#i remember the first time i watched heartstopper i was like hold up WHERE are they when it panned to issac and charlie

[silverdori]

in honour of season three coming out, here's this monstrosity i created several months ago

[iluvchick3nz]

your writing is getting me through finals week 🙏🥹! That last fic was actually so cute I think it would be funny to see a boy who leo had “been with” in the past who maybe ended up at gryff university or something coming to one of the games with a sign and leo getting all flustered 😭. I’m a firm believer that leo had more situationships than just jack 🤮

This ended up being a very cute ask, so thank you! I am also a firm believer in showing how beautiful queer love can be in middle school/high school (like in Heartstopper). So meet someone who treated our Leo well, before Jack (ew) came into the picture and broke our sunshine's heart. But it's okay now- he's got two boyfriends who love him very, very much. <3

Keep the asks coming! All credits to @lumosinlove !!

“No way,” James laughed, mouthguard hanging out of his mouth and water bottle poised for a sip. “No fucking way! Nutty, you dog.”

Leo looked up from where he was in a butterfly stretch. “Huh? What do you mean?”

Sirius laughed at James’ waggling eyebrows. He jerked his chin to the glass. “You got an admirer there, nut.”

“Who?” Leo asked, confused expression on his face. “Is it Finn making faces again? Because I told him it distracts- oh.”

Across the ice a few rows up from the glass was a boy that looked like he was about Leo’s age with tan skin and dark, curly hair. He was in a Lions jersey, Leo’s own, and was holding a white sign above his forehead and smiling. Hi from NOLA! it said. We love #1! His friend beside him was laughing in his own Lions jersey.

Leo laughed and stood. He gestured to Layla, who was on the bench. “Layla, may you please pass me a puck and a sharpie?”

She nodded at him and bustled around for a puck and silver pen, handing them to him with a smile. “Do you know them?”

“Yeah, I went to school with one of them back home. I think he’s at Gryffindor University now, I saw it on his Instagram.” He wrote his signature with a smiley face and handed her back the pen. “Thanks, Layla. Be right back.”

She patted his head. “Off you go, nutter butter.”

James whistled at him while he skated away and Leo saw Finn lift his head up from where he had also been doing his warm-up stretches. Leo rolled his eyes playfully and made his way over to the glass. He smiled up and waved for the two boys to come down, and they hustled down the steps and stopped right in front of Leo.

“Enrique,” Leo greeted. “Long time no see. How are you?”

“‘Sup, Le,” Enrique answered. 

He looked the same as he had when they were in middle and high school, a little gangly with bright white teeth and a sharp jawline. Leo remembered meeting him for the first time in 5th grade and being confused as to why his face flushed so hard. Flashbacks of tentative hand-holding and first kisses on an overnight school trip ran fondy through his mind. He remembered being young and unsure, and Enrique always being so gentle and kind. 

Enrique seemed to be thinking the same thing, because he looked at Leo with a wide smile. “How’s the big show?”

“It’s good,” Leo said. He fiddled with the puck in his hand. “You studying at Gryff?”

“Yup! Math with a minor in anthropology.” He wrapped an arm around the boy beside him and noogied him in the head. “It’s how I met this history buff- we had a couple freshman classes together.” He lowered his arm to wrap gently around the boy’s waist and smiled up at him. “This is my boyfriend, Shan.”

Leo could feel his nose scrunching up with his smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” Shan replied, a bit shyly. “It’s really cool to see you out here.”

Leo nodded. “Yeah, it feels good to be out here.” He tossed the puck up and down a few times in his fingers. “Hey, step back a little bit and put your hands up.”

Enrique did as told and deftly caught the puck that Leo tossed over the glass. Shan leaned over to look at it and read it as well, and they both looked up and smiled at him.

Suddenly, Leo felt a presence skate up to his side and watched both of their eyes widen. Leo bit his lip and turned to find Finn next to him. “Harz. This is Enrique and Shan.”

“Hello, lover,” Finn said, eyes twinkling. He looked over at the two boys. “Saw one of your friends had my jersey.” He smiled through the glass. “Hey, catch!”

Shan caught his own puck with a laugh. “Thanks, Harzy!”

Finn saluted. “No problem.” He wrapped an arm around Leo’s waist and squeezed gently. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to take my Leo here back to his goal so I can practice scoring on him.”

Leo nudged him gently. “Alright, alright.” He tapped a hand up to the glass. “It was good to see you, Enrique. You, too, Shan. Enjoy the game!”

“You, too!”

“Good luck!”

