#I think those are the first and last ones anyway. or at least they were the oldest and most recent of the ones I read
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Was discussing queerbaiting recently with a friend because we’re watching Once Upon A Time (trash, but shockingly well written trash in the first 3 seasons) and obs we both ship swan queen. I mean. Come on.
But we noticed that from the start of s3 onwards, there was noticeably less shippy stuff between these two. There’s still a bit here and there because a) lesbian mums and b) chemistryyyy… but it felt like the writers were intentionally backing off from that pairing and putting genuine effort into the male love interests for both characters.
You might think that becalming the swan queen ship would have annoyed or disappointed my friend and myself, the shippers. But tbh we both agreed that it was actually nice to see a writing team see a popular queer fandom ship, go ‘oh whoops that’s not endgame’, and actively NOT bait it.
Obviously everyone here is aware of the Golden Age Of Queerbaiting, the late 2000s/early 2010s; even if you’re too young to have actually battled through it, it’s deep tumblr lore. We all know the repeat and egregious offenders from that time - destiel, merthur, johnlock, whatever the main one was on teen wolf - and how gleefully these shows would dangle queer rep in front of our twitching little noses.
Recently, I’ve noticed a more insidious trend: the Male Friendship Scarcity Myth. The most glaring recent examples are nandermo (WWDITS) and jayvik (arcane), both of which were popular ships after the first season(s) of their shows aired and were subsequently given increased screen time and shippy scenes/storylines. In the case of nandermo, the romantic feelings (at least from Guillermo) were textual. Both pairings were given ambiguous endings where they were together, but not confirmed as, yknow, together.
And then both showrunners, after the shows ended, decided to step up to the mic and give a heartfelt little speech along the lines of ‘men are allowed to be friends without it being sexual, and it’s actually really important that we show this, because we need more representation of close platonic brotherly male friendship in media’.
Anyone who was around during the aforementioned Golden Age Of Queerbaiting, or in fact anyone who consumes popular media at all, knows that this is horseshit.
It’s only ever close platonic brotherly male friendship. Or at least, 95% of the time. Everywhere you look, from major fandom shows to mcu movies, platonic male relationships are often front and centre. That’s nearly always the canon. How often does a major mlm ship actually go canon??? Hardly ever. Even destiel didn’t; cas’s feelings were confirmed last minute, but the official canon dynamic between him and dean is still brotherly bffs.
Are these friendships often the subject of intense fandom shipping? Yes, as literally any close relationship between any two characters of any gender always will be. People like shipping! But the official canon, and the gospel truth held up by poorly disguised homophobes in fandom, is nearly always strictly platonic bros.
Anyway. All this to say, I’ve been disillusioned recently seeing this myth pop up in every comments section on any jayvik-related content, that we have a lack of male friendship in media (we don’t, we have a lack of male friendship that isn’t queer coded to super turbo gay hell and back in media). I was even more disillusioned seeing the exact same rhetoric being spewed by those involved with WWDITS, which is ironically a show jam packed full of close male friendships THAT INVOLVE CASUAL SEX. The call was truly coming from inside the coffin on that one.
So, unexpectedly and somewhat depressingly, swan queen and OUAT have been a balm for the soul in the midst of all this. No queerbaiting (at least not where I’m up to), just good old fashioned straightwashing. At least it’s honest 🤷♀️
#thoughts#queer media#queerbaiting#once upon a time#swan queen#what we do in the shadows#nandermo#arcane#jayvik#probably incredibly stupid of me to finally start actually engaging on tumblr and immediately do Discourse#oh well lmao#shipping#shipping discourse
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So, I've seen a Twitter thread making the rounds about Yuichirou being in the right for not trusting Amane which you can read here. Overall, I think it nicely covered why Yuichirou was so "mean" to her: a strange woman shows up at their home trying to recruit two vulnerable 11-year-old boys who just lost their parents. She starts talking about demons and them being descended from swordsmen and being able to save people and in Muichirou's hopeful little heart it strikes a chord.
But Yuichirou says that he's certain she's just going to use them, that she's plotting something, which, from a story telling perspective, is an interesting seed to plant in the viewers mind.
What I mainly want to focus on in this thread is Kagaya Ubuyashiki, as he is the one who ultimately sends Amane to recruit the Tokitou twins (though, yes, she is complicit in the recruitment of child soldiers. The average age of soldiers in 1912 Japan was 17-20 not 11).
Putting aside that he ends up recruiting Muichirou anyway after he's made almost impossibly more vulnerable (just lost his last remaining family, critically injured, just lost his memories and also, once again, an 11 year old CHILD being coerced by an adult into fighting mythical monsters) Kagaya has a way of appearing to the Hashira at their most vulnerable moments to recruit them (aside from Rengoku who was basically born and raised into the role which is a whole other can of worms).
Another thing I'd like to point out is the cruelty and impracticality of final selection, something that is exemplified perfectly with Sabito. How many slayers with the potential to do something great's lives were wasted in final selection? Considering the sheer amount that goes in and how few come out and the lack of any kind of age limit, I'm going to guess quite a few. Why exactly is the system set up like this?
They essentially set up a demon buffet featuring children as the main course. Did they know about the demon growing out of control on the final selection grounds? Most likely, and if not that's highly irresponsible to not at least monitor your supposed testing grounds.
Why not have them fight against other, higher-level slayers? If they fail the test, they'd be sent back into training or dismissed entirely instead of just... killed. And Ubuyashiki seems fine with this! And I'm truly curious- he mentions memorizing the names of every slayer that dies in the line of duty, but does that include the dozens of people that don't even get to become official slayers because they die in the very baffling final selection meat grinder?
I'm getting off track.
What I mean is that Ubuyashiki is shown to have questionable moral decision-making when it comes to the pursuit of defeating Muzan: it seems his goal is to kill Muzan at all costs.
Later, Muzan says this: "That schemer! Like a viper, his rage and hatred toward me... was coiling inside his pitch-black heart!"
As the viewer we're, of course, meant to take this with a grain of salt. We know Ubuyashiki didn't have a "pitch-black heart," but I think there's a grain of truth to be found in Ubuyashiki harboring rage and hatred toward Muzan.
We know the reason the Ubuyashiki clan started to hunt Muzan in the first place was to save themselves from the curse (and along the way I think they genuinely believed it was for the greater good as well).
But I think it sets Ubuyashiki up as the perfect morally ambiguous foil to Muzan. Yes, he is supposed to represent humanity, but what is more human than the endless moral struggle between the greater good and what's right for the individual? Ubuyashiki points out that in the thousands of years of Muzan's existence, the corps has never been wiped out but this is because the corps inherently preys on those who are at their most vulnerable. It is built on the back of tragedy.
Everything down to even just their life span is meant to be equal but opposite from Muzan's immortality to the Ubuyashiki's ephemeral life spans. Even their clothing choice, with Muzan picking darker colors and Ubuyashiki clad in white. Muzan is beautiful and unmarred while Kagaya is consumed by the curse of their bloodline yet their appearance is described as "twin-like" in the Kimetsu extras. Yet they are also equal, once again returning to their supposedly identical features, they both have a tendency to appear to those that serve them at their most vulnerable.
This is not a "Kagaya is evil" post at the end of the day. This is a "Kagaya is not a morally pure character and that's a good thing" post. And, I think, had the author had more time, they would have explored this fully. We all know the ending was a tad bit rushed due to the author having a family emergency and I will never blame them for that, but just looking at the story they built even on that time crunch I can only imagine they narrative they could have built given unlimited time.
I feel like they could have explored Kagaya's character more which they set up as being Muzan's equal but opposite: equally scheming but thankfully on humanity's side. He had empathy for the children, yes, but he still, at the end of the day, used people at their most vulnerable to do what he couldn't on his own.
And I didn't even get to START on the implications of his magical "voice" and foresight powers, but this post is already so long that I'm gonna end it here.
TLDR: Ubuyashiki is so much more complex than your stock "Greater good" character. He's Muzan's equal but opposite force, conniving but empathetic, morally ambiguous. Had the author had more time, I feel this would have been explored in more depth.
#muichiro tokito#yuichiro tokito#amane ubuyashiki#kagaya ubuyashiki#kny analysis#demon slayer#kimetsu no yaiba#kny#ramblies#I accidentally went on a rant about final selection#Which from a story telling perspective I understand why they did that#But that's also a whole different post
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September
word count; 948 – f!reader
Autumn came suddenly, shaking everyone out of summer and sunshine and tucking them into warm coats, scarves and schoolwork. Hardworking students already started making their way to the library to work on whatever subjects they had that semester. Hirugami Sachiro was one of those students and had taken a seat by a table in front of a tall window looking out on the yellowing leaves of a tree. He was what you would call an excellent student, dedicating a lot of his time to school and sometimes even enjoying it.
On this particular day, however, he had a problem with concentrating. Another student sat by the same table, which wouldn’t usually be an issue, but the problem was that this person kept shaking the table by bouncing her leg and harshly erasing half of the things she wrote down. Hirugami didn't have to be a genius to understand your struggle. You looked like the classic stressed student who usually wouldn’t be in there before November. Hirugami has a kind soul, and a soft smile took over his face thinking that at least you were trying. "Tough subject or difficult chapter?" he asked, putting down his pen.
You looked up, startled. Hirugami noted your pretty features before his gaze fell on your notebook. He could barely make out the words. Feeling your cheeks heat up, you subconsciously pressed the back of your cold hand to one of them before chuckling half-heartedly down at the messy notes. "Both, unfortunately," you answered.
Hirugami moved his bag and scooted his books down the table to sit across from you. "I mean this with the best intentions, but do you need any help? I'm Hirugami," he introduced himself and held out his hand over the table. His calm expression and kind eyes somehow made a few of your worries feel smaller. You almost felt breathless looking at him, but being in no place to turn away help, you shook his hand with a grateful smile.
