date, bringing Maeve back to reality and shaking her thoughts away again. Otis was in the suit he wore to her abortion (still one of the strangest things he ever did) and the girl on his arm was... gorgeous. Maeve's heart dropped and she stared into Otis' impossibly blue eyes. he deserved this. not her and her pining. he deserved a beautiful girl to have a nice time with, like a regular teenager, not a 16-year-old sex therapist. she tugged on Jackson's arm and made her excuses to leave as she felt jealousy and regret sweeping over her.

the night progressed just as Maeve had predicted; slowly and boringly. though she thought that it only happened in movies, someone had actually spiked the punch, which made everyone that little bit more insufferable. her eyes scanned the crowd of tipsy kids, inwardly wishing to meet a pair of crystalline ones. while she didn't see Otis, she did catch Sean's small figure leading someone out of the hall. 'This is trouble,' she thought and followed him.

O T I S

arriving at the dance, Otis didn't think it was possible to be more miserable. he hated school events, especially ones which involved so many harmful stereotypes and unhealthy rituals. he figured he would be cheered up by the fact that he had Ola to keep him company, and he could take his mind off Maeve for the night. however, as seems to be convention in the life of Otis Milburn, it was going to be impossible not to think about Maeve. not even 5 minutes had passed they had entered the school and the first people they happened to run into were Jackson and Maeve. Otis' breath caught in his throat as he took in Maeve's appearance, internally grumbling at Jackson for not paying any attention to how beautiful she looked. awkward introductions were made and the pair sped off in search of Maeve's brother. He ignored Ola's obvious confusion at the encounter and carried on into the hall. This would be a tough night.

M A E V E

The hubbub in the hall stopped abruptly when a scream cut through the sound of the band. Liam was on a ledge and monologuing about jumping. Wasn't he the one who saw Otis yesterday? Maeve joined the amazed crowd and held her breath, wondering what would happen next. She scanned the crowd again. This time, she saw Otis approaching the castle and beginning to talk to the poor lovestruck fool at the very top. Her eyes bored into his side as he spoke words that seemed too true to just be general advice. "Sometimes the people we like, don't like us back. And it's painful, but there's nothing we can do about it. I know what it's like when someone doesn't feel the same way about you. It's someone you can't stop thinking about," his soft voice cracked, "It hurts, but you can't make people like you". Otis glanced at Maeve and then back at Liam. His expression carried pain and wisdom. He knew what he was talking about. And so did she. As Liam climbed back down, he toppled and came to the floor with a crash. The band started up again as he was tended to. She watched Otis disappear into the crowd and met Jackson's eyes before he, too, turned and moved into the mass of teenagers.

O T I S

Maeve. The only reason he knew what to say was because he had felt genuine love for Maeve. And then she was ripped away from him, in part due to his own inability to talk to her. He felt like an idiot. He could've caused that boy's death. All because he was the one who told him to stop pursuing Lizzie. He could've had a great time with Ola but he just had to bring up Maeve. Panic started to take over but he did his best to remain grounded. That's when he saw Maeve's pastel curls in his peripheral. "Otis?" she called. "I need to talk to you," she said, looking into his eyes.

M A E V E

those eyes. the ones that had stared at her in english. the ones that had seen her at her most vulnerable. the ones that had lit up with his laughter countless times. the ones that looked almost transluscent in the moonlight. Otis Milburn had those eyes. and she had fallen in love with him.

O T I S

he couldn't do this. not with Maeve and definitely not right now, after he had essentially proclaimed his feelings for her in a hall full of people. he tried to push her away but he couldn't. this was Maeve. he would always listen to her, regardless of how much it hurt.

"What is it, Maeve?" he questioned. She softened her glare and brought a nail to her teeth. her nervous habit. she didn't get nervous. was she hiding something? there's no way she felt the same.

M A E V E

"Otis, I know that what you said in there wasn't just improvised. Those words came from your heart," she stated, taking a step forward. They had never been this close. Otis swallowed hard as she continued, "Don't think I can't see through you, Milburn. You're the only one who ever believed in me. You've helped me and if it weren't for you, God knows where I would've wound up. It's always been you," she feels her cheeks heat up as emotion floods her words. She doesn't feel herself lean in, but definitely felt his lips on hers. The kiss was like him; soft and unsure.

O T I S

He had imagined this moment many times, but none of his imaginary kisses were this good. It was like they were puzzle pieces; they fit perfectly together. His hands went to her hips as her arms wrapped around his neck, deepening the kiss. The panic had stopped. He surprised himself by not freaking out but instead feeling his heartbeat speed up and endorphins rush through him. This felt so right, and yet he felt it was still wrong. Maybe Maeve was only doing this because of the adrenaline, but then again, her words felt so real. As they pulled away from each other, he met her eyes again.

M A E V E

the weight had finally lifted from her chest as she pulled away and smiled at the blue-eyed boy. the rush felt so genuine and she didn't want the moment to end. he hugged wordlessly and the warmth of his chest felt so inviting and real that she never wanted to pull away again.

[shhhselah]

The Pride & Worship of Life

Tuesday, November 17, 2020

12:33pm

Comparison is the idolizing of creation over Creator.

Yikes. Jumping right in, aren’t we?

Selah.

Take some time to prepare your heart & sit before God. Now, when He’s given you the go, continue-

*This post is not to discredit the existence of mental illness or PTSD which creates & perpetuates these habits/mindsets in us, but it is simply to educate- spiritually- about the issue of Comparison & its roots.

Now, allow me to say it again, Comparison is the idolizing (worship) of creation over Creator. 

You worship others or even yourself, but begin to trust, disbelieve, dislike & even hate the Crafter.

