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ohagi-eats · 1 month

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Against All Odds

“Catch me, Dad!” I squealed as I leapt from the banister of the stairs. He caught me in his arms and twirled me around till the room got fuzzy and my stomach hurt from laughter.

My mother glowered at him from the glass door of her home office.

“Throw her around like that and she’ll be at the hospital in seconds!”

Dad’s sweet chortling always brought me to my senses. If I were ever comatosed, the sound would jolt me awake like a lightning bolt.

“That’s if she fell. She’ll never fall, because I’ll never let her go.”

~~~

The immediate jerk of the plane woke me up from my reminiscence straight away. I cracked my neck to one side and groaned at the splitting sound.

When the pilot announced take-off, I didn’t think my heart could pound any louder than it already was. I picked at the skin around my thumb, and when that got too marred, I toyed with the hem of my athletic shirt.

Did I want to spend my Saturday morning on an aircraft with a parachute strapped to my back? Not really. In hindsight, did I have a choice?

Well, yes. I did.

You chose to be here, and you aren’t getting off of this plane until you jump off from it at twelve thousand feet.

That didn’t necessarily mean I wasn’t allowed to let my anxiety take over as we bounced against the rough gravel while the jet accelerated.

Maybe I can do this. Maybe I am cut out for this.

All diverting thoughts flew away from my brain as soon as I felt the plane lift from the ground and into the air.

Ican’tdothisIcan’tdothisIcan’tdothis-

“Miss? Are…are you okay?”

I didn’t even bother checking where the voice came from, or even confirming if the comment was directed towards me.

“Just peachy,” I breathed.

The voice laughed. “It’s not that bad, trust me. I’ve-”

I lurched forward when the aircraft suddenly plummeted towards the ground. I felt sharp nails digging into my forearm to keep me from shooting straight across the six feet of space we had between the benches.

All I heard over the speaker was “minor” and “turbulence”. Only one of them made sense to me, and it definitely wasn’t minor.

When the plane came to a stop on the runway, I turned to my right. The “voice” came from a tall(er) woman. Her swirly brown hair was pulled back into a braid and her eyes were warm and friendly. They reminded me of freshly baked cookies near a fireplace with cozy blankets.

“I’m Kahani. Aani for short. You?” She asked with her outstretched and perfectly manicured hand.

“Kiele. Nice to meet you.” She smiled and her nose ring glinted in the sunlight shining through the windows.

“We should likely be back in the air by… an hour tops?” She looked out the window and nodded her head. “No more aircrafts available for today.”

“How are you so sure?”

She tapped at the embroidery on her shirt. “I’m your instructor. The pilot’s my dad. I come over here to volunteer once a month or so. Even have my own license! Well, obviously, or else I couldn’t qualify to be your instructor,” she laughed. She leaned forward on her hand. “So, what are you doing here? I mean, you’re probably here to skydive, but by the looks of it, it doesn’t seem like you enjoy heights very much. No offense.”

I shrugged. “None taken. I’m fine with heights, but I think the thought of jumping to my doom from twelve thousand feet in the air is enough to nauseate a lot of people.”

She grinned. “Interesting, but you didn’t answer the question. Why are you here, then?”

“If I really had to elaborate, it would be a long story. I’ll run it down--”

“Ah--stop right there,” she said, her finger moving side to side. “We’ve got an hour.” She crossed her legs. “Hit me with it.”

I thought about it. Did I really want to share my entire life story with someone I just met two minutes ago? Aani seemed like a nice person, and my priority voice in my head kept nagging at me.

Kiele, you run an awareness program. So, spread awareness!

I smiled and drummed my fingers against my phone case.

“Where should I start?”

~~~

The day I was diagnosed with stage three leukemia was, needless to say, the most god awful day of my life.

I’d been sitting there at my kitchen countertop. I was seventeen and was doing what most normal teenagers would be doing in March: scouring college websites, tours, and program offers. I didn’t think my life could even get more infuriating after I’d learned my dad wouldn’t be coming home for another week. It didn’t really warrant me to sulk like a three-year-old and refuse to eat dinner, but I was too upset to care.

After a few hours of trying to get me to eat, even my own mother had given up and crashed on her desk in her office. No matter how hungry I was, I spurned away the plate she’d set in front of me.

Thinking back, maybe I should’ve eaten. Maybe I would’ve allowed myself a few more weeks of what I thought to be peace and what I called calmness.

I remember slamming open the door to her office and violently shaking my mom so she’d wake up. Even at four in the morning, she was still pretty vigilant and on her guard.

Blood was dripping in splotches all over the floor and various documents from my nose, and no matter how much pressure she put on it, she couldn’t get it to stop.

Half an hour later, she was running the speed limit with the GPS blaring directions out to the nearest hospital. My hands were trembling and I was cowering in trepidation as tears started pooling in my eyes.

“Kiele Iokua, get yourself together. It’s one nosebleed that I drove you all the way over here for, nothing is going to happen. It’s nothing serious. It’s just like the rest,” she sighed.

The rest were never this bad. The rest never sanctioned a trip to the hospital.

I don’t remember when we’d entered the hospital, checking in, or even the doctor telling my mom to leave the room. I don’t even remember when they took my blood to the lab or the moments I sat there with waves of unease crashing over my body.

I just remember those words that turned my life a full one-eighty degrees.

“I’m…extremely sorry to deliver this news, but… we…we’ve diagnosed you with stage three leukemia. Now, we know this may be…”

I wasn’t listening to whatever the doctor was saying, likely about how things would be okay. And maybe, if I’d truly listened, they would’ve been.

But all I could think about was how things would never be okay. How was it possible to tell a seventeen year old that their life was being threatened by a fatal disease?

Nothing could have ever prepared me for that day, even if I had more time to be a normal person before I found out.

My dad was called in from his week-long business trip, and I thought about how a few hours ago, it would’ve made me the happiest person in the entire world. I didn’t think anything could ever achieve that again.

I hadn’t moved for over six hours, and the doctors had started to get worried. Even Mom went out and had gotten cupcakes from Crumble Bliss to “cheer” me up. How were you supposed to cheer someone up after that?

I didn’t even budge when Dad’s arms were wrapped around me so tight that I couldn’t breathe.

It was only when my parents had discussed chemo treatment with the doctors and everyone had left the room, the tears started rolling. I must’ve sobbed and sobbed and sobbed for hours that night based on how swollen my eyes were the next morning.

