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chalkysgarbagefire · 1 year

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He Ain’t Heavy - 1981//15

They settled into a new normal.

Eddie went to school (with much protesting), and Wayne worked the third shift at the plant. It was a hard adjustment at first, but the pay bump certainly made things easier. Besides, he was never one for sleeping anyways. The change made it so he could be there to wake his nephew up, drag his ass to school, attend different CPS appointments, and if he was lucky, catch a few winks before picking Eddie up.

All in all, it made one thing certain: he’d be able to be there when Eddie needed him and keep food on the table.

At least he could say Eddie was coming into his own, like a stubborn root poking through a crack in the concrete. Not blossoming, but fighting tooth and nail to be there all the same. The kid seemed to split his time either holed up in his room, or holed up at the houses of some other misfits from school. It was good to see him around kids his own age, and they didn’t seem like bad apples either. Different, maybe, but not bad (Wayne remembered how he was at that age).

Despite their misaligned schedules, Eddie never seemed to stray far from the trailer on Wayne’s nights off. They found themselves on the porch on one of those rare evenings, soaking in the sounds of the trailer park in the chilly spring air. It was hardly ever quiet with life happening all around them. There was a soft melody drifting in from someone’s radio, dogs barking from somewhere off in the distance, a mother’s harried call for dinner, a child’s laugh.

Eddie hummed idly to himself, feet propped up on a spare lawn chair as he plucked the strings of his old guitar. It was an aimless sort of play, simply giving his restless fingers something to do versus plucking out a particular tune. They’d finally put in enough elbow grease to fix the black acoustic. She would never be without her bumps and bruises, but she was cherished all the same.

Wayne didn’t pay him much mind--his thoughts were elsewhere. It wasn’t often, but there were times when the past would reach up, sink its claws in, and unearth old memories. When those black moods would roll in, he felt every bit the sentimental old man he’d become.

Sometimes it was as simple as finding his old dog tags, plastic casings yellowed with age, that was enough to darken his thoughts. They reminded him of his father, how he died for his country not in a day, but little by little over the years. Other memories haunted him, too. Flashes of forgotten young men in the jungle, fighting a war that wasn’t theirs, uniforms forgotten in the dark as they cried for their mothers. Most days they were just a memento of years gone by, forgotten until the next spring cleaning.

Anniversaries and milestones didn’t bother him so much--he expected the despair to creep in on those sanctioned days. It was those little niggling thoughts that kept him up that were harder to contend with. Usually he’d shake it off best he could, but nights like tonight?

A glass of whiskey, a smoke, and time with his thoughts were the only reprieve.

“I won’t be much company tonight, I’m afraid.” Wayne puffed on his cigarette, eyes trained on the horizon. Dusk was falling, as were the temperatures.

“Not sure what you’re on about, I’m just here to play guitar, man.” Eddie wiggled his fingers as if to emphasize his point. The grin on his face though, gave away the fact he knew exactly what he was doing.

Wayne snorted, shaking his head. “If you want to keep an old man company, that’s your business.”

“Pshh. You’re not old, Wayne. You’re just entering your silver fox era. I’ve seen Ms. McCluskey eyeballing you--better be careful, old girl might hunt you down with her walker.”

He let out a startled laugh, which of course, earned him a toothy smile in response. Kid always had some smart-assed comment ready to go. Eddie was definitely a teenager, and his brain-to-mouth filter hadn’t developed yet. In truth, he wasn’t sure it was ever going to develop, and he would be stuck with a mouthy teenager who was too smart for his own good.

There were worse things in life.

Only problem about being clever is that it also attracted trouble, and Wayne knew a thing or two about trouble. Didn’t help that Eddie shared a name with it, either.

He managed to split his memories of his brother into two neat categories: before Eddie and after Eddie. Unfortunately, what he felt about said memories weren’t as cut and dry. There was just as much love wrapped up in his pain and the two were indistinguishable at this point.

That was just how things were for Munsons, though. Shit was never easy.

His thoughts drifted back to a one bedroom house in Kentucky that was often frigid in the winters, boiling in the summers, and claustrophobic year round: his childhood home. The bedroom was reserved for his parents, but also doubled as a nursery (and on one occasion a mausoleum for a baby girl. He’d never know who Wanita could have been). The pull out couch was reserved for him and Edward--his brother swore up and down that the springs in the mattress had caused his chronic back-problems. Somehow Wayne turned out fine.