You reverence & love the one, yet despise the Other for not creating you the same. (Matthew 6:24) You worship- in awe- the creation, setting up a pillar to offer incense of adoration. Yet your heart grows bitter, doubtful & resentful towards the Creator for not making you the same. For not molding you as you believe He should have. You judge Him for poor use of His time & supposed sovereignty. You accuse Him of carelessly using His time, putting you & your life together haphazardly. You question what you feel you lack in comparison to them- exasperated that He as God should have known better during the drafting process. You belittle His wisdom & intelligence, surely He should have taken into account the various factors of "such a time as this," to have better formed, equipped & provided for you. We place His other handiwork on a pedestal & worship its beauty, its flawless skin, colored eyes, long hair, favorable figure, fabulous clothes, excess wealth, stunning vacations, spare time, skills & talents & on & on & on. Or, Possibly you stand at the opposite extreme- where you haughtily applaud the Lord for His diligent use of time in crafting you. Perhaps, you are one of the many who have fallen into a nature of pride, arrogance, loftiness. You may even be unaware of it, simply seeing yourself as faultlessly confident, and that's what God wants for His children, isn't it? For them to be content, in love, thoroughly thankful for His "handiwork?" You may feel, "I am only acknowledging that I am fearfully & wonderfully made." And if that, my friend, is your sincere heart, then Amen. What a blessing. However, I'd raise to you to venture out & seek the Creator's verification that your heart posture is truly that of reverence for Him & not for you. Allow me to elucidate, I can tell you that Ezekiel 28 reveals to us that Lucifer's (Satan) fall was because of Pride. The kind of pride that was birthed from falling in love with himself. Utterly. He was created to reflect the glory of God. He was made of every kind of beautiful stone & gem, & crafted into his physical make-up, was also piping, as he himself was made to not simply orchestrate, but create beautiful melodies of praise & worship unto the Most High.

Yet... What went wrong, was that Lucifer began to believe that the beauty of his countenance- the sparkle, shimmer, brilliance of his being as he reflected the very majesty of God- was because of his own doing, his own nature & being. Hubris. It escaped him, that without the magnificence of God's beauty to shine upon him, he had no light, there was no brilliance, & his “splendor," disappeared. He was merely another object left in a dark closet- dull & purposeless. Lucifer became so entranced by the way his body responded aglow to the presence of God, he became so drunk with the power of witnessing how the worship he created & conducted moved the beings of Heaven, that he became utterly convinced that he himself was not just God, but higher. He was so utterly convinced, he began- for an unknowable length of time- to conspire against God within His own ranks, seeking allegiance with fellow angelic beings. He meticulously went about convincing them that he was truly higher than the King of kings they lived eternally to worship & serve. He was successful in what was an ultimate misleading- he officially recruited 1/3 of Heaven to revolt against God, in conviction that the wrong Being was on the throne. "Pride goes before destruction & a haughty spirit before a fall (*stumble)." Proverbs 16:18 In brevity, I'll tell you that Lucifer met his "destruction," in being utterly cast from Heaven, evicted from the presence, glory & true splendor of God- & so became Satan. And as for his followers (the 1/3 of Heaven), they became the very demons tormenting us, our families & the world as we have & currently do know it today. Why is this story important? It is the danger of self. Of pride. Of Idolatry. Idolatry is the act of placing another object or being before/above God & worshipping it. How many things do we place before God in our lives? Our jobs, money (Matthew 6:24), our partners, our dreams, friends, family, school, sex, habits & addictions, zodiacs, our indulgences & desires. We place things on a pedestal constantly! We seek them for security, protection, validation, love, understanding, confidence, power, purpose, wisdom, advice, direction, income, success. We have replaced God with so much. And sometimes, we put ourselves on the throne. We lean on our own wisdom & understanding, we pursue our desires, fulfill our plans, suffer for our dreams but not His purpose, marry & date who we see fit, hustle & grind to “make it happen by our d*** selves," lavish ourselves, pray to & answer ourselves, consult ourselves & the list goes on. Some of us search all our lives to fall in love with ourselves. Some of us spend all our lives in love with ourselves. In the latter, like Lucifer, you have fallen in love with "your splendor," worshipping your beauty & solidness of character, praising yourself, your talents, determination, strength & resilience. You toss measly claps at God for "doing His thang." You exalt yourself above others, putting them down or simply questioning how they could ever “compete.” Your admiration is not in that the perfect, sovereign, eternal God knew you before He formed you, & then with all love, purpose & attention, crafted you with the intimate knowledge & will He had for you. No, your admiration is, “How could something this divine exist?" Rather than, "I am formed by the Divine Himself."

May the twinkle in your eye at yourself be the admiration of knowing you are touched by the Most High, but not that you yourself are the touch. Be careful, family. The search for self & self love can be dangerous. It is only natural to want to know more about your time on this planet & how you connect to history or other parts of the world through purpose or genetics, but remember that you are not just here- you were placed. God placed each one of us in a specific space & place in time, for a reason. We do right to seek the Creator & His purpose for us, one that lays into an extraordinary plot that has been at work since before the foundations of the world. My dear, it is simply not about us you & never has been. Neither yourself nor I, dear darling. It is & has always been about the Creator. Seek His face, not your own. You will never know why you are here if you do not acquaint yourself to the One who purposefully placed you here. May we never feel that humans are the most important factor in this plot. That perfectly rounds us back to Insecurity, Pride & Arrogance, which are the Idolizing Worship of Humans. Let us remember that Idolatry is the practice of placing, worshipping & exalting something or someone before, above or instead of God.  Idolatry in itself is a horror, mistake, sin & blasphemy. A provocation of the Lord's anger. He speaks of the a multitude of times throughout the Old & New Testaments. In Romans 1:25, He specifically rebukes the act of "worshipping & serving the creature rather than the Creator who is blessed forever. Amen." In the space of Insecurity, Arrogance & Pride, we look to the creation to govern how the Creator should rule. We begin to believe fellow man is the end goal, the aspiration, leaving behind that God set the goal long before we existed in the Commandments & later, Christ. We begin to exalt man to the deity of "God," "god," or "Goddess" rather than servant. We fail to acknowledge or realize that the title or authority of being a small god is only through what Jesus secured for us. We place our fellow beings or ourselves on a throne & bow down to them in the form of endless scrolling, RTs, saved screenshots that we pine over & pick at ourselves because of, photoshopping our images to look like them, STAN culture, vision boards that leave us wallowing in pity & self hate, vanity that utterly consumes us with our image constantly, etc. We worship them in awe & covetousness, desiring who they are, what they have, what they do, what they look like, where they're from, how they live, how they talk, what degrees they have, the list goes on. We allow them to inspire & stir a worship of both them & ourselves in the form of inferiority, insecurity, inadequacy, resentment, self consciousness, pride, bitterness, discontentment, arrogance, hubris, entitlement, loathing, envy, depression. The center of our attention in all of these- is us & them. What we lack, what they have- what they lack, what we have. All of this, darlings, utterly takes the attention off of who this whole thing is about- God. Our Father in Heaven. The Most High. Emmanuel. YHWH.