My parents sent an email to my high school about the situation. My entire future that I had planned was practically gone. Forget about deciding on a college-- I wouldn’t even be able to go to college.

I thought that maybe after the chemo, I’d feel better. It only got worse.

After every appointment, I didn’t feel any different. The doctors reassured me that my body was fighting and it would take time to see those results pay off, but I grew more bitter and angrier every second I spent in that hospital.

I was rude to the nurses and all the physicians who tried to help me. I screamed at them, cried at them, and even kicked at them when they tried to help me. The only person that could manage two words with me on good days was Dad.

My Dad visited the hospital whenever he could. He cut all his meetings short just to see me and always brought a cupcake or a snack that he knew I loved.

He held my hand and said that it would be okay, but even he knew it wouldn’t.

If that wasn’t bad enough, the hair fall started.

Everytime I ran my hands through the dark locks of my scalp, clumps of hair threaded between my fingers and easily slipped out. By the end of the month, my once thick and long hair was as thin as a twig.

My dad came on the first weekend in April and held my hands.

“Kiele, it’s okay, it’ll grow back before you know it, alright? You’ll be-”

I snapped. I didn’t know what it was that made me lose my temper that day, but I couldn’t take it anymore.

“No! No, it won’t be okay! Stop pretending like it is, alright? You don’t know what it’s like-- you’ll never know what it’s like. Do you know how hard it is to deal with the fact that I have cancer? Just leave me alone!” My voice cracked near the end of my words and I shoved Dad away until he left.

He still visited whenever he could after my meltdown, and my mom came by with him to try to get me out of my gloom.

My embittered attitude only made the cancer worse as months went by. I was rude to anyone who even tried to speak to me, not realizing how much pain I’d been causing them-- and more importantly, how much pain I was causing myself.

The doctors didn’t know if I’d ever recover, but they’d said it was unlikely after a few months, and I soon might’ve entered stage four.

They hadn’t told me, but I’d overheard them telling my parents in the waiting room. Anger flooded through me like it did every other day, and I pitied myself day after day, wondering why I was the one stuck with cancer-- what I did so painfully wrong that landed me in this mess.

A week after that day, I was wandering around the hospital with my IV bag stand rolling next to me. Even after six months, that aftershock still didn’t wear off. I was spiraling into a whirlpool of depression and agony, and it seemed like there was no return.

I’d stopped short in my tracks right before I was about to turn the corner.

Soft sniffles came from one of the seats, and it was one of the nurses-- one the nurses who was assigned to my ward.

I looked at the room across from her and saw a young boy-- who couldn’t be more than seven-- swatting away the pills in a nurse’s hand.

“No! I don’t want it! It won’t help me, okay? Nothing will help! It’s only going to get worse!” He cried aloud. He kicked and screamed and shrieked at anyone who tried to touch him, and even kicked one nurse in the face. He threw so many hurtful insults at them that even my mind started to react to them, even when they weren’t directed at me.

How could…someone say things so…hurtful?

How could that someone…be me?

At that moment, it was like a freight train hit my body.

I was a horrible person. I was so vile and churlish and so… insolent. I’d taken out all my bottled up resentment at something so out of anyone’s control and unleashed it out on everyone who’d just wanted to help me.

It was then that I decided to suck it up and start to be happy, or at least pretend to, even if I wasn’t. Going through cancer was the hardest point of my life, but that gave me no reason to be such a jerk to people who loved me.

Optimism didn’t completely get rid of that loneliness I’d always felt in the beginning, but it was the first step.

Even pretending to be happy tricked me into thinking everything was fine, sometimes. I decorated my room with pictures of my family and things I loved, and the nurses even helped me with my new change.

“We’re proud of you Kiele. Keep fighting,” one of them smiled at me.

I talked to the doctors and my nurses every chemo session to keep me distracted. They’d told me about their lives, their family, their friends, and news outside of the hospital. I’d slowly gone from pretending to be hopeful, to truly believing it.

I’d even told my Dad that I was sorry for being so difficult. That day, I shaved off all the remaining hair on my head, and looked at my Dad in the mirror with tears as he soon followed.

The positive mindset I followed did wonders to my mental health-- and maybe even my physical.

I went from waking up every morning and asking myself “why I have to be sick” or “why can’t I be like everyone else”, to appreciating everyone around me and being confident that I could fight back.

There was still one problem.

I’d forgotten where the room was, but it wasn’t hard to find it again after I followed the

shouts echoing down the hallway at night.

A nurse came out with a dejected look from the room, but quickly replaced it with a nod and a smile when she saw me. I gently grabbed her wrist.

“Could you tell me… what you were trying to get him to do? That boy in there,” I asked.

“He won’t take his medication for today. I’ve tried so much, but I just… he won’t. I-”

I smiled. “I’ll take care of it.”

With that, I rapped my knuckles softly against the door. When no one answered, I clicked open the door and walked in.

“Go away! I said I didn’t--” the boy stopped yelling when he saw me. “You’re not a nurse,” he said.

“You’re right, I’m not. I just came here to talk to you. Can I sit here?” I asked him, patting the spot at the foot of his bed. He gingerly nodded.

“Can I ask you…why are you so sad?”

“Huh?”

“You’re feeling a lot of emotions, I know. I know what it-”

Immediately, he lashed out at me. “No you don’t! Stop it! Stop saying you know what it feels like!” Tears were cascading down his cheeks and my heart cracked a little, knowing those were the words that came out of my mouth not too long ago.

I flinched a little, hurt at his sudden outburst. “You have Crohn's disease, right? That doctor told me. I can’t really say that I completely know what it feels like… but I think I have an idea,” I tentatively said, hoping he wouldn’t burst into a fit of tears again.

“How?” He glared at me.

“A few months ago, I was diagnosed with stage three leukemia. Blood cancer. It was the worst day of my life. I felt like there was nothing in the world that could make me feel like a normal person again.

Just like you, I was filled with hatred and acerbity towards everyone. I yelled at the nurses, the doctors, and even my own parents. I think I even made them cry sometimes,” I said. I didn’t like thinking about those memories-- it reminded me of the person I used to be, and I didn’t want to be that person anymore.

He blinked at me. “I don’t know who my parents are. A volunteering camp raised money for some of us to receive treatment here,” he said, his voice wavering.

“Do…do I make the nurses cry? Did I hurt their feelings?”

