#yes i am an aromantic autist why do you ask | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chaotic-neutral-toga · 4 years

Text

i’ve spent the entire time since my last post on this and holy fuck i want to fall into a coma

um okay i just thought up a zodiac based story plot thing and uyvbuhyb

okay so there’s this god-like thing but not exactly gods, i guess the “souls” of concepts, maybe?? so like those ones are infinite, not really but like they are, it’s confusing on purpose, but the zodiac are one of a kind each, Thing is they’re kinda destructive. Some do it because they can/want to, some do it because they don’t understand what’s wrong with it (they weren’t really ‘disciplined” or “taught”, so morality is kinda lost on them), and some are more kind, but still dangerous. In classic story fashion, they get sent down to the human world to become accustomed to morals, ethics, and just having a more grounded life. anyway characters

Pisces is autistic (yes im projecting a little) and destruction was the her way of stimming (other than snuggling in a hug with someone). When she gets to Earth, she does things that are “weird” to humans, since out of all of the zodiacs, she has the hardest time grasping the concept of the human world besides stuff she already knew(water and other stuff her sign rules). She’s fairly kind and compassionate, but has no tolerance for liars or anyone that gets on her bad side, which is a side even Aries sweats over. She likes puns (once they’re explained to her), and never understands innuendos or dirty jokes unless they’re really obvious. [Colors for her design: Mauve, Lilac, Violet, Sea Green. Closest Relationships: Virgo and Taurus. Human Name: Clementine.] Panromantic Demisexual

Aries is a bit reckless/destructive, to the point of idiotic sometimes, but he really does have the best intentions with most things he does. You can’t really blame someone for not knowing what they shouldn't do when they were never taught they had limits or boundaries that could be pushed. He can be bossy at times, but it’s usually because he knows his fellow Zodiacs well, and he can tell when they need someone to tell them what to do before they end up arguing over different ideas. Fire is the element he rules over, therefore it was one of the few human concepts he knew, so he took a quick liking to smores; it’s a sweet thing made over fire, what’s not to love? When he’s not riled up over something, he’s just a really passionate and affectionate friend. He identifies as an Androgynous Trigender, sometimes feeling like a boy, sometimes a girl, and sometimes agender, while preferring to use he/him pronouns. [Colors for his design: Red why the fuck does he only get 1 color wtf is this inequality. Closest Relationships: Libra and Leo. Human Name: Everett.] Aromantic Asexual(will kiss the homies uwu)

Taurus is pretty calm, but they can and will destroy you(verbally). They speak their mind and try their best to be honest, even if the truth is painful or undesirable. When dealing with problems, he keeps a straight face(facade or not), but lets his emotions out when it’s over (aka pouting as Cancer give them calming head pats). Because they’re one of the only ones who took to cooking (and one of the quickest to become relatively easily-adjusted to Earth), at times, they tend to be in a sort of parental role when interacting with the others. They can get frustrated with too much stress (aka more calming head pats), but they can usually work through it well enough. When it comes to love, he becomes flustered surprisingly easy, though this is technically hypothetical, as they haven’t encountered any romantic situations yet. Upon coming to Earth, Taurus discovered he’s allergic to reptiles, especially snakes, which makes his friendship with Scorpio, who will not give up his precious boop noodle, a bit rocky. He uses he/they pronouns. [Colors for his design: Green, Pink. Closest Relationships: Scorpio and Cancer. Human Name: Beau, pronounced Bo.] Gay

Gemini was probably the most optimistic of the bunch when they were first sent to Earth; she isn’t reckless, but she does live for the thrill. She has fun watching drama as long as it’s just harmless bickering, and she’ll stop any serious fights. She's a bit slow at reading the air sometimes, which is one of the few things that make her feel insecure. Even if she comes off as prideful or uncaring, she truly does treasure all her friends, and would move mountains for them. She is an ADHD Lesbian, so she has the awful pun of GA(Y)DHD. [Colors for her design: Light-Green, Yellow. Closest Relationships: Sagittarius and Aquarius. Human Name: Mikaela.] Lesbian

Virgo has a somewhat obvious crush on Pisces- not everyone knows, but it’s not rocket science for the observant ones- and Pisces thinks he’s just being a really great friend.(Virgo: I am stoic and distant and won’t open my heart to anyone. Pisces: Hi! Virgo: FUCK-). It’s easy for him to stress or obsess over something, and not give himself any room for imperfection. He’s one of the less outwardly destructive zodiacs, but internally, he tries to do too much and puts too much pressure on himself, which is never a good thing to do. Sometimes due to stress, he’ll isolate himself for a bit, but he gets very touch-starved very easily.. which makes it even more confusing how the snugly Pisces doesn't notice his feelings. [Colors for his design: Grey, Beige, Pale-Yellow. Closest Relationships: Pisces and Cancer. Human Name: Ezra.] get em boys, we found a Hetero

Libra is a quiet one, usually collecting information from afar before interjecting. He likes being helpful since he’s aware that he sometimes overthinks interaction. Asking him questions can be confusing, as he usually answers with simple “yes”’s and “no”’s. He enjoys reading fairytales; no real reason, he just likes them. He has Sensory Processing Disorder, which simultaneously makes him the dad and the baby of the group. [Colors for his design: Pink, Green. Closest Relationships: Aries and Sagittarius. Human Name: Libra, which is luckily an actual greek name.] Bi

Leo is a rowdy girl to say the least. She’s loves just horsing around with her friends, usually in the manner of play-fighting and tackle hugs. If you didn’t guess, she’s one of the more destructive Zodiacs, even on Earth. She denies ever doing things when confronted, though it doesn’t work most of the time (”Whaaat, I didn’t break that vase, that was Aries, right bro?” “Hey, don’t pin this on me!” “BRO-”). She is extremely loyal to the people she cares for, which could cross into naivety if she chose the wrong person as her friend. While she definitely isn't the motherly type, if one of her friends really needs to be comforted, she’ll sit them on her lap and stroke their head(she stronk owo). Though normally upbeat, she becomes somber in grim-looking situations, to the point of pessimistic. [Colors for her design: Gold, Yellow, Orange. Closest Relationships: Aquarius and Gemini. Human Name: Amaterasu.] Demiromantic Asexual

Scorpio has a pet boop noodle(baby ball python) that he almost stole before Taurus payed for it, which is when they discovered Taurus is allergic. They’re an overall cold and distant person, but they’re not completely shut-off; they just have a hard time warming up to people. Because of this, he holds grudges for a long time when his carefully-placed trust is betrayed. He seems to sometimes just appear and disappear during discussions with anyone noticing until he suddenly speaks up or they want to talk to him(spoiler alert: he’s just quiet). He’s very cute and peaceful when sleeping. [Colors for his design: Scarlet, Red, Rust. Closest Relationships: Taurus and Cancer. Human Name: Phoenix.] Arospike Aceflux

Cancer is very much a big sister to most, if not all, the Zodiacs. She has a caring air about her and can adjust to suit the boundaries of her friends. She herself is quite sensitive- though no one’s ever seen her like that- and she never wants her friends to feel that way. Besides that, she takes great interest in human pleasantries, such as sweet food, cameras, and lullabies. While she prefers to be the mediator during fights, if someone, say, insulted her friend and wouldn’t back off, she would lash back with a stone cold fury; the shock value alone gives her an advantage in those situations. [Colors for her design: White again with only one color wtf im adding my own, Pale-Orange, Various Yellows. Closest Relationships: Capricorn and Taurus. Human Name: June.] Questioning Asexual

Sagittarius is one of those aggressively positive people, saying what they want with no filter. They don’t take any shit from anyone, no matter who they are. She’s very free-spirited, but she’s not unguided; she knows what she wants and when she wants it. She’s never really hurt by anything, brushing and laughing things off almost immediately. She can get quite impatient, to the point of childishly whining. I’d bet 50 bucks that she was the first Zodiac to “discover” alcohol. [Colors for her design: Blue, Deep Purples, Browns. Closest Relationships: Gemini and Aries. Human Name: Nova.] Butch Grey-Aromantic Homosexual/Femmesexual

Aquarius is an analytical and selfless individual. They approach solutions to situations practically and objectively, even if their heart tells them otherwise. They keep their emotions bottled up most of the time, and if they’re doing something, there’s a high chance they’re doing it for someone else. Before, that was okay, since it was just the Zodiacs; but on Earth, it makes her a bit of a doormat. She’s one of the more morally-misguided Zodiacs, and she can’t really identify when something is criminal. She has a hard time remembering that she can’t say things like “human pleasantries” or call people insignificant compared to herself. They like being alone a lot, but they’re not antisocial. [Colors for her design: Light-Blue, Silver. Closest Relationships: Leo and Sagittarius. Human Name: Aqua no she did not try.] Aromantic Asexual(will not kiss the homies u~u)

Capricorn is pretty much “i’m surrounded by idiots”, but they’re his idiots and he knows he loves them. He doesn't look anything special, but he can and will throw you across the room if you fuck with him or his idiots, especially when he’s tired. He is peak sarcastic bitch and has pretty solid bullshit detector. If one of the Zodiacs is asleep where they shouldn’t be or they’re just leaving somewhere, he usually hoists them over his shoulder. He’s generally reserved but the Hug Pile™, or really extreme amounts of platonic affection in general, make him really soft; half because he’s surprised that they honestly care for him that much. [Colors for his design: Brown, Black, Grey, Yellow, Yellow-Orange. Closest Relationships: Taurus and Cancer. Human Name: Kai.] Aromantic Asexual(will be kissed by the homies owo)

holy fukcing shit is that it. am i finally fucking done. oh sweet jesus im crying this took me so fucking long

sorry if anyone was worried about me, i’m fine. Art, drabbles, and headcanons for this are allowed, but please link this post and/or tag me(or just send it in asks). i’ll try to be productive on this, tho itll probably be in the form of mini scenarios and incorrect quotes.

Here are the songs that kept me from kms while i made this: Lost One’s Weeping by Neru, Namine Ritsu-Error by kyaami, Yukune Ruko-I Don’t Wanna Know by Narcissus, Nakakapagpabagabag by Dasu, Madness of Duke Venomania Eng Sub by IkuSuperbia, v flower-Close to You by kyaami, My Nocturnal Serenade by YOHIO, Len’s Growl-Ghost Rule by Teto Chan!, Fukase English-Never Gonna Give You Up, Fukase English-Your Reality.

pls feed me validation on this i tried so hard my brain hurts

#my story #big post #zodiac #zodiac story #human zodiac

17 notes · View notes

aroworlds · 5 years

Text

What Makes Us Human, Part Two

Moll of Sirenne needs prompts in their girdle book to navigate casual conversations, struggles to master facial expressions and feels safest weeding the monastery's vegetable gardens. Following their call to service, however, means offering wanderers in need a priest's support and guidance. A life free of social expectation to court, wed and befriend does outweigh their fear of causing harm—until forgetting the date of a holiday provokes a guest's ire and three cutting words: lifeless and loveless.

A priest must expand a guest's sense of human worth, but what do they do when their own comes under question? Can an autistic, aromantic priest ever expect to serve outside the garden? And what day is it...?

Contains: A middle-aged, agender priest set on defying social norms around love; an alloromantic guest with a journey to undergo in conquering her amatonormativity and ableism; and an elderly aromantic priest providing irascible reassurance.

Content Advisory: Depictions and discussions of ableism, amatonormativity and dehumanisation, particularly with regards to autism and aromanticism. Please expect additional background references to partner abuse and dysfunctional relationships, along with a side mention of magic causing harm to animals. This piece also includes reflections on non-romantic love's being pushed as a second-best "humanising" quality on non-partnerning, aplatonic and neurodiverse aros.

Length: 4, 946 words (part one of two).

Note: This is the newest entry in my tradition of Not Valentine’s Day Aro Stories posted on Valentine’s Day. No familiarity with my other Marchverse stories is needed, although it does obliquely nod at events referenced in Love is the Reckoning.

Will you ignore their need of someone their own to reassure them that they are so wonderfully and deservedly human?

Moll checks that she follows and, wordlessly, heads towards the guest common room. Their heart thrums in their chest; they fight to slow their heaving ribs. What will they do if Gennifer isn’t finished with what caused her to miss breakfast? What if … shades, can’t they send an acolyte to find her or Oki? Waiting with James won’t lack unpleasantness, but Moll needn’t engage her in conversation. They can keep their silence while a brown-robe hunts down a senior priest.

Breathe.

For good or ill, they are both decided to follow a new path.

Gennifer, fortunately, sits in one of several armchairs, frowning down at the ledger in her lap. Two acolytes tidying feel more like shadows than occupants in a vast room of redwood tables and bookshelves, all crammed with books, games, paper, pencils and paints. Pots filled with trailing ferns hang from the high rafters, lending the room a touch of Sirenne’s soil-and-leaflitter scent; the large slate tiles, polished smooth and set close together, feel cool under Moll’s bare feet. Large windows reveal the gardens between wings, permitting light enough that demarcations of “outside” and “inside” lose relevance.

She closes the book and looks up, her thick brows raised. Moll has long learnt better than to voice these observations, but Gennifer resembles her pet chicken—a round, fat woman with nut-brown skin and hair, the latter trimmed to a fine fuzz covering her scalp and neck. The red robes, belted with an advising priest’s green sash, pick up the reddish tinge in the hen’s feathers; the neat way she tucks her arms at her sides, her hands drawn up by her chest, resembles the hen’s wings. No quality will so provoke this comparison if not for Gennifer’s mothering of anyone, guest or priest, she judges in need.

“May we converse in private?” Moll asks, turning their head to ensure that James follows them into the room. “Thank you.”

She stands a few paces off, tucking her hand—the tip of one finger smeared with her lip paint—behind her back.

The acolytes down their books and retreat to the hallway.

“What is it?” Gennifer waves at the chair opposite her table. “Sit down. Can I get you a cup of tea? A biscuit?”

“No. James has the opinion … that I can’t relate to their experiences. She wishes the guidance of another priest.” Only a lifetime of practice allows Moll to keep their voice flat and calm. “I don’t wish to cause her any further distress, so I ask that you assign her to someone of a more … suitable nature.”

Only the slightest shift of brow mars Gennifer’s quiet smile. “I see. Is this the case, James?”

How can Gennifer, as careful and controlled as most of Sirenne’s priests, so evade accusations of lifelessness? What difference exists between her expression and theirs? Why can’t Moll see, recognise and imitate it?

James hesitates for long enough that Moll wonders if she’s beset by a change of heart, but at length she nods and takes the offered chair. “Yes. Please. They don’t even know what day it is! They just ask pointless question after question, all stiff and wooden. How am I supposed to get anywhere with a priest that remembers nothing normal?”

She doesn’t mention, Moll thinks with a nauseating bitterness, that she accused all priests of such ignorance. They may not know what the date means, how better to have approached James’s guiding or why only Gennifer’s questions are worth answering, but they know one thing: their control teeters on collapse’s edge.

They bow, turn and stride to the doorway.

“It’s difficult,” Gennifer says with a non-committal softness, “to feel as though—”

Moll quickens their step, their red robes flapping about their calves. Another pair of acolytes enter the hallway, stop and abruptly reverse direction as though afraid to tangle with a priest in a temper. They fist their hands until their fingers ache, but their shoulders shake and their chest heaves. Why did they entertain the delusion that their thick, autistic body, with its oversized hands and stern face, can ever be anything but threatening?

How much more damage need they cause before accepting the truth?

The feel of grass beneath their soles and the strengthening of the rich damp-earth smell tells Moll that they’ve left the building for one of the gardens. Rows of mulched corn, peas and beans grow in a sunny section of the monastery, angled away from the greenhouse. The gardens weren’t their intention, at least insofar that they possessed any, but a riot of unwanted seedlings sprout from the pea straw’s seeds, diverting water and nutrients from the vegetables. The acolytes are a few days behind in their weeding. Good enough.

