#this is just stream of consciousness i apologise for the ramble

[miriamundertale]

i think i can finally really dig into my thoughts on makeine. thank u alya sometimes says her thoughts in russian (i dont care enough to fact check the name its mid) it took a currently airing romance anime to make it fully click

the issue with makeine for me is that it's ostensibly the type of setting and characterization one would do in order to really dig into critique on a lot of romance stories in general. expressly, focusing on the "losing heroines" of a romance is fascinating! something really digging in on the idea of being shot down and the story continuing from that angle is prime ground for something interesting! moreover, nukumizu's entire design is set up to echo background character designs, to the point its a running gag! theres really a great start to something that wants to comment on how disposable a lot of characters can be treated for the narrative, how much internality characters who can be treated as nothing in other stories and framing can really have. but it constantly really refuses to engage with that. it refuses to leave the space of slice of live it's adjusted itself into to really dig into these more. we're on episode 6 and still pushing through premise setup with lemon. specifically, focus on moments that if done in service to this theme, would honestly work better not even shown.

of course, at this point it's hard not to turn the interrogation inward. am i approaching the point where i'm mad that the show isn't the one in my head? partially, yes! it's hard to really distance that part here, makeine is coming up to not be a critique on how easily one can throw away characters once they are no longer narratively useful. but at the same time, these are the bones of this show. the entire thing works off of this core concept! are you that unwilling to really face it? i'm not even sure anymore

also it doesn't help that there was so much setup for an imaginary little sister twist that they cowardly avoided

[russilton]

i know you've probably answered this a thousand times but what is it that makes gewis what it is to you? other than obviously the respect and a tad of idolisation sometimes i feel like they have the teammate dynamic that most is what it seems like from first glance. but i want to get it, because i want to savour their current dynamic before it's changed forever.

Alrighty firstly anon I apologise for making you wait like a week for this answer, it wasn’t one I wanted to rush so I sat on it for a second. (Edit: whoops I rambled for an hour straight, sorry dude, that’s Friday night stream of consciousness for you)

This is just my personal interpretation of Gewis as a dynamic and pairing, other people might not agree, but it’s why I’ve been here for just over two years now, and what I always end up coming back to with every interview, video or quote—

It’s about Respect

You can say a lot about George now, he’s really filled out as a person as he settled into the top end of the grid— he’s found his rhythm, he’s started to experiment with personal independence and brand — but from day one at Williams let alone day one at Mercedes, George has always respected and admired Lewis. He has never been quiet about that fact. In fact he goes above and beyond to be loud about it, not just as a regular expected teammate commitment, but as a true fan.

No one else with a foot on the grid has said the words “greatest of all time” about Lewis as much as George has. It’s not even close, and it came long before George was Lewis’ teammate- the posts of George whooping away in the Singapore 2018 pit lane with the team, or even sitting on Lewis’ side of the garage in 2016 in Abu Dhabi stand as a testament to that.

But beyond that George has also expanded on why he finds Lewis so important to the sport, George has talked about both lewis’ driving skill, his role in shaping British young drivers, and the part Lewis plays in supporting minorities and charities. George was there in 2020 kneeling with Lewis without a blink, he stood up and was one of the first of the drivers to call out the abuse Lewis was receiving from piquet as unacceptable, and what first endeared George to me— he was the only driver at the time to loudly and purposefully call AD21 utterly unacceptable from the second it happened, without waiting for what media would tell him was okay to say.

Then he got into the Mercedes car, and it never faltered. In early 2022 there were constant snips from interviewers asking George how he felt about going against Lewis, if he reveled in scoring more than him, and every time George shot them down, sometimes with a barely concealed eye roll, and proceeded to speak about how Lewis was never going to stay this way, because he’s Lewis Hamilton.

George is no saint, he and Lewis both had their faltering moments, where their races didn’t line up or one of them got the better of the other- but it never lasted. They’d shove each other on track and the next week we’d find out they’d been to dinner in a pub together to talk it out. Strategy would go terribly and the post race interviews would be icy, and then two weeks later they’re talking about sitting in each others laps to sky dive, or going free diving together as a bonding activity. Even when it was horrible like Qatar 2023 you had Lewis diving in front of a camera to apologise for the incident and George falling into his arms looking like he’d been through hell and back without a second of hesitation. They are both so deeply human about each other.