I decided not to sugarcoat it. “Yes, you did, but it’s okay. It’s hard to live in this world and think about why we had to be the unfortunate ones, isn’t it? I hated it, and I still dislike having cancer. I lost energy, my friends, and even my hair. It took me a while to get over that. But I like to think about something-- do you wanna know what it is?”

He hesitated, but then nodded. “We were chosen to carry these burdens because we’re stronger than anyone else. Fighting back isn’t something just anyone could do, you know that? Overcoming these challenges will only make us even more powerful. The only thing stopping that is yourself,” I said, pointing at him with my finger. “You have the ability to change that-- you just have to believe. Be hopeful. Be idealistic. Be optimistic.”

We shared a few minutes of silence before I spoke again.

“Will you take your meds now?”

He reached over for the glass of water next to him and firmly nodded.

“I…I’m sorry. For yelling at you,” he said, not making eye contact with me.

“Apology accepted, but I don’t think it's me that you should be apologizing to, right?”

“Right.”

~~~

After Jun expressed his regret to all the nurses, I found out that he was pretty sweet. Once I’d made a friend, the hospital didn’t feel so lonely anymore--even if my friend was a seven year old kid.

Jun and I took walks around the hospital facilities and sometimes even the central rotunda parks, when both of us were feeling up for it. I spent time in his room, and he spent time in mine. He even came to some of my chemo sessions to talk to me. His company was fresh and we found solace in each other.

He’d never learned, so sometimes, I took him to the library and taught him how to read and write. It was tough, considering he had occasional severe stomach aches and I was still battling the rapid cell growth in my body, but we made it work. Jun was a fast learner, and it made me happy to see him grow so much over a few months.

Seemingly, I started feeling better after the continuous chemotherapy, and before I knew it, almost two years had passed since I first inhabited the facilities.

Even Jun showed some change-- not a lot, but it was a start that made us happy. I introduced him to my Dad, and he was more than happy to keep Jun entertained.

He bought card games, books, and loads of activities every month to the hospital. He’d spend hours in my room with Jun curled up next to him, telling us both stories and playing games. It felt silly that I was nineteen years old and I was playing Hungry Hippos with a kid instead of being in college studying for midterms, but I didn’t care.

After a while, I was permitted to stay at my home to transition to outpatient care and continue my treatment in scheduled sessions during the week. I was elated. After so long, it was a dream come true, but I thought about Jun. As much as I didn’t want to leave him, both my parents wanted me to come home for so long, I just couldn’t deny them.

I walked into Jun’s room one day, half expecting him to throw a tantrum when I told him the news. Instead, to my surprise, he hugged me. “You taught me that positivity is the best medicine, and I want to share it with others. You deserve this after being stuck here so long. You’ll visit, right?” He looked up at me with his gray eyes and tousled brown hair. I smiled.

“All the time.”

~~~

I didn’t feel that I was ready to start going to school in person, so I finished high school online. I got my diploma, and even had a private graduation party that Jun was invited to.

My life seemed to get better from then on. I wrote my college essay about my experience, and I’d gotten into a university not too far away from the hospital. Along with visiting my parents, I visited Jun every weekend.

I didn’t have to go for a chemo session every month then, just a few routine check-ups. My hair had even started to grow back, and I felt suffocated through pure joy. Before, I thought it would never grow back, but seeing my scalp littered with dark brown hair made my heart burst.

Before cancer, I’d never known what I would truly want to do in life, but the first thing I did out of university was apply to research programs. I wanted to help people, but not just by being a scientist, or researcher.

With Jun and the hospital staff’s help, I started my volunteer center with great pride and joy, knowing that I’d discovered my calling.