“Gentlemen,” Finn said, then tugged Leo to face him as the two boys went back to their seats. “Did you know them?”

Leo nodded. “Yeah, I went to school with Enrique.” He grinned down at Finn. “He was my first kiss on a middle school outdoor excursion trip.”

Finn froze for a second then broke out into a smile, his tongue sticking out a little. “Oh? And who kisses better?”

Leo snorted and tapped his helmet to Finn’s. “It was a first kiss, sweetheart. Nothing to write home about. And the boy he was with today is his boyfriend, they both go to college here.”

“Aw, that’s sweet.” Finn gave Leo a tap on the butt with his stick then snatched a puck. “Go get in goal, sunshine, I’ll shoot on you,” he said. As he skated towards the blue line, he turned around to look at Leo again. “Then we’ll go to home and FaceTime Lo while I kiss you stupid!”

Leo flushed at the chirps that got from their teammates, but smiled and narrowed his eyes as he turned to face Finn in his net. 

Later, after they had a post-victory pasta dinner in their apartment, Leo was warm and flushed, pressed against the mattress by Finn’s body. Finn had called Logan with single-minded zeal, told him the story of warm-ups, and then had proceeded to kiss Leo into oblivion, Logan watching them eagerly from the iPad. Finn’s hands were all over Leo’s body and his lips somehow insistent and gentle. Leo felt like he was drowning and breathing clearly at the same time, caught in the whirlwind that was Finn’s focused attention. After what felt like hours, Finn pulled away, lips wet and red and hair a mess from Leo’s hands. 

“So,” he began with a mischievous grin. “Who kisses better?”

Leo shook his head in amusement. “I told you, he was my first kiss. He’s probably way better at it now, and anyways, it’s not a competition.”

“Ouais, yes it is,” Logan said. He had his head resting on his hands and his green eyes were roaming up and down their bodies. “It’s always a competition. Allez, Le. Who’s better?”

“Guys, we were thirteen-”

“Leo.”

“I’m just saying, I’d feel weird comparing-”

But Finn interrupted him with a frustrated huff and bent to press his lips all over Leo’s neck and face. Leo laughed and wrapped his arms and legs around Finn’s body, head tilted up against the pillows and pliant. When Finn pulled away his face was serious but his eyes were twinkling. “You know there’s only one right answer, butter.”

Leo sighed and leaned up to kiss him. “You,” he said. He turned to smile at Logan, sated and content. “You, you, and you.” 

[meljwrites]

pls do give me gay book recommendations. and do expand on "i dislike most of the popular gay books for very specific reasons" what specific reasons? i love to share nitpicks. i imagine you have a low tolerance of rpe as you mentioned already? is it too dark for you? also, i never read aristotle and dante and the secrets of the universe, but i watched the adaptation recently, and i hated it surprisingly enough, and i had high expectations it was going to be good. i didnt feel any romance most of the movie and i have no idea why everyone seemed to know aristotle liked dante while he didnt show to know for most of the movie. so i guess will just throw my nitpick out there first: i hate when gay stories leave it to the end for the characters to show to like each other.

yeaaahhhh i'll give you a list of complaints and then some recs...

I didn't like aristotle and dante (i actually read it twice bc it was required reading in uni) because of the whole - doesn't realise that he's gay until his dad tells him he is, also i'm pretty sure someone literally just said that author is transphobic so yeahhhh - also i just dont like the rythm of the way he writes.

I didn't like the seven husbands of evelyn hugo because of the straight protagonist, managing to kill off every queer character by the end of the book, having a character chip her tooth on the tv and be fine (i chipped my tooth as a kid), and the line that goes something like "her breasts where what made her famous in this world and they were going to take her out of it". i also didnt pay for that one funnily enough, i got my uni library to order it.

I didn't love red white and royal blue because of the heavy focus on politics and the way it ends with everyone holding up signs to support them which i found unrealistic and the way they were discovered bc they didnt remember that the front of cars is see through 🙄. (but one last stop is like my second fave book and i liked the movie!!)

I do recommend:

The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern - a literary queer overlapping sea of stories and myths which is my favourite book

One Last Stop by Casey McQuiston - a speculative sapphic romance novel about a girl lost in time and a group of queer friends rallying to save a local diner.

If you still recognise me by Cynthia So - a ya lesbian romance between childhood friends exploring chinese diaspora and culture, fandoms, and comic shops

On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Voung - a poetic novel based on his life as an immigrant in america and his relationship with his mother and grandmother and gay identity.