“Whatcha readin’ there?” Wayne asked around a mouthful of pins. He knew keeping the sewing needles in his mouth was a bad habit, but swallowing them seemed a kinder alternative than accidentally dropping one. Edward slept on the pullout too; he’d rather not chance the boy getting stuck with one.

The little boy across from him gave a dramatic sigh. “See Spot Run. At least, I’m trying. It’s boring as fuck.”

The pins were removed from his mouth solely so he could scold his brother. “Edward Munson, do not say ‘fuck’.” He stuck them in the pants he was mending--he could tell the kid was in the mood to talk.

“You and dad say it all the time!” He hissed back, narrowing his eyes.

“That’s different--and keep it down, mom is trying to sleep.” The needle punched through the denim with familiar ease. He’d worn these pants when he was Edward’s age, and they were beginning to show their years. Hopefully the patch would help keep them long enough until he could grow into Wayne’s clothes. The patch he was sewing would at least add a little extra material--the denim was practically soft with how thin it had become.

“How?!” He sat up quickly, full on pouting with his arms crossed.

“I’m older than you, that’s why.” Wayne tried to bite back a smile--it was hard to take the little boy seriously sometimes. Still, he shushed him again, “Seriously though, keep it down. Mom needs her rest--she had a bad spell.”

The answer, as Wayne predicted, was unsatisfactory. “Not by that much…You’re…” He trailed up, bringing his fingers up to count. “You’re…thirteen, I’m six so that means…”

This time, he didn’t try to hold his grin. Didn’t help him either though--kid had to learn.

“Seven! Seven years older.” He returned Wayne’s toothy grin with his own gap toothed smile. His cheer didn’t last though. It never did. “Why is mom always sleeping?”

“She’s really sick.” He tried to smile, but he knew it was hollow. Mom was sick--that’s the only explanation he ever got. Never why, or with what, just ‘mommy needs her rest’. Whatever it was, it made her sad--so sad she cried at night, and hardly left her room.

“Is she gonna die?” Edward’s voice was small.

Wayne reached across, and pulled his brother into a tight hug. “Mom isn’t going to die. Don’t say shit like that.” He maneuvered the six year old into his lap, “Besides, who’d make you breakfast in the morning?”

Edward pulled back, brow pinched in confusion. “But you do that.”

He swallowed nervously. Their mom was never awake by the time they needed to walk to school, but he wanted to…wanted to do something to make it seem like she was more involved in their lives. He’d gotten her tired smiles growing up, and her bell-like laugh. His brother had gotten none of that, and he knew how important family was, and…

“No. Mom does that. I just help her out sometimes.” It was a weak response, and they both knew it.

That only seemed to confuse the younger boy more, and he opened his mouth to argue.

“Hey, why don’t you read me your stupid book, huh? Mending your pants is a snooze-fest. At least this way we can be bored together.”

A distraction always worked. Soon, Edward was all smiles again, and tucked his head into his brother's shoulder with the dog-eared book propped up on his knees. He cleared his throat, whispering the title with awe, like he was about to start an epic story. “See Spot Run.”

They ended up waking their mother up with their laughter, but it was worth it.

Those memories were bittersweet now, tinged with regret and the thoughts of what could have been. He didn’t know when it started, the rift between him and Edward. Perhaps it was always there, just two boys destined to mirror one another in a pantomime of polarity. Hindsight always bore the gift of clarity.

The years went by and Wayne slipped away, little by little. It started with the odd jobs that became real jobs that kept him out too late, but the family wallet a little thicker. Then as he grew older, his seat in the classroom remained vacant, and somewhere in the shuffle his brother had gotten lost.

By the time Wayne was seventeen, the hubris of youth had taken root. The money he was making was good enough to buy his own set of wheels, and if he played his cards right, his ticket to freedom. He thought he was grown, and determined to put that little one bedroom house in his rearview mirror. No more playing parent, no more responsibility--just his own money and his own life.

Looking back, he understood that impulse to run, but he’d never regretted anything more in his life. Had he just been present and maybe a little less focused on girls and partying, he would have been a better role model.

A better brother.

They pulled up to the house, windows dark and shuttered.

“You know, nobody’s home.” The words were pressed into his date’s cheek, the smell of her flowery perfume clouding his thoughts. Couldn’t remember her name for the life of him, but he didn’t need to. She wanted him, and he wanted her--what more did he need to know?