Jun’s presence in my life was a constant reminder of my resilience and finding strength in each other when I’d been told that I was finally cancer-free.

~~~

“Everyone said that the survival rate at my stage was extremely low, but nothing makes me prouder to say that I beat it. I’m a cancer survivor,” I said, smiling at Aani and pointing to my wrist with the tattoo of a ribbon. I ran my hand over my curly mid-length braid. “Even have my hair to prove it.”

“That--that’s amazing! Turning your life around like that takes real courage, and if you can beat cancer, then I definitely think you can skydive. Even if that story was beautiful-- you still never answered the question. Why are you here?”

“I’m one of the supervisors at that very hospital wing as a research intern. One of the kids there didn’t think she was going to survive this autoimmune disease she had, but she’s brave. She told me skydiving was her dream, and I wanted to make it come true.”

Aani stared at me in awe. “You are… truly an amazing person. Can I ask-- what happened to Jun?”

My heart raced. “I loved my Dad so much that I didn’t think it was possible to love him more, you know? Not until he showed me the adoption papers. Jun’s my younger brother now, and he’s been attending high school like a regular kid after getting discharged. He’s the one who got me to do this today, actually,” I laughed.

So much time had passed while talking, that I hadn’t even realized the plane must’ve taken off a while ago. I stared out the window and I could barely even see anything over green that stretched out for miles.

My back straightened. I went stiff, knowing that soon that time would come. Aani put her hand on my shoulder to unstrain my posture.

“My first few months at the hospital, I absolutely hated the feeling of missing out on so many things that I knew would go on during senior year,” I said, distracting myself. “But you know who stuck with me through thick and thin, even when I was such a jerk? My Dad.”

Everyone started getting up and strapping themselves up to their instructors. Aani tapped my forehead. “Breathe. Relax. I can’t tighten the straps if you're so tense! Keep going-- tell me something he said.”

I inhaled and eased my body. “The power of optimism completely altered my life and without that, I wouldn’t be where I am now,” I spoke, shutting my eyes. “When I apologized to him after I’d started my positive mindset phase, he’d told me something that I later told Jun, and now I tell all the kids in the ICU wing. If you wait to be happy until life isn’t hard anymore, then you’ll waste your whole life waiting,” I said, not even registering that we were up next to jump out.

“You must love your Dad a lot, right?”

“Yeah, I do,” my voice quivered looking down at the ground and my heart hammered against my chest.

“If you fought cancer while you were in stage three,” Aani yelled over the loud wind. “Then you can survive jumping out of a plane. Don’t waste your whole life wishing you didn’t back out! Ready?” she asked.

I looked down and smiled. “More than ever.”

And in that moment, I knew I wasn’t even lying-- against all odds, I would always triumph over anything. I welcomed the rush of the air currents against my face when Aani leapt from the platform.

Catch me, Dad.

•••

This story was written to show the journey of a cancer survivor who finds strength and resilience through the hardships she faced throughout her life. It is a constant reminder even if you aren’t struggling in life, the power of optimism brings out true resilience.

#leukemia #cancer survival #yes i did write this #cancer survival story #time to be optimistic #yay #chron's disease #i have two separate accounts hence i posted them on both haha #hope you like it #did this for a newspapwer application #thought i'd post it here

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biggest-gaudiest-patronuses · 1 year

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woke up and someone spilled vanilla extract all over my dash, so as punishment you strange little beasties are getting all the VANILLA FACTS i know:

vanilla is the 2nd most expensive spice in the world (2nd to saffron)

which is why more than 99% of what we call "vanilla extract" is actually vanillin (vanilla's dominant flavor compound) and is not extracted from real vanilla.

luckily, even professionals struggle to tell the difference when it comes to things like baked goods. but there is a distinct difference in non-heat treated products like vanilla ice cream. real vanilla has a more complex, individualized flavor profile.

why is vanilla so expensive? because it is a ridiculously delicate & demanding crop. complete primadonna.

vanilla beans come from vanilla orchids. these crazy flowers bloom for A SINGLE DAY and have to be HAND-POLLINATED in a process that is exhausting, delicate, and requires specialist knowledge passed down over generations.

then, if you're lucky, you get vanilla beans.

which then require months of further specialized treatment.

the entire process takes about a year and can go wrong at any stage

vanilla has been cultivated for over 800 years (possibly much longer). the first known cultivators are the Totonac, an indigenous people of Mexico.

the Aztecs used it as a sweetener to balance out the bitter taste of cocoa. it was popular in a drink called xocolatl--the precursor to modern hot chocolate!

it is only pollinated by a very specific orchid bee!!!

which is why no fruit could be grown outside of Mexico until the 1800s

Edmond Albius, born into slavery, invented the pollination method we still use today--launching a global industry when he was just 12 years old.

today, the majority of the world's vanilla is grown in Madagascar

if you want real vanilla, read the labels carefully--it's harder to find than you think!

in conclusion, those tiny black specks you see in fancy vanilla ice cream? those are vanilla bean seeds! itty bitty orchid seeds!!! they are delicious and also a PRISSY BITCH!

(src)

#Vanilla Extract #i open the tumblr app and immediately my nostrils are invaded by the overwhelming stench of vanilla #also if you want real vanilla extract at a discount: check out stores like HomeGoods TJMaxx Marshalls etc #the foodstuffs section tends to have fancy nonperishables for much cheaper than upscale grocery stores #you can get things like saffron truffles fancy oils at surprising prices #still expensive but like. 50% cheaper #or just shoplift if that's your thing i won't tell you how to live your life #did i just spend an hour writing this? yes. why did i do that? i don't KNOW

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idiotsonlyevent · 1 month

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i wonder where the idea of chilchuck being a deadbeat came from when theres like. no textual evidence for it ?

he knows what all of them are up to; he still writes to flertom and she sent him his neckwarmer, so that to me implies that they at least have a somewhat positive relationship?

its more ambiguous with meijack and puckpatti, but since meijack is also a picklock, i wouldn't be surprised if he taught her himself, considering how trades are often passed down through families, and because he talks about sending people to her if he dies.

also the way he talks about puckpatti is very like... it's obvious he wants her to take things more seriously, but he's accepting, and his tone here reads more fond to me than anything else.

like, he keeps his daughters' old toys under his desk? that doesn't scream 'deadbeat' at all, it screams 'empty nester' who doesn't know how to reach out or is scared to do so

EDIT: i know a lot of the 'deadbeat dad' stuff is jokes, but some people are Not joking and genuinely think chilchuck is a bad dad. this post is not saying that you cant joke about it; it is just outlining what canon shows regarding his (clearly positive) relationship with his kids.

#i love making fun of him but he is like. Very Explicitly Not a Deadbeat Dad lol #WHY DID I WRITE SO MUCH AGAINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN #CHILCHUCK I AHTE EYOUUUUUIUUU #WHY DOES HE DO THIS TO ME....#EDIT: 'i thought the deadbeat dad stuff was a joke do ppl actually think that?' YES thats why i made this post 😭😭 bc ive seen ppl genuinely #say that hes a bad dad/husband!#L.txt #dungeon meshi #chilposting #long post

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inkskinned · 7 months

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the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