All of these demonic & evil reactions place us in a position of lowliness or superiority before others. They make us feel beaten down or built up about ourselves. And we harp all day everyday about how much less we are than others or how much greater we are than others. Instead of Confidence & Humility in, through & before God, you have been walking in Hubris or Insecurity. Both of them a constant state of self consciousness- an utter awareness & focus on self. A care & concern of self. This is how Satan fell. These states of being define you & your movement in the world. You're not just humble. You're insecure. That's why you won't accept compliments or "praise." Or, you’re prideful. You fake it because that's what people like to see & you know how to play the role. You're not just meek. You're terrified of the world & those in it, seeing everything as a danger to your mental, emotional & physical stability. So you stay quiet & agreeable. You're not just gracious- You're people pleasing. You'll do anything to get their validation, likes, smiles, attention. Maybe you're too scared of disappointing them to say, "No," or maybe you have a hidden agenda because every opportunity can be used to serve yourself. You're not just easy to get along with- you're just hiding by fitting the mold. Fitting in to get on. You fear rejection. You hate tension. You're not just charming. You're manipulative. You know exactly what to say or do to ace people's approval, avoid conflict, or get what you want out of them. You're not just being honest; you're defensive & throwing it all out there to control reactions to you & rejection of you. You don't wanna be hurt, so you make sure to get the jump on them. This allows you to be transparent without vulnerability; for you to say no to them before they can say no to the most fragile parts of you.

You're not just helpful; you don't know how to say "No." You were rebuked, scolded, bullied, raped for saying, "No." It's transformed you into a, "Yes man." Or, you feel pridefully that you're the only one who can do the job "right." You're not brave; you just don't feel like you have anything to lose anymore. Or, you feel unstoppable, invincible, the greatest there is.

You're not at peace; you're numb. You're self medicating. You don't acknowledge hurt, weakness or areas needing growth- it's for losers, you have no time, there's nothing wrong with you anyways. We turn to others or ourselves & worship- idolize. In this, the devil has molded, contorted, & permanently twisted us out of a godly shape through shame in being who, where, what & how we are. He has inflated some of us with a boastfulness & love for "self" that pits you against the Sovereignty of Most High. The way we move in this world is more influenced by people than God, the posture of our motivations one of worship to satan. If we could see some of ourselves in the spirit, we'd look like the bent over woman whom Jesus touched in Luke 13:12-13. She was bent over 18 years & couldn't stand up in any way.

Some of us have been bent over in the demonic driven posture of envy, hate, insecurity, rejection, discontentment & depression for 18 years now. For 4 years or 12 years or 37 years. All because of comparison. Some of us are as inflated as Lucifer in Ezekiel 28. Think about your goals. So many want to be the best at what they do. Some don't believe they can or deserve the best of anything. Selah. Ask yourself, dear one. Why? The Scriptures tell us that we are to be excellent in that which we do. 1 Peter 2:12 1 Corinthians 12:31 Philipians 4:8 For we serve an excellent God (1 Peter 2:9) & are meant to be a representation of such excellence (Colossians 3:23-24). Whatever we do, we are meant to do in fullness of heart as unto Him. So ask yourself, does your motivation for greatness have anything to do with Him? Are you working as unto the excellency of the Lord, or are you setting up monuments, legacy, notoriety & infamy for your own self & name?

Do you want His name to be remembered through you when you go, or yours? Are you here for clout, or do you want to use every last breath pointing back to the One who gave it all? And for those who suffer with smallness, worthlessness, unbelief- what is behind this? Who told you that you did not deserve the best? God gave you His very best when He sent His only Son & unleashed the fullness of His wrath upon Him. Revelations & 2 Kings shows us how Satan tried to devour the seed of David that his lineage (prophesied to give way to the birth of the Messiah), would end far before Jesus came. Satan sent fear into King Herod, who called for every male baby under 2 to be murdered across the lands. Again, even after His birth, satan was trying to foil the unfolding of God's best for you. He tried to tempt Jesus in the desert without success, so that Jesus could sin & forfeit His role as Messiah. God ensured, protected & saw through to completion His very best for you.

Do not be dejected & downcast in your motivations & aspirations. Do not refuse prophecy or exhortation in unworthiness. Do not reject your mantle in fear & unworthiness. Do not pray small. Do not avoid disappointment by practicing hopelessness.

Do not refuse what God tells you to save face & rely on yourself to protect your heart.

God is the Lover & Mender of that heart, dear baby. Likewise, to those who assume they are entitled to all the riches God has to give, humble yourselves before Him as Jesus says in Luke 14:7-11: "So He told a parable to those who were invited, when He noted how they chose the best places, saying to them: 8 “When you are invited by anyone to a wedding feast, do not sit down in the best place, lest one more honorable than you be invited by him; 9 and he who invited you and him come and say to you, ‘Give place to this man,’ and then you begin with shame to take the lowest place. 10 But when you are invited, go and sit down in the lowest place, so that when he who invited you comes he may say to you, ‘Friend, go up higher.’ Then you will have glory in the presence of those who sit at the table with you. 11 For whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted.” Do not assume God's plans for you are luxury, riches, fame, notoriety, convenience & constant spoils. That they are to fulfill your every demand. His call may, for you, to be a hidden figure history will never know outside of the ones He called you to impact. We do not know God's master plan, so assume yourself neither to be a grand plot not a brief mention.

We are here as a part of His plan, not our own. We are all meant to shine for the glory of God yet pale in holy comparison to only Him. The only throne we are ever supposed to look to is God's, my darling. The only image that should ever make us to feel small, inferior, inadequate & humble is that of the glory of God. The only boasting we should have is in our weakness & the might of Jehovah. If we are to feel unworthy, may it be a natural reaction to the deep love of the Cross. If we are to revere anyone, it should be Jesus. If we are to doubt or question anyone, it should be the enemy & creation. May we never put God on trial in a trick of the enemy. Repent for coming against your Maker. Accept forgiveness. Bind every demon in the name of Jesus that has contorted your very nature into a satanic posture of worship through Comparison in the various forms of: Insecurity, Envy, Depression, Resentment towards God & others, Unforgiveness towards God, Hate, Discontentment, Rejection, Inadequacy, Low Self Esteem, Self Consciousness, Inferiority, Suicidal, Hubris, Gloating, Superiority, Vanity, etc. Loose yourself in the name of Jesus of every habit, mindset & way of operating adopted & created that came with those demons & their influence in the form of- Distance, Refusal to form Relationships, Isolation, Self Medicating, Addictions, Endless Scrolling, Nit Picking at yourself & others, Self Harm, Suicide, Refusal to Trust, Refusal to Accept Compliments, Refusing to Acknowledge Feelings or Care, Self Blame, Refusal to Accept Help/Support, People Pleasing, Deflecting, Rebellion Against Authority, Bullying, Fighting, Recklessness, Selfishness, Greed, Hoarding, Vain Ambition, etc. Renounce every Vow in the name of Jesus- both spoken & unspoken- you made that came from those things: vows to always rely on yourself, vows to never accept compliments, to always have enough money, to never have kids, to never be like "them," to always work harder than everybody else, etc. There are vows you made to yourself in hurt, anger, or arrogance, & they are a sin. They are mindsets, principles you have called your own self to worship, bow down, follow & adhere to. 