"Y/n," you said back before letting go of his hand to look over your useless notes again. Teeth chewing on a small piece of skin on your lip, you weren’t quite sure what to say. "I just never know where to start," you admitted, sighing apologetically. He gestured for you to hand over the course book, and you watched as his eyes scanned the first pages almost expertly. The fact of the matter is, you’re not stupid, just prone to getting overwhelmed.
After a minute or two, Hirugami leaned across the table and held up the book so you could read where he pointed. "You can start by reading through one paragraph at a time, then write down in your notebook everything you remember between each. After doing that for about two pages-”
He took a break to look up at you and you quickly nodded to show that you were listening. “Yeah?”
"You can grab a highlighter or something and go over to make sure that you've included all the difficult or important terms. If some are missing, that's no problem. You just have to rewrite, and then you'll hopefully remember it better anyway," Hirugami said, ending the monologue by taking a large breath and looking up expectantly. You were amazed by how he spoke so confidently and perfectly explained every detail.
"It's worth a try. Thanks, Hirugami!" you exclaimed gratefully. The way you said his name and looked so genuinely hopeful made butterflies flutter in his stomach.
"It's no problem, honestly. I'll be here if you need anything. Even a break." His voice went up in tone with the last part. With a warm smile in return before getting to work, you quickly decided that this Hirugami might be onto something.
You and Hirugami spent the rest of the evening in the library, whisper-talking every five minutes about someone doing something annoying or interesting topics in your course books. Eventually, the horizon swallowed the sun and the world turned dark outside the large window.
After several hours of productive studying, you could finally close your books for the day, yawning while Hirugami stretched his back. Looking around, you realised you were almost the only students left in the library.
"Hey, y/n?" Hirugami felt his stomach do flips when you rested your gaze on him. "Maybe we should get some food?" he asked, his voice not quite as confident as when he explained school-related topics. Your lips pursed together in a sympathetic look, and his heart suddenly plummeted.
"Sorry, Hiru. I have to go home now, it's late." Hirugami scratched the back of his head and awkwardly looked away.
"It's fine-" he was about to excuse himself, prepared to probably never talk to you again.
"How about tomorrow?" you asked him casually. He looked up again in surprise and you grinned hopefully. "We can meet for lunch!"
"It's a date." Hirugami quickly realised his mistake and stuttered a correction. "I-I mean not- not a date. Lunch." You chuckled at the cute man, how could you not? "When?" Nice save, Hirugami told himself, not believing it for one second.
"Noon?"
"Noon is perfect. Perhaps at this one place on the corner by the park?" Hirugami felt his heart beating so quickly that he wondered if you could see it. You were both rolling on the balls of your feet, clutching your books to your chests like a couple of teenagers.
"It's a date," you said and walked away after winking at him confidently, a stupid grin on your face when he couldn't see it anymore. Hirugami’s mouth fell open when he realised what you said, looking after you until you were out the door. A date.
The Schoolyear Series ║ masterlist
taglist: @cottonlemonade
#The Schoolyear Series#haikyuu#hq x reader#haikyuu x reader#haikyu x reader#fanfiction#hq#haikyuu x you#haikyuu fluff#haikyu#haikyu fluff#hirugami x reader#hirugami sachirou#haikyuu hirugami#hirugami sachiro x reader#haikyuu!!#hirugami#hirugami sachiro
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so like. dallas x reader where like. reader is in some theatre thing (guys and dolls in the only relevant ish musical i can think of for the time.. mayb reader is playing adalaide idk!!) but like. he comes to see the show n is like damn that was hot let’s go home ong maybe it gets freaky eye dee kay.
can u tell i’ve never done an ask b4
Thank you for the request, I decided to keep it pg, I hope you enjoy! 🤍
Warnings: fem!reader, kissing
I like to light up the stage with a song
Nothing could beat the pure adrenaline rush of being on stage. The music, dance, costumes, makeup, and the cheers from the audience all flowed through y/n’s veins, fueling her with life and excitement.
She especially loved the current musical she was in, Guys and Dolls, as she had gotten her dream role of Miss Adelaide, the stubborn and outspoken nightclub singer.
Every minute of rehearsal and performance brought a smile to her face, and it saddened her that this would be their final night.
As she powdered her face in front of her teal light-up mirror, she thought of her plans for after the show, which were to meet up with Dallas and hang out at whatever particular place he had chosen for this evening.
She knew musicals weren’t really his scene, but she still felt a little disappointment over the fact that he hadn’t even seen one of her shows despite her babbling on and on over how much she enjoyed playing Adelaide and how amazing this cast was.
Once her hair and makeup were complete, she put on her first outfit for the show, which was her street outfit, a simple skirt with a shell blouse and scarf topped by a bright red jacket. It was definitely cute, similar to her own style outside of performing.
Soon enough, it was time for places, and as soon as y/n made her way onto the stage for the last time this month, she was met with a shocking sight that almost made her stumble and forget all her lines.
Dallas was there at her show. Not in the front row, of course, but she didn’t think those had great views anyway. But he was actually there. He had bought the tickets (she hoped) to come and see her perform. Though to many this wouldn’t seem like a major deal, it was to her. With Dallas, it was the small actions that really displayed his love for her, the things that absolutely no one else in the world could convince him to do.
She couldn’t help but sneak small glances at him throughout the show, wanting the image of him watching her on the stage ingrained in her mind. He sat there in his usual manner, slightly slouched in his seat and his signature smirk on his face, not wanting to let on too much, fearing it would ruin his ‘rep’ or whatever. Though tonight, he looked really good. He hadn’t done much to his appearance, but his hair was pushed back a little, and he was wearing a black shirt with black trousers, and y/n would be lying if she said she didn’t want to jump off the stage and throw herself straight at him.
Shaking away those thoughts, she refocused on giving her best delivery for the closing night, wanting everything to be perfect, especially now that Dallas was really here.
His eyes were glued on her the whole time, ignoring anything and anyone else but her pretty figure in the pretty outfits she wore and how gorgeous her voice sounded as she sang. Though he did visibly tense in his seat every time Nathan’s actor got within an inch of her, not caring that it was his role, he wanted him far away from his girl; he wanted her to be with him, kissing him and touching him.
The show soon ended, and Dallas waited by the back door of the theater, keeping at least 5 metres of distance between him and the crowd eagerly waiting for whoever they had come to see perform.
He stared down at the slightly disheveled roses he had picked himself, debating if he should chuck them away as they looked slightly pathetic in his grip. Before he could decide, y/n came bouncing over to him, clearly still full of energy even after two hours on stage.
Her hair had been let down into loose curls, and she had cleaned off her garish stage makeup, and Dallas had to admit she looked sweet like this, all natural and fresh. Her stage look had been completely different from her usual look, but it had done something to him, revealed a different side of her he didn't know he would be attracted to, but oh, was he.
“What are you doing here?!”
She practically flung herself at him, clinging to his neck and breathing in his scent of cologne and menthol cigarettes.
“Thought I’d come and see what you’d been rambling on about for weeks.” He teased her, lightly squeezing her hip.
She rolled her eyes.
“Yeah, well, I almost fainted from shock when I saw you.
“Really? The mere sight of me almost knocked you out, huh? I'm just that attractive.”
“In your dreams Winston. I was just happy to see you.”
“Mhm, sure doll.”
“Seriously. I had practically given up trying to convince you.”
“Well, if I had known you would have looked that hot—”
She pinched him in response.
“Hey! This was months of hard work and training.”
“I’m just messin’ with ya. You were incredible; I couldn’t keep my eyes away, and I can’t believe you’ve never sung like that for me before.”
“I never thought you’d be into that.”
“I’m into anything you do.”
He murmured with a small, genuine smile before holding out the roses to her.
“These are for you.”
Her eyes lit up at his gesture, picturing him choosing the nicest-looking flowers from the bush and tying them up together in the ribbon they were wrapped with.
“Thanks, they’re beautiful.”
“A little wonky lookin, but I wanted to bring you something.”
“I love them. I'm gonna keep them forever.”
Dallas leaned in and pulled her in against him, kissing her passionately, his love and desire pouring into the kiss. He cradled the back of her head and tugged her closer, both of their breaths increasing in pace and intensity.
She could feel his hands wander down her sides, caressing her body over her clothes, desperate to feel more of her, but she reluctantly pulled away, out of breath and cheeks tinged pink.
“We should probably get out of here.”
He glanced around, noticing that there were still people around, and nodded, wrapping an arm around her waist.
“Yeah, c’mon. I’ll take you home.”
♱ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♱ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♱ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♱ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♱ . ݁₊ ⊹ .
