im-just-here-for-the-stories

[im-just-here-for-the-stories]

I used to wear skirts fairly often, but in the last few years, they just haven't felt like me. I didn't outgrow the skirts I owned, but I got rid of them anyway. Maybe I'll never own a skirt again, or maybe some day in the future, my closet will be full of them. But the choice is mine, and no one gets to choose for me.

If you're looking for a label for yourself, it only matters what you feel really fits who you are. And people are always changing so you aren't superglued to every level you wear.

[Probably deleting later.]

Is it okay with the aroace/aro/ace community if I label myself as aroace/aro/ace? I'm still questioning and figuring things out, but I feel most comfortable with that label.

Also, if I rediscovered myself in the future, and found out I wasn't aro/ace/aroace, would you be offended that I incorrectly used the label?

[im-just-here-for-the-stories]

Finding out I'm ace was a gradual process for me so I can't say an exact age, but probably 16-17.

At about 13, I could agree with people saying someone was cute. But as I got older, the words that my peers were using to describe their crushes changed from "cute" to "hot" or "attractive" and eventually "sexy".

Other teens around me in my life would talk about how hard it was to stay pure and how tempting being alone with a significant other was. (I grew up in a rather traditional, religious atmosphere lol). At first I thought I was a "late bloomer" because it was a term I had heard before that made it easy to put off trying to understand myself.

I had friends that would sneak out to go meet with someone without their parents knowing and I just couldn't grasp the appeal of going through all that trouble when you could plan something more enjoyable together that wouldn't involve wrecking your sleep.

Things started clicking into place for me when my mom started reading a book with my sisters and I every morning that basically explained how sex is the key to a healthy marriage. To me, it sounded like marriage was a transaction where a woman would trade sex for affection. At first, that book left me heartbroken.

But I slowly realized that if I wanted love and romance, the expectations of people around me shouldn't hold me back. And if I wasn't interested in sex, then I shouldn't force myself to pursue it just because it's perceived as "natural".

Now I'm madly in love and sex isn't in the picture for us.

Honestly, just live for yourself and forget whatever mold you think you need to fit into. Scrap all the expectations so you can understand yourself with an unbiased opinion, and you'll have a better understanding of what you want for yourself.

[Probably deleting later.]

How do I know if I'm Aro/Ace/Aroace? Aro/Ace/Aroace people, how did you figure it out, and at what age?

[im-just-here-for-the-stories]

This is not the kind of story I had in mind when I created this account but it's my story and I felt like sharing.

WARNING: Sensitive content? Read at your own risk

The night I discovered that spending time with me was less valuable to my friend than sending nudes to strangers: It was the last weekend when I would be at home before things got busy with graduations and family trips and I would leave for basic. I invited my two best friends over to hangout as a last hurrah of our high-school lives together. They both agreed and seemed as excited as I was, but then the night of, one of them joined my sister in her room, shut the door, and refused to join us for the entirety of the night. I later found out the reason was because they had made a snapchat account and were sending nudes back and forth with two adult men whom they had lied to about their age.

There was another time when my sister told me that our mutual friend had told her that I had stuck something up my vagina with her watching, for a dare, then watched her do the same thing. I was horrified and completely shaken. I didn't know if my sister told me that just to drive a wall between me and my friend, or if my friend actually had started that rumor. But I felt like I couldn't ask my friend because if she has started it, she would just play dumb and say my sister was lying.

I read a book with my sisters and mom while I was in high-school called Love, Sex, and Romance. It was about how having a healthy sex life in marriage was key to having a healthy marriage. A line that was repeated over and over in that book was that men want respect and women want romance. The book detailed that many women have a harder time getting in the mood than their husbands do so they choose not to have sex as often as the man would like and this would cause a wall between a couple. Thus the only way to have a healthy romantic relationship is to have sex, even when you don't want to.

For years I told my family that I would never marry. I told them that it just wasn't something I could see myself ever doing. Really I was afraid that I would never find someone who would want me if I didn't want to have sex.

My mom cried when I told her the truth. I had met someone and fallen in love and he helped me see that there are a million ways to show love and sex doesn't need to be one of them. She told me men have needs and if I ever wanted to get married, my husband would want me to have sex with me eventually. She told me about how much better her relationship with my dad was after she realized that she needed to have sex whenever he wanted to, to show him love and respect.

I cried too. I had just explained to my mom that sex was something I had never had much interest in and here she was telling me that she had felt similarly, but felt that she owed it to my dad. She told me that after marriage, my body wouldn't be my own anymore; it would be my husband's. And he should be able to have what he wanted from me.

