American Sign Language and other signed languages are languages. It’s important to respect them as languages.
ASL is not English. It is a completely different language. Similarly, signed languages aren’t all the same. British Sign Language is completely different from ASL.
Signs are not universal, any more than spoken words are universal. The meaning of a sign isn’t always obvious just by watching; many signs are completely arbitrary.
Sign is not pantomime, and it’s not ad hoc gesture. It’s also not like symbolic gestures that are sometimes made up to accompany kids songs either. It’s a language, with all the complexities of language. The difference is important, and it needs to be respected.
In order to know what signs mean, you have to learn them. (Just like in order to know what spoken words mean, you have to learn them.)
ASL is not just gestures, any more than spoken languages are just sounds. ASL has grammar, vocabulary, and culture. It’s important to respect this and not erase it.
every single person has a mind, a history, and a life outside of what you know; they have experienced things you don’t know about, they have spoken words you haven’t heard, they have laughed at jokes, they have cried, they have fought, they have lost, they have won - please be considerate of the fact that they are as complex as you are
It’s January 31st 2017, and there hasn’t been a word spoken about the date of Hiveswap’s release. You have lost hope of ever being able to play it. Just as the midnight of the first of February approaches, you get a notification from Steam. Hiveswap had been released at last. It’s 11:59 PM on the very last day of January, and you’re filled with excitement as the game finishes downloading. Finally, you whisper to yourself. After all these years, it’s finally here. You open the game, and impatiently wait as the loading screen pops up on your laptop…
“boner”, the game whispers.
Your computer crashes, and the screen goes black.
A single tear flows down your cheek as you accept your fate.
Hiveswap will never be released. Never.
Some of our faves are problematic. Being a true fan is acknowledging those problems and not allowing them to abscond with it. Sometimes it shapes the way you know view this person. Whether that means you stay a fan or not, is completely your prerogative. But you have to recognize that they aren’t saints, and they certainly are not martyrs. Everyone is human. Mistakes will be made, feelings will be hurt, childish actions are sometimes taken, and immature words can be spoken. You don’t necessarily have to forgive, and you certainly don’t have to forget, but again, that is completely and one hundred percent up to you as a fan. As long as you recognize their faults as well as their accomplishments, you’re good to go.
So the point is, one thing is to create the space by bringing less into our life so that we have more space to enter into things; but the other thing is to settle ourselves enough, so that we can actually enjoy being there in the experience. - Stillness
Hello, @zoe1078, it’s your no-longer-secret-santa. I hope you like this first installment of three for your secret santa fic. I’m definitely curious to know if you had an inkling that I was your secret santa after having been so blindsided myself. Massive thanks to the amazing @moghraidhjamie for organizing this secret santa thing (it cannot have been easy and you have done a phenomenal job!).
As the words were spoken, they passed through the wall, and stood upon an open country road, with fields on either hand. The city had entirely vanished. Not a vestige of it was to be seen. The darkness and the mist had vanished with it, for it was a clear, cold, winter day, with snow upon the ground.
December 25, 1767 12:01 am
Claire didn’t usually wake once she’d fallen asleep for the night––not since they’d started settling the ridge and every moment of the day was spent securing food and provisions, reinforcing their shelter, and otherwise preparing to endure what was shaping up to be a rough first winter. The first snow had fallen early before quickly melting away, but despite Jamie’s reassurances that they wouldn’t have a more significant snowfall until at least January, Claire had lived twenty years in Boston and knew the way the air felt when snow was coming.
At first she thought that it was the wind that had roused her––a harbinger of what lay ahead. She slipped from bed, wrapping her shawl around her shoulders and shivering as her feet made contact with the freezing floor. It wasn’t possible to see the night through the oilskins Jamie had used to cover the windows so she shuffled her way out of their small bedroom and into the larger main room of the cabin.
Ian lay curled with Rollo on the floor before the hearth. It was the warmest spot in the entire cabin and both slept deeply oblivious even to the noise Claire made as she lifted the latch on the door and peeked out at the moonlit night.
It was quiet and still. No wind in the trees or clouds overhead. The moon was bright in the sky and she could count the stumps where Jamie and Ian had felled the trees to build their cabin. It was a small clearing but come spring they would dig up the stumps, clear the soil of any large stones, and begin planting their first crops.