Moll—ignored by the priest and guests tending the greenhouse’s tomatoes—grabs a bucket and a trowel, kneels by the first pea-festooned trellis and starts pulling up weeds.

There’s no glamour in weeding, no proud presentation of the literal fruits of one’s labour. New weeds poke through the soil and mulch almost as soon as one finishes, and, as in laundry and dishwashing, Moll never finds the satisfaction of conclusion. A garden always provides distraction, however, and nobody stopped to marvel at a quartermaster’s labour. Why expect it now?

Peace, instead, lies in the feel of damp earth clinging to bare feet, the patter of water falling on green leaves, the smell of sun warming soil and straw, the pop as a root pulls free from its earthen cradle. Moll’s trembling fingers fight to gently prise weeds from the bed and shake soil from their roots, but they put their rage into their shoulder as they hurl each into the bucket left at the end of the row.

Pull, shake, throw.

Pop, patter, thwack.

Isn’t this suitable work? If their labour allows Gennifer to guide James by providing the food eaten by priests, acolytes and guests, how aren’t they following their calling?

Pop, patter, smack.

“Do all of those require pulling?”

They jerk, straighten and turn, started to find the Guide sitting in her wheelchair only an arm’s length distant, her attendant idling with a book at the other end of the row. She’s a small woman with white hair gone yellow, sunken cheeks and bony limbs; “elderly” suggests more youth than she shows. Her green robe, belted with red, catches the light through some trickery of weave; a darker green blanket, knit from witched wool, sits over her lap, although the summer warmth permits her to bare both marked shoulders. A ball of yarn, two knitting needles and a toe and heel in progress rests in the valley between her knees. Based on Moll’s infrequent glimpses of her work about the monastery, she too prefers her hands busy, perhaps despite her swollen knuckles.

She looks like a stiff breeze will blow her out of her chair, but she reminds Moll of a century-dead tree, its roots grown so deep that its trunk and limbs survive drought and cyclone.

They drop their plant and, suddenly aware of their aching shoulders and back, bow to Sirenne’s most senior priest.

“Oh, stop. Sit up and stay sit up. Sat up? Whatever.” The Guide sighs and peers down at Moll. “Aren’t your back and knees breaking? I’m hurting just looking at you.”

Moll realises then that they’ve worked down the row and halfway across the bed. Small bits of seed and gravel dig into their knees through the thin linen of their summer robe; their legs, beset with an unnatural stiffness, fight their attempts to sit. “I’m sorry, sir, for my unsupp—”

The Guide raises both hands and claps her fingers to her thumb in the gesture meant to indicate a bird’s opening beak—usually made to mock a person prone to gossip. If she owns something as ordinary as a shroudname, Moll has never heard it mentioned. She’s just the Guide, the leader of her flock on their journey to … well, the Sojourner isn’t the sort of god that provides clarity. No bright heaven or dark hell; just the bewildering grey of somewhere.

Moll dislikes those vague, unspecific words.

“I’m sorry for abandon—”

She repeats the gesture several times, fingertip smacking against thumb.

“I’m … sorry?”

Moll has heard the monastery’s gossip about the Guide, but they didn’t expect … well, this.

“Stop it with the drivel.” The Guide sighs and shakes her head. “If you apologise again, I’ll send you to shadow with the calling-year acolytes. Don’t think I won’t!”

Just the thought of taking lessons with Ro and Alicia has Moll closing their mouth with a teeth-clacking snap. Moll’s calling-year included a grandparent twice their age, but Ro’s year leans young, and they can’t say that they’ll enjoy being so subjected to the acolytes’ discussions, explosions, giggles, jibes and pranks. Moll endured enough of that in the army, irritated even when they were of the customary age to partake!

Is this the Guide’s way of saying that Moll needs those lessons?

Are their missteps with James so serious that Gennifer went to the Guide?

“Moll?”

They sit up, rolling their shoulders back in a vain attempt to ease their stiffness. “I don’t think I need those lessons refreshed,” they say, hoping that their tone doesn’t convey their stomach’s nervous roiling. A priest shouldn’t be afraid to admit fault. How can one help guide another in open-hearted curiosity while bound to an unfailing sense of correctness? “I think I’ll do better in the gardens or the stables. Wherever you believe my work most needed.”

Not that Moll has done an exemplary job with the garden, given the halo of uprooted-and-thrown plants surrounding the bucket.

“Really?” The Guide sighs, looking down at Moll with raised eyebrows. “Because I came here to tell a guiding priest to pick the gravel from their knees, wash up and hop to the infirmary to be briefed on a guest’s needs from his new priest.”

Moll frowns. The infirmary? A guest’s new priest? “Another guest—”

“No! You want to specialise in the arts of weed pulling and shit shovelling! Far be it from me to stop a priest from following their road—even if that road takes them five clicks backwards.” The Guide shrugs and nestles her hands in her lap. “I’m sure there’s another priest with curiosity, patience and directness to help guide a guest as much harmed by Sirenne as the world—another priest that finds equal confusion in tedious definitions of normality. Gennifer’s unexpectedly busy—what about Oki?”

They stiffen, their eyes resting on the thick, bobbled stockings covering the Guide’s unshod feet. “I don’t understand,” Moll murmurs, beset with too many curiosities to untangle but certain that few priests have referenced Sirenne’s harming a guest. “If I knew what you’re referencing, perhaps I could say…? But … I don’t want to distress another guest, and someone must muck the stables.”

After all, she may as well be referencing Moll’s treatment of James.

The Guide stares at Moll, her brow furrowed, her expression well beyond their conjecture. “I think,” she says at length, “you should explain the source of your newfound enthusiasm for regression.”

By now, narrating a discussion with a guest to a senior priest feels habitual. Moll exhales, hissing their breath over their teeth, before beginning with the dining hall, backtracking to explain their anxiety and James’s prior behaviours, and continuing with the courtyard conversations.

Their voice, steady during all manner of absurd, eldritch and horrifying goings-on in their fifteen years with Seventh, wobbles on the words “loveless” and “lifeless”.

“…so I did the inappropriate thing of leaving without allowing for proper explanation or facilitation of—”

“Nep, nep, nep.” The Guide beaks her fingers thrice; Moll, startled, falls silent. “Drivel. You cluck worse than Gennifer’s chicken. That you can work on—tell Gennifer or your calling-year priests that you want them to help you learn to stop clucking.” She sighs and shakes her head. “You assumed yourself the cause of her mood. James felt distressed by spending Lovers’ Day separated from her partner and took offense to your thinking you’d caused offense. She wanted you to simply offer sympathy, believing her situation abundantly self-evident and unneedful of explanation.”

How many times, over the course of a life, have allistics and alloromantics driven them to aghast speechlessness at their absence of rationality? Lovers’ Day is but a petty holiday borrowed from Astreuch tradition, something about which the Sojourner says nothing. Moll doesn’t care enough to recollect its existence, but neither will they disparage or dismiss her pain—if only she mentioned the holiday when asked!

Sirenne should offer sanctuary, but they’re still caught up in the mess caused by love’s assumption, expectation and conformity.

Even here, they’re still rendered less than human.

“I … asked why…” Moll shakes their head, turns and pulls up another weed. “I don’t understand that. None of it. So I belong out here.”

“I didn’t say it was reasonable. It isn’t any more reasonable than your current occupational decision.” The Guide barks a laugh. “But since when do we expect guests to bring reason with them? They don’t. We help them find it.”

They don’t know what word names the mood that has Moll wrench, twist and fling a seeding somewhere towards the bucket before looking up at the Guide. “How could I have—”

“You should have,” the Guide says, her words soft, “taken her to Gennifer as soon as her judgement turned personal. You didn’t need to tolerate that half as long as you did. Take her to someone who gives her fewer excuses and isn’t bearing bruises the world never lets heal. No garden so needs weeding that you should be breaking your body, afterwards, to survive the punches you thought you had to let her throw.”

They sit up, bunching their robes over their legs. Her words ring of bewildering improbability, an unexpected response—like the giving of their girdle book, the leather cover now speckled with dirt and mulch—wildly contradictory to the world’s usual rules and processes. Ideal, certainly, but not in practice true.

“I’m meant,” Moll says slowly, “to be able to do my work. I can’t give every allistic or alloromantic guest to Gennifer because they don’t make se—”

“We both know you won’t ask that another priest take on a guest’s care because you don’t understand their reasoning, but you should if they don’t respect your humanity!” The Guide waves her hand towards the great hall. “How, if you break yourself dealing with every guest assigned to you, are you going to give your best service to the next agender, aromantic or autistic guest walking up our driveway? What if there’s someone there in need of you? Can you, right now, serve as they need?”

They freeze, open-mouthed.

Never did Moll think to look at their work from that angle.

“There wouldn’t be that many—”

“Drivel. Most of the priests not us can handle James. Gennifer, though, isn’t aromantic. She’s kind, sweet and open-minded, certainly—and that’s better than nothing. But she doesn’t speak from a place of knowing. We do. And now, you can give someone something neither of us had—a guiding priest who knows in the heart. Can’t you imagine what that must feel like?” She sighs, her crow’s voice cracking. “Some guests won’t be suited to your strengths, but they’ll respect your humanity. Some won’t suit you, and you’ll make sure they’re cared for by someone they’re less likely to harm. And others, yet unknowing, need you. Will you, Moll, ignore their need of someone their own to reassure them that they are so wonderfully and deservedly human—no matter what the world says?”

Moll draws a breath, the hairs on their forearms raised, their body alert and quivering. Despite the near-cloudless sky, they look up, searching for lightning; the air crackles with that wild, dangerous energy. They hoped, five years ago, to return this gift Gennifer offered to a discharged quartermaster stripped of home and place. The gift of reframing the world, tossing about all long-held expectations so one can put aside the misunderstandings and follow a new turning. The gift, a chance to see everything anew, they couldn’t offer James.

A gift, perhaps, they can still offer someone else—because she’s right, something Moll didn’t realise until she said the word “us”.

They didn’t know that they’d waited forty-four years to receive that gift from their own—to be affirmed human by their kin’s reckoning.

The garden shouldn’t be the entirety of their service.

“That’s better.” The Guide gives a small, satisfied nod. “You’ve forgotten, I think, that in your first year, we learn how best you work with guests. Knowing that better, now, I need you in the infirmary to work with a guest who also didn’t pair well with his first priest—a guest who needs you, not Oki. Or will you mumble about weeds and manure?”

Moll shakes their head. No, not on their life or name!

“Good. Get up, have a long bath, scrub your fingernails, eat a late lunch and then present yourself to Thanh. Tell hir that I sent you to be Esher’s new guiding priest and ze must explain to you the magic. I doubt he’ll be any kind of conscious today, so you have time to dawdle.”

What happened last night? “Magic? Conscious?”

“Thanh will tell you. Go. I’ve got too many priests yet to talk to.”

Far too curious to surrender to bewilderment, Moll bows their head, grabs their trowel and scrambles upright just as the Guide waves her hand to her attendant. “Thank you. Sir. Thank you.” They turn for their bucket, freeze and spin back to face the Guide. “Sir, can I ask something?”

“Yes, quickly, but it had better not be clucking.”

They don’t know what she means by “clucking”, but they’ll ask Gennifer and Oki. “If you weren’t guiding guests when I came, why…?”

“Why didn’t I guide you, you mean?” The Guide shrugs. “I don’t guide guests or teach the acolytes. I’m perceptive and intelligent, they told me, but disastrously blunt. Now, after years in the kitchens, I guide the priests—once you’re educated enough in yourself that I needn’t dance around my words.” She hesitates. “I think, perhaps, there’s some acolytes I should have taught. But I do know the worth and the necessity in ensuring my own number in the priests that follow me.”

“I think you guide well,” Moll says quietly. “For me, if nobody else.”

Their own expressions aren’t given to smiling, but the Guide’s broadening lips, perhaps, speak for them both.

41 notes · View notes

goth-giraffe · 5 years

Text

Not-so-quick guide to my OCs that I sometimes talk about here! xD So... Echo and Meredith, really. Plus a bonus one! Plus new art! :D

Warning, this is gonna be long so I put it under a cut :)

Anyway, because he’s the one that will definitely be mentioned most here, let’s start with..

Echo~

(I didn’t say anything about the quality of the new art xD)

Echo is my persona/self insert character..... he’s really just an alternate version of me (I like to think he’s my Alola form :3)

And like me he’s lonely so he has imaginary friends to keep him going, his current one being Loki ‘cause my current obsession is Loki

Echo is kinda hard to explain because everything about him fluctuates depending on my mood.. there are different versions of him and he doesn’t exactly have a set story or universe.. (For instance I didn’t create him specifically to hang out with Loki, but when I needed a friend I gave him Loki as an imaginary one)

Anyway! Some basic facts! He’s ace/aro, and agenderfluid (questioning?), with he/him pronouns (they/them is safe too though)

Kinda short, 5′2″ ish

Around my age, 17-20, but the mental age of anywhere from 8-17 ish.... he’s always kind of childish but how extreme varies from moment to moment

He’s AFAB but I usually draw him flat-chested because I use him as a way to combat dysphoria so, should anyone else want to draw him, best to draw him flat-chested

Loves trying on clothes! (Mainly because I like a lot of clothes but pretty much exclusively wear pajamas so... yeah I use my OCs as models)

Quiet, non-verbal in some versions (in which case he’ll write in a notepad to communicate), very shy

Sometimes makes clicking noises to calm himself

Daydreams a lot, also sleeps a lot

Gets upset over dumb things... and he’s scared of everything

Doesn’t really like being touched but sometimes snuggles Loki when he’s upset

He’s probably autistic

Probably also has borderline personality disorder.. but I’m unsure about giving him the disorders I think I have, because I don’t actually have a diagnosis (scared of doctors).. nonetheless, a lot of the symptoms that come with those disorders, he has

Likes to draw and his muse is Loki

Likes bugs, especially butterflies

Collects rocks

Eats goldfish crackers

Has really bad posture

Okay at this point I’m just adding random facts about me which is probably weird idk xD I don’t know what more to say about him soo yeah... this is my weird persona

aand next up-

Meredith~

(I liked how this art turned out tbh and I might repost it on my other blog..)

Meredith is an OC insert specifically for Marvel Cinematic Universe

She’s dating Loki, and you’ll find a lot more about her and Loki at @cuddly-loki! (It’s my blog specifically for them! :D)

Buuuut I do mention her here occasionally because I love her (and there are definitely traces of her from when this blog was cuddly-loki), so I’m including her in this :3

She’s not really into labels but she is kinda gendermeh, I think of her as a nonbinary woman (...or soft butch, but I call her that mostly when Loki happens to swap genders), but she just uses she/her pronouns

Again, meh about labels but she has dated both feminine and masculine people, and she doesn’t really experience physical attraction the same as most people

Kinda goth, dresses mostly in greyscale colours and in kind of goth/punk clothes I guess (also, she prefers androgynous clothes)

Really affectionate with people close to her, close friends and her boyfriend of course :3 (mild PDA does not make her uncomfortable but it sure does irritate Loki)

Quiet, but not shy- she’ll talk to anyone probably but she’d rather watch them until it makes them uncomfortable xD

Once you get past the being weird or goth to creep you out though, she’s very soft and pretty nice (even if still a little dark)

She’s an aspiring musician.. sorta. She plays violin and loves music.. but also has a weird relationship with music, we’ll just leave it at that for now

Works night shift as a bartender

Likes horror movies

Favourite food is pizza

Loves birds

Doesn’t like technology very much

She has a lineup of mental disorders too I’m sure, she’s an ex junkie for one and likes to feel numb to things..