And that leads me to Lewis. We often focus on George because frankly he’s got his heart on his sleeve. It’s easy to know how George feels and thinks and loves. It’s not easy with Lewis- especially if you aren’t looking. But as someone who dedicated far too much of his free time to reading what Lewis says, and archiving the things Lewis says about George, Lewis has said a lot more than people think.

He was reserved at first, for someone who makes his mark with Change, Lewis also doesn’t love it, and it also took him a WHILE to really befriend Valtteri as fully as we now appreciate. That will always be special to Lewis because Val was the stitches on an open wound. George is the physio. He is the next stage of recovery where you push yourself. It’s no surprise to anyone that Lewis wanted to stick with Val a little longer at first. But then he got George—

And it’s not appreciated just how much Lewis evidently threw himself into making George feel at home and listened to. He took George on trips that they’ve both mentioned but kept private. He sat him down to dinner with the team. They shared data and worked hand in hand to try their best to improve some dog shit cars. Lewis has even spoken about sharing set up data with George and working together where he wouldn’t have with other teammates. At the end of 2021 Lewis mused that he’s been trying hard to become a better person, a better teammate, a process he started with Val and put into full force with George. He ignored old impulses and sat hip to hip with this new guy who he watched develop from an awkward gp3 rookie to his teammate. He spoke often about how George wasn’t really new, he was always part of the team, just learning to lead, and Lewis was there to make that as smooth as he could

He saw George as a future for the team, and as much as I avoid thinking about it Lewis has spoke about that, even when he decided to move, he called George a perfect fit for the future of a team he will always adore as his family. There’s no shortage of evidence that despite his best effort to seem detached and private from the grid, Lewis has cared about and supported George’s growth. From dorky Instagram stories of George after his first pole and win, congratulatory comments and hugs, telling anyone who asked that he wanted to be part of George’s growth and future wherever that took him. From big things like dragging George onto the pit fence after their first podium together in France 22 to present him to a crowd, to little things like crossing his fingers over his heart and ignoring an interviewer to chant “go on buddy” watching George qualify in vegas last year. Lewis has been there for it all.

From Sakhir to Singapore Lewis has stood George up after his most painful moments and pushed him to keep going. When all eyes were on George for crashing in Singapore, Lewis was speaking to anyone who would listen about how anyone could have done that including himself, and that he extended support to George without acting as if George wasn’t strong enough to handle it alone. Lewis has always approached George with Respect foremost, and support if he wanted it.

Lewis and George are such and intertwined concept that it’s like a Pandora’s box.

When you stare at the face value idea, they couldn’t seem more different. Cool, older, fashionable athlete with a record so long it would take years to break down, and an awkward younger team shirt wearing driver in his early prime who is only just starting to make a name for himself.

But you pry that lid up and you have an ever expanding web of similarities and dedication. Both of them from what the racing world would label as not well off families who faced and absolute mountain to get into f1, yes Lewis SIGNIFICANTLY more than George ever would, but George himself has marked Lewis as the example he could look to of a British driver like him who still made himself champion without a family connection or money to grease the wheels. I would put money down it was Lewis’ tales of how Ron Dennis supported him, that lead George to approach Toto for the same support when he was facing the end of his career. Lewis went to Mercedes, so that’s where George set his dreams on, because if it was good enough for Lewis and Michael it was what he wanted. You have George in Sakhir cramming bruised and bleeding feet into Lewis’ shoes to try and to fill them for even a second and cementing his future with Lewis’ blessing on his back.

It may seem harder to equalise the depth of George’s hero worship in Lewis— it’s why a lot of people don’t love the ship and I get that— but for me when you look at all Lewis went through in terms of teammates and the hellish experience of Alonso and Nico to the good but temperamental experiences of Jenson and Valtteri— Lewis’ time with George represents growth into something better, something he always said he wanted to be, the driver who supports others. George didn’t ever roll over and give Lewis what he wanted to please him, he pushed Lewis to the limit of his skills and by Lewis’ own admission, sparked a fire in him to keep going harder and higher. To Lewis, George is a jolt on a fire that had been cruelly starved of oxygen, a glimpse of a flame to follow, so different to himself but not different at all.