She slipped through the door, leaving it slightly ajar rather than risk locking herself outside in the freezing air. There was enough light to see the way her breath clouded in front of her nose and she could feel the cold seeping into her toes; she wouldn’t be able to stay out too long if she wanted to avoid frostbite and hypothermia but she needed that frosty atmosphere to reinforce her grasp on the present, to dismiss the dreams and memories that clung to her tired mind. It was cold enough for tears to prick her eyes and her nose began to run. She wiped at it with the edge of her shawl before pulling the warm wool tighter around her shoulders and across her chest.
“Is something wrong, Sassenach?” Jamie whispered, coming up silently behind her and wrapping his arms around her.
She lifted the edges of her shawl so he could tuck his hands in between her arms and her sides.
“Happy Christmas, Jamie,” she replied before sniffing loudly and moving her head to wipe it once more against her shawl.
“Ye think it’s after midnight?” He shuffled closer against her and she could hear the rasp of his bare feet on the frozen earth. He hadn’t begun shivering yet but it wouldn’t be long.
“I’m sure it is. I think that’s why I woke. It’s one of those days when I can’t help it,” she explained with a yawn.
“One of those days when ye miss Brianna a bit more ye mean.”
“Ye mark it differently in yer time,” he observed.
Claire smiled faintly. “Quite––especially in America.”
“It’s everywhere. On the television, in shop windows, on the radio. Most of December became about getting ready for Christmas––buying presents, decorating the house, going to holiday parties.” She sighed. “But it was magical to watch her enjoy it all. She insisted on helping to bake treats to leave for Santa and made sure we set out some carrots for his reindeer too.”
Jamie made a noise of approval. “Kind… takin’ care to think of the animals like that.”
“She is, especially when she was younger. She would make decorations herself, too. Every year we had to go to the shop to get the right colored paper and paste so she could make chains to strew about the house and fold and cut the white paper into snowflake shapes for the windows. One year, she was overzealous with the scissors and cut through too deep, sliced the palm of her hand and had to get stitches––proved to be about as patient an invalid as someone else I know,” Claire teased bumping back against Jamie.
She could feel how cold he was becoming––how cold she was becoming.
“We should go back inside. Snow’s coming,” she told him. “We’ll have a white Christmas yet.”
They quietly made their way back inside. Rollo stirred briefly, raising his head and watching as Claire and Jamie disappeared back into their small room before resting his head on his paws once more.
“Did ye often have snow on Christmas?” Jamie asked when they were safely under the covers.
“It wasn’t uncommon. They made for cozy Christmases. Brianna would be awake before the sun was up though she was barred from actually opening anything until Frank and I had a chance to wake up and get downstairs.”
“Ye didna torture the lass by stayin’ in bed, did ye Sassenach?”
Claire scoffed. “As if Bree would let me. No, every five minutes she’d traipse through the bedroom asking if she could put the lights on for the tree or could she just peek in her stocking. I would have let her but Frank was a stickler for tradition. He had to be up and dressed with his breakfast coffee in hand before putting on the lights and handing Bree her first present. She and I always had hot chocolate with gingerbread for breakfast on Christmas morning.”
“And had ye a feast––or was that the other day ye mentioned?”
“Thanksgiving––that always fell around Bree’s birthday. But I did try to make something special––or at least pick something up from the shop––to have for Christmas dinner. It was never as good as the feasts in the Christmas stories though with their roasted goose or glazed ham, cakes and breads and puddings.”
Jamie’s stomach rumbled loud enough for both of them to hear. Jamie’s hand covered Claire’s mouth to muffle her laughter while he turned his own head into the pillow. The mattress sagged beneath them as their laughing shook the bed and loosened its ropes. Finally Jamie recovered enough to reach for his stash of stale bannocks.
He sighed as he chewed and swallowed.
“Does she have anywhere to go for it now?” he asked shamefully. “I hate to think ye canna be wi’ her––”
“Joe won’t let her be alone,” Claire said with certainty. “And she has her school friends––who knows, maybe Roger or if not him, some other young man.”
“I hope so. She ought to have someone.”
“Like I have you?” Claire asked turning into him and slipping her arm around him so she could press her cheek to the softness of his well-worn shirt.