Everything Leads to You by Nina LaCour - my fave book when i was a teen, this is a lesbian romance wrapped in a mystery with a focus on old hollywood and film sets.

Felix Ever After by Kacen Callender - a trans mlm ya romance about a summer art school program and shifting identites when faced with the cruelty of teenagers.

Last Night at the Telegraph Club by Malinda Lo- ya lesbian romance set in the San Francisco in the 50s against the backdrop of chinese diaspora and the cold war.

Fingersmith by Sarah Waters - a modern classic historical lesbian romance which the korean movie the handmaiden is based on.

Also "Laura Dean Keeps Breaking up With Me", "spinning", "on a sunbeam", "Heartstopper" and "mooncakes" are good graphic novels

[udaberriwrites]

Fic Writer Self Rec

Fic authors self-rec! ✨ When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you’ve written, then pass on to at least five other writers ❤️

Oooh, a chance to ramble about my fics, I see, well let's do this! Thank you, @sliebman10!

Let's tag... @mikaharuka , @alpaca-clouds , @thememoryofthatday , @sapphosewrites , @axolotlsupremacyowo , @0nelittlebirdtoldme , @kayedium-writes and @tsunderewatermelon !

Ok, ok, so... as usual, I'm going to be jumping around, because you guys know how my attention span can be xD

1. Life is a Rollercoaster; or Tao Xu's Fight Against the Big Butterfly of Doom (Heartstopper | 11.1k | Fluff, Humor, Time Travel)

Tao got the chance to go back in time and undo his worst mistake. Tao prevented Charlie from being outed or bullied. Tao changed things enough that, the second time around, Charlie didn't get assigned the seat next to Nick Nelson in form.

…Fuck.

Or: the Butterfly Effect sucks, and if Tao has to take desperate measures to ensure his friend's happiness, he will. He draws the line at Iron Man 2 though, someone has to keep some standards around here.

I binged the show and immediately got the urge to write something for it, but I didn't expect it to blow up as it did! I had fun with this one, and the readers were super nice and encouraging, plus sharing this one is what led me to eventually meet @mikaharuka as we rambled over our fics, so for that alone it's always going to have a special significance for me 😁

2. Neither Grief Nor Glory (TSOA/Hades | 7.6k | Angst, Smut)

Dying had been a relief, but death is turning into its own kind of torment.

Dying was just the beginning. Achilles' journey back to Patroclus is a long and twisted one. Along the way he'll have to confront his unaddressed grief, face his many regrets and learn to truly become a man worthy of Patroclus' unconditional love.

But like all journeys, eventually he'll reach his safe harbor.

My first yuletide! This one took months and a couple of minor breakdowns, but the end result is something I am very proud of, both in terms of the prose and the worldbuilding. And my giftee left the loveliest comment ☺️

3. All That Matters (Asterix the Gaul | 2.6k | Character Study, Queerplatonic Relationships)

Asterix has always felt different, but he has Obelix, and that is usually enough. Everybody else has questions, however, and he grows tired of answering.

"He wants to shout, even if he still doesn't know what he wants to say, even if he knows that if he lets his frustration take hold of his tongue, he will regret the harm he will cause."

This was... very, very cathartic to write. I remember rewriting sections of this so often, and I am humbled by the response it had. It was a very validating experience.

4. Life is a Flower, Love is the Honey (Deep Space Nine | 9.5k | Romance and Fluff)

“I don’t think Julian would like that,” Leeta said, without pausing to think about it, but… “We could ask him,” Rom had replied. And wasn’t that an interesting idea?

(A self-indulgent, mostly Rom-centric, Julian/Leeta/Rom fic because I was re-watching ‘Bar Association’ and this happened. I have no regrets.)

The one that brought me back into writing, after several years of hiatus... and the one that gave me confidence to push on, even if I nearly backed out due to it featuring a strange rarepair. This story is always going to be special for me <3

4. When You Speak, I Hear Silence (Deep Space Nine | 1.8k | Friendship)

Terok Nor is no more, and strange new aliens are coming to the newly named Deep Space Nine. Nog doesn't expect life to change; but then he finds a friend, who gives him the greatest gift he will ever receive.