Also has persistent insomnia, either related to her depression or depression meds, who knows

Lives in her apartment with a couple plants and Loki, who is still adjusting to Earth life

Like mentioned above you can find more of Meredith at my blog @cuddly-loki and if you ask questions about her or her and Loki I will probably be very happy :)

Side note: Meredith is not meant to be a self insert but we do have things in common, and I’d probably get along with her. She’s pretty chill and gets along with most people though haha

A little bonus one, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned her here before but just in case

Gwyneth~

(Okay this turned out a little messy but ehh. It was kind of just from memory, I might have still had references for her but I lost them when my jumpdrive quit so meh)

She’s a dead character that I don’t use anymore and won’t be using anymore but on the off chance I’ve mentioned her or do mention her, I’ll go ahead and add her to this as a little bonus

I created her when I first started obsessing over Loki, and she was a self insert I used to selfship romantically with him... it was okay for a brief time but in the end I hated it. It’s hard to explain, kind of personal.. but for one thing, I’m pretty sure I’m aromantic. I love soft romance stuff but I don’t really want to be part of it.

...And that’s why I killed Gwyneth and created Meredith ehehe

I’m gonna talk about her a little anyway, for one, she was an artist/painter

She liked to take pictures of strangers to paint them and I’m pretty sure that’s how she met Loki (AKA the weirdo on the sidewalk in the all black suit)

I honestly don’t remember what her actual income came from, maybe she was on disability, Idk

Anyway she was a mess. Severely depressed. Couldn’t really keep herself together.

She hid behind jokes and sarcasm though, so no one really knew how bad she was (even Loki, for a time)

She would climb trees which annoyed Loki a little bit, turns out trickster gods don’t enjoy having to climb trees just to talk to their girlfriends

Wore a trench coat as kind of a comfort item (because that’s what I did at that time)

Often got lost in daydreams...

Scared of most things...

Yeah you’ll notice she’s a lot like Echo (even the hair- pbbt). I’ve had a lot of self inserts over the years, killed off when my anxiety convinced me I was being cringey or when they didn’t feel like me anymore.. with Gwyneth it was maybe a tiny bit those things but also other stuff, like being aromantic questioning. Creating Echo was a new start for me because it was more of an exploration of where I’m comfy gender-wise... and, unlike most of my other self inserts, I don’t really age him up. But most importantly... he’s very emotionally messy but he doesn’t hide it (or else he doesn’t hide it well) because one of my things is I need to at least pretend that people would still love me if they knew how sad and broken I am. So.. yes, Echo is a sensitive character, he upsets easily and he’s usually pretty sad.. but that’s kind of the point, because he’s still loved.

.....Anyway sorry for going back to Echo. I don’t have a lot more to say about Gwyneth - she’s dead and not coming back - but she was a stepping stone to where I’m currently comfortable so, RIP Gwyneth I suppose :)

On the page I drew them on it’s kinda funny because it looks like Meredith and Echo are very uncomfortable that Gwyneth is there (which was only semi-intentional ehehe)

Echo looks cautiously curious but Meredith looks very awkward like “Oh.. so you’re back...” ..she’s hiding something... And Gwyneth’s like “So... how’s Loki been?” xD

All these characters are obviously kinda similar which is part of why I put them all here (....clearly I have an obsession with blue hair but shhh), also their connections to Loki, haha.... Meredith is definitely the most connected, Echo’s Loki isn’t real and Gwyneth is dead, so... yeah.

Anyway hopefully this was a little helpful. I might make better guides for Meredith and Echo sometime but for now this works. Also, always feel free to ask questions about them!! :)

#I had to keep adding stuff for echo to make up for the fact that I CANNOT stop myself from rambling about meredith xD #oh you wanna hear about echo? LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT MEREDITH #pffft #but seeing as how echo will be on this blog a lot more I tried to give him the longest description thing #also I think I'll make a proper profile/reference thing for meredith sometime so I'm not gonna worry about putting this on cuddly-loki #...maybe the meredith drawing though :3 #giraffe rambles #long post #my ocs #echo #meredith #gwyneth

2 notes · View notes

inside-aut-blog · 5 years

Text

A guide to writing touch-averse characters, by someone who can’t even pat the shoulder of their crying grandma*:

Initial questions:

Consider: Why is your character touch-averse? Is it because of sensory issues? (If so, is the character autistic? ADHD? Do they have fibro? Standalone SPD? A combination thereof? Something else?) Trauma? (If so, what’re the specifics?) Orientation? (If so, are they aromantic? Asexual? Dysphoric? A combination thereof? Something else?) Are they just kinda like that?

Consider: How does your character experience touch-aversion? That is, what’s it feel like to them? (Is it overwhelming? Does it physically hurt? Does it make them physically uncomfortable? Emotionally uncomfortable? Anxious? Panicked? Angry? Nauseous? A combination of these? Does it vary?) And to what extent? (A little? A moderate amount? A lot? Does the severity remain the same all through, or does it increase if the touch lingers, or decrease, or fluctuate? Is the effect immediate, or delayed? Does it vary?)

Consider: What are the nuances of their experience? For example, are some moments better or worse than others? (High-energy ones? Low-energy ones? Emotionally-charged ones? Others?) Are some kinds of touch better or worse than others? (Light? Firm? Unexpected? Forewarned? Brief? Prolonged? On their back? Hands? Chest? Arms? Shoulders? Knees? Neck? Other?) Is touch more or less bearable from certain people? (Children? Men? Women? Strangers? Friends? Very close friends? Family? Very close family? Pets? Partners? Doctors? Other?)

Consider: How do they approach their touch-aversion? For example, how do they usually feel about it? (Neutral? Negative? Positive? Other?) Are they able to set boundaries? (If so, do they? If so, do they enforce them?) How do they respond, in any case, if those boundaries are violated? (Do they freeze? Do they flinch? Do they jerk away? Do they shrug off the touch carefully? Do they keep still and bear it? Do they snap at the person? Do they speak calmly? Do they panic? Dissociate? Other?) How do they talk about it, if it all? (Neutrally? Negatively? Positively? Other?)

Consider: How do others approach their touch-aversion? For example, how do different people feel about it, if they’re aware of it? What assumptions do they make? How do they act on those assumptions, if at all? Do they respect your character’s boundaries? Do they try to desensitize your character? Do they want to?

Common pitfalls:

The character grows comfortable with touch; this correlates with a character arc that involves them growing kinder, warmer, more compassionate, or more “human”

Recommendation: Avoid.

(Seriously, avoid.)

Equates being touch-averse with being cruel, uncaring, and inhuman

Implies that it’s a character flaw to be outgrown or fixed

Implies it can and should be outgrown or fixed

As a concept, full of ableism. So much ableism

Inaccurate, hurtful on all counts

The character grows comfortable with touch from a specific person or group of people; this correlates with increased levels of closeness, trust, and/or emotional intimacy

Recommendation: Tread carefully.

Implies touch-aversion is something to be overcome or fixed with love

Risks supporting myth that it can always be overcome with enough love

Can imply that it must be overcome in order to have a healthy and/or emotionally fulfilling relationship

Inaccurate, potentially damaging on all counts

Someone is very physically affectionate with the character despite their obvious discomfort; this correlates with a narrative about the other caring for them very deeply and wanting to break down their emotional walls or otherwise help them

Recommendation: Tread very carefully.

Plays into the above issues

Depicts a violation of boundaries (no matter how benign the intentions)

Inaccurate, damaging

The character finally willingly submits to physical affection; this is portrayed as particularly heartwarming or a sign of growth

Recommendation: Tread carefully.

Can play into the above issues

Can be patronizing and/or infantilizing

Avoiding common pitfalls**:

The character grows comfortable with touch; this correlates with a character arc that involves them growing kinder, warmer, more compassionate, or more “human”

Option one: Just don’t do it.

Option two: No really, don’t do it.

Option three: I’m serious.

Option four: Don’t.

Secret option five: Do not!!

The character grows comfortable with touch from a specific person or group of people; this correlates with increased levels of closeness, trust, and/or emotional intimacy

Option one: Don’t do it

Option two: Include someone else who stays broadly touch-averse; portray their close relationships as equally healthy and emotionally fulfilling

Option three: Have the characters talk about boundaries; portray it as a process and focus on consent

Option four: Portray the increased comfort as non-absolute even within the relationship(s), even as emotional intimacy increases.

Secret bonus option five: Mix and match!!

Option one: Don’t do it

Option two: Have the narrative criticize the other character’s violation of their boundaries

Option three: Have the other character ask about boundaries first; portray it as a mutually-agreed-upon thing

Option four: Contrast it with other characters who respect their boundaries and are portrayed as better at connecting with and/or helping them

Secret option five: Mix and match!!

The character finally willingly submits to physical affection; this is portrayed as particularly heartwarming or a sign of growth

Option one: Don’t do it

Option two: Have other characters make it clear that they genuinely don’t have to do it; the impending affection is an offer, not a requirement

Option three: Have the character choose to initiate physical affection in a way that’s comfortable for them

Option four: Have the character accept a sign of affection that’s more comfortable for them than the ones previously attempted; portray it as a heartwarming sign of growth on the part of the other characters

Secret option five: Mix and match!!

My personal pet peeves:

Touch-averse character “slowly” grows more comfortable with touch with respect to a specific person; this process takes about a week. Maybe a month, tops

I’m sure it absolutely does work this way for some people!

But in my experience, it definitely does not.

For me, I’d need at least three months of knowing someone before I even thought about hugging them. Likely more (and an extenuating circumstance besides) to actually try

Touch-averse character finds themself utterly comfortable hugging someone they just met because they insta-click

See above

Touch-averse character is suddenly much more (or even completely) comfortable with physical contact the instant they become upset

Again I’m sure it probably does work this way for some people!

But for me, and I’m sure for many others as well, it actually if anything gets kinda worse?

Generally a bad time

Touch-averse character’s touch-aversion is played for laughs

I’m sure there’s a way to do it well, but usually it just comes off rude

Things I’d personally like to see more of:

Touch-averse characters that come with pre-established exceptions

These types of relationships are the most interesting to me. Got that implied pre-existing trust and closeness baked in there, real nice

Also, they feel less like a fixit narrative because we don’t see it happen and the character is still uncomfortable outside of the exception(s)

Touch-averse characters that don’t have any exceptions

Sometimes ppl just don’t have none and it’d be nice to see that u know

Touch-averse characters who are simultaneously touch-starved

I enjoy suffering

Also, it happens

Also also it makes for some nice internal conflict (and external, potentially)

Stories that in some fashion mention why they’re like that

Say the autism word. Say the trauma word. Say the asexual word. The aromantic word. The fibro word. The [insert other word]. Say it

(please. I am begging you.)

Other characters respecting the touch-averse ones’ boundaries

I am a simple person with simple desires

Stories with more than one touch-averse character

I am a simple person with slightly more complex desires,

Stories with touch-averse characters who stay touch-averse

I am a simple,,

In conclusion:

That is all I have

Please go forth into the world and make some sweet sweet touch-averse losers

Thank you for your time

Yes

*with the caveat that I am but one single person whose thoughts, opinions, and experiences are very very far from universal; also the caveat that I have admittedly never had occasion to try patting the shoulder of my crying grandma, but have certainly failed to so much as concernedly nudge numerous other weeping loved ones–but that’s less humorously phrased, so I give myself a pass on accuracy in favor of wittiness

**these are course not all of the possible pitfalls or even necessarily the most common or even necessarily the worst–and others might not label them pitfalls at all, which is fair as it’s certainly possible to include most of these very successfully–but they’re the ones that have historically bothered me the most, personally, individually, as an individual person, and so here they are; I hope they’re useful, enjoy

3 notes · View notes

midnight-fox-boy · 5 years

Text

More About me/Views/Etc.

Hello everyone~! This post will explain more about me, my views, and anything I flnd important to add. This will be kinda long so please buckle up ;3

General Information

Age: 19

Gender: Demifluidflux trans guy

Pronouns: He/him, they/them is cool too

Sexual orientations: Gay, Demisexual

Romantic orientations: Gay, Demiromantic

Alterous Orientation: Homoalterous

Other: Polyamorous

Relationship status: Taken

I love anime, video games, drawing, singing, and just browsing the web. I like to learn new topics, and explore new ideas and sciences. I want to be a therapist someday, but if it doesn’t happen, that’s chill too. I’m polyamorous currently in a monoamorous relationship. I don’t usually participate in discourse but I do have opinions/views on different topics. I am mentally ill and prefer not to be attacked. If I do something wrong or say something offensive, I don’t mean it, or I’m simply uneducated on the topic when I thought I was. I’m happy to take polite criticsm and never mean to do harm to others. So nothing I say is ill-intended.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Views on certain discourse topics

Aspec Discourse: I believe that aromantics and asexuals are inherently LGBTQ+ and should be welcomed. However, it’s up to them if they choose to identify with LGBTQ+ or not.

Nonbinary discourse. Yes there are more than two genders. And no it doesn’t mean “Neither male or female” Nonbinary means: “Not explicitly a single binary gender” Which can mean someone can be both binary genders, one binary gender and other nonbinary genders, no binary gender, etc etc. So yes. I CAN be a guy and nonbinary.

Xenogenders: I may not be able to comprehend it 100% But I KNOW that gender is diverse and confusing and you can label your gender however you want. Just be you! You have my support.

Nonbinary Gays/Nonbinary lesbians: YES nonbinary people can be gay or lesbian. Many of them are nonbinary women or men. Meaning they identify with womanhood/manhood no matter how that is. Maybe they have a primarily woman or man gender, maybe they’re man/woman aligned. Whatever. You do not get to dictate who is gay enough or lesbian enough :)

(NO)MAPS: Are scum. Do not interact, do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars.If you support them then get the f**k off my blog please! I am a CSA survivor and will NOT tolerate pedophilia.

Am I a transmed/truscum? Am a tucute?: Well, no. I’m none of those. I do not believe dysphoria is required to be trans. As many studies show gender incongruence is all you need, dysphoria manifests in some trans people as a result of incongruence. Gender euphoria also exists. This is not a topic I would like to debate. However, I do believe that dysphoria or incongruence should be medicalized in SOME form in order for trans people to be able to get gender affirming treatments. (Hormones, surgeries). I would love to live in a world where those things are free regardless, however :/ (P.S. I am dysphoric)

Kink/BDSM: Well. I participate in BDSM and kink, but I do not post about it or discuss on my blog. I have spaces for that and this isn’t one of them. So no worries about running into any kinky posts on my blog. That wont happen. If it ever does, it was an accident.

Transtrenders: I DO believe that RARELY, some cis people will pretend to be trans, not necessarily as a “trend” but to gain something in return, usually online. They may use it as an excuse to chase other trans people, or to have more “power” in a trans based argument. However, when people are accused of being trenders, they are usually not, they are just not what YOU feel gender should be. And people who fear they’re trenders? Impossible. You would know if you were faking.

Self Diagnosis: I’m divided on this. You shouldn’t self diagnose many things. Like a heart condition, or cancer, or other extremes. But if you know you’re depressed all the time and can’t see a therapist, you probably have depression. If you haven’t been diagnosed with PTSD but experienced something trauamtic and show symptoms of PTSD, You probably have PTSD. If you were confirmed to likely have a certain mental illness but perhaps didn’t fit the “age requirements” for said diagnosis, you can probably take that as an unofficial diagnosis. As long as aren’t flaunting it to seem “cool” (and most don’t) and are using those self dx’s to find help resources online and such, you’re probably good.

Fujoshis: Touchy topic I know. I do not agree when this word is used in specific contexts.

1) when girls think MLM relationships are “hot/sinful/sexy/dirty” , especially IRL MLM relationships, I think that’s fetishization, much like how many cishet men view WLW relationships 2) when it’s directed as a hate word towards gay trans men. I’ve been called a fujoshi for being a gay trans guy, and many of you probably have to. It’s wrong y’all. Gay trans men are gay men. Gay nonbinary men are gay men.