౨ৎ1k words౨ৎ
#dallas winston#dallas winston the outsiders#dally winston#dally the outsiders#dallas winston x reader#dallas winston x y/n#the outsiders dally#dallas x reader#dally winston x reader#the outsiders 1983#the outsiders x reader#matt dillon#lana del rey#this is what makes us girls#coquette#lizzy grant#bbm baby#baby doll#baby blue#girlblogging#r0seb100d’s requests#vintage americana aesthetic#lizzy grant aesthetic#trailer park princess#party like it’s 1949
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reminders of the passage of time moodeboard
#my blog is in his last year of middle school. he'll be off to high school next year (at least I think so..? 13 yrs old is usually 8th grade#at least from my experience. 9th graders are usually 14. 10th are 15. etc. etc. and then you're in 12th grade#and graduate high school usually 17yrs old.) ANYWAY.. wow he is so ancient..#maybe he's still in a preteeny early teen emo phase or something.. I hope he gets some black and white striped armwarmers and black eyeline#r for his birthday. Maybe an MP3 player of course. Though because I don't really like most alternative music and he is my son he's actually#not allowed to listen to metal or pop punk or emo rock whatever stuff. I open the mp3 player and pre-stock it with only#disco and funk and classical music. he can have a little chiptune or techno stuff as a treat (sometimes emo adjacent maybe more#scene. I think a lot of scene kids were into that more.. emo's weird eccentric brother))#Also he starts taking iron pills his 13th birthday because he's probably incredibly anemic just like me#so on and so forth and et cetera (I'm just being silly.. I am not pro-controlling your children down to whatmusic they#listen to or etc.etc. lol)#THOUGH I love that it's in january... january is one of my favorite months if not my favorite. yeeaaay#just such a nice cool month. I like that it's the start of the year mostly and that it's sometimes snowy here. Like where I live nov - dec#isnt really actually snowy?? You always associate those winter Months with snow but I think snow happens later on this coast#so it's more like Jan - March or even april sometimes. Though that may just be climate change lol.. But it's cool that Jan is winter AND#ACTUALLY snowy. plus the Beginning Of Year vibes and energy.. hrm... nice nice.. ANYWAY#AND this is not even my first tumblr blog. I had a different one before it I think..#evviilll to be on one website for so long lol.. Very thankful that most websites I used to use as a 10 year old or whatever#are now defunct. There's something weird about how humans are just creating endless streams of words and pictures and all of this stuff#and it just goes out into the void and stays there long after the person themselves has forgotten it. not even like 'oh no what if i said#something bad!!' but more just the general sense of.. people create so much more ideas than they can actually hold in their heads. nobody#remembers exactly word for word every post they've ever made or etc. It's like parts of yourself that you've externalized and then fade awa#from you but they're still you but they're not so you just have little snapshots of yourself in time floating around entirely unbenknownst#to you. like making clones of yourself and then forgetting you did so but every once in a while going 'shit... there's clones out there..#of me and I don't even have track or awareness of them anymore.. what an odd concept..' etc. not EXACTLY like that ghbj..you know what I me#n.. or maybe you dont.. hrmm... ANYWAY#I am just now slightly recovering from my most recent mysterious illness spell and etc. so I would like to post more again and mAYBE even#do a costume if I'm being ambitious.. but after so many times of being randomly stricken by problems I'm now fearful of ever being too#hopeful lol.. always like 'I would like to go to the grocery store tomorrow! .... MAYBE.. if i CAN.. possibly... NOT getting my hopes up'.#etc. etc. etc. every statement has a caveat and a backup plan and so on and so forth and such is life.. anyway. happy birthday evil tumblr
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hmm thinking about the idea of love songs. i think the idea of what a love song is that we have in our culture is inherently a little bit flawed because we have the idea that any song written about romantic feelings is a love song and im thinking thats not exactly true because there is a difference between "romance" and "love". what i'm saying is not that love is a broader category and applies to things that are not romantic in nature. this is in fact true, but it's not what makes the important distinction here. the true distinction between "romance" and "love" is that romance is a societally defined type of interest in another person, whereas love is, essentially, a promise that you make when you build a relationship.
as such, what i call "love" here might be better defined as "care", as that implies more time and effort, but that's a different suitcase to unpack and largely unimportant to my point here, which is more about the societal conventions of what we call love songs. the point is, relationships can be built with other people, yes, but also animals, places, organizations, ideas, so on and so on, whereas romance requires another person, hence the difference between the ideas of "romance" and "love".
with that in mind, there are two types of songs we in western, english speaking, society call "love songs":
1) songs that are about a person's romantic interest in someone that is either definitively known to be unrequited (existing monogamous relationship, sexuality that doesn't align, etc) or simply not requited (aka romantic interest being unknown); and
2) songs about an existing relationship (keeping in mind my points about relationships not just being with people, but also places, things, etcetera) as is.
(some examples of the latter category: mountaintop by relient k, which defines the relationship in question as non-romantic; or i miss my mum by cavetown, which is - as the title implies - a song about the singer missing their mother.)
now, the thing that makes distinguishing these two difficult is the fact that songs about an existing relationship CAN be about wanting certain aspects of that relationship to change. in these cases, determining that a song is one or the other will hinge either on a) authorial intent or b) whether the song is more about what the singer wants (thereby implying #1) or the lack thereof in that relationship (which would imply #2).
to get back to the subject at hand: the term "love song", as we think of it, is an umbrella term that include both of these two categories, and i think that perhaps it is reductive to do so. with that in mind, i think perhaps it would be more appropriate for "love song" to mean only the latter, whereas the former is a category of its own. WHICH is not to say that the two can't overlap — just that if a song is about a person with whom the singer has no relationship, it cannot be considered a love song due to the fact that it is a song about infatuation, not love.
(another interesting wrinkle this provides is the fact that a song might start out in the first category and, as the writer develops a relationship with a person, might move into the second category as they write more.)
#anyway. just some of my thoughts on this as an aromantic songwriter#ari opinion hour#this goes a good deal to reconcile my constant writing of love songs with the fact that none of them are romantic#which im fine with as long as im keeping them to myself but it DOES feel dishonest when i hide that theyre love songs.#however this did also go some way to convince me that maybe care songs is an alternative that i SHOULD use because it is more applicable to#me than the concept of love which MOST people do not have the same perspective on as i do and having different definitions of the same word#is an important barrier to consider in communication#i will admit i do think im clinging to my care songs being love songs due to my relationship with an organization to which love is very#important as i dont want to go back on my promises to that organization as it IS very important to me#anyway. can you tell ive been reading house of leaves by the fact that this appeared fully fledged in my head in fully academic language#but for real like thinking about it now and even my old love songs like most would probably think to see them that they would go in the#first category and they just. DO NOT. at least not the ones that were written after i was like Yeah im aro again#its interesting the ones i wrote in the brief period where i thought i WASNT aro in like mid hs those i WOULD put in the first category#even though like i do NOT think i was right about it being romantic#but the ones after i was like Yea im aro again are like. Thats definitely the latter#part of it is i did find a voice that was like genuinely Mine and wasnt just writing sort of generic love songs#love songs in the typical usage i mean so they were really more infatuation songs#but like i was still with the last person irl who i wrote these about divorced from like... my aroness because of how much i liked him#and i would still put those in the second category#so part of it is awareness as well#so. yeah. its interesting#i probably should just suck it up and start calling them care songs. even if people dont know what i mean to say that
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The way we see flashbacks of what Button House was through the years reminds me of the Drumshee books. I’m not sure how popular they were outside Ireland but the general idea was a series of unconnected stories all about the same plot of land. The first one was called Nuala and Her Secret Wolf set in the Iron Age and the last one is called millennium@drumshee and is set in 2000. I know I’ve seen the Titanic one all over the place but the others not so much. It’s just such an interesting concept because while the characters are sometimes related distantly the important thing is their connection no matter how brief, to the land that is Drumshee or Button House.
#I think those are the first and last ones anyway. or at least they were the oldest and most recent of the ones I read#but it has been many years and I borrowed them all from the library so it mainly depended on what ones they had at the time#I’d say they were all published in the mid to late nineties? they’re definitely not new#Cora Harrison the author has done some other really good books since#there was two book series about Drumshee but the other one focused on the same characters at one specific time in drumshee’s history and I#didn’t like those ones though annoying they’re the ones I own#bbc ghosts#anywya just thinking about the flashbacks of button house/higham house/bone manor#and how so much changed but yet it ties them all together#my own post
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had my first hrt appointment today 🥳
#not fandom related#personal log stardate#trans stuff#today was just blood drawing. evaluation and hopefully my first dose of T will be in January#they also want to do a chromosome check apparently. to see if im intersex i think#i wonder if an intersex diagnosis will affect me getting hrt. i hope not 😬#anyway i hope my blood values will be good and that i can start T next month! 🤞#also they drew sooo much blood. 8 vials at least. i think some of those were unnecessary#then again idk how many parameters they want to measure but two vials citrate blood are usually unnecessary unless they want to do#more than the usual coagulation parameters#ill ask for all the lab work so i have it for my own documentation#oh i also have a cold btw. spent the last three days in bed w a headache muscle pain stuffed nose scratchy throat and brain fog#yesterday i also had a fever#but it's getting better today. idk who infected me considering ive always worn a mask on public transport and no one of my class mates#was sick. well whatever
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i can't believe i used all my tags on this. i have MORE TO SAY. honorable mentions i will not elaborate on: pikmin, runescape, OG animal crossing.
the reason for all my tags is because there's a difference between "most fun" and "most important" and feel like if they're important u should at least say why :3
#1. metroid prime trilogy: my first dive into metroidvania games and to this day it is probably my favorite genre next to soulsborne.#also as a space nerd egg “wow she's so cool i wish i could be like her” lmaooooo buddy..#2. eternal darkness sanity's requiem: REALLY great unique game. graphics r a bit dated but i think it otherwise holds up rly well.#great spellcasting system with a rock beats scissors beats paper type of thing between different uh. “types” of magic? sourced#from different gods that seem to exist outside of time. idk what bar it raised exactly but it made a strong impression on me#and I've been wishing i had something like it ever since. the sequel has been started multiple times but i don't think it's ever#gonna happen 😔 nintendo has some surprisingly GREAT rated R games.#3. fallout new vegas/skyrim: having enjoyed these so much I've had them on every system i think getting them for PC was a literal#game changer. i played vanilla then ultimate editions and Thought i played them to death but once i got console access on PC??#it kinda served as my entry point to using mods and recently I've even made my own mod for elden ring and dark souls 3 (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)#not that I really needed or used mods with those games - but just kinda being Aware™ that being on PC means u have access#to the game's underlying functionality that you don't get on console. making bat scripts for skyrim/fonv made for some#HILARIOUS gameplay 😭#4. Sonic adventure 2 battle: rly just the sonic games in general but this one FUCKS. Songs r bangers. love the characters.#u low-key kidnap the president for a bit?? more like u break into his car to talk with him nonchalantly lol but still 💀#i listen to the OST to this day!!! when i think of a favorite GameCube game this is one of the first to come to mind.#and the chaos 🥺🥺🥺 and Rogue hey queen (。ノω\。)#5. hard to pick a Last One here.. I'm sure there are a lot of games that could be a stand-in choice but RE4/Dead Space Trilogy:#these were some GREAT horror survival games with a good plot and engaging gameplay. Dead Space especially was one me and#all my friends played and took turns playing (◍•ᴗ•◍)❤ just the time spent together alone was good but just rly solidifying that#u can have horror a good plot And good gameplay all in one. i love survival horror as a genre to this day ( ◜‿◝ ) wish i could#remember others i played but i can't?? speaks to how iconic they were at the time though.#6. (honorable mention) the mass effect trilogy: u wanna talk about great plot and engaging gameplay?? these games were SO#fucking good omg 😭 i LOVE the lil class system and the different abilities u get to use i loved that u could carry ur character and#decisions across games. and the fucking TRAGEDY of ur faves not making it thru the ending of ME2 (〒﹏〒) I fr#Went Back so i could try again and again till i at LEAST saved Jack but also saved everyone.#i think the emotional payoff for all ur characters ur invested in r pretty good when u make it to the third since it's p cinematic?#kinda want to play it again. ick do i want to touch the origin launcher though is the real question (´-﹏-`;) i bought it in a bundle#on steam and immediately asked for a refund when i realized i couldn't just play it through the steam launcher (ノ`⌒´)ノ┫:・┻┻#anyways. lots of time spent there too and another addition to the “you can have fun gameplay AND a great plot” pile.