If there's a fic where I wouldn't change a single word or a moment of the writing process, it has to be this one. I'm so glad I didn't go with my initial idea, because this version with Jake&Nog just made things click for me ^_^

[noramelll]

The Fault (And the Favour)

This is a fan story for @chronicintrovert​  ‘s book called Solitaire! I’ve read it so many times and practically studied this book while writing this. Anyway I thought it would be really interesting if there was a nick and charlie POV for the last few chapters of solitaire because i always LOVED to entertain that thought but after talking it over with a couple other heartstopper fans i just had to put that shit on paper. anyway, this will have MAJOR spoilers for Solitaire, also a trigger warning here for Suicide and eating disorder mentions! Stay safe and i hope you enjoy :)))

NICK 

It’s quarter past six in the morning when I get a phone call. The ringtone is loud, piercing through the peaceful silence of my room, and I’m jolted awake by the sound. 

When I pick up my phone and realise it’s charlie calling me, I get a flush of relief and anxiety in my chest at once. For one, it isn’t Tori who’s calling me. The last time she called me was when Charlie was sent into the mental hospital. Something about Tori’s anxious tone always gave me an unpleasant shiver down my spine. So when it isn’t Tori who’s calling, my shoulders relax and I release a breath of air.

But then again, Charlie’s calling me at 6 am. That either means something’s on his mind and he hasn’t got any sleep, or he woke up ridiculously early for some bizarre reason.

I answer his call. “Charlie? It’s 6:15, what-”

“Nick.”

It’s Charlie. That’s his voice, that’s him. But it’s the ‘him’  I’m way too familiar with. Panicked, distressed, on the verge of tears. I’ve seen this side of him too much for my liking: while he recovered from his eating disorder, while we ate dinner together, while he told me about the things he thinks about.

 I’m here for him. I always will be.

But god does it scare the shit out of me whenever he speaks with a tremor in his voice like that. 

“Char? Char, what’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer. On the other end, I can already picture what he’s doing- putting a hand up to his face, rubbing his eyes aggressively, biting his fingernails anxiously, his eyebrows crinkled as he tries to figure out what to say.

But this time he knows. I can tell he knows what he wants to say. It’s on the tip of his tongue.

“Charlie, seriously, what’s going on?”

“It’s Tori.”

A chill goes down my spine. Not only do I notice the pure fear in his voice, but I pick up the sound of rustling in the background and doors opening and closing. “It’s Tori, Nick. She- She took off an hour ago, Becky just called me.”

“What?” I sit up in my bed, my feet are dangling over the edge and I’m prepared to pull on my shoes as soon as possible. “Where is she going?”

“To-To school.” His voice is shaking tremendously now. I can almost feel his hands trembling as his footsteps echo through my phone.

“To school… why is she going to school, the bloody sun hasn’t even come up yet-”

Charlie’s voice becomes more frantic, he’s panicking harder and the desperation in his voice makes it hard to listen to him. “Nick, she’s going to school because of Solitaire. Their- Their final operation is today. She’s going to try and stop it.”

It’s like something clicks in my head. Tori, Charlie’s sarcastic, monotone older sister, who once couldn’t care about anything other than her brother, Tumblr and watching movies, was slowly being driven mad by solitaire and their ‘operations’. The solitaire meetup party. The happenings at The Clay music festival that was hacked by solitaire. Then at Dinner on Monday, it was as if she had completely changed. Talking in sentences that made us extremely concerned. “Solitaire is going on, yet no one cares.” “It’s all fake. Everyone is faking. Why does no one care about anything?”

Holy shit. 

“Is she fucking insane? What the hell is she trying to do, get herself killed?”

“I don’t know, Nick, she’s alone and she’s going to do something bad and I can’t sit here and fucking wait until I’ve found out that my sister is dead, I-I have to do something, fuck-”

My shoes are already slipped onto my feet and I’ve grabbed my keys. “I’ll be there in 5 minutes.”

CHARLIE

I’m on the front porch before Nick lets me know that he’s coming soon. I didn’t change out of my Pj’s and it doesn’t matter. My sister ran off to try and stop this insanity of a ‘prank’- if it can even be called that-  and seeing how their last operation left, it’ll be lucky if she makes it out of there in one piece.

It’s my fucking fault. I’m sure of it this time. I do this a lot: pinpoint the blame on me, feel guilty, cry. It’s a routine that I try to get out of, but right now that doesn’t matter either because I’m completely sure that if I hadn't said something or listened to Tori she wouldn’t be off in the dark trying to stop a bunch of lunatics trying to accomplish god knows what.

I remember one night, when Tori was visiting me in hospital, she mentioned to me about how she noticed that I had gotten worse over time and that she didn’t say anything because she thought she was just imagining it. So she stayed out of my way. She admitted that she’ll always regret that.