They have shaped your life: your interactions, relationships, & perspectives. It is time to let them die & live only by the authority, Word & Spirit of the Most High.

For too long you have operated in the power of your own resources, strength, understanding, belief, desires, opinion, etc, all because of how you saw yourself, others & through that- God. You let others become God. You let yourself become God. He is a jealous God. He does not share. He does not submit. Free yourself from ever worshipping creation over Creator through worshipping the perceived lowliness or highness of yourself. Restore yourself to trusting in God alone, resting in His majesty. Our eyes are to be on the Father of Heaven, dear baby. Not on what we perceive we lack, what others have or what we want & have ourselves. But let us look to the Rivers of Living Waters, the Fount that won't run dry. Listen to this song & bask in the Creator who made you fearfully, wonderfully, intentionally, patiently, carefully, lovingly, devotedly, for such a time as this ♥️

Selah.

Matthew 6:24 Esther 4:14 Luke 13:10-17 Psalm 139 Jeremiah 1:5

"I Am Loved/There Is Nothing Better" Maverick City Music feat. Naomi Raine

[zdbztumble]

Widespread Headcanons I am Curious About, Confused By, or Respectfully Disagree With

To stave off boredom at work, I’ve been plowing through one-shots on FF.net and the backlogs of sites like this, and I’ve noticed certain headcanons that have gained a lot of acceptance, to the point where you could almost call them an institutionalized fan canon. Some intrigue me, others don’t quite jive with my own thoughts, but either way, I’m lookin’ for something to talk about. So here are some thoughts, and if you have your own on the topic, respond or drop a line!

Gary calls Misty “Red”: File this under the “curious/confused” category (how would you even disagree with a fictional nickname?) In fan fiction, fan art, fan comics, headcanons, parodies, incorrect quotes, and blurbs, over many years, multiple countries of origin, and highly divergent opinions about these characters’ futures, people have Gary use this nickname. Not a bad one for Misty, all things considered. I’m mostly curious as to where it came from and how it got such traction. It isn’t as if these two had any real interaction on the show, after all.

Misty despises being Gym Leader and wants out OR Misty is so happy as Gym Leader it becomes her life’s work: I see the former far more often than the latter, but either way, here’s the first point of disagreement. I’m not sure why this has to be considered an either/or thing. In my experience, it’s not uncommon to be simultaneously happy and unhappy about a given set of circumstances. For example: when I went abroad for graduate school, I was happy to be studying something I love, making new friends, and living in a country I always wanted to go to...but I was also extremely unhappy being so far away from everyone I love and dealing with a program with serious structural and organizational problems. I imagine Misty being much the same way: happy and proud of how good a job she’s done as Gym Leader, but also unhappy that she can’t travel anymore and “homesick” for her place in Ash’s party. (I should add that some fan works treat this as a gradual thing; that she’d be happy at first but eventually become disillusioned, and that’s a more believable scenario IMO.)

Misty pines for Ash 24/7: You see this coupled with the “hates the gym life” one a lot. There is a certain melancholy to that when done right that appeals to the Romantic (in the classical sense of the term) in me, but I don’t see that as her style. To go back to my own life examples: while in graduate school, I thought about the people back home every day. I didn’t think about them all the time every day, and I didn’t actively dwell on missing them that often. I couldn’t; I had shit to do! While I headcanon that Misty never gets over Ash, never enters a serious relationship back in Cerulean, and never gives up hope for something with Mr. Pokemon Master...he probably crosses her mind every day, but he doesn’t consume it, and she’s more than capable of going about her day-to-day without pangs of regret or longoing. (Again, some fics/art/etc. have her in this state only when she’s having a bad day, or some event triggers it, or as a gradual progression, and that’s a better angle to take IMO.)

Misty is jealous of May/Dawn/Iris: (Can you guess yet which character is in most of the stuff I’ve been reading?) We know from the show that Misty is the jealous type (as is Ash), but she only gets jealous when there’s clear provocation. She and Ash run into female CotDs about their age or younger quite often, and she never bats an eye. It takes a cheeky kiss (no pun intended) or a lovesick fire freak to get Misty’s blood boiling, and since May, Dawn, and Iris never made any moves on Ash, I can’t see her having any issues with them. (This is also why I can’t see her getting along with Serena, at least not at first. They’d come to peace and be friendly toward each other eventually, of course, but it’s hard for me to imagine them as super close, though I have seen that angle done well.)

Gary and Ash become close again: “Close” here meaning “akin to traveling companion status close.” We know these two were friends as little kids and reconciled during Johto, but they have gone in separate directions, and Gary was never intimately involved in Ash’s travels. They’re friends, yes, and if they cross each others’ paths, they’ll catch up...but I don’t imagine that, if one of them is in Kanto, they go out of their way to see if the other is there too, or regularly keep in touch.

Togepi thinks of Pikachu as a big brother: Given the relationship Pikachu has with Ash, I think it’s likelier - and funnier - that Togepi saw Pikachu as an uncle.

Brock is actively involved in Ash and Misty’s feelings for each other: I’ve written about this one before. Basically, of the many characters who guessed/asked/teased/insinuated/accused Ash and Misty of being “that way” toward each other, Brock was not one of them. Now technically, this is due to the high point of that subplot occurring during the Orange League, and said subplot then stalling in Johto, so there was never anything for Brock to comment on until towards the end of Misty’s tenure (which he didn’t). But I just can’t imagine him goading either of them about it, or being someone that either could easily confide in on this topic; it’d just be too awkward. And I even think it’s funny to imagine that the would-be Valentino might miss the obvious budding attraction occurring right under his nose, the one everyone else picked up on.