They are parralells as much as much as they are opposites. Lewis is the teammate George always prayed for, the one he wanted, and the only one he wanted, and for every second he had him George soaked that influence up like sponge. He changed his fashion to try to stick out a little more, he started picking charities he wanted to support because that’s what Lewis did, he decided to make his mark by joining Seb in the GPDA because it’s where he felt he could make the biggest change. George made Lewis his benchmark not as something to beat, but as a target to aspire to. If he was competing with Lewis, then he knew he’d worked hard enough and got it right.

In comparison George wasn’t necessarily what Lewis wanted, but he was what Lewis Needed. In the wake of the worst disrespect the sport could fathom, Lewis got a teammate that would support him at every turn off the grid, but fight him clean and fair on the grid. He got someone who respected him beyond anything, while also helping to put the energy back in him to race and fight and grab victory with his teeth. He got a test in the principals he wanted to become, a test that rewarded him with adoration.

George and Lewis are dawn and dusk, different, but ultimately bridges to each other. They love so fiercely, intensely, and with joy, that it just feels impossible to me not to look at them and fall into an endless fall of what ifs. They stand alone without need for each other- but they also make each other better

[lopsidedtreetrunks]

Here is my submission for @dribbonart 's amedot fusion competition! I like her a lot, although there are a couple of things I probably could have done a bit better lol

Steven is there for height comparison. All of the text on the page is in the alt text :)

I have A LOT of notes under the cut, which can get a bit stream-of-consciousness-y (because I can never just be chill about something bsdjaksjdlskd),, so I apologise in advance for how long it is 😭

Early research notes:

Mixing amethyst and peridot's skin colours together gets you a kind of sage green colour, so I researched to light green gems

Aventurine stuck out to me as it was the only one i found where it was actually described as sage green, so i thought 'that's perfect' lol

A lot of the healing properties of green aventurine I think resonate with both amethyst and peridot's personalities, from its promotion of friendship to its emission of positive energy

I liked that one of the sites i used to research aventurine mentioned ancient civilisations' usage of green aventurine and i wanted to incorporate that into the fusion's design/personality

It's important to me for her to have aspects of both amethyst and peridot shown in the design somewhere. Most of the time when i design fan fusions I do this in their hair, which is not different this time. I made her hair long, with a bushy tail on her braid representing amethyst, and her three skull braids representing peridot's triangle hair. Her hair is also in a braid bc when i hear the word adventure for some reason the first thing i think of is Lara Croft so,,, thats why i gave her a braid 😅

I wanted her body design to kind of resemble athleisure-wear since she loves relaxing but can get up and go at any point, ready for adventure! She also doesn't need to be complicated. I don't think she needs extra limbs etc since she has her vision power.

Obviously the crystal gems are very important to both amethyst and peridot, so I wanted to give her at least one star on her body. Her torso seemed like the most obvious place, but I'm not sure if she should have more elsewhere, too. The star on her torso can be like a tattoo.

I think she would be very intense in her love for her friends, which might make people uncomfortable. She will back off if she senses this, but she means well I promise!!

She can be spontaneous when it comes to her adventuring, sometimes dragging Steven and the other gems from their beds to go on a Cool Adventure (pearl is NOT a fan of this lmao)

When I say 'adventuring' I really mean just travelling and/or exploring new places, which could be anything from a new city to a deep jungle. Normally these adventures don't last longer than a couple of days... unless they get lost..........

A few amedot related rambles notes:

One of my favourite things about amedot is that they're sooo opposite. I'm such a big opposites-attract truther almost everything I ship there's one puppy dog and one wet cat there's nothing i love more than polar opposite pairings <3

With that said they also share a few things (cough being short asses cough) such as their love of their friends (even if they show it in different ways) and they can both be pretty headstrong. They both had their own journeys - amethyst with her self confidence and feeling inferior, and peridot with unlearning the system of homeworld and the traditions she was so used to. They both had to learn how to love themselves enough to be able to stand up for what they believe in and to let themselves be true to themselves (i hope that makes sense lol)

I think their opposing traits can be quite complementary. Peridot is quite intense; she gets excited about her favourite things and she gets embarrassed easily. Amethyst is more laid-back and tends to roll her own way. They complement each other well.