That’s how I feel now, and it’s horrible and I feel fucking helpless and just as soon as I get that twisting feeling in my stomach I see Nick’s car pull up to the curb and before I realise it I’m already in his car, and my arms are around his shoulders and I’m trying to breathe but it’s so hard and I can’t do anything-

“Char, breathe. Deep breaths. Look at me.”

Nick’s hand is on my cheek but I don’t even feel it because I’m trying to remember why I’m so fucking anxious in the first place, I forget where I am and I forget who I am. I can’t feel my hands.

It’s my fault. It’s my fucking fault.

“Charlie, I’m right here, look at me.” He’s tilting my head up, and nick is looking at me. He’s filled with so much concern, but this calm tone helps me think again. I’m breathing. Nick’s hand is wet. I think I’ve been crying.

“Hey, you’re alright. It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay-”

“But Tori- fucking hell, she’s going after them, and it’s all my fault-”

“Hey, hey, don’t say that. None of this was your fault.” Nick has taken my other hand from his shoulders and into his, squeezing hard. The feeling in my hand returns. “Don’t blame yourself, okay?”

I try to believe him. I’m really trying, and for a while I do, and I buckle into my seat, his hand not leaving mine. He strokes my hand with his thumb while we whirl past the houses covered in the pitch black. It’s so quiet. I wonder what the world would be like if it was always like this

The silence is painful, it’s heavy and tense. I’m still bouncing my leg up and down, so I curl up into the car seat instead.

I can feel nick peering a glace at me every two seconds, without realising it’s making me slightly more anxious so I turn on my phone instead, to see if there are any updates on solitaire’s blog: any clue as to what the hell they’re planning.

And when we’re about a minute away from Higgs School, I see a Facebook post from Lucas Ryan.

‘Solitaire is burning down Higgs’

I’m staring at it. I’ve recoiled my hand away from Nick, touching the screen with shaky fingers. I’m rereading it. I’m trying to make sense of it. Holy shit. There can’t be any way.

“Oh my fucking god.”

My head snaps up to the school across the road from mine, burning down in a fiery blaze of glory, lighting up the whole neighbourhood with an orange glaze.

I’m already out of the car. Nick is out of the car. We’re both running onto the oval, snow crunching under our feet. I didn’t wear any shoes, but that isn’t important, because my sister could be in a fucking burning building. I don’t feel the cold as I’m running across the oval.

Nick isn’t too far behind me, at one point he’s taken my hand again as we rush towards two dark figures on the oval. 

When we get closer I realise it’s Lucas and Becky, and they spot me. they’re rushing over to me and rambling loudly about how they’re sorry and that Tori didn’t come out with them and that they got separated but I stop listening after that because my vision has become kind of hazy, and I’m trying to grapple the fact that Tori is still in there.

Victoria is still in there.

My feet are itching to move. Off of the freezing snow and into the flames. But Nick notices how my eyes keep darting over to the door because his grip on my hand has become intensely tight. 

“Don’t even think about it. We can’t do anything, Charlie.”

So I don’t do anything. I stand there as the flames engulf the burning building, I’m losing feeling in my hands and feet again. I have to move. I have to get in there, I have to save my sister. 

Then Nick gasps and Becky shrieks and I follow their gaze towards the concrete roof of the art conservatory.

Among the blazing orange and yellow fire, a small figure stands on the roof of the building. 

It’s Tori, and her hair is flowing through the cold wind and she’s looking down to the ground below her.

And she’s nearing the edge of the roof.

Without realising I’m dragging nick along with me as I run at full speed toward the roof. My heart starts racing even faster to the speed of fucking lighting when she moves her feet over the edge and by that point I’m already screaming out to her.

“DON’T!”

I’m waving my arms at her frantically. I’m running as fast as I can to the roof. She’s staring down at nick and I. I’m shouting and screaming up to her, to please, don't do it, and I'm so sorry for not listening to you. You felt the same way when I did the same as you and I’m sorry for not being there for you, you were always there for me and I owe so much back to you.

Then there’s another person who appears out of nowhere above her. Tori snaps from her gaze down below to look up, and I can’t make out who she’s talking to. The person is holding a hand down to Tori, and I’m praying to god that she just takes this person’s hand and step away from the ledge before my beating heart bursts out of my chest.

Suddenly Nick is standing in front of me and hoisting me onto his back. He’s clutching my legs as I try and scream louder, harder for Tori to hear me. She shines her torch up at the hand, and I catch a glimpse of Michael Holden. Any bad feelings I once had towards Michael melts away while I silently beg and beg that she just takes his hand anyway. 

