#but not that gentle

[traewilson]

So I saw this post on Twitter, and something about it stirred a bit of writing out of me. This became Too Much for Twitter to handle (like Hell I'm paying that bitch ass snake oil salesman running the place just to do what I can do for free here!)

So, for exactly no one's pleasure - my first actual post, and my first somewhat serious stab at writing. In that, I actually finished it. I digress. All I ask is that you put yourself in the world. This is a History Keeper, telling you some small trivial bit of Wasteland history.

"The Engagement Farmer. Once, I spoke with a man who said he knew him from before The Collapse. A friend of the family, he was. Before The Collapse, he was nobody. Never could hold down a job, never amounted to much of anything. He was obsessed with that unimaginable thing, the Internet - something I cannot describe to you who never knew of it, and still tell this story. Suffice it to say, like so many of us, when The Collapse came, he was so attached to the things that came before, the things now no longer. And once they were gone, this man collapsed.

Many can regale you with a story about encountering the Engagement Farmer. Most just talk about how they drove by, and suddenly a man, dressed in rags, face barely visible under the unwashed untrimmed hair. Worn over his head was a device he once made his whole world - a "computer monitor". Perhaps your parents will remember what function they once had. Your grandparents, if you're lucky.

...Where was I? Yes yes of course! Attached to his arms were devices called "keyboards" and long dead remains of a kind of phone from before The Collapse. Where he found them, no one could guess. He would chase these passers by, screaming with an animalistic ferocity, "ENGAGE WITH ME!! ENGAGE WITH ME!!" Most who saw him will tell of how they were both unsettled yet amused by him, and would marvel at how he just kept following them. Some told me of how they would actually slow down occasionally to see just how far he would go. One I remember was tickled pink by it, delighting in teasing the man before making him, as they say, eat dust.

One story in particular strikes me as particularly memorable. Once a man and his wife were traveling through the Wasteland, also on foot. It was dark of night, and as you should well know, barely a sound was made. They knew this was where the Engagement Farmer had camped, and didn't much care to find out what happened to those he noticed and caught up with. But as they snuck through the sands, an odd sound filled the air. Moaning? No, it was...weeping. A dangerous thing to do in the Wasteland - moisture is precious, you know. But I digress! This couple heard this weeping, and feared the worst. "So this is what happens to those the Farmer catches," one thought at the time. "What a cruel way to engage." These two worked up the courage to approach this sound, to see if they should help this poor soul. They crawled their way up a dune, and peered over. There, they saw the truth, and the truth was terrible - but not in the way you might think.

A tent was planted in the sands. Some kind of light filled the camp. The light they described didn't look like a campfires' light; it was too consistent, not to mention the lack of smoke. But that wasn't as important as the shadows they saw, reflected onto the tent. There, they saw the outline of what must've been the Engagement Farmer, and he was the one who was weeping. The weeping had become hysterical sobbing and shouting by the time they saw him. They noticed he was holding...something. They couldn't make out exactly what; the shadow looked peculiar. They decided, without a word said between them, to leave him to his troubles, sneaking around him. If he noticed them, he did not pursue.

Is the Engagement Farmer still out there? Just hang on, all in good time, all in good time! Don't hasten the story to its end. We'll get there in due course.

That same couple came by later on, to see if they couldn't talk to him; convince him to come with them back to their community. This community. Yes, that's right - that couple lived here. But when they arrived to where they had last seen him, they saw a dreadful, but all too common sight.

The Warboys of the one called Immortan Joe had been through the area. The signs were unmistakable. And there, hung from a nearby tree - the tree this couple hanged onto in their minds as a landmark to find him - was the remains of what was once called the Engagement Farmer. He was more deathly pale than even a Warboy - they took everything from him. His blood, and his life. They approached him, slowly, carefully, fearing an ambush that never came. He was strung up by an oddly thin metal chain attached to a collar around his neck. On that collar were inscriptions, and they understood the word from their lessons here. In his pocket, was a photo. The one who became a mother told me later, that was the first time in some time that she had cried, and soon the one who would be a father cried too. In hindsight, they realized what they really saw inside that tent.

They buried him, not too far from where he was found. They saw something in him, and they understood. What terrible irony, to only be truly seen after death. Somewhere out in the Wasteland, you might find that grave, perhaps, and the collar he was hung from, and the photo from his pocket, buried with the Engagement Farmer.

...What's that? Oh, I suppose I didn't say what the word was, did I? And the photo. Yes. Well, the one who would be father, to this day, never told me or anyone else what was on the photo. But he did mention, once, after several drinks of alcohol, what the collar said. The one who would become a mother would, without fail; abandon any conversation that brought up the collar. But just once, she told me what the photo held. Both times, they came to me and told me in no uncertain terms that they lied to me. Their words were adamant, but there was something in their eyes that...gave me room to doubt.

What he told me was

"It was Heathcliff. Heathcliff. That's what the collar said. You happy now?"

And what she told me, seconds before getting up from the table and leaving as fast as she could without disturbing everyone in sight, was:

"Just a boy. A boy and his dog."