More refined notes:

Amethyst's personality: Mellow Lazy/messy (affectionate) Improved self-esteem Fiercely loyal

Peridot's personality: Self-confident Smart (robotics) Analytical Intense interests/personality Learned to enjoy life/appreciate Earth

Aventurine properties:

Quartz

Name comes from Italian for adventure

Known as a heart-healer for it's relation to the heart chakra

Said to bring prosperity in all facets of life

Emits a positive energy, slows overactive minds, guides lost spirits, promotes friendships

Ancients Tibetans used it in statues, believing it's glimmer gave them higher vision

Amazon tribes used it in jewellery, believing it gave their royalty and warriors guidance in battles

Aventurine personality:

Self-confident

Enjoys seeking adventure but really values her downtime

Adores her friends - loyal

Can take charge if needed

Can be spontaneous with adventuring

Emotional decision-maker

Although she is very smart, she tends to think with her heart rather than her head

She has a special power - higher vision grants her the ability to see for miles and can focus in any person/thing in the present

Similar to Sapphire's future vision but stays in the present

She gets her street smarts and go-with-the-flow attitude from Amethyst

She gets her intense love and confidence from Peridot

Hyper but content in life

[louisfriend-ironsulfide]

Hi! Enormous fan of your work! I was wondering if I can request a clannibal fic? Can it be from Hannibal's point of view where he is thinking about Clarice and how he likes her more than he should and then it hits him like a truck he's in love with her? Idk if this concept has been done before but I would like to read your take on it nonetheless!

Thank you!! I’m finally getting around to the stuff in my inbox (it’s been a busy month!) so I’m sorry for the long wait~

This was a very cute request, and I love this sort of thing! I’m not sure if it’s been done before, but I gave it a go. I apologise if this isn’t exactly what you had in mind, but it gave me the inspiration to write something in a rambling stream-of-consciousness style from Hannibal’s POV. It’s set at the end of chapter 101.

(Word count: 1566)

~+~

The thought that stopped him, sudden and still, as he moved to cross the expanse that separated them was one of love.

Ummm.

Love was such an immeasurably foreign and puerile concept to him, and yet he was suddenly suspended by it, like the drop of Chateau d'Yquem glistening in the warm firelight upon Clarice Starling’s skin… teetering on the edge of falling.

When had he fallen, he wondered?

For he certainly had, a long time ago.

He realized it that evening, knelt at her feet, as the last of his delusions (yes, he would admit that his goals for Mischa and the reversal of entropy had been delusions) were stripped away.

…

Over the course of the previous decade, Hannibal Lecter had found that a pleasant warmth swelled within him at the thought or, better yet, the sight of Clarice Starling. And he’d chalked it down, originally, to a deep sense of yearning for his lost sister Mischa.

Yet, he realized now that the deep-rooted sensation of pleasure that followed any mention of Clarice Starling was most certainly not related to wistful nostalgia, nor was it necessarily platonic or familial.

Kneeling before her then, with her pale skin exposed and the drop of wine still suspended in the firelight upon it, he seemed to see all at once across the bounds of his own experience.

Again, he asked himself that question; when had he fallen? Fallen; like Icarus, except it seemed as though he were falling towards the sun rather than away from it.

When had Hannibal Lecter gone from a casual observer of Clarice Starling, to an active and reverent pursuer; the type to risk his own freedom for nothing more than the pleasure of watching her run?

He thought back, and found many significant points of interest framed on the walls of his memory palace- little interactions that had slowly and periodically cemented her place in the forefront of his mind as a person of deep importance, worthy of his time and respect.

He remembered first seeing her, of course. He wasn’t sure he could ever forget it; the sound of her heels followed by her scent and then finally her face, simple and firm and steadfast.

It hadn’t been love at first sight; that was one of the very few things of which he was certain when it came to matters concerning her. He’d been intrigued by her, sure, and a little amused, but not in love.

He’d tried to toy with her, he remembered. Like a prospective buyer browsing kittens at a pet store, dangling a piece of yarn just out of the reach of each one.

Maybe he’d first begun to fall when she’d resisted his toying; when she’d toyed with him right back. When he’d tried to tear her down where she stood, picking apart all the little things he knew she’d be insecure about, and she'd met him with her level prairie gaze. She hadn’t been foolish enough to feign bravado and impenetrability. No, she’d been strong enough to admit that he’d hurt her, and then she'd shot at him right back.

Are you strong enough to point that high-powered perception at yourself? It's hard to face.

Hard to face, indeed.