She giggled, pushing him away. “I can’t imagine what we’d get up to.” There was a smile hidden behind her hand, batting her long eyelashes at him.

“I’m sure we can figure something out.” He grinned back at her--he’d been told his smile was charming. He was already turning off the ignition, and reaching across the console for another kiss.

The lights in the house flipped on.

“I thought you said nobody would be home.” The honeyed tone was gone, replaced with wide eyes and trepidation.

“There shouldn’t be.” His dad worked the night shift, and fuck knows where his mom was these days. Which only could only mean…

He dropped his head against the steering wheel. “Shit. My kid brother.”

Mirabelle--that was her name--had started to button up her blouse self-consciously. “O-Oh. Well. Maybe…Maybe we should call it a night then?”

Wayne Munson was not about to be cock-blocked by a shitty ten year old. He covered her hand with his own, before reaching up and pushing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “We can do that, if you want.” He wet his lips, eyes flicking down to meet hers. Do you want that?”

She swallowed, and locked eyes with him, and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “No.”

That was all the confirmation he needed. He leaned over and placed a kiss on her cheek, pulling back with a smile. She returned it, and he ran a thumb along her lower lip. “Then keep that smile for me, sweetheart. I’ll be just a minute.”

He was a man on a mission now, leaving the car behind.

Edward was opening the screen door, rubbing his eyes and squinting at the headlights. “Wayne? You were supposed to be home to cook me dinner…”

Wayne knelt down in front of him, “I know--Listen, I have a pretty lady who wants to take a tour of the house. Think you can make yourself scarce for a bit?”

Edward’s eyes darkened, “No! You’re never here anymore, and I’m not going to sit outside while you like, kiss or whatever!” His voice carried in the night air, and Wayne quickly threw a hand over his mouth to shush him.

“This is so uncool, what the fuck, Edward?” He hissed back, narrowing his eyes.

The kid threw his glare right back at him, and licked his palm.

Wayne’s hand flew back like he’d been burned. “Fine, I’ll make you some fucking dinner, Jesus Christ.” He stomped away from him, shoving his fists into the pockets of his leather jacket.

He threw the car door open, and slammed it shut just as hard. “Change of plans. Brat still needs to be babysat, apparently.” He tried popping his neck from side to side, avoiding the small shadow sitting expectantly on the front porch steps.

“Oh.” She gave a small frown, “Well that’s…sweet of you.” A new smile took residence on her face, but it wasn’t a flirtatious one: it was pitying. Yep, he was definitely not getting laid tonight, or ever, not by Mirabelle at least.

“Yeah, that’s me, big ol’ sweetheart.” It came out flat, and he turned the key in the ignition, engine roaring to life. “Let’s get you home.”

Turns out his brother had learned a lot more from Wayne than he thought. Kids were spongey--they soaked up everything whether you wanted them to or not. It became less about the lessons on how to tie his shoes and make his own meals, and more about the unspoken rules of how to be a man and an adult. Between their father and Wayne’s absenteeism, Edward cobbled together how to sneak into bars, pick up chicks, and how to finish his own fights. By the time Edward’s own teenage years rolled around, he was on a first name basis with every authority figure in a five mile radius.

It’s funny how the more things changed, the more they remained the same: Wayne was still taking care of a kid that wasn’t his with one bedroom between the two (no little house in Kentucky this time, though).

Somehow he’d even managed to sleep on a pull out couch again.

This time though, things would be different. He wouldn’t let Eddie become another Munson fuckup.

Wayne cleared his throat, trying to grab his nephew’s attention. “Since you’ve got so much time on your hands, why don’t you play us some Johnny Cash, hm?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, “Always the Man in Black.” Despite his grousing, it came with a playful smile. Before long the discordantly cheerful twang of ‘Folsom Prison Blues’ became the backdrop of Wayne’s musings.

He couldn’t help but shake his head and smile into his whiskey, though it was a sad and bitter one. Eddie had no idea how appropriate his song choice had been.

This time, he knew exactly what was to blame for his maudlin thoughts: a phone call.

‘Would you like to collect this call?’ The tinny voice crackled in his ears--he didn’t need to be told who was on the line; he already knew.

Against his better judgment, he accepted the call.

“Hey.”

“How’d you get this number?”