Micheal jumps down onto the roof and stands next to her. They’re standing completely still. they must be lost in a desperate conversation, with the sound of crackling wood. People must have gathered around near us, because now there are many yells of joy and despair around me. But I can’t tear my eyes away because I’m watching intently, so closely, watching just to see if Tori’s feet move away from the edge. Please just step away.

And then Michael Holden and Victoria kiss. In the middle of a raging school fire at the brink of dawn. 

But I’m taking that as a win because her feet move away from the edge when Michael pulls her into a hug. 

“Thank fuck.” I hear nick from below me. The crowd around us bursts into a cheer. But I’m not joining them, and neither has Becky (who is now on Lucas’ shoulders) because we’re still waving up at Tori, yelling her name. My arms are so sore and I realise now that I’m not wearing a long-sleeved top but that also doesn’t matter right now, because my sister is up there and shes now looking down at me, and she’s safe, and I’m smiling so hard while sobbing, because she’s safe.

After the fire brigade arrives and rescues Tori and Michael off of the concrete roof, and as soon as she gets down to the oval I climb down off of Nick’s back and rush towards Tori. She’s looking at me in a way I’ve never seen before. I’ve never seen her like this before. But that’s okay, because she’s alive, and she’s here, and I’m now holding her so tight I’m worried that she’ll break.

“Fuck, Tori- never do that again, that was- holy shit-” I’m trying to string together a coherent sentence to tell her I was so scared, I’m so sorry, I can’t lose you, I’m sorry that I didn’t do anything. I’m sobbing extremely hard, to the point of embarrassment, but Tori’s crying too, and there’s this odd feeling of comfort I get while holding my sister who just nearly committed suicide on a burning building. 

She looks up at me, and my heart slowly starts to slow down as she smiles up at me. A genuine smile? I can’t tell. But I smile back anyway, a smile that I hope tells her everything that I can’t put into words, and I pull her into another hug and release a shaky breath.

Tori understands anyway. 

It’ll take a while for me to understand her, but she took that risk for me before.

I’ll return the favour.

[lostmypoppers]

Heartstopper Masochism

An essay on why I keep rewatching Heartstopper even though it is literal trauma...

Apparently, masochism has become my strong suit. Staring at a screen of rolling credits, the eight episode realization hits me: it’s over. A whole season drowns in a cauldron, bubbling with envy, despair, anxiety, and regret. It’s almost as if every conflict wrapped my small intestine around my chest, constricting my lungs, while every release whipped my digestive tract back down, pulling my heart with it. There’s nothing left in my chest and an extra five pounds sitting in my stomach. This was the violent response of a body watching Heartstopper.

Honestly, I feel terrible. It is 1:34 am on a night I cannot afford restlessness. I couldn’t stop. Each “Next Episode” button pushed me towards self assured destruction. By the end, the final montage flashed, displaying the highest points of a tumultuous season. Snowball fights. Secret kisses. Holding each other in the sunlight of an English beach.

Each time they’d hold hands, it was so tight they’d feel the other’s pulse. Nick would wrap them so confidently, as if to ensure Charlie’s continued existence in this plane. The sweetest request for that moment to last forever. Or the next. Or the following. Expressions became livelier, more sentimental, as if their conversations of passed looks and wrapped fingers invented an entirely new language in an entirely new world. Only available to two residents. And so warm. A breath of life would climb up the length of their forearm before the mind could even comprehend the satisfaction and safety. An arm feels heavy without that. Lost as it tries to remember what it can even do anymore.

And why did Nick’s hands move like that? Cupping a face so gentle and firm. It’s almost as if Charlie was a bird with flight risk written all over. Feeling the rugby boy’s palms on his chin, Charlie’s eyes shot fireworks, letting every ounce of light in the establishment reflect  in his irises. The joints would mold, creating the lightest cast across the boy’s skin. It painted glowing hues of red, leaving behind growing ponds of blush. It was like Charlie never knew the soft press of a thumb could make him even meeker. Cheeks stay marked like that for a long time. Whenever retraced, you remember the first. Or the last. Or the middle. But Charlie won’t have to. The hands of a ghost are only truly felt by the nonfictional.

Maybe I can’t cheer on these characters because they’re out of reach. Or their vision at least. My eyes don’t shoot fireworks each time I feel a hand on my cheek. My mom doesn’t gently smile like Nick’s. I can’t even remember the feeling of a hand interlocking mine. Each sincere moment feels like a reminder of where I failed. An itemized list of why my life lacks the indie pop soundtrack and walls filled with memories and movie posters.