He continued on, tracking through the history they shared. The next thought that came to mind - the next poignant, shining scene that encapsulated so exquisitely her essence - was the evening on which she’d returned to him after finding his ‘valentine’.

It’d been so late, and yet she hadn’t gone home to sleep her exhaustion off. She could have returned to him the next morning. But instead she’d gone straight to that dim dungeon - to the pits of Baltimore - to discuss the severed head she’d discovered at his instruction.

She’d driven through the pitch black and she’d hurried down to his basement, dripping wet and smelling so sweetly of autumn and rain and natural musk and the tiniest hints of blood from her scratch. She’d forgone the chair to sit down, criss-cross-applesauce, before his cell so they’d been even.

Do not touch the glass. Do not approach the glass.

If she’d have leaned forwards any further, her face would’ve rested against the cold surface.

If he attempts to pass you anything, do not accept it.

He remembered how she’d jumped a little at the food slider, opening by her head, with his offering of the clean, folded towel within. It was one of the few nice things he’d owned, living within his sad little box. He hadn’t, at the time, been sure of why exactly he’d offered it to her. She’d taken it and toweled her dripping hair, and he’d watched from the darkness with a sense of falling.

Little things like that had endeared him to her. Little breaches of the rules. Things she did, things she said. Every unexpected turn she took, and every time she’d returned to him without prompting.

The shock of her hair in the otherwise dim and drab holding room in Memphis; the pleasure of her unexpected company and the immense glee he’d felt knowing he’d be able to converse with her one final time before his escape.

The shock of her hair had appeared again, so many times, and it stood out to him as a significant symbol. The walls of her dedicated room within his memory palace were painted that winter-sunset orange.

So many times had the ruddish color of her hair caused his breath to stall in his chest.

Twice he’d seen it in the newspapers when in Florence, when her face had been plastered unjustly across the dreadful tabloids.

Then again he’d seen it when she’d been bounding through Virginia State Park amongst the deer, her ponytail bobbing behind her, leaving seemingly a trail of light in her wake.

And then again, when he’d caught sight of her moving, silent and deadly, along the low wall of Mason Verger’s barn with one goal in mind; finding him.

He’d been seconds away from an undoubtedly slow and excruciating death. And, yet, all he’d been able to focus on as she’d cut him loose had been the color of her hair and how endeared he’d become to her southern drawl.

Then, of course, there’d been the two sharp snicks of the Sardinians’ darts, and he’d watched her hair arc as she’d fallen to the ground.

He’d lifted her deftly into his arms- she’d freed him, and now he would free her. It’d been the first time he’d touched her since Memphis.

He’d carried her away, and thus the next phase of their relationship had begun to flourish.

The days following the incident at the barn had been strange. It’d been an exploration for them both; finally, they were able to breathe, in that place outside of time on the banks of the Chesapeake. They’d finally had the opportunity to bathe in one another’s company after such an extensive period apart.

Days of healing. Days of talk. Days of sleep and strong broth and omelettes.

And, throughout it all, Dr Lecter had retreated into a clinical mindset; he’d stepped back from his own interests and he’d forced himself to view Starling objectively, as a patient more than anything, even as he’d stripped and stitched and washed and clothed and fed her.

Dr Lecter learned that obsession from a distance was very different to obsession in proximity. Clarice Starling- close enough to touch, and still simultaneously so far away from him.

He’d had to lock himself away because he was unsure of the ways in which he may have reacted, with her being so close and so free in her own wit; all due to the deep touch of the benzodiazepines he’d given her, to aid in her development and healing.

Again, he’d foolishly blamed the rising memories of Mischa for his loosening grip on his usually iron-clad control. He knew better, now, of course.

How blind he’d been… a psychiatrist, seemingly an expert in human nature, yet he’d still been so naive to his own emotions.

His clinical facade had finally started to crack when she’d stepped down the stairs earlier that fateful evening, swathed in pale silk and completely raw in her radiant beauty.

The crack had grown as he’d sat across from her at his long dining table under the gentle glow of the candles, her lips shining from the butter sauce.

And it had broken completely when the climax of the evening had arrived; when she’d knocked the teacup from the table. He’d watched the cup shatter - felt his own mind shatter with it - and the shards were still.

…

Hannibal Lecter blinked once, and found himself suddenly back in the present; back on the floor of the drawing room.