Every travelling companion ends up with someone: I suppose one could debate the line separating shipping from headcanon, but this is more a point of curiosity than disagreement. As I’ve said in the past, I’m a sucker for romance when it’s there, but I’m not much of a proactive shipper (with certain obvious exceptions), and it’s surprising to me how big a part of the Pokemon fandom it is. The curiosity is - why? Why, in a certain school of thought, does every one of the main cast members need to be tied to someone? Why can’t Cilan grow up to be always officially single, but with the suspicion that he might be seeing someone privately and you’re never sure just what his deal is, and you’d never ask because it’s none of your business? Why can’t Iris stay wild and free and completely divorced from romantic attraction? Why can’t Dawn, for all her other talents, be sh*t outta luck in trying to get a boyfriend? These other options aren’t necessarily my headcanons (well, the Cilan one is), and they’re not any more valid than the “everyone pairs up” school of thought, but it’d be fun to hear some thoughts as to why we don’t see more alternatives, or if there are and I just haven’t come across them.

Every travelling companion, and Ash, eventually reaches their stated dream: I’ve (indirectly) written about this one before too. I can’t imagine that every single member of the cast ends up achieving their dreams exactly the way they wanted, and unless TPC ever cares to explain more about just what the Pokemon Master is, I can’t picture Ash winning the title either. Now, lest you call me a cynic, that doesn’t mean I imagine all these kids as failures either. Some might achieve their initial dreams; others (like Brock) may find something else to catch their passion and pursue that with success. Some might be perpetually on the journey, never the destination, and at least one might end up with a disappointing lot in life. But none would have any regrets for where they end up.

I’m sure there are more out there, but this’ll do for now. Again, feel free to chime in!

[landofsomethingsomething]

Do you think the time Roxy harassed Dirk into kissing her counts as assault(or "coercion")? It's uncomfy to think about, especially because they're both overall nice people, but it's been in the back of my mind lately. I get the feeling that if a guy did that to a girl, there would be an outcry. Ugh, I would've liked to see the alpha kids resolve their issues after the final battle.

tw: kind of frank discussions about sexual assault and my own personal feelings on a high level about exploring grey morality in fiction

I think the most important thing to consider when you’re trying these questions out is what the victim thinks, instead of thinking about what the situation would look like in a totally different context with real life people. We already know what Dirk thought of everything that went down, because after Trickster mode ended they talked for like a million words about their feelings. The crypt bed talks are the closest thing we get to a conclusion for the alphas (which sucks so bad, I’m with you there.) 

This is why I hate applying real world rules to fiction like they fit 1:1, because they often don’t. Is Dirk written like a victim of assault? Do you feel that his dialog in the events after the trickster arc imply him as one? I don’t think anyone would argue that what Roxy did there was OKAY, it most certainly was not – it was horrendously shitty of her, in fact – but up to that point the context of Dirk and Roxy’s relationship always had this poisonous underpinning of Roxy resenting Dirk for being gay and pressuring him about it in really uncool ways, and we saw on screen first hand what Dirk thought about that stuff. He doesn’t read like an assault victim to me. 

Again, in my mind, the most important thing when you’re talking about things like assault is whether or not THE VICTIM FEELS ASSAULTED. 

I think given what we saw of Roxy talking to Jane and Jake and Dirk talking to Jane, it’s obvious that Roxy feels absolutely fucking AWFUL about what she did and knows it was absolutely 100% wrong, and I think it’s also obvious that if some rando from Tumblr walked up to Dirk and said soooooooooo Roxy is an abusive manipulator guilty of sexually assaulting you what are you going to do about that Dirk would probably literally punch that rando in the face and then fume about how wrong they were for weeks – Because he personally does not see himself as a victim and his and Roxy’s situation was extenuating, weird, not really translatable to real life, and they love each other deeply despite how fucked up everything is. 

The alphas ALL hurt each other deeply over the course of their stories, and it’s a fucking crime that we didn’t get to see them all reconcile on screen, but applying context-free thought exercises to the group that way rubs me the wrong way. Fiction isn’t reality and Roxy dubcon kissing Dirk is just one of a parade of shitty things we see happen on screen over the course of Homestuck.

For instance, Roxy being fucked up on Trickster drugs and being pushier with Dirk than she ever would have off them has an obvious parallel to Jane being fucked up on MIND CONTROL and threatening Jake with literal rape and sexual slavery. Do we take her to task for that too? Or, like, what about 10 seconds ago when Jane trickster’d Jake? That was a pretty uncomfy situation too, wasn’t it? We know what a low state Jake and Jane were in at that time and we know their relationship is in utter shambles because of some combination of entitlement and unrequited pining and poorly handled festering issues. The AR manipulating Jake and Dirk when the AR itself is a victim. Jane in a moment of emotional turmoil stating that she liked Roxy better when she was drinking. The alpha situation gets VICIOUS sometimes, and that is a big part of why I love them so fucking much. Their stories are hella personal and the narrative doesn’t really pull punches. 

Back to this, I find the the things Roxy did OFF the drugs “worse”, actually, it’s implied she’d been pretty uncool and guilt trippy about it for years and years and Dirk DID feel like shit about it – not at Roxy, exactly, but at himself. He internalized a lot of it as his problem when it absolutely was not, and I DO think he and Roxy need to work this poison out between them at some point between now and eternity. But the difference between fiction and real life is that I can look at this plot structured in fiction and feel hope that they WILL talk about it and will work it out because this isn’t reality and an actual gay man is not at risk of undergoing actual IRL abuse at the hands of an actual woman. Fiction is a safe arena to tackle hard questions because real people are not put in the position of having to guess at real people’s true feelings and risking perpetuation of actual abuse. 

I hope that made sense.

Oh and one last note before the disclaimer – this is a HUGE HUGE HUGE HUGE part of why I am fucking NOT okay with Roxy having been silently bisexual the whole fucking time. God, the way female sexuality is handled in Homestuck upsets me. If Roxy herself was bisexual the whole time the fact that it NEVER comes up when her struggling with her shitty feelings about Dirk and his orientation were so central to that entire relationship. Jesus. But this post isn’t about that so I won’t go into the full damn rant. 

(obvious disclaimer about anyone with personal history with this sort of thing that they project onto the characters etc etc etc I’m not getting into any of that because victims are free to cope however they want and if ascribing a fictional character victimhood in ways that are different from how I read that character is one of them that’s absolutely fine with an asterisk about how that is a very personal mechanism and that reading isn’t and can’t be expected to be universal.) 

[jheselbraum]

Authorial intent, smauthorial intent. Ford was a mediocre to abysmal brother; he took Stan for granted. Pre-Weirdmaggedon, the amount of brotherly love, dedication, support, and loyalty Ford showed couldn't make a single paragraph. Stan's was a mile-high stack of single-spaced pages with three bad marks. It was disgustingly uneven. I'm glad Ford had enough sense and decency to finally realize that and begin to make up for it. Sure, Stan had to sort of die first, but it's something.

