lost in a dream

Happy Black Fae Day!

I did this as part of a collaboration post with many other wonderful black creatives over on IG. My theme was Warrior Fairy.

Creative Direction and editing by me

But also it's about breaking and entering into sea world and making a janitor think you killed your best friend so you can escape, it's about gaslighting your coworkers into thinking you are the dumbest man alive, it's about only closing a mystery when it's as funnt as possible and making sure everyone else around you is as baffled as possible. It's about childhood and nostalgia and growing up in the most chaotic way you can. It's about people being killed with a t-rex skull, it's about slapstick and committing to the bit and being the silliest messiest bisexual on tv in 2006-2014.

when people think that having sex is a distraction from godliness, then women love sex because they're bad. when people think that sex is a natural and healthy part of human life, then women hate sex because they're bad. when women are known for doing math, then math is bad and the true intellectual pursuit is reading. when women are known for reading, then reading is bad and the true test of intellectual rigor is doing math. when being a chef is a good thing it's a job for men. when cooking is women's work it's bad.

I didn't realize it until recently, but I've always seen love as something requiring sacrifice, selflessness, patience, and generosity- to ask for nothing is to be the best person I can be, small and quiet and never in the way, always happy and helpful, self-sufficient and present when desired.

It's only as an adult, now, that I'm beginning to see the selfishness of wanting nothing.

I cut my friend's hair in my kitchen the other day. They wanted a trim and I had the skills, so I offered, and was genuinely excited when they stopped hesitating over "bothering me" and took me up on it. It was a peaceful afternoon, and we had tea and chatted for an hour or more.

My brother and I shared popcorn at the movies a while ago. When I came time to pay, I pulled my card out like a wild western sheriff and slapped it on the machine before he could fight me for it first. The satisfaction was delightful.

Someone called me crying on the phone the other day. Kept apologizing for disturbing me at work, talking about how they were bothering me on my lunch break. I was telling the truth when I told them that really, I was flattered and honored and relieved, knowing that if they were hurting I would know, that I didn't have to worry in silence. It felt good to hear them slowly come down, and to know that they knew it would be better soon, and to hear them laugh wetly on the other end. We're getting together for a visit next week.

It's hard to need things, if you've trained yourself not to. It's hard to want things, when you don't know how to want anymore. Trusting people is difficult, and so is relying on them, but I don't know where I'd be without the people who rely on me.

I've heard a lot of people say, "Nobody will love you unless you love yourself". I've had a lot of thoughts about it. It's not right, but it's not wrong, either, I think.

"Nobody will love you unless you love yourself"... I've always taken that to mean, "You will not be lovable until you develop a positive view of yourself as a person".

Now, I think it's sort of inside-out.

"Nobody will love you unless you love yourself"... because nobody can show their love to you in a way that you can accept until you treat yourself kindly, and learn what you need, and what you want, and how to ask for it, and then give that vulnerability away.

Love, for me, is someone I ask for a ride to the airport. Whether they end up doing this or not is irrelevant.

Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: The Nice Guys (2016) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jackson Healy/Holland March Characters: Jackson Healy, Holland March, Holly March, Holland March’s Wife Additional Tags: Period-Typical Homophobia, Angst with a Happy Ending, Jackson Healy gets to be the fuck up for once Summary:

Jackson almost fucked it all up before it even really started. For the rest of his life, the memory was like the feeling of a car whizzing past him in the crosswalk, a bullet passing just overhead. Like his life had very nearly stopped, in an instant.