Clarice Starling was waiting patiently, her brows furrowed as she waited for him to move; so completely and utterly statuesque was he, aside from the rise and fall of his chest.

Her lips were parted slightly… pale skin, now flushed, tinged golden from the fire… tigers-eyes cast downwards on him, wide and wild and slightly unsure… the drop of wine quivering upon her breast with each labored breath…

And again, under the light of her exquisite beauty, he felt the full force of his realization;

Love.

Ah… So this was what it felt like?

How foolish. How utterly predictable. How all-consuming.

Hannibal Lecter fell gladly, as he bent to her coral and cream in the firelight his dark sleek head.

[thessalian]

My reassurance to everyone I interact with even peripherally:

I am not a social person. I have some pretty major social trauma and equally massive social anxiety as a result. The only people I interact with involuntarily are customer service people of whatever kind, my co-workers, and, on occasion, my family. And that's only if I can't get out of it. I am happy being all by myself, so if someone is even peripherally in my life, it is because I want them there.

If you are worried about talking to me, thinking I am somehow "just putting up with you" ... I don't "just put up with" anyone unless money or shared genetics is involved. You're good.

If I seem cranky, nine times out of ten it is not with you, and I will always apologise for taking the cranky out on you, and I will also always explain why I am cranky.

That goes even if you did somehow put your foot in it. I will probably say something snappish and angry-sounding because I am a human being with emotions, but give me a minute, because then I will take a deep breath, apologise for snapping, and explain what upset me so much. That way we can get back on the same page faster.

I may be in a mode where I can't deal with people. I have those. I will generally at least try to say, "Sorry; can't People today". Even if I can't, please don't take it personally. I have Brain Chemistry Issues. Just accept whatever stream-of-consciousness ramble or weird bit of trivia or straight-up meme I hurl at you when I am able to People again, as this is the equivalent of a bouquet of flowers apologising for my absence.

Please always remember that you enrich my life just by being in it. Whether it's regular conversation or just bombarding me with cute animal vids, you are here because I love you, and I love you because you're here. Okay?

(Also yes I do notice when you, for instance, go on a massive posting frenzy about something I also like. My dash has been non-stop Locked Tomb from one of y'all who I met through the Toby Daye fandom and I've been smiling about it ever since.)

[stuffandwonder]

Stream of consciousness for g m e now I've watched the VoD. Honestly whilst there were a few really good moments and it is fun I never lose my mind over moments like other people on here seem to and I really need to stop paying for gme because even for the good moments I cannot tolerate drunk, rambly Link well enough even with several drinks in me lol.

Why is Link always so clueless (or disinterested?) in these pre shows?

They are fucking idiots omg (this was for the 69ing which was so ship baity lmao)

You forgot Brittany!

Okay if you are gonna jumpscare us, which I assume is what's gonna happen here, can you fucking get on with it? This is taking waaay to long

WELL THAT WAS UNDERWELMING

Rhett wrestling with Brittany lmao

I can't get over how good Rhetts werewolf costume is and he actually looks great! Links costume/make up is kinda underwhelming in contrast even tho he totally suits a vampire get up.

All this calling him good boy and talking to Rhett in a baby voice that you'd talk to a dog in is really asking for another puppy fanfic lmao

Why is Link all gushy? Is he really that drunk already?!

Lol Link getting up to sexy dance after the baby dick joke and then immediately forgetting why he was dancing. Maybe he IS that drunk already

SOMEONE GET THIS DRUNK DUMMY TO SHUT THE FUCK UP 🤣 (this is about Link in case you couldn't guess)

Actually everything that is annoying about Link gets amplified by 10 when he drinks and in my opinion is not balanced out by the funny-ness of any chaos the drunkenness creates, which is why I wish they'd do these sober. Keep the adult content and the general chaos that creates (and the Halloween theme, that's cool) just nix the alcohol so Link doesn't just keep rambling, forgetting what they're doing and talking over people worse than normal 😅

Oh no poor Rhett tripping over the gory hole board haha 😅

The oral fixation Rhett is developing with this lighthouse and the 'nipple on top' is sending me

Links over there talking about worrying about being cancelled and Rhett is humping Chases leg lmao

Brittany's head spinning around at like a 100mph was so funny 😅

CHARLES?! OH NO 😂

"Stevie, can I just take the reins for once"

Rhett: "thanks for asking for once" *absolutely loses it* I love how much that tickled Rhett

Poor Stevie desperately trying to keep things on track when Link is GONE (seriously what is he babbling about?!)