Go fuck yourself with a cactus. 

Seriously. Go fuck yourself. With a cactus.

You’d cut ties too if you thought your brother was an insensitive jerk who didn’t care about you at all. If you wouldn’t I pity your soul and pray no one close to you actually betrays you like that.

That’s literally the root of Stan and Ford’s problems, by the way. Each of them thinks the other no longer loves them.

Was Ford wrong about Stanley not caring about him? Yeah, more wrong than he was about literally anything, and yes I am including the time he thought Bill was a nice guy in that statement. Did he hurt Stan? Well I ain’t saying he didn’t.

But if you thought the one person you could count on, the one person who was in your corner, purposely sabotaged you in order to manipulate you into staying with them instead of pursuing your dreams, you wouldn’t want to be around them anymore.

And don’t give me that “brotherly love, dedication, support, and loyalty”shit, Stanley literally left Ford to die during Weirdmageddon. He tried to burn Ford’s work, he was the one who pushed Ford in the portal in the first place, and believe you me, if Ford had done any of that shit we’d never hear the end of it. If Ford had opened up the portal for Stan while Stan was in the middle of a fight to the death with Bill, literally microseconds away from defeating him once and for all,  everyone would be all “Oh I can’t believe Ford did that he couldn’t have waited two seconds?!” You want a list of Stanley’s sins? Fine! Here’s a list of Stanley’s sins! Or at least, what they would be if he was Stanford instead of Stanley! Seriously! The ones in bold are complaints I’ve heard about Ford. 

Career criminal. Literally a career criminal. 

Has no regard for other people’s possessions or emotions. (That’s a direct quote by the way)

Tried to pass his dirtbag dad’s emotionally stunted toxic masculinity onto Dipper because he’s projecting his brother issues onto his niece and nephew

Dismissed Ford’s feelings after the perpetual motion machine incident (I don’t think Stan was actually trying to manipulate Ford but I do think that that’s the message Ford got)

Has stated that he’d be fine with it if Ford literally got brain damage

Turns his brother’s house into a freakshow. Yeah, the same brother with the lifelong insecurity regarding his polydactyly and a noted disdain for freakshows.

Got so irrationally angry when Ford burned him I mean geez it was only an accident there are other skin cells, am I right? (Do you see what I’m fucking getting at here??????????)

Disowned Ford the moment he was sure Ford wasn’t grateful Stan had saved him.

Endangered Dipper and Mabel for the sake of his own sciency mumbo jumbo (SOUND FAMILIAR)

Outright lied to pretty much the entire world.

Was mean to Fiddleford, called him possum-breath, etc, 

Despite being homeless once himself, never helps Fiddleford to not live in the dump.

Completely disregards the fact that Ford was homeless for thirty years

Caused Ford to be homeless for thirty years

Left Ford for dead during the apocalypse

Never went to search for Dipper and Mabel (or Wendy and Soos fro that matter) during the apocalypse

Wanted to eat the gnomes, he’s so mean to those supernatural creatures!

Always wants to play the hero, never satisfied when someone else takes the spotlight really. people think that about ford, instead of coming to the logical conclusion that Ford does the hero stuff because he doesn’t want anyone else to get hurt. he’s fine letting others take the spotlight he’s not even in it for that.

Let his petty grudge get in the way of completing the zodiac

Do you see what I’m getting at here, anon? Because the very fact that I’ve even compiled this list in an effort to show why the people who hate Ford are absurd, if for no other reason than the fact that if they hate Ford they must also hate Stanley as they share the same flaws in many instances, means that inevitably I’m going to get fucking hounded by more anons like you who apparently didn’t watch the same fucking show or read my god damn post. Because I’ve fucking been through this shit before.

It happens every fucking time. And you want to know why? Ford is fucking god damn autistic coded, or at the very least shares multiple traits that are also shared by autistic people, and he’s a fucking abuse survivor who doesn’t behave.

It’s been over a year since he showed up and yet, I still have to fucking wade through shit like this:

In the god damn stanford pines tag. Still. It’s rarer now but Jesus fucking Christ, it’s still happening. I don’t care what your fucking headcanons are this shit is literally ableist.

Stan and Ford were both wrong about each other and they did some awful things to each other but you know what?

Ford never stopped thinking about Stan, even when he was mad at him

Stan didn’t give up on Ford for thirty years

They both constantly risk their lives for their family, including each other, even if they’re not getting along.

And it’d be fucking fine if people just didn’t like him! If they just preferred other characters because we got to know them more or if it was just a personal preference that wasn’t rooted in real-world biases!

But people like you piss me off because everyone and their mother reblogs posts about how they want more autistic characters and more characters who are abuse survivors but when one finally fucking shows up y’all pull this bullshit! Where you say you hate them because

“They’re not empathetic enough” “They’ve got poor social skills but not in a quirky or cute way” “They don’t interact with people and they only really talk about their interests”

because

“Why can’t they just get over it” “[Character] and [their abuser] make such a cute couple why did [character] have to go ruin the fun” “They never trust anyone” “Some other character had it worse” “[Character] should be more grateful to the people who saved them!”

And then!!! Y’all have the gall to wonder why there aren’t more autistic characters and abuse survivor characters! Again! After you’ve pulled this shit where you’ve copied and pasted from Wikipedia!

What could Ford have done to fucking appease you people? You hated him when he sacrificed himself for Dipper, you hated him when he asked Dipper to stay, you hated him when he interacted with Mabel, you hated him when he didn’t, you hated him when he was mad at Stanley and you hated him after he made amends.

Fuck, sometimes I feel like if Ford had fallen to his knees and groveled at Stan’s feet at the beginning of A Tale of Two Stans, maybe then y’all wouldn’t have hated him.

As much.

[tobias4now]

ADIRONDACKS

“Fuck, this doesn’t fit a human body!” I yelped as my body molded to the harsh contour of the chair

“Oh, shush,” my mother jabbered taking a long, slow sip from her mint julep, “I, think they’re lovely.”

           She was talking about the Adirondack chairs that dotted the premises of this small, yet admired lakeside resort. They came in many different colors; sunshine yellow and a rich sky blue, pine green and a popular cherry-pop red. They were iconic here; all of the branding and logos for the resort somehow used the chair, it being a symbol of New England rusticity and charm. Set up in the dozens, they looked upon the various view. Atop a grassy hill , you could see the distant, soaring mountains of New York state, or the beach where the cool waters of the lake skittered in the breeze.

“And besides,” she continued, “Why do you have to ruin everything. Aren’t some things just . . . Nice?”