#writeblr #warm up #this is longer than i wanted i really considered removing that part about myself and what i went thru #but i think it really fucking bothers me that EVERY time i talk about being an artist #ppl assume i just like. had the skill and ability to drop everything and pay for grad school.#like sir i grew up poor. my house wasn't a safe space. i gave up a FREE RIDE TO LAW SCHOOL. for THIS. bc i chose it.#was it fucking hard? was i choosing the hard thing?? yes.#but we need to stop seeing artists as lazy layabouts that can ''afford'' to just ''sit around and create''#when MANY - if not MOST - of us are NOT like that. we have to work our fucking ASSES off. hard work. long and hard work #part of valuing artists is recognizing the amount we sacrifice to make our art. bc it doesn't just #like HAPPEN to us. also btw it rarely has anything to do with true talent.#speaking as someone with a chronic condition i hate when ppl are like u have it easy. like actively as i'm writing this my hands r #ACTIVELY hurting me. i haven't been posting bc my left hand was curled in a claw for the last week #this isn't fucking luck. after a certain point it's not even TALENT. it's dedication & sacrifice.#''u get to flounce around and do nothing with ur life'' is a narrative that is a direct result of capitalism #imagine if we said that about literally any other profession.#''oh so u give up 10 yrs of ur life to be a doctor? u sacrifice having a social life and u get SUPER in debt?#u need to work countless hours and it will often be thankless? well i wish i was that lucky''#we should be applying that logic to landlords ONLY #''oh ur mom and dad gave u the money to buy a house? and all u did was paint it white and rent it? huh.''

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ourlittlevampire · 10 months

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Thursday (US Band), My Chemical Romance Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Geoff Rickly/Gerard Way Characters: Geoff Rickly, Gerard Way Additional Tags: Rape, Blood and Violence, Weapons, Homophobia, Slurs, Homophobic Language Summary:

Virgin, basement dweller Gerard doesn't handle rejection well.

#Ryan's writings #Yes I did write this #No I don't know how to take it off anonymous #Be careful of the tags :3

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mumblesplash · 5 months

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in honor of last season’s poem being called “”end poem”” (all quotes mandatory) this season i made one out of pieces of the actual end poem

#letting me just download the minecraft font? for free? a mistake #if you or a loved one have been suffering from RED TEXT you may be entitled to compensation #my art #god at this point i really do need a writing tag don’t i #<- will continue not addressing this #secret life #goodtimeswithscar #grian #secret life spoilers #sorry tumblr user livvi3love for not making one with all the deaths again #if you (or anyone) did want to illustrate this one as well you’re more than welcome to but i am not expecting anything #i can do an explainer thing again like i did last time but that is for tomorrow #right now i am just. very tired #but for now i will confirm yes the colors Matter #i literally made this on accident against my will #i was trying to DRAW

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nanaslutt · 7 months

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Ok but giving gojo road head and he feels so good he has to pull over in the nearest parking lot to properly enjoy it oh my god just imagine his head bent backwards and his mouth open eyes closed moaning I can’t I need to suck his cock honestly ❤️ and maybe like if ur feeling a tad bit silly he could be a head pusher in this one 😁😁😁teehee just maybe ONLY jf ur feeling silly nana mwah!

OH I LOVE THIS we’re getting straight into this oh em gee

contains: fem reader, oral(m!receiving), sensitive!gojo, sooooo much dirty talk, road head :p, manhandling, throat fucking, headpusher!gojo <3

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

Your hands were all over Gojo, trying to rip off his belt, unzip his pants, and get his cock out as quick as possible.

“Baby slow downn,” he laughed, “My cock ain’t goin anywhere,” He placed a big hand on top of your own while you tried to undo his belt.

“We’ll be home in 20 minutes, ‘s my girl that needy?” he smirked. You ignored his teasing, pushing his hand out of the way; making him giggle and submit, placing it back on the wheel with his other hand.

You had just finished going shopping together. Gojo needed a new designer suit for some fancy get together with the jujutsu higher ups soon, dragging you along with him.

You protested at first, not wanting to spend your day off suit shopping with gojo. You would much rather cuddle up with him on the couch, but you didn’t want to be alone, so you caved, letting him drag you along with him.

And god damn it if you weren’t glad you did. Tight fitting suit after suit being tried on, all tailored perfectly to his measurements, accentuating his big biceps and toned frame.

Watching him roll up his cuffs and fiddle with his jacket was making your mouth water. You were clenching your thighs as he smoothed his big hands down his chest, veiny hands coming up to tighten the tie on his neck.

“How do I look baby? Ya like this one?” He asked, completely unaware of how something so simple as him trying on suits made you want to devour him right this second.

He found out your true feelings later, bringing you back to the car as you finally undid his difficult zipper after struggling with it for a while, reaching your smaller hands into his pants to pull his semi-hard cock out.

“You got this worked up while I was playin dress up? So dirtyy~,” he teased, biting his lip and smirking while you stroked his length in your warm hands, getting him fully erect.

“Satoru,” you said sternly, leaning your body over the center console and placing your mouth inches from his cock, “shut. up.” The second your words were out his cock was filling up your mouth, quickly falling into a rhythm as you bobbed your head up and down on his cock, making his hips jolt up into your mouth when he drove over a bump, making you gag.

“Ahh- A-hh shittt baby,” Satoru groned, eyes fluttering as he tried to keep his focus on the road, occasionally dropping his gaze to watch the show you were putting on for him.

He dropped a heavy hand on your head, pushing down slightly, making you wince as it hit the back of your throat, “Thought you wanted my cock so bad huh? Cant take it?” he smirked, relishing in the feeling of you swallowing around him, trying to hold back your gags.

Your hand came up to place it on top of his challengingly, pushing his hand down against you. “Oh yeah?” he smirked. Gojo’s fingers curled into your hair as leverage as he started bobbing your mouth up and down on him like a cock sleeve.

“Such a thirsty girl- fuckkk- such a tight fucking throat.” He was trying his best to keep the acceleration of the car at one speed, his legs jerking and jolting every so often when he felt his tip hit the back of your throat, making his driving a little sketchy.

The vibrations from your moans combined with the tightness of your throat as you choked around him was going straight to his balls, “Gonna make me c-crash the fuckin car holy shiiiiit,” he whined, jaw dropping as moans repeatedly fell from his tongue.

Gojo couldn’t take this for much longer, he yanked you back from his dick, popping your mouth off of him with a wet sound as you coughed and sputtered in the air, hand immediately coming down to stroke him still.

“Gotta pull over, ‘s too fuckin much” he said out of breath, face red and heart beating out of his chest as he took the next exit the freeway provided.

His abs were clenching, back coming off from the back of his seat as you rubbed your thumb on the underside of his cock, right under his head, “Babyyyy, killin me, h-hold on just hold on please,” he wined, his big hand coming down to grip your wrist tight as he frantically searched for a semi secluded place to pull over.

Once he found a nice gravel patch off the side of the road covered decently with thick trees he turned the wheel a little too hard to the side, car rocking the both of you as you settled into the spot.

Gojo quickly put the car into park and flipping his hazards on before he brought you back down onto his cock, “All yours baby, take my fucking dick,” he groaned.