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BOOK REVIEW 📖
This is the one for February – I was reminded of this book half way through the month and decided to reread it again because I couldn't remember how it ended; plus a short mystery is always nice to read (side note: this ended up as an ebook read bc I couldn't remember where in my storage boxes I have my copy – it's in storage because it's a paperback edition and old and I don't want it to die on me yet lol)
#ben picks up reading again#dania rambles about shit#hewehewhehehewhehw I've forgotten to upload these for the last two months LMAO#not to worry I am at least still reading :D#alrighty this is for the most part spoiler free (execpt where indicated)#it is a very entertaining mystery that feels like a game of cluedo and you really enjoy how everything comes together at different points#so much that it has you going back to see how the hell you missed a detail and going AHA#but yeah counts as a reread but it was so long ago and I'd forgotten practically everything about it that its like a new read#which is a bonus bc I like figuring out mysteries in books and going along with stuff to see if I'm right at the end#not to much analysis in this review like the last book as I feel it didn't need it#each character is pretty likeable with some unlikable moments sprinkled in#also I really love how the POV switches and flows easily between each of them which is what makes this book so easy to follow along with#insight on when i first read it#i was in fifth grade and we had a reading club sort of thing that our teacher picked us for#like a greatbooks fishbowl sort of thing instead of just our regular reading/comm arts time in class#i think it was the last one's we read for that year because I don't remember any after it#anyway we had to staple the last couple of chapters together so we wouldn't be able to know the ending nor the stuff leading up to it#that way we could play along and try to solve it ourselves#we had a betting pool sort of thing going with candy to see who could guess correctly#just a box full of sticky notes with whatever theories we wanted to include with the bet#and a whole wall with those large paper pad sheets that teacher's would have for their easels in order for us to connect the dots on things#yeah we went into it#kind of wondering if we ever got to the end or if something came up that we couldn't finish the book like i sort of remember#our tutor missing a couple of weeks and then state testing and then it was just the end of the year and we were turning in the books to her#anyway just more admin lore
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Danny lives in a horror movie-DC x DP prompt
Based on my favorite book series "tales from the gas station"
It's not every day that a mission requires the league to travel to middle America in a bid to obtain a highly cursed artifact but it certainly is today.
Locating the Seal of Silent Ashes was a task usually given to Justice League Dark but Constantine was currently busy. So that meant it was left to the poster boys to get this done. They dressed in civilian attire to investigate the last location of the seal starting with the first building on the edge of town. A small dusty gas station near the woods.
The inside had an awful smell, like death and cleaning fluid. The lights gave off a greenish-blue tint. Rats could be seen out of the corner of your eyes. Most of the chips were offbrand and crappy.
Behind the counter was the teenage boy chewing gum. He looked up at the group before going back to reading his book. He had clearly seen better days but didn't show signs of caring about the state of his hair or bags under his eyes. He drank his coffee.
The air felt off.
"Hey kiddo, do you mind giving us directions?" Clark started.
The kid narrowed his eyes as he popped his gum.
"You're not from here. That or you're from that cult in the woods. Listen I'm not joining. Seriously, cosmic nihilism and fatalism sounds doomed. Hey wait-" the teen checked his notes " No, the cult killed themselves in that mass suicide 2 weeks ago. I forgot, sorry."
The teen didn't say anything else as he went back to his book.
The horrified look of the adults shared was almost hilarious. At least to the teen if he looked up.
"Oh, and stay out of the woods. I don't want the police to come back and ask about who saw you last. Seriously if whatever is in there tears you apart I won't feel bad. I put those signs out forever ago and if I get one more girl covered in blood running in here screaming about her dead friends I'll get a headache." The teen shrugged turning the page.
"What do you mean?! Why would-?! Who's killing people?!" Barry asked frantically as Bruce serched for more reports of missing people in the area.
"I don't know. Why would I know? If you want to go in the cursed forest go ahead. I mean that's how they all die. It isn't my job to stop you. My job is to sit here and watch this store." The teen huffed in annoyance.
Before anymore questions were asked the signal of the radio was disrupted and a demonic howl screeched through the radio.
"God damnit. That cunt is back. Stay here." The teen growled as he grabbed his bat from under the counter and walked out the back door. "String bean! Get off the fucking roof you bastard! You know that radio is all I have here!"
A chattering laugh like a death rattle was heard and the sound of 2 sets of feet was heard on the roof then they lept down.
"Come here so I can beat you to death!" The teen ran around the building towards the front of the gas station chasing-what the fuck is that!
It was like a human that was twisted to crabwalk on all fours backwards. Its face was contorted into a black stretched-out smile with no teeth. It had no eyes just black sockets. All its limbs were stretched out to an extra meter in length. It was a skinwalker of some kind with chalk-white skin. It was skittering away from the teen who was swinging his bat at its head.
"Stop running! I told you before what would happen if I found you fucking with me again!" The boy meant it as he finally landed a hit and began wacking it over and over it.
The skin walker screeched and tried to run for its life but couldn't.
After reducing the monster into a black puddle the black-stained teen came back inside to sit back down not paying anymore to the monster blood he was covered in.
"Sorry about that. Most of the freaks around here have learned to stay away from this place. That one is new and he doesn't listen. You'd think they'd learn but Sting Bean thinks he can torment me. Petty bastard." The teen sighed "anyways are going to buy anything or are you going to waste what oxygen we get in here with this shitty ventilation.
Diana couldn't help but admire the boldness of the boy. He had no hesitation or fear against the beasts of this area even if was crude.
"Does Constantine have a cousin or something? Just a more angry one" Barry whispered to Hal.
#dc x dp#dpxdc#dc x dp prompt#dp x dc prompt#danny fenton#danny phantom#batman#barry allen#hal jordan#superman#clark kent#justice league#diana prince#wonder woman#john constantine
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365 Days of Writing Prompts: Day 290
Adjective: Acoustic
Noun: Space
Definitions for those who need/want them:
Acoustic: relating to sound or the sense of hearing; (of building materials) used for soundproofing or modifying sound; (of an explosive mine or other weapon) able to be set off by sound waves; (of popular music or musical instruments) not having electrical amplification
Space: a continuous area or expanse which is free, available, or unoccupied; an area of land which is not occupied by buildings; an area rented or sold as business premises; a blank between printed, typed, or written words, characters, numbers, etc; (music) each of the four gaps between the five lines of a staff; the dimensions of height, depth, and width within which all things exist and move; the physical universe beyond the earth's atmosphere; the near vacuum extending between the planets and stars, containing small amounts of gas and dust; (mathematics) a mathematical concept generally regarded as a set of points having some specified structure; an interval of time (often used to suggest that the time is short considering what has happened or been achieved in it); an interval of time (often used to suggest that the time is short considering what has happened or been achieved in it); the portion of a text or document available or needed to write about a subject; pages in a newspaper, or time between television or radio programs, available for advertising; capacity for storage of data in a computer or other digital device; the freedom and scope to live, think, and develop in a way that suits one; (telecommunications) one of two possible states of a signal in certain systems
#finally posting one of these before midnight for the first time in a while#im vaguely proud of myself about it#today was eventful as i took my girlfriend to the dentist#(she was nervous cos shes kinda scared of the dentist but im super proud of them cos they were very brave)#and i also set up my interview for tomorrow morning so im a bit nervous about that#but i also lowkey feel prepared cos i dont think itll be that much different than the interviews i had for my last job#anyway i like this prompt a lot#mainly because it remind me of these playlists ive listened to on youtube of (outer) 'space' banjo music#and i love the feeling those songs give me#so im most definitely going to write a poem influenced by them in some way#thanks for reading#writing#writer#creative writing#writing prompt#writeblr#trying to be a writeblr at least#*reminds
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Loved You First
rafe cameron x fem! reader | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 1
Two years ago, Rafe left the island without saying a word. Unknowingly to him, you were pregnant all along. When he finally comes back, he’s desperate to get you back not knowing it’s more complicated than it seems.
𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍
Two years ago. That’s when you last saw Rafe Cameron. And during those two years you were pregnant for nine months with his baby. Not that he knew though.
It was difficult to say the least, and if it wasn’t for your little girl Julie , your heart would have never recovered. She was only about a year and a half, but she was sunshine in human form. Julie had the same eyes as her father that destroyed your idea of love, but she had your kind and giving spirit. She had the same smile as the man who left you one day for good, but she had your fondness for animals. Sure many of her physical attributes came from Rafe, but her heart was all you.
Maybe Rafe disappearing without a single explanation or goodbye was the reason you swore off affection for good. Everyone knew it did, but you insisted that your decision to lock the door of love and throw awake the key was to focus on yourself and your baby. Plus it’s not like you haven’t moved on. Well, maybe not romantically speaking, but you’ve moved on with your life. You had a job as a waitress at the local diner and even though Julie didn’t have her dad in the picture, your friends made sure that she had many aunts and uncles to shower her with love and care.
