sometimes buds ask’ what is it like to be a neurodivergent artist?’ and this is great summary: the charts can look like this, and at same time people will be endlessly posting on how you are ‘not real’ or ‘a bit’. you can hold bestsellers in slot 1 to 4 and still not be 'serious'
i am ultimately ok with this. i love my trot and would not have it any other way, but i think it is worth investigation. when irony poisoning has seeped into everything, how many times does a neurodivergent person have to say ‘actually this is NOT so bad its good. its just good’
when you are autistic, or queer, or both, how much proof do you need to be considered good art? or good business? what do the charts have to look like for me to be a ‘real’ author? or allowed my face mask at a library association conference? or one person not a group of writers?
im coming up on a decade of writing tinglers soon, and people are still talkin about my ‘serious’ works vs my ‘joke books’ and at every turn, as kindly as i can, i shout from the rooftops: THEY ARE ALL SERIOUS BOOKS. THIS IS NOT A BIT.
but its hard when buds have had ‘the correct way to be a writer. the correct way to be an artist. the COOL way to react to a book that is TOO weird’ pounded into their heads by internet culture. 'kill it with fire' they say. 'i need eye bleach' they say without thinking. a line.
heres the thing, the tide IS turning. theres buckaroos jumping in and saying, ‘I want to be a part of this’ and for that they are being rewarded. the publisher who took me seriously is lookin pretty dang good right now with these charts and these sales. i am honored and moved
over time there will be more buds who shed that irony mask. the tide of sincerity is powerful, and the tide of love is inevitable. it is difficult to stand strong in our uniqueness but it also pays off, and I hope to be a shining example. eventually THE TIMELINE BENDS TO YOU
so this is not a thread to complain. i have been trotting long enough that these things do not really bother me. being made fun of and disparaged as ‘not legit art’ while also being objectively successful at the things im made fun of about is kind of the ocean that i swim in.
no. my point of this is to say THANK YOU to those of you who have been trotting by my side over these years. THANK YOU for proving love to me. im so honored by your support, and you should know that YOU have seen beyond the irony poisoned veil that stops many others. YOU get it.
and to those with their own unique perspective on creation: look what you can do. yes there will likely be a lot of resistance to something different, but there is also a LOT of reward. YOU can trot a new path. YOU can prove love is real, not in MY way, but IN YOUR OWN WAY
anyway thank you for reading buckaroos. thank you for your support. LUCKY DAY comes out next summer and it is probably as FAR OUT and existential as the tingleverse has ever gone. you can preorder it here
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i wonder who which jjk men are into boobs, butt or legs in the debate 🤔
a.n. should preface this by noting that these parts have their advantages from a functional perspective (i.e. a mouth feels better than a hand) but when it comes to attraction...to each their own. preferences don't mean one lacks in comparison to the other. breasts, butt, belly, and everything else are all beautiful in their own way. they'd like you head to toe. that being said, this is less about appearances and more that every lover fucks in irreplicable ways + how it has influenced their tastes.
geto is an enigma...he'd choose the unpredictable parts and the brain happens to be one of them. mainly because sex is just as much a creative process and he gets bored easily. think up a roleplay scenario and watch how his eyes light up, try a risky position, doggy and missionary are overdone, and show him that toy you really want because it has seven speed levels and fourteen vibrational patterns. the possibilities are endless. the foreplay takes precedence, he doesn't mind pushing the boundaries or "broadening our horizons," as he puts it.
you forget he has whole other sides to him. he gets as passionate and all-consuming as his love for you. heart skipping a beat when he pulls back the curtains and fucks you hard against a window. presents you to the world without fear or shame, just that he's always wanted to try it. 'try' being the keyword here, something about your body being his body too. geto doesn't think he'd learn you well without sneaking in a few surprises.
copping a feel is the same as stealing an innocent kiss. leaving them in uninhabited spots. they're too obvious, too exciting. a secret you two share. no one wants to see his tongue licking a stripe down the nape of your neck while you're busy preparing dinner for company or that they can practically hear the two of you going at it in the bathroom. you can't help the squeal you let out, it's his fault for slipping his thumb past your asshole.
you don't bother to ask why he's so bold. geto's not the kind to elaborate too much outside the bedroom but within those four walls, he's got a dirty mouth, a wicked tongue, and he needs communication. talk you through it and the like. commentary is sexy when he tells you just how perfect you feel, how tight, how wet, how good you are when you milk his cock like you're hungry for it. his come feels so hot, sticking to you like honey, coating your insides like a mark—so tell him. let your mouth do the work.