Your lips immediately came to suckle on his tip, before sliding down the length of his cock again. This time he just let his hand rest on your head, slightly pushing down on the downstroke.

His head was tipped back against the seat as loud groans and wines spilled from his slack jaw, “goddd baby that feels so good-“ he choked out, running his hands through your hair.

His abs clench when you swallow around him, moans being cut off with a gag when his dick reached too deep in your throat.

You pop your lips off his dick, rotating your wrist around him while while you jerk him off, “yeah? my throat feel good?” you moan, biting your lip while smiling up at him.

“Yes yes so fucking good pretty, so good” He smiled back at you. His big hand comes up to grip your neck, squeezing as he pulls you up to his mouth, “Don’t stop jerkin’ me off” He whispers before he crashes your lips together, moaning at the taste of himself on your tongue.

The kiss is so messy; whenever you twisted your twist around his wet tip his jaw would fall open, and his pretty blue eyes would roll back in his head.

“Fuuuuck, Im so close- fuck-“ He moaned into your mouth, gojo’s body jerking when you started pumping him more vigorously.

“Wanna cum d-down ur throat princess, cmon, why don’t you suck my dick again, huh?” His grip still hard on your neck as he gave it w squeeze to emphasize his need.

Gojo was trying his hardest to keep his composure, trying to stave off his orgasm long enough to at least feel your lips around him again, but your hand movements around his cock was making that task feel impossible.

You bit your lip and nodded, feeling his member start to pulse in your hand. He released your neck, letting you drop your head down to his cock again.

You started to kitten lick the tip softly, dipping your tongue into his leaky slit; but gojo was having none of that.

Without warning he shoved the entirety of his cock down your throat, bobbing your head up and down with his new grip on your hair, “Sorry baby, cant put up w-with your fuckin’ teasing when i’m this close” He smirked down at you, watching you struggle to take him.

You adjusted quickly, breathing through your nose so you wouldn’t choke, and focusing on sucking and rolling your tongue around him to get him to finish as fast as possible.

“Yesyesyes just like that fuck- right there-“ His grip tightened at his head fell back with a ‘thmp’ against the headrest when your tongue caressed a particularly sensitive spot on the underside of his dick.

You were paying special attention to the thick vein running along the underside of his cock, and it made him feel fucking dizzy. His head was spinning every time your mouth fully engulfed him.

You continued your ministrations, letting the massive man above you manhandle you; pulling and tugging at your hair for his own pleasure, and steadily bringing himself to his orgasm.

“I’m gonna cum babe, oh my godd” He let his chin fall back down, jaw slack and eyes heavy as he watched your mouth create a mess of spit all over his cock.

Spit strings connected from your chin to his abdomen and balls, the feeling of you moaning and gagging around him; it was all too much.

You felt his cock twitch before you tasted him; his heavy hand pushing you to the base of his dick as hot ropes of his cum shot down your throat.

You swallowed his cum up greedily, like it was the antidote for some poison to save your life. “Fu-uuuck yeahhh” he wined, biting his lip hard watching you try to keep up with his orgasm flooding your mouth, “Just-like-that- swallow it alllll,” he emphasized by thrusting his too sensitive dick into your mouth.

His whole body was buzzing, long legs shaking from the intensity of his orgasm, mind feeling like jello as the aftershocks ran through his body.

When the stimulation became too much for him; and right when your vision started to be covered in black dots from asphyxiation; he pulled you away from his dick.

Still holding your hair as your hand came down to rub at your throat, coughing and gasping for air in the process. “Show me.” he demanded.

Your foggy mind knew exactly what he meant; sticking out your tongue you showed him how you swallowed every last drop of his seed into your tummy, smiling when you put your tongue back in your mouth.

Gojo’s big hand came up to pat your cheek, releasing your hair and opting to grip your jaw in his hand, “Good fucking girl baby~” He cooed, smashing your faces together.

You felt his tongue dart inside your mouth, greedily licking around, trying to taste himself in your mouth.

He pulled away with a smirk, spit string connecting the two of you as he gave you a quick peck, “God i’m still fucking shaking haha” He laughed breathlessly, making you giggle.

Gojo stared into your eyes for a couple more seconds, biting his lip looking at the expanse of your face before his sighed, dropping his hold on your chin.

“Okaayyyy~” He sighed out, tucking himself back in his pants and buckling his seatbelt back up.

By this point you were positive you had drenched a spot through your panties, pants, and his car seat with how aroused you felt, so you felt ecstatic at his next words.

Putting on his blinker and pulling out into the street, his big hand came to rest on your thigh, patting it a couple times before speaking, “I’m gonna eat your pussy till your fucking crying when we get home as thanks for that.”

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generic-magical-girl · 1 year

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God made me by pressing randomise on the character creation menu.

#random thoughts #yes I did write this #no I don’t know what it means #the inner workings of my mind are an enigma

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frogchiro · 3 months

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Hrrrnnn thinking about boy next door!Kyle who is the absolute sweetheart of the neighbourhood, the kind whom old ladies praise after he led them across the street and all the mothers want their daughters to end up with him or at least with someone like him.

But he has eyes on only one person, you! You were childhood friends, always together, always playing in the garden together and spending time and even now that you're both in college didn't stop or put a damper on your friendship! Even better, you two somehow got even closer because you just couldn't help but slowly fall for Kyle's big, beautiful eyes, how they softened every time he saw you, his lips that stretched wide whenever you called out to him, not to mention his obvious charm and charisma and his goodhearted nature...Oh if you only knew.

Boy next door!Kyle who is obsessed with for many years now to the point of almost insanity. You're perfect in every aspect to him; your smile, your soft voice, how sweet you are and how you're genuinely the best person he ever met...But that attracted trouble.

He stalked your social media, he took photos of you whenever he couls just so he could look at the in the privacy of his own room and touch hinself to them, moaning your name out and imagining you bouncing on his dick, calling out to him in your sweet voice, but after the deed his mood always soured. He knew that he was far from being the only one who felt for you this way, and he always had to do something about them.

Like that jock in high school, Connor was his name. Up and coming sports star, the golden boy of the football team and the known school casanova who changed his girls every week and it just happened that his flavor of the week was you. Even after multiple times you shot him down politely, he still insisted. And insisted. And insisted until it clearly made you uncomfortable and Kyle couldn't have that right?

What a shame that the same month poor Connor had a incident which basically made him say goodbye to any sports carreer in the future. Pity. But Kyle was so happy! No one made his girl upset. No one.

#kin speaks #yes this is one of the prompts in my old kinktober that I never got to write😭#but yandere boy next door gaz has been bouncing around my head for the whole day now #i hope you guys enjoy it as much as i did ;;#cod x reader #cod mw x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick

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kaorusan241 · 1 year

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Sebastian Sallow x Fem!Reader | Audio Scenarios