Of course you still struggled. Providing for a child was expensive, especially with only having a waitress job to support the two of you. On top of it all pathetic as it was, you still thought about Rafe even though it was two years since he left without a word. What if he stayed? He hadn’t even known you were pregnant, you never got the chance to tell him.
You constantly found yourself dwelling on these what-ifs. But it’s not like anything would change, your paths would never cross for. The thought was solidified in your head until you heard the news. Rafe was back on the island.
Well he technically wasn’t back permanently. But he’s been coming back and forth for buisness trips, and each time you’ve managed to skillfully avoid him. Not like it was hard, The two main places you spent your time was the diner and home anyway.
The first time you saw him in person after everything was at the diner. One of your friends was babysitting little Julie as you were working a double shift that day. You were giggling at a joke on of your coworkers made when the door chimed open.
“Hey what can I get started for you”— The menu in your hands was now dropped onto the floor once you saw who it was. Rafe. Your ex lover and the father of your child, who didn’t even know he was a father.
You weren’t going to let him see you weak. You weren’t going to let him see you flustered while stumbling over your words. “Sorry about that. What can i get started for you again?”
“Hey.. Can we talk?”, Rafe asks not even bothering to look at the menu placed in front of him. Unlike you, he wasn’t caught off guard in the least. He must have found out you were working at the diner somehow.
Two years. Two years since he left without a word. It didn’t matter whether or not he knew you were pregnant or not, he still left. And you were determined to not let him back in that easy. “I’m sorry that’s not an option on our menu. Can I start you off with something to drink?”
“I just need five minutes—“
“So what can I get started for you today? Our appetizers are on the front page”.
“Fine play it like that. I’ll take a water then”.
Before he can say anything else you turn back, your heels stomping during each step. He’s back? Why did he have to come here out of all place? Who does he think he is asking to talk? He’s the one who left two years ago without saying a word. If your boss hadn’t let out a small cough to interrupt your thoughts, you wouldn’t have realized that the cup in your hand was overflowing as you poured the water mindlessly.
He stayed there the rest of the day. Still sitting in that little booth just ordering a glass of water over and over again. And everytime you went over to ask if he’d like the check, he’d beg for a chance to talk again and again. Why was he desperately trying to fix things after two whole years? Did he know about.. No no he couldn’t.
Of course you were closing that night, which meant that you couldn’t escape Rafe as you locked up the diner for the night. You were tired of his attempts and just wanted to go home to your daughter.
“Just five minutes”, Rafe pleaded once again. “You know what no I’ll take two minutes of your time that’s all. Promise”.
“Listen I know I’m an idiot I know”, he started, And I left and I was stupid and it took me two years to realize”-
You stop him right there not willing to hear another word. “Yeah you were stupid. I don’t want your pity or your apologizes. It was two years ago Rafe, I’m sure we both moved on”. You start walking towards the nearest bus stop as Rafe follows close behind.
“Wait! Wait okay okay! I’m not asking for your forgiveness okay?.. I uh need a place to stay”, his words rush and overflow out of his mouth. He was desperate to get you to listen to him. Even if he had to lie about needing a place to stay.
His words stop you in your tracks. “A place to stay? I know you sold your place back at Tannyhill a while back but you don’t have… a rental house or something?”
“Not anymore… I sold it. And all the hotels are fully booked around here”.
Rafe knew it was a reach, and didn’t expect you to comply. If it wasn’t peak tourism season at the island you wouldn’t have believed him. “Fine. You can stay over at my house for a night”.
You were always sweet. Even to the man that abandoned you without a word. It’s just who you were. You could pretend to be cold and heartless in front of Rafe, but you both knew deep down that wasn’t who you were.
It’s a long and awkward bus ride, Rafe tries to speak every now and then but you quickly shut him down. He’s suddenly quiet once the two of you reach your place though. It’s… modest to say the least. Not in the best neighborhood either, but who was he t judge anyway. Being judgmental wasn’t going to get you back.
He notices how you have to practically kick open the door in order to get it unlocked. He also notices how small and cramped your place is. What does catch him off guard is the little girl running into your arms the minute you open the door.
“Mamaaaaaaaa!!!!!”, little Julie squeals as she toddles over to you and throws herself into your arms. Your friend who was babysitting her just chuckles at the little girl’s reaction and gets up from her spot on the couch.
“How has it been a year and a half already? She’s growing too fast”, your friend coos as you agree.
You quickly thank her for watching your Julie, hoping she won’t notice Rafe on her way out and by some miracle she doesn’t. But little Julie does as she giggles and waves to him from over your shoulder.
The door shutting from your friend’s exit is what forces Rafe out of his thoughts. That little girl in your arms was your daughter Was she his daughter too? He didn’t even need to ask, she had to be. With those eyes she had there was no doubt about it.
You don’t have to say anything to Rafe. The look you give him says it all.
#rafe cameron#rafe cameron x reader#outer banks#obx#rafe cameron oneshot#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron imagine#rafe obx#rafe outer banks#rafe x reader#rafe imagine#rafe fanfiction#outerbanks rafe#rafe x you#outer banks fanfiction#outer banks fic#rafe fic#loved you first series ♡
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mdni | part one
"wife? " you hadn't meant to ask that out loud, nor did you mean to add a bite to your tone as you held the spatula when your gaze met john's, hurt gracing your features and a pout on those lips he couldn't get enough of last night.
your dad was oblivious thankfully as his attention turned to the food you were making peeking over your shoulder. he was grateful for you to be staying with him, his cooking skills have never been the best.
john cleared his throat and took a seat on the barstool. "we're in the middle of a divorce, she's been dating her coworker since the beginning of this year." he confessed and explained to you in one breath.
"what? you two have been together for years." it was impossible not to turn around and glance at the man you now felt sympathy for, she was cheating on him and going through a divorce because of it.
before john had the chance the answer the doorbell rang pulling your dad away from the kitchen but not leaving without kissing your head and patting john's shoulder. once the coast was clear you sighed.
a thick tension filled the room as you struggled with what to say.
well, at least he wasn't a cheater. "sorry i didn't tell you doll, i didn't think you were interested in an old man like me anyway, last night took me by surprise." john murmured gazing at you wearily.
"old man? good thing for you that the geriatrics are my thing and i'm sorry to hear your wife is such a bitch, why would she cheat on you?"
your dad seemed to have a knack for interrupting your conversations and you thanked your lucky stars his habit didn't shine it's ugly head last night as you were bouncing up and down his friends dick.
the questions that burned the tip of your tongue were beginning to start to ache, you wanted to know more about john. you were too busy with your mouth on his cock last night to ask anything else.
you two started to flirt a bit after dinner then when your dad went upstairs for the evening your flirting became more erotic and graphic then you finally bared your tits for john and that's how you ended up spread eagle getting your pussy ate like it was his last fucking meal.
you could still feel the soft ache between your legs making you flustered. "duty calls, i have to go in and help real quick. you'll two be okay without me?" your dad asked not knowing about the plans you made.
john answered for you and graciously took the bowl from you daring to give you a wink when your dad's back was turned, it was a bastard thing to do but when your pussy was milking him for everything he had it was too good not to get addicted to.
as soon as the door shut and locked you were on john like a moth to flame, your arms wrapping around his neck to smother him in kisses. "i was going to rip your dick off after i told my dad about last night.'
he held you close as you stood between his spread legs. "last night you barely gave me time to say anything then you were waving your nipples in my face and you started it first sweetheart." john hummed.
"i suppose i did but you were giving me 'fuck me' eyes, and you flirted heavily with me too!" you laughed and tossed your head back making john feel much younger than he has, it's not often he wanted to have sex before but now he wouldn't mind taking you again.
#dw he's not what y'all thought#honeywrites#call of duty x reader#call of duty#cod smut#cod x reader smut#john price x you#john price cod#captain john price#john price smut#john price x reader#john price x y/n#john price x plus size reader#captain price x reader#captain john price x you#captain john price x reader#price smut#price x you#cod john price
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translation
Aventurine doesn't like being understood, but he does like understanding other people. It is essential for manipulation, for scheming, for control. And he likes controlling you especially—for keeping you close but your heart a comfortable distance away, for opening your legs when he wants the pleasure of your body, for playing your emotions however he needs. And the day will come when that skill will be invaluable—the day when he must die without shattering you. (Or: You are the only person in the universe who understands Aventurine in his mother tongue. He often regrets teaching it to you.)
5k words. gender neutral reader, established relationship, angst, non-graphic sex (reader bottoms, anatomy neutral), themes of cultural loss, references to slavery, aventurine’s canonically implied desire to die. MDNI.
Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin.
Deception does not come easily to him in his mother tongue. His command of it is too weak—and too kind. The universe was a different place in the days when his life was coloured by the warble of Avgin dialect. It felt simpler, partly because he was a child and partly because Sigonia was yet untouched by outsiders. There were no corporations, no casinos, no commodity codes. His entire world was sand, desert, mother, sister, father (or more often—ghost), goddess, tent, wagon, luck, sin, rain, blessing, Avgin.
Katican.
Aventurine is sure that he knew more than just those words. He was fluent as a child. He had conversations with his sister that were complex enough to make his heart hurt, though perhaps his heart was just constantly aching anyway. But the rest of his early words escapes him. He could maybe dredge them up if he thinks long enough, but he also isn't sure if his tongue and lips could form the shape of them anymore. Sometimes he still counts in Avgin, memorises phone numbers in it, but he doesn’t remember the last time he actually strung together a full sentence in the language.
When Aventurine was first stolen into slavery (a word that he had not known as a child, and still doesn't know in Avgin), he wasn’t given a Synesthesia Beacon. He had to rely on his ears and his wits, deciphering the harsh edges of the Katican dialect and then the strange garble of Interastral Standard Language. By the time he had a Beacon installed, it was already translating all speech into Standard—his dominant language.