There was a resigned laugh on the other end. “Haven’t changed a bit…Kinda hopin’ you had.” A pause, “Social worker. You’re a hard man to find, Wayne.”

Wayne hummed in understanding--it hard to get a guardianship without the parents involved somehow. “I like my solitude.” It was also intentional, but he didn’t feel the need to point that out.

It had been years since he’d heard his brother’s voice, but he recognized it all the same. There were cracks in it, like asphalt on a hot summer day, tinged with the boyishness of a forgotten childhood. Bikes and skinned knees. It was like coming home to a vacant house.

It hurt.

“What do you want, Edward?” It came out softer than he’d wanted, but Wayne always had a soft spot for his little brother.

“A lot of things.” A swallow, “Drugs. Money. Freedom. Forgiveness.” There was a longer pause, “My brother.”

He noted the order of things and the glaring hole in the list. “But not your kid, huh?”

“Junior’s better off without me.”

He wasn’t about to fight him on that, not when it was true.

“I was hopin’ he’d go to you, even if you did do a shit job with me. But you ain’t gotta raise him, just keep him clothed and fed.”

Wayne bit his tongue--he didn’t have to raise his kid-brother either, but he did. He still fucking did, because that’s just what you do.

But he didn’t have to rise to the bait, no matter how true it may have been.

“Eddie.” He cleared his throat, “He goes by Eddie. Not Edward. Not junior.”

“That so? Guess he didn’t want to be like his old man.”

God, he hoped not. He was doing everything in his power to keep Eddie from that.

“Doesn’t matter, not why I called. Just…wanted to say thanks. For keepin’ my boy. You keep him in line, and don’t let him give you no lip.”

He thought back to their first days together--him and Eddie. Carefully orbiting one another, watching one another like fighters in the ring. Who’d take the first punch?

In the end, neither of them had: it was a stupid coffee cup. Eddie had it in his hands, touches always feather light, like he was afraid he’d break it. Ironically, it was that carefulness that led to a broken mug on their floor. It was an accident--had slipped out of Eddie’s soapy grip. Just a shitty gas station mug. Nothing memorable.

Nothing like the horror on his nephew’s face.

“Wayne, it was an accident, you gotta believe me--you gotta---” His hands were fisted in his shirt, frozen, right before they flew to retrieve the broken ceramic pieces. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry--” Red dotted the shards as he tried to pick them up.

Instincts and adrenaline took over, and he was across the room in seconds, grasping Eddie’s hands within his own. “You’re okay, Eddie.”

The touch seemed to ground him, but his hands still shook. “I’m sorry, Uncle Wayne.”

“I care a lot more about you gettin’ hurt than a mug I didn’t even like.” He lifted the boy to his feet, gesturing to the bathroom. “Let’s get you fixed up.”

It was for that reason alone, Wayne felt himself grit out, “Don’t call back” before slamming the phone down on the receiver.

He never did tell Eddie about the call. He wanted his nephew to feel safe where he was without the specter of his father lingering over them both.

A familiar tune tugged him back into consciousness and out of the recesses of his memory. He lifted his head up, “Since when did you learn to play the Hollies?”

Eddie’s playing halted as he shrugged his shoulders. “Just kinda picked it up. No biggie.” He flexed his fingers a moment--they were red from the cold. He insisted on wearing a pair of old gloves that he’d clipped the tips off of--said it was the closest thing to a compromise on keeping his hands warm, but still being able to pluck at the strings.

Wayne shook his head with a smile, running his thumbs along the mug in his hands. It was a replacement for the one he’d broken though much improved: the glaringly cheerful text of ‘WELCOME TO HAWKINS’ had been crossed out with a sloppy scrawl ‘WELCOME TO BUMFUCK NOWHERE’. He’d never felt particularly welcome in Hawkins to begin with.

“What about Dolly Parton? You pick any of her stuff up?”

Eddie huffed out a laugh, “I know not to take her man, if that’s what you mean.” Sure enough, ‘He Ain't Heavy’ melted into the heartbroken classic of ‘Jolene’.

Wayne couldn’t help but huff out a laugh at that--kid was clever.

Eddie’s finger slipped, causing a screech of discordant strings.

Wayne whipped his head over at him, raising his eyebrows in an unspoken ‘you good?’. His nephew was talented, well on his way to being skilled, but it wasn’t normal for him to flub like that.