og screenshot: @rimaeternax All the slang is accurate for the time period (if a little rude, hah)

#having way too much fun with this generator #and yes I did throw in more British slang than necessary #I'm weak #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #harry potter universe #headcanon #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x slytherin!reader #kaorusan241 writes

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zukos-other-missing-eyebrow · 30 days

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sokka, trying to subtly hint that he's queer and hopelessly in love with zuko: [plays born this way by lady gaga on full volume]

zuko, who hasn't come out to anyone: [whispering] how did he know i was gay...

#zukka #zuko #sokka #roommate shenanigans #AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES #incorrect atla #incorrect avatar the last airbender quotes #incorrect quotes #yes i did write this while listening to born this way

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starrystevie · 1 year

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"i need a favor."

it's simple enough for steve to hear even over the loud music in the club, and it definitely grabs his attention away from where he was staring blankly into the dancing crowd. he pulls his eyes to the person standing in front of him, gaze trailing over their form before settling on their face. he's cute, steve thinks, with his curly dark hair and big brown eyes that he could see himself getting lost in. he's cute enough for steve to listen to whatever favor he could possibly need.

"umm, hello to you too?" steve says it like a question, his eyebrows quirked up and a smile pulling at one side of his mouth. "what kind of favor might that be?"

the stranger smiles and sits in the seat next to steve, setting his beer on the table beside steve's nearly finished jack and coke. he's closer than he was before and steve can appreciate his face even better this way.

"it's my ex. you see," the stranger slings an arm around the back of steve's chair, pulls himself close so that he isn't having to scream as loudly over the booming club beats. "he's here and i knew it would be stupid to think i wouldn't run into him in the only queer club around, yet here he is. and here i am."

"is there supposed to be a favor in there somewhere?"

the stranger grins and steve suddenly gets the feeling he's a bird who's been cornered by a cat.

"well, i was hoping you might be able to help me. he knows i have a... weakness for pretty boys and you just happen to be the prettiest one here."

steve's heart thumps in his chest, strong and impatient as he watches the neon lights flash off this guy's teeth. he always thought he was the smooth one with all his charm and charisma, but this stranger was sitting next to steve like it was any other day and not like he had the possibility to turn his world upside down.

"help you how?"

the stranger's grin grew wider and his eyes not so subtly flicked down to watch steve's lips. "kissing would be a good start, then letting me drag you to the dance floor so he could see us. and maybe if you're feeling a little crazy, we leave together, make it seem like you're coming home with me. he's watching us right now, you know?"

steve gives him a blank stare as he tries to not let it show just how much fun he thinks it all could be. he's there alone, anyway, trying to drown his loneliness in his friend jack daniels, so what's stopping him from playing a little bit of pretend?

"and what's in it for me?" is what steve finally gets out, his breath stuttering minutely in his chest when he feels a palm cover his leg.

"what do you want?" the fingers squeeze around his knee.

it makes steve stop and think for a moment. he thinks long and hard about material things like at least 3 drinks bought for him or dinner after they escape together or paying his cover so they can get in to the bar down the road that plays shitty music but has a good atmosphere. but there's one thing steve could really use, something he doesn't get the chance for, something that this random guy's money wouldn't have to cover.

"an adventure."

there's no way to tell who moves first, whether it was steve fisting his hand into the guy's hair to close the distance between them or if it was the firm pull on his leg that turns him towards the stranger. it's messy, right off the bat, with a tongue pressing insistently against steve's lips that he's happy to meet with his own. the hand on his leg is a grounding touch that keeps steve from floating away, warm and strong and there.

the man's other hand wraps awkwardly around to rest on steve's waist as to bring him in closer and the force of it has steve stumbling out of chair and settling instead on the guy's lap. two hands wrap around his waist now and his own go back into the guy's hair, threading through the stands and holding on firmly.

"okay yeah, you were definitely the right choice for this, holy shit," the guy breaks away to catch his breath and grin at steve who sends him a grin in return. "you are so..."

he doesn't finish, lets his lips say the words he couldn't as he connects them with steve's once more. it's hot, both in temperature and otherwise. steve can feel a bead of sweat start to roll down his back as they kiss and roll against each other for lord knows how long. one of the stranger's hands comes to rest just above steve's ass and it has him pushing back into the touch before he can tell himself to stop.

"dance. we uhh," steve says breathlessly as he pulls away from the man. his eyes are hooded and his lips are slick and kissed red, the flush on his face visible even under the dark club lights. steve thinks he might already be a little bit in love. "you said we have to dance."

the hand that was trailing down to his ass makes its way to it's destination and presses firmly, so steve follows, lets himself be manhandled until they're sitting chest pressed to heaving chest.

"sorry sweetheart, you aren't moving anywhere just quite yet."

lips connect to his jaw and it feels like it's exactly where he's supposed to be. steve pushes into the man's space, gets them as close as possible to savor the moment. he doesn't get to have fun, not much anymore at least, with his job keeping him so busy he hardly even gets to see his friends. it's nice to push every real life responsibility to the side and be in the moment with a random man from a club.

"so what does he look like, your ex?" steve mummers against his ear, low and sultry. "is he looking at us now?"

he feels the man chuckle against him before kissing his way up his neck. "he's pretty standard looking, don't think i could describe him to you if i tried."

"okay but," he's cut off by lips pressing quickly onto his own before steve pulls away once more. "i need to know who i'm putting a show on for."

the man sighs, rests his forehead against steve's collarbone for a beat before biting at it playfully. "let's just say you're putting on a great show regardless of who it's for."

steve pulls back even further, watching the man roll his eyes as he tries to follow him with his mouth. "and i thank you for that, but really, where is he?"

the man pauses and every bit of confidence that was on his face melts away until he looks younger, looks almost nervous. he sighs again and drops his hands from where they were kneading into steve's sides before running them through his hair with a sad sounding chuckle.

"he's nowhere."

now it's steve's turn to pause. his thighs that were clenched so tightly around the man's legs release and he slumps down with a frown pulling at his mouth and arms crossing over his chest.

"explain."

"i just," the man winces, face crinkling up before settling back into something more neutral. "you're like insanely hot, which i'm sure you know, and i needed something so i could talk to you so-"

"so you lied? there's no ex?"

"... there's no ex."

steve's done more thinking in the last 30 minutes than he expected to in the entire evening. he didn't come out to a gay bar to think about anything and yet here is, contemplating a fucking pros and cons list about where to go from there. does he yell, punch him for lying, storm out and end up back home all alone in a empty apartment? it would serve the guy right, letting him stew in his guilt for lying so he could make out with someone.

"i'm steve," he says after making up his mind, hand extended out in front of him.

the stranger grabs it shyly, shaking his hand up and down slowly while he stares at steve. "i'm eddie?"