Sometimes he feels a little aggrieved by it, but at least it wasn't Katican. He'd have blown out his brains if it were.
But it is easy to console himself: Avgin is not a useful language anyway. Dead languages have no value, and the Avgin dialect was killed along with its people. You can’t perform commerce in a dead language, can't negotiate contracts, can't enter a gambling den and use your silver tongue to rob people blind. You can't use a dead language to fell governments and extract resources; you can't use a dead language to bring an entire planet to its knees. You can’t use a dead language to gamble your life; you can't use it to save yourself from the gallows.
You cannot deceive people in a language that is defined by sand, sister, goddess, ghost.
Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin. His command of it is too weak, and there is no one left to which he can lie, anyway.
When you ask Aventurine to teach you his first language, he gives you an amused look.
“Why Avgin?” he asks. “No one speaks it anymore. I can teach you Common Sigonian if you’d like. Or we could learn Xianzhounese together. Maybe Intellitron code? I know a little.”
“You speak Avgin,” you argue.
“Not often,” he says. “And badly when I do.”
“But it's still your language. And I want to understand you.”
Aventurine has to stop himself from laughing. Understand him? He hates being understood. When people understand him, it makes him predictable. And unlikeable. Hardly a position from which he can manipulate people in.
You understand him well enough to know that.
“You'll have to give me a better reason than that,” he says neatly. “Make it worth my while. Reward me.”
You look at him as you ponder, your eyes lingering on his. Perhaps trying to read him, though he prefers to think you're just enjoying the sight of them.
“I’ll teach you my language as well?”
“You mean—you'll reward my hard labour with more work?” he says, lighthearted.
You frown at him despite the joke. “You don't want to understand me better than what a Synesthesia Beacon would allow?” He blinks, pausing. “It’ll be convenient too. We can talk shit about other people in public and no one will understand us.”
Aventurine considers you. He doesn't like being understood, but he does like understanding other people. It is essential for manipulation, for scheming, for control. And he likes controlling you especially—for keeping you close but your heart a comfortable distance away, for opening your legs when he wants the pleasure of your body, for playing your emotions however he needs. And the day will come when that skill will be invaluable—the day when he must die without shattering you.
He also likes the idea of talking shit in public.
“I'm listening,” he says, voice lilting. You lean in, smiling. Sweet. It makes his heart feel something he isn't used to. Something addictive. Something disgusting. He scrambles to cover it with one of the usual tools: humour or distraction or maybe just plain old lying—his most reliable weapon.
“I'll throw in a kiss?” you try.
He hums. “Just one?”
“One per day.”
“Three.”
“You drive a hard bargain.”
“Well, I am a businessman.”
You snort, but he knows you're endeared. You have very noticeable tells when you’re flustered.
“Okay,” you say. “Three kisses on days you teach me.”
“Deal.”
Aventurine remembers more Avgin than he thought he would.
It comes to him slowly, painstakingly. You aren't interested in structured lessons, and he wouldn't be able to provide them anyway. He has a nonexistent grasp of grammar aside from this sounds right and that sounds strange, and Avgin dialect is both so niche and so dead that no textbooks are available. The scholars have abandoned the language as much as the politicians abandoned its people. Aventurine only has you, his fragmented memory, and whatever questions come to mind as you live out your days with him.
Mostly, you ask him about basic vocabulary. Sometimes you ask him to repeat sentences from your conversations in Avgin, like he’s some kind of multilingual parrot. Each prompt forces him to wade through the fog in his mind, the one that’s been shrouding his childhood memories until now. He's startled at how naturally the old words roll off his tongue: One, two, three, four. Good morning. Good evening. Good night. Sweet dreams. Five, six, seven, eight. You're lying to me. Why do you always lie to me? I don't know what you're talking about. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve. Welcome home. Have you eaten? Have some bread. I made you stew. Twenty, thirty, forty, fifty. That was dangerous. I thought you wouldn't make it back to me. Sometimes I think you want to die. One hundred, one thousand, one million, one billion. I'm sorry. Come here. Let me kiss you. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.
When you say, How do I ask you to let me hold you, he answers easily. He'd heard the words so often as a child: Let me hold you, Kakavasha. Let Mama hold you. His mouth forms the sounds without conscious thought.
He regrets it almost immediately.
When Aventurine hears it from you—stilted, halting, but no less gentle—he stops breathing. Let me hold you. You say it all the time in Standard, but it feels different in Avgin. More painful. A strange sense of panic closes in on him when he's wrapped up in you, thinking in Avgin, thinking sand, sister, goddess, ghost. He holds you tightly, like the rags cut from his father’s shirt, or his mother’s locket won back from the shell-slashers, or a bag of poker chips beneath a card table, clutched within his trembling grip.
“Aventurine, is something wrong?” you ask in Avgin, and he replies in Standard with his usual smile.
“Hm? No. What could be wrong if I have you here?”
Lying is one of his greatest tools. Sex is another one. So he says, “I think I'd like my reward now,” and he runs his lips along your jaw, your pulse, the spot over your heart (there's a word for that in Avgin but not Standard, he tells you), until you're laughing. I thought you wanted three kisses, you tease, and he replies, Who said I wanted to kiss you on the mouth?
But he coaxes open your thighs, and once he's inside you, he collects his payment properly. He kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you—and you swallow his lies whole.
There are some things that Aventurine doesn't teach you. Mostly, they’re things that he can’t teach you.
There are countless gaps in his Avgin. His speech is painfully childish—probably more childish than it was when he actually stopped speaking it. He doesn't know how to swear (something that disappoints you) and he doesn't know how to flirt (something that devastates you). He doesn’t know any words that would be useful for work either: commercialization, governance, stakes, winnings, profit. When you ask him what his job title is in Avgin (“Was senior management even a thing in Avgin society?”), he laughs and gives you the word for gambler.
Then there are the words that he remembers—has remembered his whole life—but never says. Not to you, and not to himself. He doesn't teach you any prayers. He doesn't teach you any blessings. He doesn't teach you about Mama Fenge, or the Kakava Festival, or how the rain fell when he was born. When you ask him, What holidays did you celebrate when you were little? he shrugs and says, We didn't have any. Sigonia’s too bleak to do any partying.
Then you ask him one day, while your bodies are spent in the afterglow of sex, sticky with sweat and sweetness, how to say I love you. And he goes quiet.
Love is a cheap word in Interastral Standard. In the language of globalisation and trade, love has been commercialised, commodified, capitalised for power. You say it to him in many contexts: I love this, I love that, I love you. He hardly ever reacts, and he's never said it back. It would feel unnecessary and also cruel if he did: Aventurine has only ever said the words himself as either a joke or a manipulation.
But love feels different in Avgin than in Interastral Standard, doesn't sound like a thing that can be traded or bought. Kakavasha only ever said the word love to his mother, to his sister, to his father's grave. Love in his mother tongue feels priceless.
When Aventurine thinks about you saying it—I love you, Kakavasha, in clumsy, earnest Avgin—something so painful swells in his throat that he can hardly breathe.
“There is no word for love in my language,” he tells you.
You blink. “Okay, then what's an idiom for it?”
“There is none. There’s no word or phrase expressing love.”
You raise a brow. “That’s hard to believe.”
“Is it?” He smiles. “There’s no Avgin in the known universe who cares about love. Only scheming, thieving, and treachery—and you can't do those things when love is involved.”
You look at him in alarm. “Why are you saying that?” You're practically squirming in your discomfort. “I don't know why you think I'd believe such a racist stereotype.”
“It’s not a stereotype,” he says. “I'm not talking about the Avgin culture. I'm talking about myself.”
After all, he is the only Avgin left.
It is an unfair thing to say. A cruel thing to say. After all the laughing and kissing and crying and fucking, after all the tender eyes and gentle words from you—it is probably the worst pain imaginable: I don't give a shit about you. He waits for you to cry.
But you only stare at him calmly, studying him. You brush the hair out of his eyes, seeing them clearly.
“If you lie to me all the time,” you say in Avgin, “eventually I'll stop believing anything you say.”
Aventurine is speechless. His heart does that addictive, disgusting thing again. He thinks about leaving, but then you say, Let me hold you, and he can't do anything other than obey.
Avgin dialect was once included in the Synesthesia Beacon list of functions. The Intelligentsia Guild added it before the Second Katica-Avgin Extinction Event, when the IPC was trying to get a political foothold on Sigonia via the Avgin people. The language was alive then, with enough value to be included into the Synesthesia LLM by the linguists.
But since the Extinction Event—since Kakavasha ran away from home—the Synesthesia data on Avgin has been stagnant, a fossil. Aventurine knows because he's subscribed to software updates for certain languages (Avgin Sigonian, Common Sigonian, Interastral Standard, and now your mother tongue). He gets pinged every time there's a new addition for slang, for neologisms—but there hasn't been a ping for the Avgin dialect since he had the Beacon installed. The live translation function hasn't even been available since the previous Amber Era. When he checks its page on his Synesthesia app, it's very clear why—
SIGONIAN, AVGIN DIALECT SPEAKERS: 0 STATUS: Extinct END OF SERVICE: 2156 AE
The complete death of the language has led to an irritating dilemma for you and Aventurine. You keep running into words that he doesn't know—this time not because of his childlike speech, but because they never existed in his language to begin with. Ocean, tropical, rainforest. Starskiff, accelerator, space fleet. Stock market, shortselling, mutual funds. Black hole, event horizon, spaghettification. All things that never came up for Kakavasha, but now come up for Aventurine, and the language has not evolved to include it.
He always wants to switch to Standard to discuss these things, but you're insistent on speaking in Avgin as much as possible. He doesn't know why, but he doesn't mind humouring you—partly because he likes to indulge you, and partly because he’s grown used to hearing the honeyed timbre of Avgin dialect in your household. The place would feel strange without it.