[willabee]

[lastoneout]

Ya know when people told me "when you're finally safe enough that you can leave survival mode and start to let go of and process your c-ptsd/trauma things are probably going to get really, really bad before they slowly start to get better" I thought that was reasonable. I did not understand that by "things are going to get bad" they meant "you're going to find yourself in the worst mental state of your entire life, but dw, that means it's working" and tbh I simply wish someone had been more clear.

Edit: If everyone could please take a minute and think about what it must feel like to be struggling and then have multiple strangers say to your face that they find the prospect of going through what you're going through so horrifying that they'd rather kill themselves and then stop leaving comments like that I would greatly appreciate it.

[inkskinned]

she's singing in another room and my dog is asleep at my feet. my grandma asked me why i haven't found a man yet and i laughed. oh, you know. i like my house clean.

my girlfriend is also my man is also "my partner" if i'm in a professional setting. yesterday we went to a ren faire and a man mimed at me - you're together? and at my delighted nod, his baffled, you're gay? made me laugh. a woman with rainbow hair said i love the two of you together. you're both so beautiful it's absurd.

my dad introduced my partner as my "..... friend. or whatever" the other day. he knows we're dating. in the same way, i was never able to get my sister's husband to stop saying that's gay like it's 2008. he still uses the word fa***t, and my sister's defense of him has always been well, he's just kidding.

my lover and i dance to old music in a tiny kitchen. we judge new music together and take food critique very seriously. we watch love is blind before we fall asleep and agree that if they had a queer season, it would be bloody but also make for excellent tv. of fucking course queer people would know someone for only 2 weeks and agree to get married. what are you saying.

at a bar with friends, a man puts his hand on my wrist. got a boyfriend? and yes, i do have a boyfriend, she's amazing. i am texting her while i wander around a gas station named after geese. i am visiting a swing state for a wedding. in the candy aisle i overhear: she's actually like a lesbian it's disgusting. two teenage girls with packaged sandwiches in their hands, giggling. no literally, like. i'm not, like. okay with her being there while we're all, like, naked and changing.

my girlfriend and i tailgate, drink gin and cider out of cups. from the frat group beside us, a man corrects himself with one of his friends: bro, i mean, nonbinary entity, and it makes everyone around him laugh, myself included. he razzes his friend the same way i would have killed for at 19 years old - like nothing happened, he continues: you apply sunscreen like an alien. he does a little sassy (and fairly accurate) dance interpretation of the motion. his friend is laughing so hard they're crying.

i am lucky, i live in a safe neighborhood in a safe state. my masc passenger princess comes up from DC. i drive her for an hour to where all the leaves are a violent arrangement of color. we walk along the trails, letting autumn into our blood. in this part of the state, there's a lot of pickup trucks and trump signs. when we chastely kiss before getting into the car, i accidentally make eye contact with a woman holding her child's wrist. she looks disgusted. she looks fucking pissed.

two hours later my girl and i are eating dinner on a patio, soaking in the last warmth of new england sun before the chill of winter sets in. we are giggling and trying to talk through plastic vampire teeth. at another table, i see a young woman sit up straighter. i watch her watch us. she blushes and takes her partner's hand from across the table. shy, like the taste of evening has just become something deeper.

it's worth it for this moment, i think. my lover is still humming the same song she's been singing for four days straight and i don't want to kill her for it. her guitar is beside my bed. her toothbrush is in my bathroom. in a few moments i will make us lunch. we are lucky enough to have found each other. it is lucky enough to be in love.

[orchidbreezefc]

i made a variant of [link: two cakes] to illustrate a related principle

[fluffy--cookie]

[littlestpersimmon]

whale fall

[fromdarzaitoleeza]

{Quotes:Nitya prakash/Richard siken ,crush}

[stayuntilthefoglifts]

No one will ever fully be able to understand the internal battles you had to endure just to heal, just to grow, just to make it here today. Be proud of the way you fought to save yourself. Be proud of the way you survived.

Bianca Sparacino

[iyamifucker]

“I can fix him” I couldn’t fix him and I don’t want to. I think he grew prone to biting and scratching in order to get by in a harsh world, and to me his resilience is part of what makes him so beautifully himself. I could be kind to him, though. I could show him gentleness. I could, slowly but surely, in the same way one earns the trust of a skittish stray cat, convince him that my touch will never come accompanied by pain. That, around me, he can allow himself to be soft. To relax. I could be the one he associates with warmth and safety, the one he longs to be held by after a hard day. I could be his home.

[paracosmoon]

[shamelesslyimpurrfect]

(X)

[martyrbat]

i dont know who needs to hear this but you do not need to go on a diet. you do not need to lose weight as a new year revolution. you do not need to feel shame for gaining any weight over the holidays and for enjoying yourself and the food. you do not need to tolerate diet talk after setting a boundary and if someone cant respect that then theyre being the asshole. you already have a summer body. you already are hot. theres no moral failure or shame in being fat

[lonepower]

yes i Am paying real money to make you all look at our new dog. we've had her for 3 hours and if anything happened to her I'd kill everyone in this room and then myself. her name is Tater Tot

[metamorphesque]

― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Gentle Spirit

[astrallar]

This man holds my heart just like he holds these ducks