The truth is, the whole story is fiction. I am not the main character. Or even a love interest. But for some they get to feel that series as a reality. It may not always be the stud rugby player coming out for them, but there’s someone. A person they do steal kisses with. A person they hold so tightly they can hear their breath like the ocean in a seashell. But as the clock strikes closer towards two, I look around my room with a familiar emptiness. The blank space just fills itself with the incessant typing and the Phoebe Bridgers music I use to feel something.

This space just gets blanker with each day. Piece by piece, I have burned or tossed bits of myself in a haphazard plot line of isolation and loneliness. And with each chapter closed, I learned to leave more and more behind. Phasing myself out of places where I once belonged or places where I wish I did.

Out of these, the family portrait was first to go. It slowly burned each day, with a little less of me holding on. It was like my parents and I kept holding matches, taking turns to burn one another. It started with me coming out. It ended with me telling my mother to get out. Never a lovely moment of acceptance or peace, just tension. After that final standoff, she would leave my apartment that day along with all of my hopes for us. I won’t ever have that Nick moment. The moment where we just hug and say it’s okay and move on. The moment where we remember all of the amazing memories and try to promise more. The moment where we cry and forgive each other for every nasty moment or lost connection. When we said that last goodbye, we gave up. I gave up.

After the parents, came the friends. Every mile that passed in my rearview was another name and a face dropped. Each city I moved to made me practice building walls, burrowing deeper into my temporary bedroom. Each week, I called less, texted less, until I was a ghost. Just an occasional name mentioned over brunch conversations as a “was”, not an “is”. My goofy band of misfits slowly diluted into a one man troupe. I’d never share secrets over milkshakes or watch horrible movies with hilarious commentary with them again. That was the one part I did relate to Charlie. It feels so easy to drift until everything goes silent. Let the friends try to make something out of nothing until they realize communication is futile. Even when you return from the void, the distance doesn’t go away. I always feel a gap. A tool to keep me at a comfortable distance. I’ll sit at every after party, dance at every club, and look onwards as a spectator in some attempt to keep me from faltering. It keeps me out of the storyline. One less plot device in someone’s great tale of triumph.

The final empty space is the one you saved for someone else. Staring at it, you’ll see shadows, like flickering memories of filled corners. It’s just like a funeral over and over. A memorial service where I’m the only one to even mourn. I imagine relief washing over Charlie as he stares into a similar nook to find Nick. They’d kiss, showing the same glowing skin and bright eyes of those eight episodes. I’m not sure I’ll feel that again. Why do people’s eyes light up like that? When was the last time mine did? When did I give up trying to feel that? When I started fading, it felt like I latched onto things just to feel alive. But I could never quite hold on.

Characters like Charlie and Nick make major leaps, grabbing the sky with every jump. They’d reach first with a pinky, then let their shoulders lean in until their necks were forced to close the remaining distance. Each vault towards the other felt less and less relatable. Or attainable. Maybe both. Never looking before the jump, they could trust the end. It was all in the writer’s hand anyways. But I have no writer. No warning over the edge. So I dare not even approach the edge at all. Reduced to another spectator. Afraid to ever even try. Afraid to accept there may be someone worth the jump.

My last attempt was a Summer Boy. His eyes swirled chocolate brown through his glasses. We toured the botanical garden, hues of green and blue, clashing against his white skin and dark shirt. He kept looking down at me and smiling. We talked for hours, feeling so easy and free. His stories felt like gold easily given. The colors felt livelier as he told me every world belief and random factoid with the firmest voice. At the end, he kissed me. Something came alive in me again. He’d reveal things about himself to make me feel like I could join in. Escape with him to a world of two, just like Nick and Charlie.

By the time we met again, summer lost its shine. He played some insane film built on horror, insanity, and weird twists. He held me like we’d get through it together. He grinned, transforming the tiny Macbook into a private theater. By the time the movie was done, his dexterous hand moved to my waist while the other slowly closed the laptop. He pulled me in closer for more. Turns out I wasn’t enough. My body post-surgery had grown stretch marks, grown unrecognizable from the college athlete body I’d held up until college graduation. Once my shirt came off, it was like pulling off a mask. The real monster was now on display. When he led me out, it was like he was escorting a stranger. We never spoke again. I spiraled for a week. The mirror became my worst enemy for months. Still is. Each venture into the shower is a staredown between myself and a monster.