Eddie shrugged, ‘what can you do?’. He was back to playing, but his hands trembled and his smile was plastic. Then the music abruptly stopped. “Not that I’d…y’know, steal her man. I’m not...‘that way’. Obviously.”

That gave Wayne pause. “Didn’t think you were.” He cocked an eyebrow, watching his nephew fidget in his seat. Odd that he felt the need to clarify in the first place--was this another thing his brother hammered into him?

“Do…you remember when I first came here?” The music had stopped completely, Eddie resting his hands over the acoustic. Nervous fingers tapped a quiet rhythm along her black frame. “How I had that buzzcut?” As if on cue, he moved a hand to his hair. A year had prompted a lot of growth--the dark curls hovered just above his shoulders.

“Made your ears look like Dumbo, yep.” Wayne nodded along, setting the empty mug down on the porch (and a safe distance away from the two of them--he didn’t want a third replacement).

Eddie gave a bark of startled laughter, “I know, right? It was so bad.” The easy smile faded as quickly as it came. “It wasn’t my choice. My old man…”

Just the mere mention of him caused his shoulders to slump and his to dim. Eddie never called him ‘dad’--he hadn’t earned that title, in Wayne’s eyes.

“He cut it saying it would make me look less like a fag.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair again self-consciously.

An uncharacteristic lull fell between the two of them. There’s something big here, and he has a creeping suspicion he’s missed something important. The longer he takes to reply though, the more heavily Eddie’s gaze weighs on him.

He’d figure out where this piece of the puzzle went later. “My brother is a goddamn idiot. Keep the hair, kid.” To emphasize his point, he reached over and ruffled the boy’s hair.

Eddie squawked at that, playfully shoving him away, but there was still a small unhappy twist to his expression.

It was quiet, a reflexive comment and less like actual conversation, but Wayne heard it all the same: “A goddamn perceptive idiot.” Did he hear that right? He knitted his brows together, “Come again, kid?”

“Just saying he didn’t like me looking like David Bowie or some shit. Don’t worry about it.” He gave a shrug, but his eyes were too sharp, too wary to sell the air of nonchalance he was going for.

“That a rock star you like or somethin’?”

A quiet laugh. “Something like that.” Another pause, “That’s…not going to be a problem, is it? Liking David Bowie or Robert Halford?”

“Considering I have no idea who those folks are? Not one bit. Just don’t hog the bathroom and we’re good.”

“I’ll leave you enough time to do your hair in the morning, scouts honor.” He batted his eyes for effect, which caused Eddie to laugh at his own antics. “Can’t have you looking all scruffy for McCluskey, after all.”

Whatever door of opportunity had opened had promptly hit his ass on his way out, because Eddie had already moved on. “I don’t know how you two can be related. You’re nothing like him.”

Now if that wasn’t the biggest kick in the teeth? “I wouldn’t say that. We both got our daddy’s temper. Mine just got tempered, and his didn’t.”

Silence fell between them, but it wasn’t comfortable. It was contemplative and heavy with bad memories.

“Sometimes I think I hate him.” Eddie took a shuddering breath, mouth set in firm line.

Wayne said nothing--couldn’t bring himself to. In his heart of hearts, he knew he did too.

“Is it weird if I love him too?” He had Eddie’s full attention now, dark eyes weighing heavily on him.

In truth, Wayne didn’t have the answers. He was doing good to put one foot in front of the other, every day. He didn’t know how to even begin untangling the massive ball of hurt knotted in his chest, much less help someone else with theirs.

Yet here they were. Two people haunted by the same person, this shared trauma that bonded them together. He wanted more for Eddie than whatever this was.

It was as good a time as any to start the healing process. So Wayne took a deep breath, buying himself a few crucial seconds before he spoke, “Sometimes love is so wrapped up with the hurt we can’t tell the difference.”

He pointed the stub of his cigarette at Eddie, “Let me be clear about this though: my brother is an asshole.”

The declaration made Eddie’s eyes as round as saucers, but Wayne kept going. He had more to say, and he was going to make it count.

They hadn’t talked about it, what Eddie’s life was like before. Hadn’t been a real reason to, in Wayne’s mind. He was able to pick up enough--something would happen, and he would adjust accordingly. The social workers had told him not to pry and not to push, but maybe it would do the boy some good to talk. If not to him, at least to someone.

Maybe they could start here.

Eddie had a white knuckle grip on the neck of his guitar, stone still for the first time in his life.