If I refuse to give my husband sex, then I'm depriving him of something that is vital for love. She told me that no matter what he says about not needing it now, there would come a time when my refusal would tear us apart.

I thought I had made it clear to her after that conversation that my love and I were fully committedto spending our lives together, and nothing would force us apart. Sex is an action, something to do to be close to someone. There are no requirements for our love.

But she asked me, months later, "Are you still nervous about getting married?"

I was confused. Nervous about getting married? Yes. I've never enjoyed large parties but there were a lot of people I wanted at my wedding so there wasn't really a way around it. But no, she wanted to know if I was nervous about "doing what married people do". She meant sex. Was I nervous about sex.

I was baffled. I felt like she had disregarded and belittled everything I had ever told her about how I felt. I had made it clear, time and again, that my love and I would not be having sex, and he didn't expect me to change my mind, ever.

But obviously, no matter what I say will happen, sex is a must for a healthy marriage, and as a Christian woman, it's my duty to fulfill the needs of my husband.

Sex does not equal love. And love does not equal sex.

That's what my love tells me. He will never expect sex to be an expression of love that we ever use and that could never diminish our relationship.

But every day, I hear my mom's voice in my head, telling me that he'll get tired of me. Our love will wither, little by little, until there's nothing left but resentment. And it will be my fault. Because I refused to have sex. No one will be able to blame him if he leaves me. Obviously if I don't give him sex then I don't want him. It's my duty, by God's design, to make myself available to my husband. And it's his right, by God's design, to have what he wants from me. I'm unnaturally, a freak, broken, all because I don't want to do the thing I was created to do.

There have been a hundred voices feeding my insecurities and telling me that my lack of interest in sex will make me unlovable. But Mom's voice has always been the loudest.

My identity is my own, and it will grow and change with me as I gain experience in life. I don't need to fit someone else's mold, no matter how loudly they insist.

#my story #writing #spilled thoughts #asexual #acespec

[im-just-here-for-the-stories]

I wrote this one a couple years ago and I can't find the promt for it so my apologies to whoever deserves credit. Also, there's probably typos or spelling errors but I'm being lazy so I'm not double checking it before I post.

Nix walked down the busy street, making his way to the blacksmith's shop. The streets were more crowded than he would have expected on a rainy day like this. He dodged around horses and carriages, weaving between bodies as he navigated his way through the city.

Master Grayfell had sent Nix to purchase more nails for the new stable they were building. He hadn't said to hurry but Nix knew what was expected of him.

He was a slave in his own country. A country occupied by the Empire of Saphere. He was expected to work in service of his foreign master for the benefit of the empire. His people were farmers mostly, not soldiers. So when Saphere invaded, the people of Varriel had little chance of victory.

Nix had attempted to escape his last master in an effort to leave and find his sister. They had been taken from their home and sold separately to the highest bidders. Same as every other Varrian friend he had.

He had been whipped as a punishment and sold to a new master in an entirely different city. What little hope he had of finding his sister vanished.

Their mother had died years before and when Saphere invaded, their father left to defend his country. Nix didn't even know if he was still alive. His sister, Rael, was all he'd had left.

Now she was gone as well.

The crowds were thinning out as people saught shelter from the rain. When Nix made it to Pall Square, where the blacksmith's shop was, the streets were almost empty.

Loud banging filled the square as the blacksmith worked a red piece of iron into a horseshoe.

Nix hurried inside, knowing if he delayed at all he would be punished.

"Hello, Master Aim," he greeted the smith's apprentice respectfully, looking at the ground. "Master Greyfell sent me for more nails. Do you have any more?"

"Aye, we do. I'll get them." He disappeared to the back of the shop emerging a minute later with a sackfull of nails. "Three peals," he said flatly.

Aim was Sapherian. He was proud and arrogant. He didn't enjoy talking with anyone below his station, let alone a slave.

Nix dug the coins from the satchel he carried and handed them over in exchange for the bag of nails.

"Will that be all?" Aim asked, looking completely bored.

"Yes, sir. Thank you." Nix said. He continued staring at the ground until Master Aim had turned his back. Then he turned and left the blacksmith's, heading quickly back towards Master Grayfell's estate on the other side of town.

Because everyone of any importance had taken shelter by now, Nix walked with his head up, freely looking at whatever or whoever caught his eye.

As he passed through Center Court, a square in the middle of the city, a young girl captured his attention. Forgetting all possibility of punishment, he stopped in his tracks and watched as she danced and splashed through puddles.