“Aye. And I you.” She could hear the smile in his voice and felt the whisper of his breath on her hair as he nestled his face in her curls. “Do ye think ye’ll be able to sleep now, mo nighean donn? Or will yer dreams be visited by ghosts of Christmases past?”
You deserve to be treated with kindness, love and care.
You deserve to be called beautiful/handsome every single day.
You deserve cute notes and teddy bears and candy wrapped up in ribbons.
You deserve to be listened to.
You deserve to be treated with respect.
You deserve to be referred to with the correct pronouns.
You deserve to be cuddled when you are sad and when you are tired.
You deserve to be kissed.
You deserve to have someone take care of you when you are down or when you are sick.
You deserve to know that people love you.
You deserve to be taken out on dates.
You deserve to have someone get to know every little part of you, and have them love every single part.
You deserve to be told your hair looks fabulous.
You deserve to be told that you are an amazing human being.
You deserve to be spoken to with kind words.
You deserve to have someone stay by your side through the good times and through the bad.
You deserve to have someone do their best to understand you.
You deserve to be loved.
You walk out of the store when your shift ends and see Eric leaning against his car. He smiles as you walk over and hugs you, the two of you getting inside. He pulls out of the parking lot and drives out to a remote location where you’ve had many special times together. You knew in the back of your mind that he was going to bring you here. You get out and sit on the hood next to him, looking up at the stars. Neither of you have spoken a word yet. The silence is deafening, but you have no clue what to say. Eric eats some of the ice cream and hands the container over to you. He watches you take a bite, feeling the tension building higher and higher.
Eric swallows the ice cream, forcing himself to look at you, “I miss you.” You look down, murmuring softly, “Reb…” He shakes his head, looking down, “I hate myself for what I said. You know I’ve never hated you. I couldn’t.” You glance over at him, “I didn’t mean what I said, either.” His eyes meet yours and you sigh, “I wished I could take it back as soon as I said it.” “Well, I deserved it,” he mumbles. You both fall silent for a few minutes again and Eric stares up at the sky. He hasn’t been able to enjoy the stars since the two of you broke up, but sitting here with you is helping him appreciate their beauty again. He looks over at you with a determined, yet vulnerable gaze, “I still love you.” You turn to him, your eyebrows knit in surprise and confusion. “I’m always gonna love you,” he mumbles, feeling hopeless. You let out a long breath, finally allowing yourself to feel the emotions you’ve been suppressing for so long, “You know I love you.” He starts to smile, his eyes shining hopefully into yours. You reach out and slide your hand into Eric’s, smiling when you feel a warm, reassuring squeeze. It feels so right.
He shifts a little closer and watches you lovingly, “You look so nice tonight.” You give him a faint, playful smile, “You said that yesterday.” He chuckles, “Well, it’s true every day.” The two of you talk quietly for a while and you end up with your head resting against Eric’s shoulder. He traces his fingers over yours as he hangs on to every word you say. “Y/n?” he asks after a few moments of staying quiet. You glance up at him, the two of you realizing your lips are only a few inches apart. You both move in immediately for a gentle kiss, melting into each other. After a few blissful seconds, you pull away only about an inch. Eric breathes over your lips as he skims his fingers across your cheek. One of his fingers lingers over your mouth and you give it a soft kiss, locking eyes with him. He moves in again and kisses you with more passion, both of you bursting inside with happiness. He forces himself to pull back after a moment, whispering, “Come home with me.” You breathe softly as you nod and the two of you get back in the car, speeding to Eric’s house.
Eric quietly sneaks you down to his room and closes the door, starting to kiss you again. You sigh as he presses you against the wall and quickly pulls off your shirt. You giggle as he nips at your neck and you start undressing each other rapidly. The two of you end up naked under the covers and you’re completely lost in each other. You keep whispering how much you missed this and every loving, gentle thing that comes to your minds. Eric keeps his thrusts steady and passionate, focusing completely on you. This is one of the best times you’ve ever had. You curl up under the covers with him when you both finish and he keeps you close to his chest. “I love you,” he whispers again. You lean in to kiss him and smile against his lips, “I love you, too.” Eric brushes your hair off your forehead, watching you with a soft, adoring expression, “Are we okay?” You rest your forehead against his and close your eyes, “We’re more than okay.” Eric smiles as he pulls you even closer and you let out a contented sigh. You feel whole again.