“You got the Munson gene, but you ain’t your daddy. You ain't me either, thank God. You go be yourself, Eddie.”

“...I think that’s the most you’ve ever said to me in one sitting, Wayne.” His lips were bitten into the ghost of a smile, his voice tinged with humor and emotion.

Of course that’s what he’d take away from it. Wayne snorted, shaking his head with terrible fondness. “It’s the first time I’ve been able to get a word in.”

“Hey, someone has to carry the conversation.”

He chuckled to himself, “More like a monologue.”

Eddie almost threw himself out of the chair, clutching at his heart dramatically. “You wound me, good sir!” He hopped up to his feet with a newfound energy. “Want me to take your cup to the kitchen?”

He didn’t wait for Wayne’s response before dipping down and snatching it. He quickly wrinkled his face, “...Were you drinking whiskey out of a coffee cup?”

Wayne shrugged. “A cup’s a cup.”

“And I’m the freak.” Eddie snorted, shaking his head fondly. “Want me to grab anything else?”

“I’m good. When you come back, let me hear what you’ve been workin’ on.” Call him sentimental, but he wanted to keep the moment as long as he could. Kids grow up so fast.

His jaw dropped, “You want to hear a Scorpion’s song? You hear that shit all the time though.”

“S’not so bad at this volume.”

“If you can’t feel it in your teeth, you aren’t doing the music justice.” Eddie shuffled in the doorway a moment, “Besides, it’d sound better on an electric. Not that there’s anything wrong with my girl, here.” He motioned to the guitar now strapped along his back.

“That so?” Wayne cocked an eyebrow up at him. It certainly hadn’t stopped him from playing all hours of the night before. “Sounds just fine to me.”

“Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Prepare for the most tame concert ever.” There was pure glee in his voice as he skittered away back into the trailer with newfound enthusiasm.

The future was a fragile, tentative thing, but he wanted one for Eddie. That’s all he ever wanted for his family, and if it took a few extra shifts, and some sleepless nights to ensure that? He’d do it again and again.

The rickety lawn chair scraped across the porch as Eddie scooted in closer. “You ready for this?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be, kid.”

#Wayne Munson #eddie munson #kid eddie munson #found family #chalky writes #hurt/comfort #stranger things fanfic #stranger things season 4 #wayne munson is a good uncle #trauma is inherited #we get to see wayne and his brother as kids #it means the world to me to illustrate parental figures who may not be on the up and up but try their best to understand their kids #and where they're coming from with the tools and knowledge that they have #also eddie's soft 'coming out' is mirrored to my own #just enough information to say 'hey i came out #i did it'#without having to fully say the words #He Aint Heavy #part 2

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thiefking · 10 months

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(ALERT. WARNING. OPINIONS EXPRESSED IN THE FOLLOWING POST ARE NOT MEANT TO INSINUATE I THINK THAT PEOPLE WHO USE TONE TAGS ARE BAD OR HAVE BAD INTENTIONS. I AM SIMPLY POINTING OUT SOME OF MY FRUSTRATIONS WITH THEM AND HOW THEY WORK, OR RATHER DO NOT WORK, IN AN EXAGGERATEDLY ANGRY/LOUD MANNER AT A HYPOTHETICAL SITUATION, NOT A SPECIFIC PERSON OR PERSONS OR INCIDENT, AND IT WASN'T EVEN THE MAIN POINT OF THE POST I WAS ORIGINALLY WRITING WHICH WAS JUST ABOUT SOME ANNOYING OVER-COMMENTED STUFF ON MY POST. ALERT. WARNING)

i am still pleased and amazed at the amount of people on my tone indicator parantheticals post who AREN'T being weird and aggro, but i will say. while i got tired of the aggro ones the moment the first one showed up i have also grown tired of the "this is just tumblr tags/congrats you just reinvented tumblr tags" observation. it has been made many times, i can never tell if it's a teasing joke or if they're seriously like "umm dumbass this is the same thing" (because of course they are not paired with any indication of intent, such as a word encased in a pair of parentheses, because for some reason being overfamiliar with strangers on the internet has become very normalized, and they just expect that if they say things to people they have never met that the person they say that to will be able to tell whether they are kidding or trying to insult them, which is highly variable per person) and either way it's like...