"is that a question?"

"no, i'm just-" he cuts himself off and shakes his head as if to clear it, pinning steve with a confused glare. "you're not mad?"

"mad, no. at least i don't think so. confused as to why you think you couldn't just talk to me, yeah."

the man, eddie, runs a hand down his face and pulls it away with a cheeky grin that makes steve smile at him back. "i'm sure you've looked in a mirror! you know why i couldn't just talk to you!"

it has steve laughing, full belly ache inducing laughing, in eddie's lap in a gay bar on a night that he planned to waste by being drowned in self-pity. he doesn't think he's ever had a weirder night and it's funny. he lifts his leg and stands up, watching the smile disappear from eddie's face to be replaced with a frown. he reaches down and grabs eddie's hand, pulling him to his feet and watching a beautiful smile spread back across the other man's face.

they're the same height, he realizes, as he presses his mouth to eddie's ear.

"i think you owe me a dance. and," he pauses, looks eddie in the eye and lets his hand travel to eddie's ass to pull them as close as possible. "-an adventure."

#steddie #steddie headcanon #yes i did just waste too much time at work writing this don't tell my boss #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing #steddie drabble #steddie fic #this is i think my first kind of delve into modern steddie so may have to do it again #mayhaps this will have a spicy sequel who knows #steddie ficlet #1k #2k #3k #4k

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venuslore · 2 months

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imagine having the worst possible nights sleep. unable to get comfy. or fall asleep for ages. your mind racing with a million thoughts about things you should’ve said in those moments. then just being able to roll over into his arms and let him cradle you until you do eventually start to feel tired. your eyes fall heavy to the sound of his breathing mixed with his soothing little hums as he runs his fingers softly in circulation motions across your back. his torso pressed flush against your own as your legs tangle beneath the sheets. he has you totally encapsulated by him. both literally and metaphorically. he leaves the most gentle kisses on your forehead, not wanting himself to fall asleep until he’s made sure you have first. even as his own eyes begin to fail him, and he lets out his own little yawns. he’s determined to get you to sleep first. your head nestled against his chest as his head rests on yours, and he knows once your breathing slows into a steady rhythm he too can finally go to sleep ᰔ

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inkskinned · 3 months

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crows use tools and like to slide down snowy hills. today we saw a goose with a hurt foot who was kept safe by his flock - before taking off, they waited for him to catch up. there are colors only butterflies see. reindeer are matriarchical. cows have best friends and 4 stomachs and like jazz music. i watched a video recently of an octopus making himself a door out of a coconut shell.

i am a little soft, okay. but sometimes i can't talk either. the world is like fractal light to me, and passes through my skin in tendrils. i feel certain small things like a catapult; i skirt around the big things and somehow arrive in crisis without ever realizing i'm in pain.

in 5th grade we read The Curious Incident of the Dog In The Night-time, which is about a young autistic boy. it is how they introduced us to empathy about neurotypes, which was well-timed: around 10 years old was when i started having my life fully ruined by symptoms. people started noticing.

i wonder if birds can tell if another bird is odd. like the phrase odd duck. i have to believe that all odd ducks are still very much loved by the other normal ducks. i have to believe that, or i will cry.

i remember my 5th grade teacher holding the curious incident up, dazzled by the language written by someone who is neurotypical. my teacher said: "sometimes i want to cut open their mind to know exactly how autistics are thinking. it's just so different! they must see the world so strangely!" later, at 22, in my education classes, we were taught to say a person with autism or a person on the spectrum or neurodivergent. i actually personally kind of like person-first language - it implies the other person is trying to protect me from myself. i know they had to teach themselves that pattern of speech, is all, and it shows they're at least trying. and i was a person first, even if i wasn't good at it.

plants learn information. they must encode data somehow, but where would they store it? when you cut open a sapling, you cannot find the how they think - if they "think" at all. they learn, but do not think. i want to paint that process - i think it would be mostly purple and blue.

the book was not about me, it was about a young boy. his life was patterned into a different set of categories. he did not cry about the tag on his shirt. i remember reading it and saying to myself: i am wrong, and broken, but it isn't in this way. something else is wrong with me instead. later, in that same person-first education class, my teacher would bring up the curious incident and mention that it is now widely panned as being inaccurate and stereotypical. she frowned and said we might not know how a person with autism thinks, but it is unlikely to be expressed in that way. this book was written with the best intentions by a special-ed teacher, but there's some debate as to if somebody who was on the spectrum would be even able to write something like this.

we might not understand it, but crows and ravens have developed their own language. this is also true of whales, dolphins, and many other species. i do not know how a crow thinks, but we do know they can problem solve. (is "thinking" equal to "problem solving"? or is "thinking" data processing? data management?) i do not know how my dog thinks, either, but we "talk" all the same - i know what he is asking for, even if he only asks once.

i am not a dolphin or reindeer or a dog in the nighttime, but i am an odd duck. in the ugly duckling, she grows up and comes home and is beautiful and finds her soulmate. all that ugliness she experienced lives in downy feathers inside of her, staining everything a muted grey. she is beautiful eventually, though, so she is loved. they do not want to cut her open to see how she thinks.

a while ago i got into an argument with a classmate about that weird sia music video about autism. my classmate said she thought it was good to raise awareness. i told her they should have just hired someone else to do it. she said it's not fair to an autistic person to expect them to be able to handle that kind of a thing.

today i saw a goose, and he was limping. i want to be loved like a flock loves a wounded creature: the phrase taken under a wing. which is to say i have always known i am not normal. desperate, mewling - i want to be loved beyond words.

loved beyond thinking.

#spilled ink #writeblr #personal #please don't ask me to talk on my experience on the spectrum lol. i hate how ppl talk to me about it #i really try not to write so specifically about it #bc inevitably someone talks to me like im a child #i think this is the first time i've ever openly identified with it but i've been hinting for years #i might delete this. feels big.#the thing is that being on the spectrum actually IS a spectrum #and if u say ur autistic #inevitably someone makes an assumption about ur needs/symptoms #please do not treat me differently than u usually would. like.... we can tell when you do #and like i mention. i do appreciate the effort. i do truly appreciate the effort.#but it still feels like...#when i was blind. sometimes people kind of did the same-ish thing.#they'd find out i was blind and start talking really loudly?#and while i KNOW they're just trying to help. it would be like. i'd be trying to find #the right way into a building (sometimes only 1 door is unlocked and i couldn't see the signs posted about where to go)#and ppl would be like ''OH UR BLIND? YES SO THIS IS A DOOR. IT OPENS INTO THE BUILDING. IT IS LOCKED NOW."#''A DOOR CAN BE FOUND IN MANY LOCATIONS.''#and it feels like. when i admit to being autistic #someone comes screeching into my life being like THIS IS A DOOR.

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