Pansexual vs. Bisexual: Both are valid labels. All multisexual labels are valid. Labels are for you to feel comfortable with, and as long as you aren’t choosing one over the other due to biphobia/internilized homophobia, you’re probably good. Bisexual attracted to all genders? Valid. Pansexual with preferences? valid. Bisexual attracted to many genders? Valid. Pansexual and feeling attraction regardless of gender? Valid. Bisexual and identify the same way? Valid!

Genital preference: Another touchy topic! The sad truth is that genitals DO matter to many people. Maybe it’s from truama, or an actual repulsion to a genital set. However, it should never EVER be used to excuse transphobia. You can not want to date a trans person who is pre-op, that’s fine, your loss not theirs. However, you cannot use that genital preference to see them as lesser, or as not “real” men/women. I personally have a preference for penises, but it’s only a preference. I would still potentially date a trans guy who is pre-op or never-op, but I prefer penises. But as I’m also gay, I likely wouldn’t date a trans woman who is pre-op/no-op. Because well, she’s a woman. So to summarize, genital preferences are OK as long as you aren’t a dick about it, or transphobic. :)

Trans people and gender conformity: Alrighty. This is a favorite topic of mine. Do trans people owe gender conformity? Do nonbinary people OWE people androgyny? Nope. Cisgender people are gender-nonconforming all the time without dysphoria. We see butch cis women and Fem cis dudes all the time. So I say, why do trans men and women owe something different? While it is true that early in transition being GNC CAN cause dysphoria, that isn’t always the case. Early in transition I usually avoided feminine things and interests unless I was in the comfort of my home, but now I’m open to, and embrace my feminine and androgynous side. I’m in no way a woman, I just happen to enjoy some stereotypical feminine things. Many trans men do. As for nonbinary people, they can present however they want. Androgynous, feminine, masculine, fluid presentation, mixing it up, genderf**k, whatever. Their body, their choice. Sometimes you may be able to “tell” someone is nonbinary by looking at them, and that’s totally okay. There is no “looking nonbinary”. All looks on a nonbinary person are nonbinary.

Anti/Anti-Anti?: Honestly I’m still confused in all of that stuff. Fiction CAN and HAS affected reality. That’s not to say that you can’t enjoy certain thinsg seen as “taboo” but there is a line that shouldn’t be crossed. PEDOPHILIA. You should not write, nor consume, fiction that presents a CHILD with an ADULT. It’s true that some pedophiles will write these to bring minors in and harass them. Even then, it gives stories for those sick f**ks to read. Do you REALLY want a pedophile reading your story? I guess I’m anti-ish. You can enjoy things that are otherwise problematic as long as you don’t let it affect how you treat people in the real world. Maybe you liked reading that fictional story about kidnapping and got off to it or something weird like that, as long as you aren’t trying to kidnap anyone or shit like that, I guess you do you, keep it to yourself though.

“NB” - Nonbinary or Non-black?: I went with POC voices on this. I will no longer use “NB” to mean nonbinary on my blog. You will likely just see “nonbinary” or “enby” used by me.

Aspec, autistic spectrum or Asexual/aromantic spectrum?: I’ve seen very little evidence or claim on the side of “autistic spectrum” being the term. Many responses ive seen and sources claim it means asexual/aromantic spectrum, and has even been echoed by autistic people, a lot of them. If I see evidence suggetsing otherwise, I’m happy to change my language. I don’t want to be ableist.

Butch/Femme, lesbian terms only?: I say no. I’ve seen a lot of articles, personal accounts, and history on the use of butch and femme. And none suggest they were terms only used by lesbians. From what I can tell, this idea seemed to be spread by “radical” lesbians and TERF’s. In history, many lesbians tried to distance themselves from all men, and encouraged non-lesbian women not to associate with men. This is obviously just a small tidbit of what they did in that time. However, I personally don’t use butch or femme, and don’t really plan to.

Specifically “weird” or crazy seeming kinks/BDSM styles: All I say is, you do you. If all parties are adults and consent to it, good on you. Just, keep it to yourself or in spaces dedicated to those things. As long as you don’t get off to ACTUAL CHILDREN, or try to bone or jerk it to an animal, you’re probably okay. Also don’t do incest, that stuff is bad.

!!If there’s a discourse topic you’d like to see here, you can PM me or send me an ask. I’m happy to shed my opinions on stuff, but they will go here!!

#About Me

1 note · View note

rjalker · 6 years

Note

Wanted to say thanks for posting all the Animorphs books. I got to rekindle an old special interest. However, a sincere and total fuck you for your terrible ass headcanons and opinions. Your opinions on Tobias and Rachel are literally some of the worst takes I've EVER encountered. Rachel as aro/ace, touch and sex repulsed? Literally no basis whatsoever. They're like 14. It's normal for a 14 year old to not have interest in sex yet. Calling Tobias "creepy" and wishing unhappiness on him? Cool bro

you don’t……………….need………….to have a basis for a headcanon………that’s why it’s called a headcanon………………………………..??

Also, Tobias being creepy has nothing to do with Rachel being aro/ace in my fics.

Like.

Tobias is creepy. I find him creepy. He’s creepy.

And yes, I personally hate Tobias. Because he’s creepy. And all of his books have all the continuity errors in the series. And he literally up and abandoned the other Animorphs to fight the war on their own after he pressured them into joining the war.

I can wish unhappiness on him all I want. He’s not a real person. He’s a fictional character. I’m allowed to hate on him. You don’t see me not including his books in my list do you? You don’t see me stopping anyone from reading his books now do you? So stop fucking whining.

I’m allowed to hate on Tobias in any way I want.

Also, when I was 14, literally everyone around me was talking about dating and getting crushes and being attracted to one another.

Also, you can be aro/ace at literally any fucking age. You can be sex-repulsed at literally any age.

It’s not like you have to be 16 before you can decide you’re gay. It’s not like you have to be 16 before you can decide you’re straight.

It’s something you are, from the moment you’re born.

I was what, twelve? Thirteen? In middle school, anyways, when a boy first asked me out.

I was not interested in dating. I was not interesting in boys. (Or girls)

So it’s not okay for me, an aro/ace/sex-repulsed/touch-repulsed autistic girl, to headcanon my favorite character as being like me, but it’s perfectly fine for other people to headcanon these same characters as being gay or trans?

How would a fourteen year old even know they were gay though????? huh???? they aren’t interested in sex yet!!!!!!!!!! So how would they know they prefer one gender over the other??????? see how fucking ridiculous that sounds???

I fucking knew, from the moment ALL OF MY CLASSMATES started talking about who was hot and who was not that I WAS NOT LIKE THEM. Because I didn’t find anyone hot. I had no fucking clue what they were talking about. And when they’d ask me who I thought was hot or who I’d want to kiss? My response?? “no one”

Because guess what???? I’m aromantic and asexual! I am not attracted to other people!

When did I become aroace?

Was it when I was ten? And we had to write an essay on what our perfect spouse would be? When I got in trouble with the teacher because I used “they” instead of “he” because, as I stated when she questioned me, “I don’t know if my spouse would be a man or woman” (and now looking back I find it hilarious how shocked she must have been that I was so casually forthcoming about being queer)?

Was it when a boy told me (sincerely) that he really liked me and asked if I would go out with him? Was it when I told him, I’m sorry, no, but I only see you as a friend?

Was it when another boy (intended as a joke, but JOKE’S ON HIM!) asked me out on a date, and was dumbfounded when I politely turned him down, saying, no, I’m not interested in dating?

Was it when I explained that I was not interested in either boys or girls to yet another boy and he asked how I knew if I’d never tried it because he was implying that I should sleep with him before deciding and I asked him how he knew he wasn’t attracted to llamas if he’d never slept with one? And he paused. And then he was like, “yeah that’s…..actually a good point?”.?

Was it when I was fifteen? And other girls my age are literally pregnant?

Was it when I was eighteen, and other people my age are maried with kids on the way?

When, pray tell, anonymous, did I become asexual and aromantic?

At what point would it be okay for me to delcare myself asexual and aromantic.

As the kid who later chipped a tooth on a fucking stick of beef jerky pointed out, how do I know I’m asexual if I haven’t ever had sex?

Why am I headcanoning fictional children as aro ace?

BECAUSE I WAS ARO ACE WHEN I WAS A CHILD

You’re just being blatantly aphobic.

ALSO, I specify that’s she’s sex-repulsed BECAUSE I’M WRITING FANFICTION SET AFTER THE WAR WHEN THEY’RE ADULTS. I WAS TALKING ABOUT HER RELATIONSHIP WITH CASSIE, AND HOW WHEN I SAY I SHIP THINGS I DON’T MEAN THE SAME THING AS OTHER PEOPLE DO WHEN THEY SAY THEY SHIP THINGS.

Because I am aro, ace, sex and touch repulsed. AND AUTISTIC.

Which means that when I ship something, that does not mean I want the characters to fuck each other. Or even kiss.

It literally just fucking means I want them to be in a relationship of mutual trust, understanding, and love. They don’t need to fuck or kiss or even hold hands.

All I want is for them to smile at each other because they love eachother and respect one another and support one another.

Because I’m aro ace sex and touch repulsed and autistic and that’s the kind of lense I look at the world through.

I am allowed to hate on Tobias however much I want. He’s not a real person. He cannot be affected by my hatred. Your version of him cannot be affected by my hatred. Literally the only version of him affected by my hatred is the one I write in my fics. Tobias is creepy because I find him creepy.

But guess what? Me finding him creepy does not affect you at all. My hatred for Tobias doesn’t affect anyone at all.

I’m just going to remind everyone once again: I could have left his books out of my list altogether. I COULD have had that list be useful only to me.

But I didn’t. Because I want other people to be able to read these books that I love.

And this is the thanks I get. For slaving away ON MY DAY OFF WORK, to make these books more accessible.

Which NO ONE ELSE IN THIS ENTIRE FANDOM HAS EVER BOTHERED TO DO BEFORE! DESPITE HOW OLD THIS FANDOM IS AND HOW LONG THESE BOOKS HAVE BEEN AVAILABLE! I’M THE FIRST ONE THAT DECIDED TO MAKE IT EASY FOR PEOPLE! AND THIS IS THE THANKS I GET!

So you can take your thanks and shove it up your ass! :)

You can now reblog this post :)

#aphobia #Anonymous #Rjalker reads the Animorphs #can you tell I'm sick of people insulting me for making this list FOR FREE #ON MY DAY OFF #SLAVING AWAY FOR HOURS #LITERALLY HALF MY ENTIRE DAY WHENT INTO THIS LIST #AND THIS IS HOW PEOPLE REACT!#THEY CAN'T JUST SAY THANKS AND GO ON #NOPE!#THEY HAVE TO BE A JACKASS ABOUT IT!

3 notes · View notes

nonbinarypastels · 6 years

Text

About & FAQ Page

This page was last updated on July 31, 2018

About nonbinarypastels

This blog was created to combat REG (reactionary, exclusionist, gatekeeping) politics in the LGBTQIA+ community as well as other forms of harmful conservative rhetoric that’s become so common on tumblr through the spreading of positivity and information based posts. My goal for this blog is not only to validate and support LGBTQIA+ people (and people of all marginalized identities) but also to encourage people to be more accepting of others, more able to think critically about all issues, and more passionate about making a positive difference not only in their own lives but the lives of those around them.

What I post about

Positivity — Not only nonbinary positivity but positivity for all LGBTQIA+ identities and other people as well.

Social Justice/Politics

Mental Health/Mental Illness

Critical Thinking Skills

Fandom/Media

Miscellaneous Other Topics

If you’re only here for positivity

Please blacklist the #not positivity and #discourse tw tags.

Things you should know before you follow this blog

This blog is inclusionist. I believe that all aromantics and asexuals belong in the LGBTQIA+ community. I’m also firmly against other exclusionary rhetoric that seeks to exclude any non-cishet (by which I mean non cisgender, heteromantic, AND heterosexual) group from the community.

This blog supports creative freedom and a safe fandom environment. I don’t care what kind of fiction people write/read or what they ship as long as all of their content is tagged properly and kept in appropriate spaces. While I think media criticism and having civil discussions about what we’re writing and reading and why is a good thing, I think the ‘anti’ community on tumblr totally crosses the line with their behavior which goes beyond legitimate media criticism and straight into cyberbullying and harassment.

This blog does not support radical feminism. Radical feminism is a harmful conservative movement that harms and attempts to control the lives of marginalized people. I do not support any form of radfem rhetoric.

This blog does not support trasnmedicalsim or truscum. These are groups that actively harm trans and nonbinary people by pushing reductionist, transphobic rhetoric and policing the identities of trans and nonbinary people.

This blog is queer positive. I will not censor the word queer or exclude queer people from this blog or the community.

Please do not send me messages

About any medical or life-threatening emergencies you might be having. I am not a doctor and cannot give medical advice and there’s also no guarantee I’ll be online when you send your message. If you’re in a life-threatening situation please contact the relevant local authorities (either 911 or your country’s equivalent) or get to a hospital immediately.

Calling out people I reblog from or who are reblogging from me about anything having to do with ships or fanfiction. As stated above, I don’t care what people ship or write/read as long as it’s properly tagged and not posted in inappropriate spaces. Any messages I get about “so-and-so ships ___” will be deleted.

About anything having to do with MAP discourse. I am a CSA survivor and am generally not comfortable discussing or reading about MAPs.

Telling me that a-specs “aren’t actually lgbt” or anything similar. You will automatically be blocked for being an aphobe.

Saying there are only two genders. You will automatically be blocked for being boring.

Asking me questions that have already been answered on this page. I made this FAQ for a reason. Any asks I get containing questions that I’ve already answered (or asking for definitions of terms that are listed in the glossary) will be deleted.

———————————————————————————— General Questions Do you have a question about what a certain term means?

Please check the glossary page to see if I have a definition already listed. If the term you’re looking for is not in the glossary, please feel free to send me an ask about it.

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/172930687066/glossary-page

Are you feeling down and need to be cheered up?

Please check the self care tag for posts you might find helpful.

http://www.nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/tagged/self+care

Why do you put image descriptions on your posts?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/165370079304/can-i-ask-why-you-provide-image-descriptions-i

Who is that in your icon?

Deadpool from Marvel comics

Icon by http://www.wadewicons.tumblr.com/

Do you take requests?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/172930396816/requests-page

Who are you/what is your main blog?

Considering how nasty I’ve seen discourse about the identities I’m trying to provide positivity for get and the things I’ve seen other blogs similar to this one having to deal with, I’m not comfortable disclosing the link to my main blog. I value my privacy and my safety and I hope my followers can respect that.

What are your pronouns?

Any pronouns other than it/itself are okay. I have no other preferences.

Are you a minor?

No.

Can people who aren’t nonbinary interact with this blog? Can cis people?

Anyone, nonbinary or not, is allowed to follow nonbinarypastels and reblog from us. Not only am I okay with cis people following this blog and reblogging from it, I 100% encourage them to do so. I think it’s important that not only do LGBTQIA+ people support ourselves and those who ID the same as us but that we support people of different identities and just as much I also think it’s vital for cis people to show that they support us. I think cis people reblogging positivity posts for people who aren’t cis is an excellent way to show that.

Can I interact with this blog if my blog is about ___?

I don’t care if your tumblr is 99% cute crayon drawings of pretty flowers or drawings of kinky furry porn, if you like the posts here or need them or want to spread the positivity with your followers I have no problem with you following + reblogging from this blog.

Can I share your posts on other sites?

Feel 100% free to share my posts on Twitter, Facebook, or other social media. Credit + a link back is appreciated but it’s not required. However, please do NOT upload my posts to sites such as redbubble, storeenvy, or other sites where you’ll be selling them to others.

Can I use your posts in moodboards/aesthetics posts?

Yes!