So you start filling the gaps with other languages, filtering them through the lyricism of Avgin. Loanwords, he thinks they’re called. You take ocean, tropical, rainforest from Amazian; starskiff, accelerator, space fleet from Xianzhounese; stock market, shortselling, mutual funds from Interastral Standard. For the astrophysics terms, you try directly translating them—with limited success.
“Can't I literally just say ‘black hole’?” you ask in Avgin, and he nearly spits out his coffee.
“Please don't. That's a dirty word.” He can't bring himself to say what it means, but from the way you’re laughing, you can clearly guess.
“I thought you said you didn't know how to swear.”
“You've just reminded me how.”
“You're welcome.” You look on the verge of cackling. Aventurine finishes his coffee and wonders when you're going to surprise him with your newfound vulgarity.
“Let's just do the space terms based on Standard,” he says. Begs.
“No, that's so boring.”
“Then let's do your language.”
You open your mouth. Close it. Give him a blank look.
“You don't know how to say those words in your mother tongue either, do you,” he intuits.
“Well, ‘spaghettification’ doesn't really come up in everyday conversation, does it?”
“Then maybe we don't need it.” He smiles, senses an opportunity. Smells blood. “How about ‘love’? I'd much rather know how you say that. I bet it sounds beautiful.”
You give him a long look. Your eyes are vulnerable when you share it: Love. I love you. He’s fascinated by the sound of it. Your voice is never that fragile when you say it in Standard. It's never so earnest. He repeats it, staring at you, and your gaze falls to the ground. His mouth curls.
“I like it,” he says. “Let's use that. It'll sound nice in Avgin.”
You try to recover. “Sure. That works. But back to ‘black hole’—”
And the two of you continue like that for days, weeks, months. It feels like a complete bastardization of his mother tongue on some days, in some conversations. Almost unrecognisable. But it doesn't feel bad. It’s all he has, it's all you have, and when he walks into your home, he starts speaking it without thinking: your bastard, patchwork language. The Avgin dialect that exists only in your house. A tongue that can only be understood by a liar.
And then, one lazy Sunday morning, he gets a familiar ping. He expects it to be Interastral Standard, as usual. The language balloons with each planet that the IPC colonises.
But instead, he opens his screen and freezes.
SIGONIAN, AVGIN DIALECT SPEAKERS: 2 STATUS: Endangered. SERVICE RESUMED: 2157 AE NEW UPDATES: 103 loanwords and 5 neologisms added.
He can't stop looking at the status. Endangered. Endangered, which means dying, but alive. The Avgin dialect is alive again. The Intelligentsia Guild determined it, so it must be true. But Aventurine can't agree: there are no Avgin speakers in the known universe other than the two of you, and what you speak isn't real Avgin. The Avgin spoken by his mother and father and sister is dead; the Avgin spoken by Kakavasha is dead. The festivals are gone; the deserts have been terraformed. There are no wagons; there are no dances; there are no prayers. There are no blessings, and he has no home—
As long as you are alive, the blood of the Avgin will never run dry.
His throat locks up.
“Aventurine?” you ask. Your voice is drowsy, but concerned. “Is something wrong?”
He looks at you from his phone, a polished smile on his face.
“No.” His syllables are plain and efficient in the noise of Interastral Standard: “Just looking at details for a new assignment. It’ll be a long one.”
“Oh.” You frown. “Will you be away from home for a long time, then?”
He stops himself from swallowing. “Yes, I'll be away from the house. For several months, probably.”
“Okay.” Your voice is small. “Take care of yourself, okay? I'll miss you.”
Each word you speak resonates with heartbreak. It always does in these conversations, even in Standard—but the sorrow is amplified in Avgin. His mother tongue has an inherently sad quality to it, he's noticed. His people have lost so much over their history—their language is one of loss. It's his language of loss. Kakavasha did all his grieving in Avgin; Aventurine has never felt sorrow in Standard. When the language died, so did Kakavasha—and all his regrets with it.
“You'll come home to me, right?” you ask. It's a beautiful sentence in Avgin. A heartrending one. He feels something that he hasn't known since he was a child.
It's a feeling he has to kill.
“Yes,” he says in Standard. “Of course I'll come back.”
This is not the first time that Aventurine has been mistaken for dead, but this is the longest time.
The latest world to join the IPC network was a tough acquisition. It had been ruled by a despot who wreaked havoc on both the people and the planet, and who was too stupid and reckless to resolve conflicts with his trade partners. He probably would have blown up the whole star system had he been left to his own devices. Aventurine had no qualms about bringing him to ruin, nor did he have qualms about nearly dying in the process.
If things had gone his way, he'd either be dead or missing. This would have been the perfect opportunity to do the latter, actually—to be freed from the IPC. Free to drift alone, speaking with strangers in strange, unfamiliar tongues. No connection to his past, to the cruel history of his luck, to his commodity code. No tether to his inherently unjust destiny. But instead he's back in your house, pockets heavy with his borrowed wealth, speaking to you in his bastardised, childish Avgin. I'm sorry. Come here. Let me kiss you. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.
Your Avgin is—shockingly fluent. He doesn't know how. He can't think about it right now. All he can process is the wounded animal noise of your speech as you yell at him, as you cry. Like an injured songbird, or a weeping child. Why did you leave, why did you lie, why do you always lie to me, why don't you give a shit about me, you spit. Why do you want to die, why do you want to die, why do you want to die, you keep saying. Sand, sister, goddess, ghost, he keeps hearing. Sand, sister, goddess, ghost. Don't leave me, big sister. People will die. Why do you have to go?
“I’m sorry,” he tries again, this time in your language. “I'm so sorry. Come here. Let me hold you.”
You collapse into your mother tongue. Aventurine is both relieved and horrified. Relieved that he doesn't need to hear the language of his grief—horrified that he needs to hear yours. He's never heard you cry like this. He's never heard you break like this. These must have been the words you used when the soldiers found you hiding in your closet, when they dragged you out of your home. You were just a child.
Aventurine doesn't know the words you are using—you've never taught them—but he still understands them.
You're very malleable when you’re sad; even more so when you're hysterical. Aventurine understands this about you, and he understands how to calm you—this time in your native tongue—and he understands how to kiss you. He understands that you need to feel close to him. He understands that there are ways to accomplish this other than sex. A normal person would talk it out, have an honest conversation, come to a mutual understanding, and maybe even stop trying to kill himself. They wouldn't fuck you into the mattress while your face is still wet with tears.
But Aventurine is not a normal person. He doesn't know how to have an honest conversation, and he doesn't want to be understood. Lying is his greatest weapon, and sex is a close second. So he kisses you until you’re too breathless to cry, fucks you until you can't think, and makes you come so hard that you’re in too much bliss to grieve. And maybe it's horrible of him, but he enjoys it. He enjoys the way your body takes him in so easily, the way your nails dig into his back, the way you tighten around him when you climax, so wet and needy for him. The way you beg for him in your language for liars as he spends himself inside you: I love you, Aventurine, I love you, I love you, I love you—
Only because it feels good. This is all only because he enjoys fucking you. This is all only because you enjoy fucking him. This is all it'll ever be, and it'll be this way until he gets to meet his end.
(Some months ago, Aventurine started dreaming in Avgin.
It surprised him when he first noticed it. The last time he remembers having a dream in his native tongue, he was twelve years old and still in chains. And even then, it had become a sporadic, strange thing. Awful to wake up from. One minute he was with his mother and sister on a cool, rainy day, speaking fluently in Avgin as he laughed and played—and the next minute, he was being shaken awake in his cage, hearing the cruel lash of Katican.
But ever since he's started speaking Avgin with you, he's been dreaming in it. Vividly. Sometimes he's a child in these dreams, and sometimes he's grown. He's always back in the Sigonian desert, among the tents and the campfires and his family wagons. His mother and sister are alive. Sometimes his father is too. The skies roar with thunder and the stellar winds are always harsh, but they always keep him cocooned up in their arms. He's always warm.
Sometimes Aventurine dreams of nicer days. Clear skies, warm sun, cool breeze—all blessings from the Mother Goddess. On these days, he tends to be an adult, and you tend to be there with him. Your Avgin is fluent but strange, filled with funny loanwords and peculiar slang. His father likes the neologisms and starts using them—but only in wrong ways. His sister finds it embarrassing and keeps apologising to you.
His mother loves you. She loves you so much it hurts. This is how I know you're blessed, Kakavasha, she says, glowing. You’re so lucky to have found such a kind person.
Kakavasha knows this. He knows he's lucky, and in his dreams, that isn't a bad thing. In his dreams, his luck means that his home is not violently excised from his heart: his father never dies; his mother never dies; his sister never dies. The tents are not burned; the wagons are not destroyed. He is never forced to forget his people's dishes, their songs, their language, their joy. And in his dreams, his luck means that he meets you anyway, without all the loss and the chains and the lying.
In his dreams, he is able to bring you to the desert. He is able to teach you the Avgin he spoke as a child, to cook all the meals his mother used to make, to share with you their coffee and their tea. He teaches you prayers. He teaches you blessings. He tells you about Mama Fenge, about how the rain fell when he was born. He takes you to the Kakava Festival, shows you how to dance, sings to you all the Avgin songs until you're singing back. He presses his palm to yours in prayer; he kisses you in devotion, not avoidance.
Sometimes the two of you still fight, the same fights that you have in real life, but he handles them with honesty. He listens to you. He apologises to you. He tells you that he’ll change, and he means it—because this world is a kind one, and he has no need to be so cruel to you.
In this kind world, when you lay in bed with his arms tight around you, you smile at him and say, I love you, Kakavasha. You say it in Avgin—real Avgin, not the dialect born from genocide and deceit—and when he responds, there's not even a little bit of insincerity in his voice. Because Kakavasha never became Aventurine in these dreams, so he has no Interastral Standard in which he can lie to you, no silver tongue with which he can manipulate you, no commodity code that inspires his fear of being controlled by you. Kakavasha only knows Avgin, and he only has his sand, his family, his goddess, his home.