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gojo on the other hand has an eye for pretty things. loves the art of the tease. spends all the time in the world watching behind his blindfold, letting out longing sighs with cheek pressed into palm fantasizing about lines and shapes fitted upon and in his hands. how large they are, he likes to take his time running them down sloping shoulders, a waist curving inwards, and mouth-watering thighs.
his eyes are just drawn to them, supple and succulent, he likes to get his full of it. all that plump flesh in his hands, you have no business being this sexy. in a pair of jeans, in leggings, or when they peek from below short pretty dresses. diaphanous thing damp with more than just water but your sweaty skin and slick, dripping pussy. it hints and hides just enough, not too much. accentuating, revealing something he can't wait to have. loves that bit of chub that sticks out when you wear thigh-high socks and garters. "you think im letting you leave the house like that?" he warns, fingers tugging at the elastic, wanting to rip them apart. then holds onto it when he drives you anywhere because he’s clingy isn't he? his fingers mark you with heat and his intent to get crushed like a watermelon between them, even when you do the ‘hovering’ straddling thing so you don't 'hurt' him. which is impossible. gojo is more than capable.
he'll pull you back down, wanting to feel your full weight atop him, grips onto them and watches as they tremble and shake. it's the best part. he'll kiss them, bite into the raw skin. not to mention it feels so soft when he’s laying his head on them, feeling you brush his hair back, "i could stay here forever..." he says and means it.
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sukuna wants vulnerability. or rather he expects it of you when he doesn't intend to be gentle. call it arrogance, call it knowing what he likes but sex is also an act of trust and sukuna's the most unwilling when he isn't convinced he has a partner who—for lack of a better term—'matches his freak'. it's ironic when he'll ask "what's in it for me," but transactional, no-strings-attached sex still requires defenselessness.
so it matters that your reactions are a drug and he wants more each time. how you get feistier, friskier, bit by bit as he continues to pinch and prod. your pleasure matters, but don't get there on your own. not before he gets a taste of smooth skin and how it gives under his teeth. tits and ass are so pedestrian, he prefers the more... susceptible parts. a neck, a rib, and an ankle are all very prone to nasty accidents. it'll only hurt more when he won't apologise for the occasional biting bruise or stinging slap. your yelp of excitement is more than a green light for him to yield, inflicting just that little bit of pain.
he's got a tight grip on your wrists, after he's left languid, sloppy kisses down the length of your forearm, he won't say that he loves when you smell like him. a touch is never innocent but territorial when he leaves behind traces.
stop struggling. sukuna's a huge weight atop you like tonnes of water and it stays that way until he's done fucking you. how weak and helpless you are. but it never really ends there, his fingers like to linger, dipping them between the soiled mess you made, so what if he's come inside and you're sensitive, maybe he wants more, maybe he likes the trembling edges of your body, the way your eyes roll back, the choking, garbled plea that spills from you. begging not to stop but to make it last, harder, faster, i want to be full of you—a suffocating closeness.
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there's no need to rush, nanami likes to take his time. won't say he's fervent but he is tired, so he'll rest his head upon a soft stomach. he pulls you in closer every time he's sat by the edge of the bed, a hand reaching out to yours.
buries his face and kisses a line down your sternum while he inhales sweet wafts of your perfume along the way, goosebumps rising to meet chapped lips and feeling that scratchy caress in return. you thank him with the soothing stroke of your fingers, parting blonde strands and massaging those temples. his groan tells you all you need to know. there's nothing better than his dear, bowing head.
he holds onto your middle as you bounce on his dick in reverse cowgirl. wild and wanting he guides you from below and you don't see the cogs turning in his head from where he watches over your shoulder. how could you, you're too busy feeling full from how big and sturdy he feels. chest so broad and steadying you like a brick wall. it's then his two large hands trail down, hot to the touch, to cup your womb in this warm and...careful hold.
he leaves them there while the bulging spot juts up to meet his pressing fingers, where the head of his cock is no doubt pummelling your cervix. it's too deep, knocking the wind out of you, but you won't stop him. his thumb caresses the shape, the skin, whole palm pressing down and judging by the scream you let out the pressure is immense. in and out, he's more transfixed with how big he is, how much he fills you up, and how you take him so well.
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toji is a simple man with simple tastes. call it an oral fixation. a pussy tastes like heaven and feels even more so. all the things you could do with one, make her come, make her edge, he definitely prides himself on giving you the best orgasms with just his mouth or fingers. there's no need to complicate things, this man loves money but he might love pussy just a little more.
he doesn't get squeamish, toji stuffs his face and goes to town every time. hands spreading your legs apart, cupping your ass, he likes it when you grip his head tight too, either way, he's making out with it, hungrily lapping with tongue broad and flat, he licks and finds his way deeper.
in the middle of the night, he reaches under the covers for a feel. it's so soft and pliant when he slips his fingers in. he doesn't need to do much as you stir awake, toji kisses behind your ears, feeling you spread for him. "let me play with it," he grunts out, like he woke up and decided he needed to finger you.
there's jolt running up his spine the moment the head of his cock meets the slick, sticky folds of your pussy. he glides and stains the sheets with your combined juices, this wetness that clings to him. thin strands connected everytime he tap, tap, taps. if he were less eager he might just wait it out, let the tip kiss your clit and make it twitch.
but you're so swollen and ready for him, for when he stretches you out so wide you feel him splitting you in half. your aching back and hips can't withstand his heavy, brutal thrusts. pounding and pounding, you swallow him up like nothing, coated in cream and dripping with squirted mess, still spits on it because he can. squeezing him tight like a vacuum, he could never replicate this with his hand. maybe it's why he's so addicted, the sight of his cock moving in and out from between your splayed legs is better than a dream.
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