Where do you get the pictures for your image posts?

https://www.pexels.com/

http://www.unsplash.com

Why the pineapples?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/168615228296/hello-ive-noticed-your-recent-posts-about

——————————————————————————- Call Me Out Would you like to tell me that the term ‘a-spec’ was stolen from autistics and that it’s problematic to use it to refer to ace/aro people?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/162255685756/hey-idk-if-you-were-aware-of-this-but-you-have-a

Would you like to tell me to stop including the ‘I’ in the LGBTQIA+ acronym?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/161388049611/you-do-realize-that-like-a-lot-of-intersex-people

Would you like to tell me that butch and femme are lesbian-specific words and no one else has the right to use them?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/169789232996/nonbinarypastels-since-i-keep-getting-anons-wrt

Would you like to tell me not to use queer as an umbrella term?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/165557176711/hey-uh-sorry-if-this-is-too-much-to-ask-but-dont

Why are you intolerant towards conservatives?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/169509757921/being-an-intolerant-jerk-about-conservatives-and

—————————————————————————– Questioning Do you have tips for figuring out your gender identity?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/160444273391/any-tips-to-give-to-help-someone-to-figure-out

Is it okay to use they/them pronouns if I’m still questioning my gender and might be cis?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/162316760041/i-feel-comfy-using-theythem-but-i-dont-know-if-im

I want to question my gender but I’m afraid I’m faking it all?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/169375568051/hi-i-always-thought-i-was-a-cis-guy-but-ive

———————————————————————————– About Being Trans + Nonbinary Are nonbinary people trans?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/160443055731/do-you-consider-nb-to-be-a-part-of-the-trans

Am I still agender if I have feminine interests/hobbies?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/159863843416/i-identify-as-agender-but-i-also-like-girl

Can you be lunarian and agender?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/159119628926/can-i-be-a-lunarian-agender-or-does-that-like

How do you deal with nbphobia?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/161289280081/tw-transphobia-tw-ableist-slur-tw-r-word-do

What do I do if my friends are nbphobic?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/161290197211/one-of-my-best-friends-is-a-radical-feminist-i

What’s the difference between being nonbinary and being a tomboy?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/170485614676/im-having-a-mild-identity-crisis-whats-the

Can you be nonbinary and prefer she/her or he/him pronouns?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/170449570882/hi-im-someone-who-identifies-as-non-binary-ive

Are nonbinary people to blame for trans people not being taken seriously?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/161287284091/how-do-you-respond-to-people-who-say-nbs-are-the

How do I deal with people saying nonbinary people are responsible for trans people being made fun of?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/167977849726/hey-i-got-some-really-messed-up-enbyphobic-anon

Is trans day of visibility for nonbinary people too?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/159055092686/sorry-if-this-is-stupid-is-trans-day-of

Is there any proof there are more than two genders?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/170985650804/sgaprivilege-sonoanthony-hatingongodot

Do you think it’s fetishizing for people to say they’re attracted to nonbinary people?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/170815582801/whats-your-take-on-the-claim-that-mlnbwlnb-are

Am I still trans/nonbinary if I didn’t always know from a young age?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/169845692030/hi-okay-so-im-trans-nonbinary-and-i-noticed-that

Am I still nonbinary if I never want to come out?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/169159856571/can-i-still-be-nb-if-i-dont-plan-on-coming-out-to

How do I overcome internalized nbphobia?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/169128988716/do-you-have-any-tips-on-overcoming-internalized

What can I call the nonbinary person I’m dating other than boyfriend/girlfriend?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/164729025088/hi-i-dont-know-if-you-guys-answer-questions-but

What’s your opinion on “there are only two genders” jokes?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/169533948384/hey-i-was-wondering-if-you-might-be-able-to-give

Who is allowed to ID as nblm/nblw/nblnb? Do I have to have a certain alignment to ID with these terms?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/175370970607/hi-im-a-asexual-biromantic-agender-person-and

———————————————————————————- About Presentation + Dysphoria

Do you have any tips for dealing with dysphoria?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/171870400516/urgent-im-a-non-passing-pre-everything-trans

What’s the difference between social dysphoria and body dysphoria?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/171770067231/whats-the-difference-between-social-dysphoria-and

How can I write about trans/nonbinary characters who have dysphoria?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/163261302706/hello-there-nonbinary-questioning-black-anon

How can I bind safely if I can’t afford to buy a binder?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/160277656876/hello-i-came-here-because-i-wanted-to-ask-if-you

Do you have any advice about buying your first binder?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/171412780521/advice-for-somebody-who-is-getting-their-first

How can I look more androgynous?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/160850193236/do-you-have-any-advice-for-nonbinary-teens-who

Is it normal to want top surgery but not want to take T?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/168600610588/is-it-normal-for-a-nonbinary-person-to-want-top

What can I do if I hate my voice?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/169110950161/hey-i-am-non-binary-and-14-years-old-i-was

I want to change my hair but I’m afraid people will hate it?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/166569911301/hey-i-recently-came-out-as-non-binary-i-really

—————————————————————————— About Sexuality How can you be sex-repulsed without being asexual?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/159348049986/how-can-you-be-sex-repulsed-but-not-asexual

Can you be in a queerplatonic relationship if you’re not ace/aro?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/171758800972/can-you-have-a-qpr-if-youre-not-acearo

What’s the difference between demisexuality and regular attraction?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/160198336046/whats-the-differrence-between-demisexual-and-just

Is pansexuality transphobic/biphobic?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/160201643591/hi-i-just-want-to-tell-that-i-heard-someone-say

Do bisexuals have straight-passing privilege?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/163139939492/hey-there-i-was-wondering-if-you-can-help-me

Can you be asexual and still like masturbation?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/171408739131/so-i-was-wondering-could-you-be-asexual-and

Can you be wlw and mlm at the same time?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/171269548272/hi-im-confused-this-is-a-genuine-question-pls

Can you be nblw, nblm, and nblnb at the same time?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/171158368762/i-identify-as-a-nblw-nblnb-and-nblm-is-that

How can lesbians use he/him pronouns?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/170496057755/this-is-an-ignorant-question-so-i-apologize

What is the split attraction model?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/169931000321/hello-i-was-reading-that-post-about-asexual-stuff

———————————————————————— About Coming Out

Are you looking for coming out tips and encouragement? Please check my coming out tag!

http://www.nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/tagged/coming+out

Is it okay to come out to my friends before my family?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/160086167706/i-am-trans-and-came-out-to-one-of-my-friends-who

How do I explain being nonbinary to my parents when they just don’t get it?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/168598203993/ive-accepted-im-nonbinary-and-my-parents-know

Do you have any advice for coming out as nonbinary?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/171342286106/hey-any-advice-on-how-to-come-out-to-my-dad-as

How do I come out to my parents?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/170782185301/hi-i-identify-is-non-binary-and-i-know-for-sure

How do I get my parents to use my name/pronouns and accept me?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/168598203993/ive-accepted-im-nonbinary-and-my-parents-know

——————————————————————————

Fandom & Fandom Discourse Related

What is an anti?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/171868269706/what-is-an-anti-i-had-always-heard-that-anti

What have antis ever done wrong?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/171966569929/shipping-isnt-morality-block-report-program

How can I deal with antis who are harassing me?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/171974140371/hi-sorry-to-bother-you-i-was-looking-through

Do you support pedophilic ships?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/170196527876/wait-you-support-pedophilic-ships-thats-gross

What’s your opinion about MAP discourse?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/171209629491/so-what-do-you-think-of-maps-then-the-ones-who

If you’re not a bad person, why do you like bad things in fiction?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/164750728921/about-your-post-on-how-liking-certain-fiction

What is purity culture?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/169710243376/do-you-know-whenhowwhy-purity-culture-started

What is your opinion on RPF?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/175123194126/i-wasnt-able-to-find-anything-on-your-blog-about

What is fujoshi discourse?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/174877862940/i-just-saw-someone-reference-fake-fujoshi-blogs

——————————————————————— Misc. How do you handle ignorance?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/160627538536/how-do-you-handle-ignorance-im-too-scared-to

What’s an invisible disability?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/163099887223/hey-i-have-a-quick-question-whats-an-invisible

What is TERF/radfem rhetoric?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/169015697831/on-radfemreg-rhetoric

How do I know if I have an eating disorder?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/171664946546/ed-tw-i-guess-mmmm-since-i-was-young-ive

What’s the difference between being squicked and being triggered?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/171341992144/um-so-ive-been-wondering-if-feeling-physically

How do you deal with bigots?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/170516017459/exposure-to-identities-really-is-the-best-way-to

Why can’t someone be both anti-SWERF and anti-kink?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/170011993907/hey-quick-q-feel-free-to-ignore-but-i-had-a-post

When was gay used as a slur?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/166431435436/hello-i-just-saw-your-post-that-i-think-was-from

How do you find out about the free samples you post?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/163522947367/hey-this-isnt-about-anything-nonbinary-but-i-was

What is your opinion on self-diagnosis?

http://nonbinarypastels.tumblr.com/post/175045406707/what-are-your-thoughts-on-self-diagnosis-ive-been

#about page #faq page #mod post #long post

95 notes · View notes

mcrmadness · 3 years

Note

I think you shouldn't get so hung up on the diagnosis. If you don't fill the criteria, then you won't get the diagnosis. The criteria exists for a reason. Why does the diagnosis matter to you so much? Why does it have to b ADHD? I don't think it's good for your mental health to diagnose yourself. Leave it to the professionals and be open to the idea that your own diagnosis could be wrong. It doesn't make your symptoms not real. It's easier for you and the professionals working with you to make things better for you if you can work on what you know rather than what you think. I used to be 100% sure I had X diagnosis and it was hard to let go, but it was for the best. I was later diagnosed with another similar thing, but I probably wasted a lot of time thinking I was right the professionals were wrong. Please trust the people who are trying to help you. You don't have to publish if you don't want to. I hope things work out for you. Sorry, I'm not a native English speaker.

English isn't my 1st language either.

And yeah, I know, and I've been trying to understand why am I so obsessed with getting the ADHD diagnosis but I just... can't explain my brain. It just won't let go of that. Everything just keeps revolving around it, everything I do or think just makes my brain to get hyperfixated on it again and I find myself googling "is this an adhd symptom?" and it's literally driving me nuts.

So, shortly: peace of mind. That's why I'm looking for the diagnosis, or at least an evaluation. I do ask myself: what if I get an evaluation and don't get a diagnosis? I'd probably try to get it from elsewhere anyway until I get it. Because I AM NOT neurotypical, that is for sure, and there must be something there. So my short answer is the peace of mind. I'll write more under the cut if anyone's interested in reading...

I fit every symptom now as an adult, but because I'm AFAB, born in 1991 (Finland is often falling behind what comes to mental health stuff and diagnoses, doctors rather give you meds than diagnoses...) and rather have the inattentive than hyperactive type, it was not "visible" in my childhood. And the biggest problem for the doctor seems to be that no one ever suspected it when I was a kid. I developed a severe social anxiety and selective mutism when I was 9-10 years old and it took all the attention from everything else. I was okay at school whenever I was interested in a topic or subject.

It anyway annoys me that I have like, word against word. The doctor only believes the papers written by professionals, as if my own memories and words would weigh absolutely nothing. I can say that I had problems focusing on my homework, or that when I finally was in charge of my own homework, I always did them the previous day/night before and always before or even in my bed while trying not to fall asleep. I practiced for exams the same way, too often falling asleep with the book falling on my face cos I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore. But it means nothing. Because no one was seeing me doing that. Apart from my mom from when I was 7 but usually they don't really listen to parents anymore once you are legally an adult. I am 30.

I've gotten the diagnosis of Asperger's Syndrome (when I was 22) which I think was falsely given. I am neurodivergent, yes, but currently it feels that in Finland they only have two ND diagnoses: autism or ADHD/ADD. And they still follow the "adhd is white boys' disorder" pattern here. I don't relate to that autism diagnose AT ALL, I just feel that the doctor had decided beforehand that I'm not "normal enough" so I must be autistic. I said so many times that I don't relate to autism at all, but they just won't listen to what you have to say. They just stare at the list of criteria and see that you are introverted and not interested in romantic relationships/dating, and can't look people in the eye and decide that you must be autistic, then. Which just is. So wrong. I am aromantic and asexual and those have nothing to do with my neurodivergence so it's just aphobic to take them as symptoms of something, but it's also extremely ableist towards actually autistic people who DO seek or are in a relationship or relationships, and/or have (lots of) friends. They still legit think here that all autistic only care about themselves and don't give a fuck about people. Or, that's how outdated the diagnostic criteria still are.

More to do with the topic "peace of mind" are things like my anxiety. I often get anxiety attacks from things like my memory issues, or just out of blue. If I had a diagnose, I could just be like "oh, the memory issues are just the adhd symptom, I don't have a brain cancer *phew*", or when I feel like something is crawling under my skin and start to have anxiety because what if I do something stupid I don't wanna do? Then I can just sigh in relief, again, and tell myself that it's just an impulse I also can feel in my body and not me going insane. Like, I sometimes think if I should be locked down to somewhere just because I overthink and realize that there are so many things nothing prevents me from doing - nothing but my common sense. Like, I'm not even impulsive and I still try to control myself in fear of impulses?

Idk if this was really answering the question but... yeah. I understand that this obsession is not healthy but it won't stop and I can't move on until I get a peace of mind. And the doctors here are not really helping when they don't even try to listen to me. Hopefully my doctor won't again return the papers with "nothing here". Then I think I'm actually going to look for someone working on private healthcare specialized on neuropsychiatry. The country's public healthcare's biggest downside here unfortunately is how the mental health problems and neuropsychiatric things are dealt with and treated.

#Anonymous #answered asks #adhd #adhd inattentive

1 note · View note

skyhelmwriter · 6 years

Text

A Weird, Wild Journey

Below the cut is a long, possibly rambling discussion of my personal understanding of myself. It focuses primarily on how having one (1) prominent DifferenceTM made discovering and accepting the others more difficult.

I’ve always been weird. Hell, I’ve always been WeirdTM. And for a long time I thought the reason I didn’t feel the same as other penis-havers was a matter of the one big, glaring difference I had from everyone else I knew: I was autistic.

I was diagnosed at the age of seven with Asperger’s Syndrome, but these days I’d be described as “on the spectrum” and “high-functioning with obsessive tendencies.” And this made me different. In my life, I’ve met maybe three other people with the same diagnosis. It’s something that’s so uniquely my own that I thought it had to account for all the differences between me and other people who seemed otherwise identical to me.

I’m lucky to have a form of autism that allows me to understand my own symptoms and manage them consciously. I barely have to force myself to modulate my tone, make eye contact, or think about how other people feel, because I’ve independently arrived at the conclusion that those are good things to do (not useful, good. That’s an important distinction). I often tell people that I “brute forced” my way into empathy. I had to learn it, when other people simply do it.

Around the same time I was diagnosed, I made friends with someone. She was my first real friend, and she was a bit of tomboy. She could defend me better from the bullies (there weren’t many, but they were brutal) than I could defend myself. She called herself a tomboy, and I responded that I must be a tomgirl, because I was interested in many things it seemed only girls were interested in. She didn’t seem convinced, so I brought the conversation home to my parents.

My mother was also unconvinced. She seemed to think that I was just feeling different because I was...well not strong. That didn’t make me effeminate; it just made me different, and different was okay. I’d always been “sensitive,” but that was very literal. My sensory nerves literally took less input to activate.

So I dropped it. Because my parents knew better. Again, I was seven. They said that I shouldn’t talk like that because other boys might not take well to me if I didn’t act like a boy. So I acted like a boy, and I liked boy things, and I did boy things.

And as I grew up, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was different, but I already had this really convenient explanation for what it was that made me different. And everything that was different about me could be traced to it. My shitty handwriting came from a nervous disorder associated with ASD. My deep and unusual interest in various things came from the obsessive behaviors associated with ASD. My physical weakness came from my introversion (and my asthma), which was a symptom of ASD. My nerves, my strange bodily structure, my repetitive behavior, it was all because of my ASD, and so I lumped other strange feelings in with that, too.