“Well these things are diagnosing me with early arthritis.”

           She turned her head towards me. I could see the burning in her eyes even behind her sunglasses and cool, polite exterior. I could see the fuel and the steam and the sweat she was producing, the clenching of her tight, New England façade as she said, “We. Are. Here­. To relax. Joseph.”

           I could tell how mad she was because she used my full name - Joseph. Usually only referring to me as Joe, she would reserve my full name for times when I was being particularly unpleasant, like on this trip. Joseph. I always thought it was funny that she named me something so Old Testament. As anyone could attest, though not in religiosity but in spirit, she was clearly of the newer variety. From my perspective, this name, would reveal her for what she truly was, and that was something that she dedicated much of her life to hiding. She, my mother, was a Jew. And from the Christmas sweaters to our white plank wood house, it was clear to me that she tried all she could to hide this. I never knew why she was so ashamed. But all I knew is that she was, and her efforts were clear and direct.

 “It is just beautiful. Isn't it?”

“Yes. It is.” The wind ran though us, an apparition, and then, the still and silent glory of the lake.

“Where’s your father?”

“Golfing, I think.”

“He sure loves golfing.”

“Yup,” I closed my eyes for a moment. The disjointed back of the Adirondack chair was beginning to saw away at my spine.

“I’m gonna go,” I stood up with a gasp and walked away.

“Make sure to meet us at the lodge for dinner!” She yelled doing her best Mrs. Brady impression.

             I went to dinner around twilight. I wore a cowboy shirt that I got at a thrift shop in Brooklyn. Roses and ropes and other Americana emblems were sown into its shoulders, and wearing it, I had the satisfying feeling of parodying this whole patriotic establishment. My family thought it was strange.

           We sat in a big circle, my father’s orange skin contrasting the harsh white of his seersucker suit. My mother sat elegantly on his side, and my sister, blonde, straight hair glowing in the dining room luminescence, sat at her side My aunt and uncle, and their triplet sons all sat together, all looking similarly nautical.  

“Joe? What did you do today?” My uncle questioned.

“I, uh, I kind of lied by the beach for a little bit.”

“Relaxing?”

“Very relaxing.” I mumbled.

“So, Joe!” My uncle, fat and pink and plump as a potato chimed in, “You starting college this year?”

           I could feel my mother’s body clench at that word – college. We’ve said it so much this past year, and now she had to face the reality.

“Well, no, not exactly. I’m actually gonna take a gap year.”

“A what?”

“A gap year. It's a year to work and figure some stuff out, and then, I might go to college.”

“He will go,” My mother interjected.

“You guys ready?” said a sharp, sweet voice from above. It was our waitress. She was beautiful. Her eyes deep and dark like a bubbling lagoon, her skin soft and supple, her hair in a thick braid down her spine.

“I think we are!” My father said rubbing his belly, “I’ll get the filet, medium rare.”

           When it was my turn, I stuttered and looked down. I was scared to look her directly in the eyes. She was stunning, but I was embarrassed. I could only imagine her assumptions about me as she saw me sitting with this toddler sailing team.

             Our food came soon after. And as soon my father saw the grey, overdone beef, I could already see him preparing how he would perfectly express his discontent.

“Hello?” he waved down our waitress, “Hi, yeah this is completely overdone . . . I said medium rare, right?” He was condescending and pompous. I felt an anger that she had probably numbed long ago.

“Oh yes, sorry sir. I’ll go check in with the kitchen.”

He waited a moment and then said, “You know some of these people that come from these island countries, I don't think they can always understand our English. It’s very different you know.” He said this as she was walking away, but I know she heard. His smugness disgusted me, how he could dehumanize her like that. She was so beautiful, fragile yet strong, and I knew that this was not the first remark she had heard like that. Come to think of it, she was the first person I saw that was not some pink or orange form of Caucasian in the whole resort. I wanted to throw my Shirley temple right in his face, redden his crisp new seersucker. When his steak came back, perfectly pink and red, I made a silent prayer that she had spit in his food.

             My father golfed all day. So with daddy golfing with his brother, the rest of our family was largely left to fend for ourselves. Over the week we all found our routines; my sister would go to the kids camp to paint pots and paddle boat, my cousins would simulate killing games and my mother would close her eyes and bake under the lakeshore sun. I, on the other hand could find nothing to ease my overbearing boredom. I couldn't read, definitely could not write, and my few attempts at socializing with the other kids my age ended in these terrible awkward head nods, like I just walked in on something. So I kept my mother company most of the time, us jabbing at each other with our infinite insults and resentments. I loved fetching favors for her, just so one day she would owe me.

 “Joseph, go get me a Julep please,” hummed my mother.

           I sauntered over to the lakeside bar, where, to my horror, our waitress from the previous night was serving cocktails. I didn’t want to face her, yet I also wanted to more than anything in the world. I wanted to apologize and somehow elevate myself above my family that was less racially enlightened than I.

“Hey,” I beamed, “Can I get one julep, and one uh . . . White Russian?” I wanted alcohol and that was the only cocktail I knew.

“You have I.D?”

“Oh, shit, I uh . . . left it in my room.”

“Sure,” she smiled at me, scooping ice into a plastic cup. “White Russian. Hah! Don't get that order much these days!”

“I need something strong.”

“Oh why? Too hard to lie on the beach all day?”

“Yeah. Very relaxing. The Third Reich screaming into my ear all morning.” My cousins were playing a disturbing game of Germans vrs. Americans around the beach, their howls scraping our ear drums with their Germanic geibberish.

“I’ll give you that. That’s pretty annoying.” We smiled at eachother as she served up my special drink. I sat down at the bar. She looked me up and down and then laughed; “You clean up well.” She was remarking on my swim suit, the same one I’ve had since middle school. It was neon yellow like a traffic sign. On top of that it was pretty much a speedo at this point, my junk almost completely visible through its thin neoprene.

“Thanks, I appreciate it. You like my cowboy shirt last night?”

“Loved it! First piece of clothing without little whales all over it I’ve seen this summer.”

“What, you don't like our cool American style?”

“Cool?”

“Okay, maybe not so much.” I paused. “Where are you from?”

“Jamaica!”

“Oh Jamaica! I’ve been to Jamaica, it’s beautiful. Stayed in Montego.”

“Yeah it is. But not in the way you’re thinking.” She was cool and angry and beautiful. Her teeth shot at me with blazingly white light. I could tell she was somehow always rebelling against something.

“What do you mean?”