i mean. yeah. on tumblr, that is the same thing as what you could use the tags for

but tumblr isn't a messaging app

even its in-built dms do not have tags

if you are using discord if you type a # it would prompt you to pick a channel you are referring to

The Primary Location You Would Use Tone Indicators Is In Conversation With Others And Tumblr Is Technically A Blogging Platform

also a bunch of people are like "ummm or you could just put it in the SENTENCE like a NORMAL PERSON" and first of all shut up. secondly nowhere in the post did i say that i specifically would rather someone use random parantheticals instead of just stating their intent in the actual sentence, i said i would prefer parantheticals over highly abbreviated tone tags. obviously i would prefer people just say properly what they mean, that is literally what i do when i have a genuine question to ask, i don't do "what do you mean (genuine) (sincere question) (confused)" i say "sorry i'm a little confused, what do you mean by xyz?". literally did not fucking say that i think parantheticals would be better than just saying what you actually mean to begin with IN the initial question. however THIRDLY sometimes you just fucking have adhd or the conversation is fast and you don't think to phrase it carefully. and in that situation you might realize after you already sent the message that it's ambiguous what you meant or if you were sincere, so you send like "(JOKE)" or "genuine question" or if you make a reference "(you know like xyz meme/show/game)" immediately afterwards so people know and can respond appropriately. and i would so much rather see people spell the fucking thing out instead of saying /j or /gen or god forbid /ref (WHAT!!! ARE YOU FUCKING REFERENCING!!! YOU CAN'T JUST SAY IT'S A REFERENCE AND LEAVE IT AT THAT THAT DOESN'T HELP!!! WHY IS THAT EVEN A TONE TAG!!! YOU HAVEN'T GIVEN ME ANY CONTEXT FOR IT, THIS IS NOT A TONE TO INDICATE, IT DOESN'T INDICATE ANYTHING, I COULD PROBABLY TELL FROM THE PHRASING TO BEGIN WITH THAT IT WAS SOME KIND OF REFERENCE ANYWAY, YOU HAVE GIVEN ME ZERO INFORMATION AAUUAUAAAAGGGGHHH the fucking autistic person who would not be able to tell that you were making a reference without the tag would probably also not be able to tell what the goddamn joke was supposed to be! i AM that autistic person sometimes!!! you cannot just /ref your way out of that if you are ACTUALLY TRYING to HELP AUTISTIC PEOPLE then make it clear you can be ASKED TO CLARIFY THINGS and then SUCK IT UP AND EXPLAIN THE JOKE EVEN IF IT MAKES IT LESS FUNNY!!! and this is entirely specific to Me who has never once wanted someone to use tone tags even when i do ask for clarification on something, but if you don't want to ruin your joke by explaining it and i already Understood that it was a joke, the /ref and or /j you put on it is actually. equivalent. to explaining the joke and ruining it...... because in this scenario i knew it was a joke already...)

ahem. anyway. i think the people who say "ummm orrr you could just bake it into the sentence :/" do not realize they are the ones being stupid while calling me stupid. because of the fact that they cannot read the post, where i don't say even once that i don't agree with them, because i am talking about something else, which is that if you gave me a choice between tone tags or tone parantheticals i would choose parantheticals

conversely i'm NOT tired of the elcor comparison, even a little bit, even though that one was also made a thousand times. i actually like that one a lot. i never played mass effect or anything i just think that's funny and cool. entire species that has autism... so beautiful ♡

#txt #got off on a tangent there. i genuinely think /j makes jokes less funny though .#i get it when it's a 'playfully teasing' sitch and you wanna be clear you don't actually mean it #and in fact it makes it funnier when someone says something fuckin NARSTY just FILTHY #and then quickly goes JOKE JOKE JOKE /J desperately afterwards #like 'SORRY THAT CAME INTO MY HEAD AND I HAD TO FUCKING SAY IT. SUFFER WITH ME. GOD I HATE MYSELF'#that's always great cause it's paired with something fucking Insane and it's like you're now trying to convince jigsaw you didn't mean it #but otherwise it's like. i mean yeah. i knew that was a joke cause of the way you typed it and the words you used...#if i couldn't tell it was a joke based on the statement i would not be able to tell what was supposed to be funny anyway...#i am still gonna have to ask for clarification even if you put a /j on it in that instance....#no amount of parantheticals will fix that one either. it is unfixable without fully explaining the joke. you just gotta deal with it #anyway. wat ever

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