I attended high school in what could politely be called a suburb. In reality, it was White Central. I say this to give you an idea of exactly how...Republican....you should expect general sentiments to be. It was widely thought by anyone in the student body that someone who supported, say, gay marriage (I went to high school in the late 00′s and early 10′s) must be gay themselves, because (and here I’m directly quoting students) “why would you care if you weren’t gay?”

Never mind that I was a minority as well. I wasn’t neurotypical. I could feel for people being discriminated against because I’d spent years convincing teacher after teacher that my shitty goddamned handwriting wasn’t something I could fucking help, and watching my grades suffer because they “couldn’t read” my writing (never mind that it was usually perfectly legible and they were just being assholes because it wasn’t pristine). Never mind that you ought to treat people decently regardless of how they differ from you.

And of course, I wasn’t gay. I was definitely attracted to girls. And I was socialized only to think about how I could be attracted to girls, because being attracted to guys was a good way to get the shit kicked out of you and I certainly didn’t want that. I was already a nerd. I was already weak. I was already shy. I was already in speech and debate. I didn’t need that, too.

And yet, there were signs. Almost all my friends were girls. And sure, I spent a lot of time with two or three specific guys, but that was because we’d hit it off in Latin Freshman year and boy was Latin an interesting class. I hung around with the theater kids (though I never actually took part, mostly because half of theater was musical I couldn’t sing for shit), and I did speech and debate (wherein my attraction to men in suits could be written off--even by other explicitly gay boys--as something brought on by charisma and fashion, not an innate desire to be with another guy.

Even still, by the time I graduated I was firmly in the Q section of the acronym. In part, this was because I found myself on tumblr for the first time in 2011-2012, and I learned about a whole world of identities and people I hadn’t realized existed, and I’d taken my first philosophy class and learned how to actually think about other people, and I’d taken a law class, so I understood the foundations of the social order. All this together had helped me understand that there was nothing wrong with the way I felt. I just had to figure out what it was that I felt.

And that was difficult to do. I’ve always been good at reflecting on my actions--too good actually; I have a tendency to brood over minor mistakes--but my own thoughts, my own feelings, those were more difficult for me to articulate. And besides, my feelings would be affected by my autism, right?

So I let it simmer. I bottled it all up and said “this isn’t something I need to focus on right now. I’m not even looking for a partner.” I went through a lot of stages in this regard in college, fluctuating in my articulation about my identity as unsure, straight, and bi seemingly at random, and never even thinking about my gender. Hell, I was so focused on my schoolwork that I forgot to properly take care of myself most of the time--my autism in action once more. How could I care about my gender when I didn’t even care about my appearance?

And then i graduated college, and I had a lot of time to think. And I didn’t spend much of it here, but before I got my first job, I was thoroughly out as Bi. I knew what I was, and I was proud to say it. I’d forced myself to look at all those instances that seemed like flukes or coincidences, and I realized they weren’t. They were indicative of a pattern, a pattern of attraction to men, and a pattern of attraction to women. I’d had to fight through not only my heteronormative socialization, but also my neurodivergent socialization, the part of me that said “hey! you’re already different enough! do you really need this?” And it wasn’t matter of need. The real question I had to ask was “is this really my experience?” and the answer was yes.

But I still didn’t feel right. A couple of my friends came out as trans, and I couldn’t have been happier for them. Living their lives as they saw themselves, they were happier, livelier, more productive people. And I remembered all those times I’d thought I didn’t quite feel like a guy, like a dude, like a boy. I remembered how my default posture included a popped hip, how I kept writing female characters.

I remembered how the first ever avatar I chose in a Pokemon game was the girl. How I always made female characters in games where I could make that choice. How I kept playing women in DnD.

But I knew I wasn’t trans. I didn’t experience dysphoria. I didn’t want to be a woman, at least not all the time. But sometimes, I definitely felt more effeminate. And others I wished my voice were deeper. Sometimes I didn’t mind when people called me “sir,” or said “he,” other times it didn’t feel right at all.

And once again I thought “aren’t you different enough?” and “couldn’t this all just be because you’re autistic?” I wondered whether I was reading too much into myself, if I might just be projecting other people’s thoughts onto my own. I’ve been wondering that for years.

But one thing is certain. My experiences are real. I have felt these ways. I can’t deny that. I won’t deny it. And now I have a word, a word the encapsulates the ways I’ve felt. Well, it’s three words. I’m an aromantic, genderfluid bisexual. And I’ll say all three of them loud and proud. Not just because it’s pride, but because I deserve to be comfortable with who I am. After all, it took me 24 years to figure it out. I’ve got to make up for lost time somehow.

#looooooong post #long post #gender #sexuality #autism #asd

5 notes · View notes

politicalautist-blog · 7 years

Text

It has come to my attention that some of you have no idea who £10 guy is or what the fuck that last post was about. So, uh, buckle in. Let’s revisit... The Tale of Ten Pounds Man.

The year: 2015. The place: a bullshit Bioethics course at university. (that course was bullshit for many, many reasons which I will not go into here because it’s irrelevant. but it was a shit course. trust me.)

Now, in this course, one of our assessed projects was a group presentation on An Topic. The topic isn’t relevant. What is relevant is that we were assigned groups and for around an hour in each of the full-morning classes, we were meant to have a group work session, discuss Ethical Dilemmas, and plan our project.

hahahaha no, that is never how that shit happens

In my group, besides myself and @lordsirrus, there were two girls (Firah, my flatmate from first year and a fucking angel, and... I wanna say Taylor? whatever not important.), one guy who basically never showed up, and... £10 guy.

I assume he had an actual name but he is £10 guy always and forever. Kind of a standard dudebro, spent half the time on Tinder and half the time bitching about how there was no point doing work. Which... well, we basically weren’t working anyway, so whatever.

@lordsirrus and I wound up chatting a lot in these sessions, because we’re nerdlords. On this particular occasion, we were shooting the shit about being asexual, autistic nerds and the intersection of those three things. (n.b. i no longer identify necessarily as asexual but i did at that point)

This merges seamlessly into a discussion with the others in the group over what the heck asexuality is. Really no interest in sex? Was it caused by something? So you don’t ever have relationships? Oh, Jormy, you do actually have a boyfriend and he IDs as ace too? Do you ever have sex? Like, would you have sex with a guy?

*record scratch*

Sorry, what, £10 guy? I mean, yes? Yeah? I... this is an awkward kind of question from a near-stranger in a classroom but I will attempt to ans--

“Would you have sex with a guy for ten pounds?”

...

...Okay, what?

This is the point at which I start wondering if this is a prank. Because, boy, what? Being a loserdork who is bad at extricating myself from awkward situations, I attempt to explain to him that £10 is ridiculously below market rate, that it barely covers travel and time, and that if he ever offers a sex worker £10 for sex he is going to get laughed out of Dodge.

A moment passes. I’d like to say in silence, but tbh around me there is no silence, only inane rambling about sex work running costs and also did you actually just ask me this in a conversation about my lack of interest in sex my dude?

“...So, uh, would you for ten pounds?”

NO, dude. I imagine the face I was making could best be described as “zoologically improbable and/or frightening to small children” as I manage something along the lines of “I just explained to you that £10 is under no circumstances enough, why are you still asking about sex for £10???”

“Well,” he says - and the rest of this post has been a paraphrase but I swear to you this is verbatim - “ten pounds is all I’ve got.”

Dude.

Buddy. Pal. Friendo. No. Is, I hope, what I communicated via the medium of spluttering and waving my hands in mute disbelief.

He sat back in his chair, looking thoughtful, or at least as thoughtful as aman can look while also blatantly trying to reopen Tinder on his phone. I start to breathe again and get my barely-suppressed laughter under control. That was... bizarre.

And then

then he sits back up, and looks at @lordsirrus, a man whose primary contribution to this incredibly awkward discussion has been to say that he’s more asexual than I am, is basically aromantic, and has zero interest in anything surrounding sex.

“Hey,” says £10 guy, in the slow tone of a man who has Figured It Out. “Would you have sex with a man for £10?”

That, ladies and gentlemen, was the straight-up weirdest day of my four-year university career.

#the saga of £10 guy #cw: sex? sex work? idek how to tag this honestly #also this is my recollection of it and may not be entirely accurate

32 notes · View notes

thewillowness · 5 years

Text

No more apologies.

CW: Frank discussion of mental health. Also. very long and disorganized writing.

This year has been pretty challenging because of a confluence of several unrelated matters. By large, though, the perfect storm of events that took place since a year ago and now has taken a serious toll on my mental (and physical, to an extent) health. I am slowly recovering from all this as of this writing, but all this spring and summer I was not able to motivate myself to do anything at all.

In retrospect, the signs were there. I no longer enjoyed engaging in activities that I once loved to do. I was sleeping too much and even then I was exhausted a few hours later. I was, from time to time, bordering on the paranoid, having my anxiety to be debilitating.

Often I questioned why I am here, what in the hell I am doing, and any prospect for a better future.

I’ve wasted a large bulk of my lifetime, mostly trying to survive and nothing more. I had a long history of homelessness as an adult. When I was still newly on the street, I dreaded every evening and boredom was unbearable. The only goal in my life was to make another day fly by me as fast as possible so I could survive one more day. That was most of my life during my 30s.

I have never had a normal childhood and I have never had a normal adult life. That sometimes causes me an inferiority complex, when the kids who graduated from my high school the same year have already built respectable careers, earned multiple postgraduate degrees, and making families and children.

To add to this, the last three years in the United States have done a lot of damage to my own psyche. Having been exposed to the daily barrage of news about hate crimes, racist terror, institutionalization of extreme homophobia at the highest level of the government, and ethnic cleansing policy from the top, I have internalized so much of racism, classism and homophobia into my subconscious. Frankly, before the rise of Trump, I had not given much thought about discrimination or hate despite my being a member of the marginalized minorities. Now no day will pass without at least thinking about it.

I know that people around me are barely tolerating me, perhaps out of pity, perhaps out of their own guilt. Nobody has really liked me, and even though from time to time I made an attempt to be “likable,” I’ve given up on that prospect.

I tried to get a date and get laid for years in vain, but now I realize that I was doing all that (1) out of curiosity, and (2) because “everyone else is doing it.” I had internalized the rather heteronormative (and assimilationist) social narrative that relationship is good, romance is good, and everyone’s goal should be marriage and family. Fuck that.

Now I firmly believe that I am aromantic, and it makes sense because as an autistic I cannot relate to people like normies might.

People look at me with disgust, and I know I creep them out. They obviously try to be polite and don’t tell me that in my face but I am not fooled.

For too long I longed to be normal. I wanted to be one of the normies. I wanted to be accepted. I wanted to be taken seriously.

Being taken seriously meant freedom. It also meant more income. More opportunities. More friends. Maybe more sex.

But I am starting to see the error in my thinking, because of two recent events.

1. Recently I attended an all-day conference called Build and Monetize. It was a conference geared toward consultants and other entrepreneurs. One thing I learned was that almost everyone thinks they’re not being taken seriously (”impostor syndrome”). The other thing is that I don’t have to market myself to the “normies” but rather I could play on my own difference (now working on this!) -- no more trying in vain to compete.

2. Like you, I have been following Greta Thunberg. It’s hard now to believe that merely a year ago, she organized a “School Strike for the Climate” at the Swedish Parliament and NOBODY showed up (like almost all of the events I had organized so far!). She just stood there alone. In 2019, she’s met Barack Obama, gave a speech in the United Nations, and is a leading voice of the youth climate movement and the global conscience. Her one-person protest has grown to one of the largest mass demonstrations in world history, ranking at par with the Women’s March on Washington (2017) and Occupy Wall Street (2011). I really wished I was her when I was 15. Like Greta, I was already very much politically and socially conscious at that age. Despite the haters (mostly the right-wing, how predictable) and critics feigning compassion, Greta actually was the right person to be doing this.

“She admitted her passion was partly down to viewing the world in stark terms. The result of her simplistic approach, fuelled by her condition, is that she has presented this issue with more clarity and competence than almost any adult activist or politician in recent years. And there is something rather beautiful in hearing this teenager demonstrate by her actions how society is stronger when it embraces difference – a message that seems so pertinent to our troubled age. Indeed, this aspect of her stance as a now-public figure on the autism spectrum is arguably as important as her bold stand on climate change, given many prevailing attitudes.“ -- The Guardian, April 23, 2019.

I don’t believe like some that autistic people are some new “supergroup” that will save the world. I think we’ve always been here. But I do think our clarity, moral outrage, allergy to bullshit and refusal to go along are some of the many disabled skills that can be part of saving the world. -- Truth Out, Sept. 25, 2019.

A few years ago, Thunberg’s ascent to fame likely would have been framed in the media as that of an inspiring young girl “overcoming” her disability to become the leader of a worldwide movement. But Thunberg herself makes a different, more radical argument: that she became an activist not in spite of her autism but because of it. “I see the world a bit different, from another perspective,” she explained to New Yorker reporter Masha Gessen. “It’s very common that people on the autism spectrum have a special interest. … I can do the same thing for hours.” Thunberg discovered her special interest in climate change when she was just 9 years old, and she couldn’t understand why everyone on the planet wasn’t similarly obsessed with preventing it.A visceral feeling of repulsion toward deceit and hypocrisy is also common among people on the spectrum. As Thunberg told the BBC, “I don’t fall for lies as easily as regular people, I can see through things.” She has a particular contempt for the professional propagandists and apologists who prop up the fossil fuel industry and discourage the development of renewable energy resources, dismissing UK claims about reductions in carbon emissions as the result of “very creative accounting.” -- Vox, Sept. 24, 2019.

In fact, Greta Thunberg may have been the absolute best thing that happened to the autistic community in modern history, when most people’s perception of autism was pretty much shaped by the film Rain Man and propaganda from Autism Speaks.

At the very least, Greta is my inspiration. (And despite what the haters think, she is beautiful and her face almost reminds me of a classical Greek or Roman sculpture. She could as well be a Greek goddess incarnate.)

Back to the topic, I feel that I’ve wasted good two decades of my life trying to fit in and be “respected” (read: act and speak like normies, according to the white cisheteronormative middle-class standard of “respectability”), and engage in activities that normies might find “respectable.”

Between apologizing for being “abnormal” and internalizing ableism, classism, racism, sexism, and heterosexism, I had wasted so much of my creativity and energy on this uncompensated labor to make people around me “comfortable” so they might “accept” me.

Fuck that. I’m done living my life like this, so as to please the normies for a pittance in return (and mostly uncompensated).

They never understand me anyway. They have never walked a tenth of a mile in my shoes at the intersection of multiple oppressions. They may be well-meaning but their privilege means ignorance, self-righteousness, meaningless virtue-signalling circle jerk, and unwillingness to learn (and it’s not my responsibility to “educate” them without compensation, either).

And yes, history of “mental health” is history of colonialism and racism, too. What many non-Western and pre-Christian Western cultures called it shamanic gifts or witchcraft, the Christendom called it “hysteria” and “lunacy.” (Note: I have studied cultural anthropology of shamanism as a purely academic subject for two semesters. I do not purport to be a shaman nor it is my intention to appropriate their traditions.)

I am instead going to quadruple down on my “craziness,” and I will no longer apologize for it. (For the most part, “mental health” in our society is just a mechanism to enforce social order and norms -- if there be any question on this, ask why it is always the police that responds to mental health “emergencies” and not EMTs.) I am turning the landmine that it my “craziness” into a goldmine instead.

And fuck the normies.