The monster is now between me, myself, and I. It’s almost as if I refuse to open the door. To let someone know I still exist. So I remain the spectator and fade back to the bed, like Charlie. It’s safer this way, to avoid any type of perception. To be perceived is to accept judgment. To feel something is to accept that I’ll have to reveal more. I can’t do it. To be attracted to another person almost feels taboo. If I told another, the rejection comes with a reason. What if they tell me I’m the reason, that I’m not enough. A confirmation of words unspoken for so long.

So maybe I am jealous. Or hateful. Or scared. With an eight episode arc, Heartstopper has managed to round me into a corner where I must confront my issues with a happy ending. To make participation mandatory. My biggest fear. To escape perception has been my safest option for so long. But I want to feel recognition. Acceptance. It’s quite possible I’ll have to change that approach soon. Until then, I’ll most likely rewatch the series with the same masochistic tendencies.

[7r0773r]

Wide Sargasso Sea by Jean Rhys

[Baptiste] spoke politely enough, but I could feel his dislike and contempt. The same contempt as that devil’s when she said, ‘Taste my bull’s blood.’ Meaning that will make you a man. Perhaps. Much I cared for what they thought of me! As for her, I’d forgotten her for the moment. So I shall never understand why, suddenly, bewilderingly, I was certain that everything I had imagined to be truth was false. False. Only the magic and the dream are true—all the rest’s a lie. Let it go. Here is the secret. Here.

(But it is lost, that secret, and those who know it cannot tell it.)

Not lost. I had found it in a hidden place and I’d keep it, hold it fast. As I’d hold her.

I looked at her. She was staring out to the distant sea. She was silence itself.

Sing, Antoinetta. I can hear you now.

                   Here the wind says it has been, it has been                    And the sea says it must be, it must be                    And the sun says it can be, it will be                    And the rain . . . ?

‘You must listen to that. Our rain knows all the songs.’

‘And all the tears?’

‘All, all, all.’

Yes, I will listen to the rain. I will listen to the mountain bird. Oh, a heartstopper is the solitaire’s one note—high, sweet, lonely, magic. You hold your breath to listen . . . No . . . Gone. What was I to say to her?

Do not be sad. Or think Adieu. Never Adieu. We will watch the sun set again—many times, and perhaps we’ll see the Emerald Drop, the green flash that brings good fortune.  And you must laugh and chatter as you used to do—telling me about the battle off the Saints or the picnic at Marie Galante—that famous picnic that turned into a fight. Or the pirates and what they did between voyages. For every voyage might be their last. Sun and sangoree’s a heady mixture. Then—the earthquake. Oh yes, people say that God was angry at the things they did, woke from his sleep, one breath and they were gone. He slept again. But they left their treasure, gold and more than gold. Some of it is found—but the finders never tell, because you see they’d only get one-third then: that’s the law of treasure. They want it all, so never speak of it. Sometimes precious things, or jewels. There’s no end to what they find and sell in secret to some cautious man who weighs and measures, hesitates, asks questions which are not answered, then hands over money in exchange. Everybody knows that gold pieces, treasures, appear in Spanish Town—(here too). In all the islands, from nowhere, from no one knows where. For it is better not to speak of treasure. Better not to tell them.

Yes, better not to tell them. I won’t tell you that I scarcely listened to your stories. I was longing for night and darkness and the time when the moonflowers open.

                   Blot out the moon,                    Pull down the stars,                    Love in the dark, for we’re for the dark                            So soon, so soon.

Like the swaggering pirates, let’s make the most and best and worst of what we have. Give not one-third but everything. All—all—all. Keep nothing back. . . . No, I would say—I  knew what I would say. ‘I have made a terrible mistake. Forgive me.’

I said it, looking at her, seeing the hatred in her eyes—and feeling my own hate spring up to meet it. Again the giddy change, the remembering, the sickening swing back to hate. They bought me, me with your paltry money. You helped them do it. You deceived me, betrayed me, and you’ll do worse if you get the chance. . . . (That girl she look you straight in the eye and talk sweet talk—and it’s lies she tell you. Lies. Her mother was so. They say she worse than her mother.)

. . . If I was bound for hell let it be hell. No more false heavens. No more damned magic. You hate me and I hate you. We’ll see who hates best. But first, first I will destroy your hatred. Now. My hate is colder, stronger, and you’ll have no hate to warm yourself. You will have nothing. 

I did it too. I saw the hate go out of her eyes. I forced it out. And with the hate her beauty. She was only a ghost. A ghost in the grey daylight. Nothing left but hopelessness. Say die and I will die. Say die and watch me die. (pp. 100-02)