���It’s home and I love it, but it’s not the white sand hotels you know. We’re not just drinking dacharies all day.” Of course. I felt so stupid.! I must’ve sounded like the kind of American, imperialist, tourist asshole that I hate. “But no worries. I don't think you’re gonna be hanging out in the middle of Kingston either.”

“Who knows? I do love jerk chicken.”

“Bet you’ve never had real jerk chicken!”

“No, no, no, that, right there is where you’re wrong. Once a moth, my friend and I, we take the train all the way into the Bronx and we get the best jerk in the world. Better than Kingston I’m telling you. Rice, beans, oxtail.” She handed me my drink.

“Oxtail?”

“I don't play around . . .” I tried to look at her nametag.

“Joy,” she said.

“Joy.” We looked at eachother for a moment, the sun dancing behind her and her hands gracing the borders of mine. Her smile was sweet, her gums revealing themselves and her tongue in a perpetual dance behind them. I sipped my white Russian, all confident and smooth and immediately choked up a little.

“White boy can’t drink the white Russian, no?”

           I laughed for a moment and then, the piercing bird call of my mother. “Jooooooooooe!”

“Oh shit, the julip.”

“Right.”

           She threw it together in a second. Her movements were like magic. She handed the bubbling concoction to me as if she was dancing.

“I’ll see you later Joy.”

“Later  . . . Jooooooooooe”

             After our usual dinner, I ran away from my family and hid in my room. I couldn’t take it anymore -The pompousness and privilege of it all! The mashed potatoes and the steamed veggies. My father shooting the shit with his brother and my cousins and sisters prancing like cherubs as they clawed at their mothers knees like ravenous wolves. Their lives were incomplete and useless. They were so normal and comformative it disgusted me. I though of what my friends would say about this - Us, in our plaids and flannels and stained T-shirts - Us, listening to Joy Division like Russian scholars -  Us, the artists and producers and actors and writers. Us, the haters of the mundane, the golfers and businessmen. They would hate me for being here. I hated myself.

           As I tried to read in the lamp light of my room, I began to hear a rumbling and unusual stirring from my parent’s room. It was the zipping of a bag, and the befuddled and pathetic pleading of my mother.

He left in a hurry. And as their arguing continued I could hear my mother try harder and harder to hang onto to him– a plank of wood in a rushing river. And I could hear, simply in her tone, the crumbling of everything she thought important.

When my father came into my room, I turned off the lamp and pretended to be asleep. I could hear him sniffle as he wallowed in the image of my sleeping body.

“I have to.”

             Later that night, I sneaked out of our hotel room to follow the dark and silent path to the lake. There, I sat, and watched over the bubbling black water as a great haze was cast upon the world by the pale-lit moon. I tried to write. Thinking that my bombardment with the kind of absurdist Americana that was the foundation for all great art would lead to my own prophetic discovery. In vain, trying to describe the orange of their spray tans, the crisp whiteness of their freshly laundered polos, ticky-tacky lawns and Marciano cherries. But, nothing came. It all sounded so trite and clichéd and my vision of having some miraculous epiphany in the night, deteriorated. All I was left was myself, the moon and the lake that waved in the wind like the American dream itself.

           A single orange light illuminated through the dark nighttime. I turned towards it and noticed it as it grew bigger, connected to a hushing, slow moving figure. I smelt smoke. The smell of the case under my bed and the furious scrubbing with soap to extract the tar odor. The smell of my habits and my angers. But then, the smell of a woman. It was the smell of Joy, and I could see her white teeth as she neared toward me.

“Late night for the poet?” she said pointing to my worn out notebook.

“Not much of a poet tonight.”

“It’s late. Don’t you have to go home to mommy?”

“No, Mommy’s dreaming. No need.”

           She sat next to me in the adjacent Adirondack chair. Sifting her hands through her pocket, then pointing one to me as she offered: “Want one?”

           I had quit for a few months, but I was weak in the knees. “Yes.”

“What are you doing out here so late?”

“Just got off dinner service.”

“And?”

“And it was terrible. Nothing new. It’s a job.”

“Any racist comments this time?” I took a slow drag and then closed my eyes.

“Just two . . . Not bad.”

“How can you deal with it? I mean, you’re not only in America, already a racist shithole, but you’re in the last remaining ‘whites only’ country club?”

“Ehhh. I went to a catholic school back home. The girls I grew up with hated me for it. Thought I was too good for everyone. And I always liked reading more than dancing . . . I guess I’m used to being strange.”

“An outsider.”

“You too probably. Always an outcast.”

“Hah!” I laughed pompously and then took another swaggering hit. “You saw my mother!”

“A mother is a mother no matter what. Even if she’s just a woman.”

“”Easy to say.”

“No . . . Everybody hurts. Even the rich bitches I serve dacharies to, and sit on these fucking chairs. They hurt. Everybody hurts.”

“I guess.”

“Joe -”

“Jospeh.”

“Joseph”

“Yes?”

“Don’t let yourself suffer too much. Okay? I know suffering. And I’m not trying to sound all cliché third world romantic with you, but you can martyr yourself or learn to live. Don't crucify yourself. I have the scars to prove that it’s never worth it.”

“How do you know so much?”

“I’m a woman . . . ” She took another, solemn drag, “A woman knows everything.”

           I turned towards her and kissed her. I could taste the tobacco dancing in our mouths, and I thought she was so beautiful yet so wise, and I never thought that that could exist. But it did. And it was her.

           And we layed out on the grass, and our clothes got all soggy and wet in the our tumble towards earth. The night mist, and the sea breeze. The moon watching us, mourning. And as we fell and fell, over and over again, I saw the pale silhouette of the Adirondack chair. And though the light was dim, I could see the cracks. How the paint chipped in the wind. And how its form crumbled from time. And how even the nails dug into its foundation were rusted in dejection. And that’s when I knew how they must weep under the weight of those women and men, with the whole world on their shoulders. The summer like a pressure cooker, and the distant scream of time and life almost audible through the fence around our lives. And we fell and we fell, until we screamed. Until we died newly awoken.

 The light in mother’s room was on, and the warm heat of her worry greeted me with a slow and dancing embrace. My father had left already, pursuing his victories in an airport terminal, and through the dim light of our room, I could see her cracks and the sky blues, sunshine yellows and cherry-pop reds of her medicine drawer strewn about the floor like marbles. And I could see her tears. And I could see that she was beautiful once, and maybe even is now.

“Where were you?” she begged.

           And all I could mutter was, “The Adirondacks,””

           And all I could think about was how we were in a world filled with fragile people that say and do fragile things. And Joy. A single totem in the waving sea.

 A poem!