0 notes

mental-itch · 7 years

Photo

The Solar System Bunny Boy 🐇: I'm Bunny Boy but you can just call me Bunny. I'm Aromantic-Panromantic flux and asexual and Nonbinary and I use he and they pronouns. I'm an odd kid, 16 years old. I suppose I was the first person, or the original, but I don't like being called that and I'm not the host. I'm an artist, that's what I love to do. I want to be an animator/comic book writer!! I have bad anxiety and dissociate a lot, and I have ADHD and talk too much lol. The others (depending on who) pretend to be me in public when I can't front cause they want to avoid questions. I've been told I'm v caring and nice so don't be afraid to say heeeey (especially if you want to art trade). Astrophel 🌟: hi I'm astrophel but evrywon calz me aster! My ful naym meens lover of the stars becuz I luv space lots and lots!! I don't have a gender cuz I'm a shadow, the shadow uf the universe (who loves me very much). So um ya I'm not hyuman I'm a shadow person and I can shayp shift to whatever shayp. I hav sharp theeths and I don't hav an ayg. I hayt skool and I HAYT MATH SOOOO MUCH DONT TALK ABOWT IT WITH ME EVR. I get upset eesy two soooo um hi Note from the others: also don't ever say anything about sex around them they are sex repulsed to an extreme, they couldn't even mention it it's so bad Room 🏠: I am an actual sentient room named Room. Many may consider me a strict caregiver/protector. I feel myself to be responsible when it comes to working because I am a business man. Yes, I am a man and use he pronouns. I am pansexual and panromantic. I try my best to be courteous, generous, and polite; if you ever need an ear to listen, I am here. I enjoy writing essays, reading, wearing suits and ties, spending time with my partners, cleaning, listening to and making puns, parenting, and the simple things in life, such as eating cookies. I project a human version of myself to better fit the body and convey myself more clearly to the others, but I am truly a room. I have several relationships and a few children (adopted and from giving birth myself; all are equal in my fatherly love). I have a facet system of my own that I try not to talk about it or split apart onto it. Logic is a kind sir, kindle his fire. Hugo 🔪: We decided to write this for him because we don't want to get hurt. But we are going to write what he says word for word."Hugo is the name, pain is the game. Cheesy I'm sure it sounds, but look how it rolls off of the tongue like a switchblade. Ahaha, formally, I am known as Hugo, Demon of Pain. But humble as I am, a simple 'Hugo' will often suffice. My story is a long one, for I was not always a demon, I was turned into one a long time ago... At one time I was a human, I had a spouse and two children. I worked in a graphic design business. Long had I suffered from schizophrenia as a child, but as I got older it seemed to be less of a deal, small things, small psychotic breakdowns. Easy. I had medication that helped, too. But then, it turned on me, my mind, the things. These horrid figures with eyes, They touched me and spoke to me. They threatened to take away my family unless I did what they said. First, it was simple things like harming myself. At one point I had cut open my cheeks, wrapped it in a scarf and headed to work. I was told to stab my boss, and I did, in his leg. He didn't press charges since he knew me well. I was sent to a mental hospital, however. Horrible. Horrible. Eventually I was let out, with a different medication. My spouse and children were scared of me. I couldn't tuck them in at night. I misplaced the medicine. I was so far gone, they convinced me to do it myself. I murdered my family. As I stood in the bathroom of the empty house (in which I had set fire to), I stared at myself in the mirror, feeling the heat of the flames. I tried to kill myself, cutting my neck open, but I didn't die. Demons don't die. Thus I was sent back in time to live through the history of my dimension and never to be the same again. I was reborn, and I take supreme joy in the fear and suffering of others. I would be happy to share my many stories from that time, if you ask nicely. I have now ended up here in this human's mind. Disgusting. I'll ruin them. It shall be fun. Entertaining, even." So um yeah that's Hugo. They are genderfluid between a man a woman and Agender. They consider themself divine. They love to entertain people, they are like a scary clown. DO NOT ANTAGONIZE THEM. PERIOD. This is for your own safety and ours (mostly ours). M1nu5 (Minus) ➖: M1nu5 types in numbers and has difficulty typing so we will write his for him too. M1nu5 is an unfinished android who, in human terms, would be considered autistic. He loves math, trains, Pikachu, machines, metal, and lemon and mint flavored things. He goes mute a lot. He has a fear of loud noises, water, spiders and salty and sweet things (unless it's lemon or mint). He is very socially awkward. His creator was abusive to him and threatened to take him apart, so M1nu5 killed him (he's not very violent though really unless Hugo makes him do something). He can't feel pain and has a close relationship with Hugo. He lives in the Room's basement and tinkers with machines and stuff. Wybe X 🐾: so um this headmate is blind and so was will type their's too. So we just call them Wybe and they talk to us through speech bubbles. They are an upright standing alien dog from another world (they look like a furry lol) and their eyes were gouged out. When they front they lick people haha. They can take off their head because in their culture they could do that as a greeting, kind of like tipping your hat I guess. ~Doodle~ 🎨 and (Echo) 🎶: ~Hi my name is Doodle I'm 12 years old and I'm the god of art!!! Ps dicks:P~ (ugh I'm Echo and I am the God of Music and Literature.) ~I mean technically I'm hundred of years old but I promise I'm 12~ (...he's twelve) So those two are counterparts if you can't tell. Doodle is severely ADHD and very impulsive and loud and offensive and loves memes and bothering people, but he just wants attention. These two inhabit the minds of great artists, always together, because the one time they spilt up, Echo came back afterwards so depressed he died, but he came back as a ghost. So yes, Echo is dead, a ghost god. He's still very depressed and grumpy and mean. Doodle was raped a lot and is hypersexual. So these two fight a lot and stuff, but they have their good moments. Echo is a trans boy and Doodle is genderfluid between a boy and a girl. Mallow 😇: A small sweet blob of white, the true infant child cinnamon roll, too good for this world, too pure. They talk funny. They try their best to help us when they aren't dissociating far away from us. They are actually the bastard child of the angels (where they are from angels were not allowed to be born, only made). Their parents were killed and they were stripped of their wings and halo. They still have an obsession with angels. Even with this past, they are still very innocent and sweet. Oddly enough, Aster can not see or hear them. They love animals very very much and claim they are all their friends. Say hello Mallow!: "The very much hello to the people in the phone!! Nice to do the meeting!!" Rags ✌: Rags is mostly a rag doll being who sits in the headspace. They were created to stop a war in another dimension, and freaked out when they got here. They rarely ever have consciousness, but are generally very soft and nice when they are (unless they are having flashbacks and then they're just scared). We don't know too much about them. They are a demigirl and use she/they pronouns Doomsday 🌋: this little kid is the child of Hugo and Room, very cute, but they have strange breakdowns. They are a funny toddler, being part demon and part room. They like to bite things (including people) and know only a few words. They like to draw and they like circles and the colors yellow and blue. They like to be called a crocodile and like crocodiles. They worship this being called 'W' that looks like a 'w' and we aren't sure why but I think it helps keep the bad things away or something. They spend a lot of time with their parents. They won't really be fronting because they can't type let alone spell, but you might hear about them!

#system #osdd-1b

1 note · View note

aroworlds · 4 years

Text

Those With More, Part Two

When Mara Hill's magic results in her brother's impossible, wondrous transition, of course Suki wants to know how she did it! What if Sirenne's magic workers can help others find euphoria? What if this magic can heal Suki's hands—or at least lessen her pain? But Mara, distrustful of priests after their failure in protecting Esher, won't share her power.

A senior priest must bear responsibility, but Suki suspects her problems lie deeper than lack of oversight, and her reluctance to discuss her aromanticism with a woman who needs support only proves it. Would she have preserved Mara's faith and Esher's health if she hadn't first avoided revealing herself to her aromantic kin? If she'd faced their expectations that she shoulder their pain and grief as well as her own?

Suki has lived her life by the Sojourner's second precept, but how does she serve when she doesn't have more to give—and never will?

Contains: A disabled, non-partnering allo-aro woman struggling with the expectations of her young, fledgling aromantic community; an autistic, aromantic priest reconsidering their expectations of their community's leader; and an allo-aro woman in need of support as she struggles with her non-partnering, aro-ace brother's illness.

Content Advisory: Please expect many references to or depictions of aro antagonism, allo-aro antagonism, amatonormativity, familial abuse, mental illness, suicidal ideation, death, gender dysphoria, chronic pain, ableism and ageism. This piece contains non-detailed, non-specific reference to a character's past suicide attempts. This section includes characters embracing and touching.

Length: 4, 691 words (part two of two).

Note: This is the last story in my Suki mini-series, but it refers to characters introduced in The Sorcerous Compendium of Postmortem Query and is best read following the stand-alone story What Makes Us Human. You can find links to all on my pinned post or on this Tumblr master post.

Some scars are long years in the fading, if at all.

***

She isn’t surprised when Moll strides, their braid and girdle book swinging with each step, down the path to her garden. Sirenne rarely leaves its rules unsaid, an admirable quality to Suki’s way of thinking, but one needn’t long elaborate to impart the expectation that junior priests arrive promptly when summoned. Moll, despite the lifetime of alienation that leads to questioning rules and a habit of interaction best described as “restrained”, hasn’t dawdled upon hearing her request. A problem, that.

She understands, though, in the way of a woman once a girl who couldn’t have understood at all.

Obedience to conformity isn’t something she feels in the heart; Suki responds to being haltered with sharp words and loud arguments. Amadi, knowing this, kept her with em for a year before taking her to Sirenne, a year of learning to accept reasonable restrictions before facing the greater challenge of an acolyte’s service. That bitter, aching, defiant Suki would have scorned Moll’s flushed face and hurried pace, not seeing that she reacted to the same set of weighty, dehumanising beliefs and demands.

Submission and rebellion are just two sides of the same coin.

She doesn’t approve, but she understands.

“Don’t you even think about it,” she says, gleefully irascible, as Moll opens their mouth. “No clucking allowed. Sit down. The food’s safe, but it’s been half an hour. The tea’s probably cold.”

Moll nods and settles themself on Mara’s recently-vacated bench, the tea tray resting between them and Suki’s chair. As always, they move slowly, carefully, cautiously—like a wolfhound sniffing a newborn kitten or a man allowing a butterfly to alight on his finger. Like a tall, broad, boulder-shaped priest attempting to avoid threatening or scaring, however inadvertently, those around them. Like a puppy lying on its back, belly bared and paws tucked under its chin, its defencelessness a performance made before all would-be predators.

I won’t hurt you, so don’t hurt me.

They look more like a fig tree towering over the world’s seedlings than a puppy, but while a fig possesses an ancient, confident majesty in its quest to subsume another life in its great roots, Moll is … Moll. Shy, awkward, hesitant, uncertain. Rarely does she see them widen their arms or roll their hips, as if forever working to make their immense body appear smaller, softer, lighter. Just as a fig, for all its grandeur, lies vulnerable to any woman wielding an axe, Moll lies vulnerable to the wounds wrought by tongue, expression and gesture.

She wants to, simultaneously, swathe that nervous puppy in a warm blanket while taking a sharp blade to that fig’s trunk and daring Moll to defend themself.

Some scars are long years in the fading, if at all.

“Do you … mind, if I heat the tea?”

“Clucking,” she says, fighting to bite back her impatience. She doesn’t want to be the kind of old woman who moans about the young’s blathering, but sometimes they make her silence difficult! “If I objected, couldn’t you cool it down? Or tell me to pour a cup and let time have its way? I’d tell me, personally, to stick my head where the sun never shines. Try, if you want.”

Moll’s deep-set brown eyes put her in mind of shadowed pools—their fathomless serenity now disturbed by a crotchety priest’s thrown rock. Wordlessly, they pour a small amount of tea into a saucer before resting one hand on the teapot’s handle. The other guides a finger to the saucer, dampens a fingertip and traces, with careful delicacy, evaporating glyphs atop the tan glaze.

Many magicians speak loudly or write in great looping script, their magic become another performance of wordplay and artistry—as if, Suki always thinks, they find adoration for their art more useful than magic itself. Moll works in gestures and murmurs, collected and subtle. Everything must be reduced, depressed and lessened for safety, and she sighs, for even she recognises that they’re no casual magician. Why shouldn’t the world outside a small, backcountry monastery welcome or accommodate such ability?

Why shouldn’t Freehome welcome Suki’s free, unrestrained, honest self?

Such pondering, when she knows the answers to both questions, provides only one thing: delay.

“How old were you,” she asks, “when you learnt the word for your aromanticism?”

A slight frown, more the suggestion of expression than the actuality, shifts Moll’s brow. “I know exactly,” they say in their slow, deep voice, “because I learnt five weeks and two days after my acceptance as acolyte.” They purse their lips, studying the movement of their finger across the teapot. When a breath of steam issues from the spout, they pull back their hand. “I knew what I was since childhood, but knowing that I am loveless isn’t the same as a more … academic term. Loveless … people have other ideas about what that means.”

She always knew whom and what she was, clinging to a truth so obvious part of Suki still finds it absurd that Mama Lewis persisted in her stubborn obliviousness. Knowing, though, isn’t recognition, isn’t identification and permission; knowing isn’t the certain categorisation of the self as a different, acknowledged, communicable manner of ordinary.

Knowing isn’t pride.

“When do you think I found the word?”

Moll shakes their head, pouring now-steaming tea into a clay mug, the glaze chipped about the rim from years of use, the handle too small to fit all of Moll’s fingers. Their expression shows not the slightest hint of curiosity towards her questions. “I wouldn’t begin to guess, sir.”

Given Moll’s newness to the red, they can easily rough-reckon the numbers, so she answers as they did. “One and a half years before you, and leave off the ‘sir’! What are we, Astreuch?” Suki draws a shaking breath, her voice undeservedly sharp, but how can she fight both her acid tongue and the awful surge of hurt? How can she fight both her acid tongue and a nebulous tension that only fuels and strengthens her aching joints? “I was accepted, in a ‘some people don’t like relationships’ way. My mentor, Amadi, was like us. But the word? I didn’t know words until a cluster of young priests brought books from Khaloun. I found it, unexpectedly, while reading. So I made it my life’s work to have, here, our library.” She pauses, rueful. “Or the rest of my life’s work, since…”

Moll has given only patient, considered answers. Moll hasn’t asked questions coated in that dread mingling of need, hope and dismissal. Moll has done nothing to deserve her mood beyond asking one question, in the vegetable garden, that they had and have every right to voice.

Anticipatory fear and aching memory, poisonously entwined, have ever raised her hackles.

Suki counts backwards from ten, breathing long and slow, before realising that the Stormcoast’s culture of tiptoeing around advancing age—one daren’t observe that another approaches a state of “elderly” or “ancient”—has left Moll dwelling in a stone-faced, finger-entwining, staring-at-the-ferns silence.

“Which relative told you off as a child for calling another relative ‘old’?” she asks, grinning. “You think I don’t know I’m over the bloody hill and rolling down the other side? Yes, it’s the rest of my life’s work, because most of my life happened beforehand! Why pretend otherwise?”

“Many.” Moll rolls their shoulders back, softening. “How old were you?”

“Seventy-nine.” Suki silently applauds them for avoiding the tired “may I ask how old were you” approach and leaves the rest of the reckoning to Moll, carefully shifting her hands. Too often, these days, she earns nothing for her restful efforts but more time yearning for the work around which she has anchored her life. “Sometimes I feel like I was alive when the Sojourner supposedly lead hir band of survivors from the Change-ravaged North. Sometimes the world feels impossibly different, from then to now. Mostly, I feel the same as I always was, and the world's less different than people think, but people treat me like a ... a relic. Fancy attempting to educate me about theories I promoted because the old can’t understand the new!” She sighs. “Pour me a cup of plain tea, please, and put a pill on the saucer. The rats are gnawing today. Bloody rats.”

If her pain becomes unbearable, she’ll ask Thanh for hir set of nerve-blocking spells. She won’t be able to move or feel much of her body, but since she’s already remaining still, the real difference lies in consideration for Thanh. Ze’s had enough on hir metaphorical plate over the last week without Suki’s adding to hir work—and she hates to call on hir when she unnecessarily provoked at least half the throb in her hands, knees and ankles. Thanh has never made her feel as though she shouldn’t, but she does nonetheless.