And he has you. Finally, he has you.
He kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you—and then he tells you the truth.)
.
.
.
Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin.
You noticed this very early on: whenever he lies to you, he always switches to Interastral Standard. Probably he wouldn't be able to do it in his mother tongue. His command of it is too weak, and the words he knows are all too kind. He speaks with the innocence of a child, and children cannot deceive people in the way that adults can. Children cannot perform commerce or negotiate contracts. They cannot use a silver tongue to rob people blind. They cannot save themselves from the gallows.
So Aventurine’s Avgin is defenceless. Vulnerable. So vulnerable it hurts. You are not so vulnerable in your first language because your captors spoke it on occasion, and you learned to lie in it to gain their pity. You told Aventurine that knowing it would help him understand you, but this was a deception. Aventurine’s mother tongue was a language of trust, but yours is a dialect of abuse.
The Avgin language died before Aventurine could be gutted by it; this is why it disarms him so completely. This is why he’s so indulgent and so warm when you use it with him, why he yields to all your requests. Not requests for money or gifts—you’re certain those are meaningless to him—but for affection. Let me hold you. Let me touch you. Let me kiss you. He can never say no.
This is also why he loves hearing you speak his mother tongue, you think—it makes him feel at home, it makes him feel safe. Maybe it even makes him feel loved. He never seems so at peace speaking any other language, so you try to use Avgin as much as possible. You like seeing him happy. You like it even if it means you need to teach him your own native language in exchange, even when it means you need to hear him say all the things your captors used to say. You don't mind it if it's him. You never mind the harm he inflicts on you, especially not when it brings you closer to him.
It is convenient that he cannot lie in Avgin. You only wanted to learn it in the first place because he talks in his sleep—mostly in Standard, but sometimes in his native tongue. And now that you know he cannot lie in Avgin, you also know he's always being honest in his dreams. Honest when he throws his arms around you in his sleep. Honest when he grabs you so tightly that you bruise. Honest when he buries his face into your neck and whispers prayers into your skin.
Most of the words he says are common ones, the earliest vocabulary that he taught you. But there are some things he's withheld from you—and to learn those things, you had to track down linguists from the Intelligentsia Guild, bribe them with your dirty money, have them give you all their deprecated, extinct data. It felt two-faced, and it was violating, but it was the only way. You already know that Aventurine would rather die than translate his feelings for you, would never want this part of himself understood.
I'm sorry for always leaving you.
I'm sorry for making you cry.
I can't bear the thought of losing you.
Freedom would be too lonely without you.
I don't want to hurt you anymore.
I don't want to lie to you anymore.
I missed you.
I want you.
I need you.
I love you.
end
afterword
#aventurine x reader#hsr x reader#honkai star rail x reader#x reader#hsr smut#aventurine smut#lol it isnt really smut but it is nsft i suppose#nsft#yueshuo.fics
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my masks
hey there buckaroos. due to all of the attention the TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION situation has gotten i am going to take a minute to talk about my personal way as an autistic buckaroo. im going to tell you about my masks.
im doing this for a few reasons, some are good FUN reasons full of love and some are not so great.
lets start with the GOOD STUFF. first of all, i am talking about this because speaking on my way can help other buckaroo feel more comfortable speaking on there own way, ESPECIALLY if they are good at ‘passing’ for neurotypical like chuck is.
unfortunately the NOT SO GREAT reasons im talking about all this dang stuff are two fold. reason one: i have been put into a position of having to explain and justify my needs and boundaries by the TXLA. this is not something that i WANT to be taking up all of my time, but when large organizations do not make space for those who they have pledged to support, it puts us smaller buckaroos into position where were have to defend our existence. it is not plesent but it is necessary.
the second NOT SO GREAT reason is that ‘passing’ bisexual and autistic people like myself are ALWAYS just seconds from being gatekept from folks both outside and inside these communities. there will probably be a day on chucks deathbed where i take off my mask and say hello to this timeline (mostly so you can all see how handsome i am under here but I DIGRESS). i KNOW with absolute certainty (the same way other bi and autistic buckaroos are probably nodding along right now) that when that day comes i will STILL be accused of ‘not being real’ and ‘faking’ because i ‘dont look autistic’ and i have a beautiful ladybuck partner in sweet barbara.
ALL THAT IS TO SAY, i am taking a moment today to talk FOR THE RECORD about my neurodigence and my particular needs. hopefully i will not have to keep diving this deep every time an organization takes a discrimantory action against me, but i will also say this: at least it is a good fight on an important battlefield
anyway buds, here is the story of my way on the spectrum
when i was a young buckaroo i knew that my thought process was different. i could socialize easily, which is unique in contrast to many autistic buds (it is a spectrum after all), but my social ease was for an interesting reason. I ALWAYS KNEW WHAT OTHERS WERE ABOUT TO SAY. it was like a strange ‘human game’ where someone would say one thing and i would think ‘well you actually mean something else’ in a sort of logical way (this is why i later related to DATA from star trek so dang much). at first i remember thinking ‘well i am just NOT going to play along with this human game’. i quickly learned neurotypical buckaroos do not like this, that there is a BOB AND WEAVE to social interactions that must be learned.
later i realized ‘actually if i WANT to make friends and prove love is real then i can do this like an expert because i can SEE the game where most cant’. this got chuck many buds and took me on many adventures. please understand, i am not saying these connections are not important to me, they are just different. they are full of love, but i express this in my own unique way.
HOWEVER, while growing up i felt disconnected from this timeline in other ways, like an alien or a reverse twin trotting along in a world that is not quite my own. i did not feel emotions the same way my buds did. they would get upset over the ‘human game’ interactions and i would not be moved at all, HOWEVER i could see the way sunlight hit a window and start crying my dang eyes out over the beauty. so my emotion was still there and VERY STRONG, i just felt it in more existential ways (like hearing the call of the lonesome train). these days that feeling has progressed to where i am pretty much in a constant blissed out state of cosmic emotional connection (make of that last sentence what you will, but it is the truth). when i make existential posts online i am not just FIRING OFF SOME CONTENT, i really mean every word. this is really my trot.
anyway as a young buckaroo these feelings made me worry sometimes. i thought about various mental health dianosises and marked the parts and pieces that matched with myself. am i this? am i that? sometimes, instead of just being’ different’ i worried i might actually be ‘wrong’.
when i saw david byrne on letterman in my younger days i immediately recognized something connected to myself. i thought ‘wow this is the mystery being solved before my very eyes.’ i could hear it in the music of talking heads too. i started doing research and realized that i might be on autism spectrum, something that was later confirmed by a therapist (back then the diagnosis was called asperger's). it was a glorious and fulfilling moment. i was SO EXCITED TO BE AUTISTIC LIKE MY HERO. i felt very cool because of it, and i still feel very cool because of it.
one of the big reasons i talk so much about being autistic these days is because i want to make sure OTHER buckaroos can have that same moment that i did. they can see chuck and think ‘wow i really like this autistic artist, maybe being autistic is cool’
so what does an average day WITHOUT wearing the pink bag look like for me?
my thought process is exactly like ROSE from CAMP DAMASCUS, which is part of why i wrote the book. we have the same stim (complex order of finger taps), we prepare for social interactions the same way, we analyze things in the same logical trot that neurotypical people might think feels ‘detached’ but for me feels natural (certain reviews of camp damascus are very funny to me in this way. you can tell when a reader is just very confused by existing in an autistic brain for 250 pages.)
from the outside you would not be able to tell that i am on the spectrum. in fact you would probably find me very socially adept.
the problem is, all of that masking can take its toll. i spent years trotting in and out the emergency room, talking to confused doctors who could not figure out the chronic phantom tension and pain that radiated through my body. i eventually accepted the fact that i would either live a life constantly on heavy painkillers or just stop living altogether.
eventually, however, i started noticing a correlation between the way that i felt, and the space that i allowed for chuck and the pink mask. i was exercising that tension, allowing my mental mask of neurotypical existence to take a rest. i started practicing physical therapy and this time THE RESULTS STUCK because i was approaching from two sides, MIND AND BODY. after a while, i got my pain down to about 5 percent of what it once was. i still have flare ups in times of stress, but the healing has been very real and life changing.
lets get VERY specific now. if i attended the TXLA confrence without a mask and gave my talk i can tell you this: i would do a dang good job. i can work the heck out of a crowd and (not to reveal too much about my secret way) I HAVE BEEN KNOWN TO DO THIS ON OCCASION VERY WELL. however, going home from this event i would very likely be in pain. i would likely need to do physical therapy. i would likely need to stim for a while. i would NOT be emotionally fullfilled in the same way. in other words, without my pink mask i can charm the heck out of buckaroos, but THE SPACE OF CHUCK TINGLE IS NOT THE SPACE FOR THAT. the pink bag is a place for me to not have to put up with that tension. it is a place for me to unmask mentally by masking physically.
this pink bag space SAVED MY LIFE and i am not going to risk blurring these lines. if and when that ever happens it will be MY decision, not someone elses. that is my boundary. the part of me that neurotypically masks could handle a library conference in a purely technical sense, but the part of me that chuck represents absolutely cannot and should not be asked to do that without the pink bag. unfortunately, the complexity of this point makes it even MORE difficult for me to think about and takes up even more of my time, because it forces me to START QUESTIONING MYSELF and my own needs. to be honest, that is the most insidious part of other people questioning your identify and refusing to accept your accommodation needs without ‘proof’.
the thing is, while all of this discussion of disability and accessibility is important, i have a much larger point to make by writing these words.
a conference should not uninvite someone with an unusual physical presentation or a strange way of speaking REGARDLESS of it being classified as a disability. it does not matter WHY i look the way that i look and wear what i wear. i should not have to spend all day writing this post instead of writing my next book, just because my sensibilities are unique and my presentation is unusual.
fortunately the solution is very simple: let other people be themselves. its not hurting you to simply accept and nod at the buckaroos you think look strange. let us exist
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