He stared in wonder as this Varrian girl- surely a slave like himself- danced as if she had not a care in the world. She spun and splashed, laughing with elation until she finally paused, out of breath.

Only then did she notice Nix's stare.

"Good afternoon!" She called cheerfully. "Would you like to join me?"

Nix continued to stare in amazement. She wanted him to join her? Had she no idea the trouble she would be in if her master found her out here?

"What are you doing?! How can you dance out here?" Nix asked.

"How can you not?" She retorted. "The wind is singing and dancing. Why shouldn't we?"

"We are slaves. We do not dance or play," Nix answered, aghast. "We work for our masters and obey them because they are wealthy, strong and powerful."

She laughed and spun around, her bare feet splashing through the puddles. "I have love and laughter! I am not overcome simply because my enemies are stronger in body. I am strong in spirit! I may be a slave, but I am still my own person."

Nix examined her more closely.

She was rather dirty despite the water dripping down her body and her hair, knotted and tangled, was oily. She wore little more than rags and Nix could see the scars left by a hateful master where her tunic fell away from her shoulder.

She noticed his disbelieving expression and giggled. "You don't understand, silly. I'm one of the richest people in the world!"

She paused before continuing, "I have joy and contentment where others have only greed. I have love and passion where others have only hatred. My wealth is not dependent upon the perishable things of this world."

As she looked into his eyes, Nix felt bare, exposed.

"I am rich, Nix," she said seriously, "because I enjoy the living more than the hardships. My life is beautiful and exciting because I choose to make it so."

Nix started, realizing she had used his name. "How do you kn-"

"I don't," The girl cut him off. "I'm just a regular Varrian like you." She started to turn away but hesitated, "Are you going to join me in my riches, Nix? Or are you going to be satisfied living as a slave with no joy or passion?"

All seriousness left her and she giggled again. "Weren't you going somewhere?" She asked.

Nix had nearly forgotten about the errand he was running. How much time had passed since he had stopped to watch the girl play in the rain?

"You're right, I should go," He said hurriedly.

"Good bye!" The girl laughed over her shoulder, already skipping away.

Nix stood, stunned, for several minutes. Head spinning, he finally turned to make his way back to Master Grayfell's.

#writing #spilled words #spilled ink #short story #creative writing

[im-just-here-for-the-stories]

Random Writing Idea

"You can't bring him on the job, he's too young!"

"What? Can't be; he's just as old as I was when I was his age."

I've been seeing a lot of writing prompts on my dash so I thought I'd give it a try. I've had this in my notes for almost two years and I haven't done anything with it yet so I hope someone else can do something with it!

#writing prompt #spilled thoughts #I don't know if this is even a prompt #I just want to see someone make something out of it

[im-just-here-for-the-stories]

A dark hospital room. Light from the street lamps outside filter through the open window as the sky grows dark with the setting sun.

Soft noises of evening traffic fill the silence, drifting in on a gentle breeze. The only other noise in the room is the irregular beeping of a heart monitor counting the last, faltering heartbeats of a dying little girl.

She lies on the bed, her eyes closed and her breathing ragged.

At her side sits a man, holding her small, soft hand in his large, calloused grip. He wants desperately for her to wake, for the treatment to have worked. But he knows how unlikely she is to wake, to live through the night, so he prays for a miracle. He prays that his beautiful angel will open her eyes, smile, and tell him she'll be okay like he tried to tell her so many times before. But no miracle occurs and he knows that before he sees the sun again, his daughter will be rejoicing with their Father in heaven. He rejoices for her. She will feel no more pain, she will run and laugh and breathe easily in the presence of God.

"I'll see you again someday," he murmurs quietly in her ear.

But despite his joy, tears begin to slide down his face and drop to the sheets of her bed. For he is a father losing his child. She may be going somewhere better, but she is leaving him behind.

Between the last beats of her heart, his soul crumbles to ashes.

Her breathing slows, then stops entirely. The monitor flatlines.

The man sits motionless as one final tear lands on their joined hands. At last, he leans forward and kissed the crown of her smooth, hairless head and lays his own bald head beside hers.

"I love you."

He releases her hand and walks to the door.

Looking back at her lifeless body he knows she is with the Lord already.

"Good bye," he mutters in a hushed undertone before opening the door and leaving behind the shell that was his daughter.

His daughter, he knows, is in heaven now and she would want him to continue to live, even if she wasn't there to give him reason to do so.

Writing Prompt #1

Between the beats of her heart, his soul crumbled to ashes.

#writing prompt #writers encyclopedia #writing