She’s learnt the hard way how much her mood, and her guilt over wishing for relief, stokes and banks her pain.

Moll sets down their mug and pours another. “Can I do anything for you?”

Suki laughs. “I don’t suppose there’s the slightest chance you’ve figured out Thanh’s nerve blockers?”

They shake their head with speed enough that she guesses this a source of some frustration. “I don’t know how! There’s so much grafting onto nerve points, and in trying to describe it all and then shell … I make too many mistakes in the spell compression. It isn’t something in which you want mistakes.” They stop, breathing out long and slow. “I’m sorry, s—I’m sorry.”

Suki considers asking why, since she can’t expect a former quartermaster to reveal mastery of an art for which Thanh spent years studying at Eastern universities, but isn’t all this another distraction? “Don’t be. Thank you. Can you put the tray, just the cup and saucer, on my lap?”

Moll shifts the teapot and plate of corn muffins onto the bench before, as carefully as if handling fragile porcelain, arranging the rest of the tray on Suki’s lap. “Do you want to eat?”

“No.” Once, she could clasp a cup without provoking or worsening the pulling, throbbing pain in her wrist and fingers. So simple a thing to hold a cup, to drink, to return it to her tray! The tea’s heat doesn’t ease her pain, but the warm, tingling sensation distracts her somewhat, so she cradles the cup in both hands before raising them to her face. Now, at least, she needn’t waste her time in hope. As much as she yearns for Mara’s unlooked-for shape of witchcraft, there’s no reason to think her magic anything but sorcery, distant and unattainable. So be it.

She has blessings to count: a home, acolytes to help her wash and dress, purpose.

The bitter pill sticks to her tongue before she swallows it down.

“I can imagine,” Moll says, settling themself back onto the bench, “but in that way of theory. I can’t know, in the heart, the longest rhythms of time unknowing or half-knowing, given all denied us because we lack comprehension’s authority and…” They trail off, taking up their mug and, likely unconsciously, mirroring the position of her hands. “Place. That sense of place in time, in space, in community, in family, that … existential assuredness. Place. I know separation, distance, but I won’t pretend that I know that deeper shape.”

That Moll thinks their service should encompass only the safety of the vegetable garden is both tragedy and metaphor, but their still face suggests they don’t realise the contradictory echo of old words behind the new.

Mara wanted her kindred’s acknowledgement of her pain, someone to help her shoulder the weight of her agony in the validation and sympathy offered only by one who understands. Was Suki wrong to think, for so long, that she can’t risk seeking comfort? Does Moll’s rare consideration, offered unprompted no less, betoken safety enough for her to try?

“Do you have place, now?”

Moll cocks their head to the side, tapping one finger against the mug’s brown handle.

Suki waits.

“I don’t know that I will ever have that … neat, puzzle-piece sense of fitting into any time or space shared with others. Just autism alone, just aromanticism alone, just genderlessness alone … possibly. But they can’t stand alone, even if others want them to.” Moll exhales, hissing their breath over their lips in the loud, habitual easing of a priest performing and, through performance, encouraging the behaviour. “Sometimes … I want, so much, the ease of that fit, the confidence of an unquestioned place. And always … not, never, at that price.”

It shames her that, for all she has long held Moll at arm’s length, they are so willing to share.

“Burn the whole damn puzzle,” Suki says through a terrible, crooked grin.

Moll nods, a slight frown creasing their lips.

Do they realise? The shock of their first conversation in the vegetable garden, followed by an induction into the events surrounding the Hill siblings, may have seen them miss or put aside the obvious, for all that they touched upon it in their question of her. Moll owns too much perception to remain in acceptance of the thick paint covering the wallpaper beneath, and priests must do just that: question.

No thought or word can be worth anything if crumpling under curious, inquisitive challenge, so the question remains: have they the courage to ask?

“Do you know,” she says in a would-be conversational voice, “that the best thing about being a priest is that you can, amongst other priests, speak your mind? The trick lies in only having something worth speaking. Try it.”

With the speed and presence of a glacier, Moll turns their head to look Suki in the eyes. Their brow sits low and heavy, their controlled voice too tense for indifference: “What is this, then?”

Suki shakes her head. “No, try again.”

Moll’s lips shift, as if they mean to mouth a word before deciding otherwise. “Do you want honesty?”

“Your own mind will tear you apart if you say anything less, so why should I expect otherwise?”

A slight crease of Moll’s brow may suggest amusement—or consternation. Both, perhaps. “You’re discussing,” they say with painful slowness, “aro—” They hold up a hand, stopping her from remarking on their woeful statement of the obvious, and Suki, despite her anxiety-fuelled throbbing, works to hide a smile. “When you’ve had five years to start a conversation, why now?”

Their breath hisses over lips and teeth, one hand sketching lines on the meat of their robe-covered thigh.

Suki nods her encouragement.

“I did think that if this were well-known, I’d have heard. Someone would have said so in explaining to me? I also thought that your answer to my question … undermined your sense of the importance that we guide our own, especially now.”

“Do you feel that with Esher Hill?” Suki asks, wondering if they’ll dare put damning thought to voice. “Importance?”

"Yes." Moll shifts the girdle book and the bunched-up length of brown belt fastening said book to their waist. Their robe spills over thighs and knees, leaving ankles and shoulders bared; unlike Suki, they don’t appear the least bit cold. “He doesn’t trust me, but I think seeing himself reflected in that tangle of sharedness does more to help him survive than anything else. It matters.” They draw a breath, their voice firming and harshening: “So why do you talk sharedness now?”

Good! Only pain and the fear that Moll will take a somewhat-deserved offence keeps her from clapping. If she spends her remaining months or years helping Moll craft a more intentional relationship to obedience, even the Sojourner must reckon this time well served.

Easier to think about that than her own fear of an unvoiced answer.

Easier to frame this as a lesson or a guiding, her conversation possessed of another’s purpose.

Easier to think of anything but guilt and the damning thoughts an old woman must dare speak.

“Why do you?” Moll sips from their mug, their body angled towards her, their soft tone less a question than a prompting. “Isn’t that it?”

Only then does Suki realise that she embodies her own lingering, encloaking silence.

Her eyes rest, fleeing Moll, on the fern-encrusted garden wall and its uneven rows of red and yellow orchids. Her plants, fronds and leaves stirred into bobbing by the evening breeze, appear peaceful and fearless, but even allowing for flora’s unknowable sentience, that can’t be true. What stops a priest from consigning her flowers to the compost heap? A swarm of thrip from devouring the vegetable garden? Ferns, too, live their lives at the whims of the weather, the season, the denizens of the land upon which they take root. Plants grow, flourish, sicken, die. Peaceful?

What is peace but illusion: the hope of a perfect shelter from nature’s whims, ways and hurts?

“It goes the same way,” she says, now staring at her lawn and its mushrooms, those glistening fruits of the fungus conquering the soil beneath. “You learn something you didn’t know existed: the word. Once you find it fits, you feel the betrayal, the ache of once not knowing something fundamental, the deep cuts left by ignorance. You want sympathy, reassurance and validation to heal, and where are they when most don’t understand?”

Deep creases form across Moll’s brow as they thread their fingers together. “Yes. Esher needs it from me.” They hesitate, lips parted. “He needs it. So does Mara.”

“You can say it,” Suki murmurs, wondering the cost of standing, stepping onto the lawn and pulling the closest mushroom … with her back, conveniently, facing the priest beside her. Perhaps she and Moll aren’t so dissimilar if she wants to turn her hurt to fighting fungi. Perhaps this only crosses a mind looking to find a replacement for her knitting. “Please.”

“And I needed it from you.”

They may be referring to that first vegetable garden conversation. They may be referring to the years that passed between Moll’s learning the word “aromantic” as a descriptor and discovering that another priest is also aromantic. Both are truth.

“Nobody but Amadi had anything close.” Suki yawns in the first touch of medicine’s giddiness. Pity, as always, that she feels the effect in her head long before her joints. “Given nameless, remaining nameless with eir last breath.”

Only the stirring of hair and robe by breeze and breath mars Moll’s quiet stillness.

“Those with more,” she says bitterly, “serve to guide those with less. How doesn’t aromanticism apply? But we know the other side of its truth: a priest must have more to serve. More knowledge, more support, more sense of place, more safety, more community. A priest offers sympathy, provides reassurance, validates feeling, illuminates direction. A priest does what the world so often can’t in telling the different that we aren’t wrong to exist as we are.”

Mama Lewis wanted Suki to be safe, happy, loved. Mama Lewis never valued the daughter she had over the image of the daughter she thought herself entitled to have.

The part of Suki still yearning for the promise of her mother’s love can’t surrender one tainted, maggot-ridden idea: that a concept bearing an academic-sounding, official name must have made a difference.

Or will she still exist in this same circumstance, a trailblazer struggling with the full and challenging consequences of being this path’s guide?

“You think that I’ve known our word for years. You think that age means my hurt no longer throbs and I will carry your pain. You think I have more.” She presses her lips together, fearing the tears threatening to burst their dam. No, Suki takes pride in being the human equivalent of a splinter under a fingernail! She doesn’t weep. She rebels. “I have more knowledge only! You’ve … thirty, forty, fifty years of knowing ahead. You won’t find the word when you’re at death’s doorstep. You won’t bear the pain of a word unknown for eight decades. Your guide came delayed, but your guide still came!”

Suki learnt her words from books, not other priests. Moll had Gennifer, who’d learnt of aromanticism from her and affirmed in person the name of their identity and human worth. Moll, now, has Suki, even if five years later than right or deserved. Mara and Esher Hill have the wonder of identified validation provided by other aromantics, but Suki lived in a time when even the best affirmation went unnamed.

She tried openness for a year. She tried talking, despite such guiding never being her strongest art, to those guests who showed signs of aromanticism. She tried to find and connect with her own.

Easier, so much easier, to withdraw, to leave nurturing the younger aromantic starting their novitiate to other priests, to trust that Moll’s future will achieve what hers can’t.

Easier, so much easier, to avoid the young’s self-involved cruelty in relegating her only to their mentorship: the provider of their needed validation and support, the priest with more.

Easier, so much easier, to avoid speaking of her named identity with her aromantic kin … until a man almost died in part because of how he took a priest’s careless words, a situation that may not have existed if everyone knew “aromantic” described her and understood its context. Her failure, her cowardice, her unwillingness to build aromanticism more obviously into all her priests’ knowledge and service. Her inability to survive the bruises dealt her by others in pain. Her rebellion offering no direction or answer.

“You want me to strengthen you, shore you, shelter you. I can’t. I can’t when even thinking of sharing your agony reminds me of mine. I can’t when listening to you…” She sucks in a harsh, shaking breath, her throat tightening like a python’s jaws around a struggling rat. “I don’t have more. I’ll never have more. But acknowledging that isn’t enough!”

No lie slipped from her lips when she spoke to Moll in the vegetable garden, carefully dealing in careless and shallow words: how can a priest best guide someone when that guiding means taking further injury to damaged flesh? How can she serve their guests and her belief when she fights to keep back her screams, when pain and defensiveness sharpen her words to cruelty?

How much did the ostensible Sojourner struggle in leading hir collection of rent and ruined survivors along such a frightening, untrodden road?

She wishes herself able enough to march into the kitchen, grab a stack of the cracked plates she kept aside for such purposes and find a private courtyard where she can hurl them at a particularly offensive wall.

“I’m sorry,” she rasps, “because you needed. Because what happened to Esher wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t retreated. I didn’t question. I didn’t try to find an answer. I used the precept as a shield; I failed it. I’m sorry, I—”

She doesn’t realise she’s weeping until Moll slides towards her, closes their warm hand about her bony shoulders and pulls her into their chest, her tears soaking their red linen robe. They don’t speak. They don’t do anything but sit, awkwardly leaned over the arm of her chair, and hold her like a fresh-hatched chick in a pair of sheltering hands.

Guiding priests don’t, by custom, embrace their guests.

A lifetime’s grief spills from her eyes, stinging creased, dry cheeks. Not until the evening’s chill increases to something unignorable does Suki find again her composure. She sniffs, draws a shaking breath and speaks in her ever-readily barbed tongue: “Ten years ago, before your novitiate, I’d have asked if you were interested in bedding. Or even just sleeping, because you’re better than a dog and a hot brick for keeping an old woman toasty.”

Moll sits upright, only a strained shift of shoulder suggesting any stiffness or discomfort. Their wet eyes glisten even in the dim light, an odd contrast to their twisted lips and crumpled chin—and then a noise between a hoarse laugh and a snort explodes above the breeze’s whisper. “Don’t distract!”

They sound like Suki does when objecting to the young's woeful blathering.

She straightens, wiping her face on a corner of her shawl before smiling in pride. “Yes. I…”

“Thank you for trusting me enough to share.” They’re priestly words, taken right from the instruction manual, but Moll’s following sentences aren’t: “You said my guide came delayed, but she came, she showed herself when needed, she served. She’s here. I don’t know … how people reacted, what was asked, all of what you feel, how you bear the weight. I want to know. Your guide came delayed, so delayed … but they’re here. Even at the last.”

Emotion cracks and shreds her voice: “I’d rather not cry again, thank you very much.”

Moll doesn’t dilute their blank stare with speech or gesture.

“What path, then?” she croaks—tired, giddy, shivering, relieved.

Part of her, the wary woman once a distrustful girl, feels it ludicrous that Moll, so junior a priest, can answer something she can’t. The girl does them no justice: Moll hasn’t asked her to carry their pain. They’ve shared only at her prompting. They’ve treated her with a friend’s warmth and courtesy. If she holds no faith in their sacred service, is there anything left of Suki but damaged bones in an aching body? Isn’t this the same old difficulty: a woman fighting herself to trust another person, simultaneously needing and fearing?

Moll rests a hand on the arm of her chair, fingers half curled in invitation.

Suki nods and rests her stiff hand in their soft one.

“Someday,” they say slowly, “as how it seems incredulous to question one eschewing gender, we will be history. My school, years ago, taught that: the tears and blood spent to make a world where I can shrug at gender. Not just as a past to avoid repeating, but as … respect for the pain that birthed the now.”

They motion with their other hand, fingers curled inwards—the mug and teapot sitting, long abandoned, on the bench.

Suki yawns, presses her trembling lips together and waits.

“We need books of names and definitions, and we need books of stories. Our futures and hopes written on the page. Stories of the past that we’re hoping become … incredulous. We need the stories of those who wept. We can’t forget.” They turn to glance at Suki before speaking in a voice marred by quivering: “May I write down your story? So I can understand—so we can understand, all those who come after?”

They won’t offer power. They can’t violently remake a world so wrought against her. They don’t provide resolution to the ache felt by a woman struggling with the community who need her to help them bear and understand theirs. They haven't a solution.

They offer direction, one balancing their hopes for the future with the harms of the present. A direction that doesn’t make her feel like a relic to be cast aside but a paving stone at the road’s beginning, one small part of ensuring the steady, continuing passing of feet and wheels.

Moll’s suggestion is why she believes in the concept of the Sojourner, even though she can’t make herself ascribe to certainty in god.

“I don’t mean to be impudent—”

“Never cluck when you’re doing a bitchy old woman a kindness.” Suki draws a shaking breath of her own. “I’d … like that. Very much. Thank you.”

At first, she thinks Moll’s expression—a slight curve of lips, only a smile by comparison—speaks more of relief than happiness. No. Don’t they also straddle a complex and confused struggle to build their place? Don’t they also feel the sacred power in their service? Aren’t they also in need of friendship?

“May I ask—” Moll stops themself, raising a palm. “Why did you talk to me, at the beginning, as though guiding a priest? Why didn’t you talk about this straight out?”

Suki grins at both the correction and the question. “I’m the Guide. What else do you think I’m going to do?”

5 notes · View notes