"This doesn't seem that hard baby"

"Jessie, I'm sorry" Stevie its not YOU that's needs to be apologising to Jessie rn lol. I don't know how she puts up with this from Rhett every year lol

Rhetts an absolute saint for putting up with Link when he's like this honestly, I would legitimately be braining the guy

Rhetts reeeally pressing Links head into that desk like he's fully got his fingers in his hair and everything. And Link seems like he kinda likes it 👀

I FEEL LIKE I'M AN EMBARRASMENT 🤣🤣🤣 Yeah you are boi!

Rhett: Stevie you don't always have to be the only one holding the thread. *nearly knocks drink over* lol

[toomanytookas]

Ah! Omg!! Jo!!! For some reason I didn’t expect you to answer everything? I’m so sorry I know that was just like a stream of consciousness boatload of questions. You’re definitely the sweet one here. Thanks for indulging me, I’m a bit (a lot) of an editing nerd and this really fed my curiosity and interest in your process. 💕🥹

I apologise, I ramble below.

I really love how well you know your own writing tendencies and how you strategise to try and optimise how your approach to editing will work with that. And I don’t think your process sounds weird at all!

The inverted background thing is a trick I might have to steal! I change the font from sans serif to serif for a pass but I haven’t tried the background before.

I adored what you said about your philosophy of giving yourself space to make sure you love everything about what you’re going to publish. I imagine it might still be hard sometimes not to feel like there are expectations to stick to a schedule or share your work with a high frequency, but that sounds like such a great way to give yourself permission to take your time as you want to and need to in order to be in love with the story in the end and get to enjoy it when you go back to read it for yourself.

It kind of reminds me of what we were talking about in terms of feeling a sense of “lateness” and needing to recognise that the pressure of that is partially self-imposed… I want to be fully happy that what I write (comment, reply, fic, anything) is what I want to say and so I sometimes that means I can’t quite meet the schedule I think I should be on in my head.

For replies or comments where someone knows I’ve read the work, I often will kind of add a little stop-gap reply or DM to try and show that I am thinking about something, but everyone is always so quick to say “take your time, it’s okay,” which I really appreciate and makes me realise that my perception of needing to be immediate is maybe of my own manufacture. I think maybe embracing an “it will be done when I’m happy with it/when I love it” mindset and focusing less on how long that ends up taking might be useful.

I’ve traced how long it takes me to write a proper comment before and it can genuinely be an hour or more of writing and shaping and often I need to take breaks or come back to things (For example I started writing this 3 hours ago although I promise I haven’t been literally writing it for three hours 😅), so I definitely need to be realistic with myself about how many responses and comments I can tackle in a day.

Ok I just wanted to respond to one more thing? Sorry again this is so long. You’re probably just like M SHUT UP ALREADY I DIDN’T ASK FOR THIS. 😅

I really enjoyed hearing how you made the DMY song adjustments! I think that’s a really neat way to put yourself in a mindset to perceive the flexibility of what’s on the page. I’m new to writing 2nd person/reader insert but it seems like that kind of approach could be adapted for a lot of different elements in addition to music!

Thank you so, so much for entertaining my questions, Jo. You know how much I love your writing and it makes me want to know everything about the work you put into it so that I can appreciate it even more. 🥰

Hello fellow scout,

I’m here on official scout business! I would love, love, love to know what your writing process looks like - do you meticulously plot out everything beforehand or are you a dash out ideas in note form and see what your characters are up to kind of person? Does everything get written on your phone or are you a big screen only kind of writer? Do you only get inspo first thing in the morning or last thing at night?!

I’d love to hear anything you’d like to share!

Much love,

Al 🖤

Al!! 🩷 i love this question, but i need to apologise now for how lengthy this is likely about to get, because your girl does not have a linear process.

for your eyes and ease, i have listed in bullet points:

sometimes, i need a detailed plot if there's lots of moving parts within the piece. so if there's lots of build up and i need to weave, then a chapter by chapter (but this isn't rigid) process needs to be built.

but often, I'll have the summary, and then i write the ending/last scene first. because then i have a direction.

i try to then write the beginning scene/opening chapter, even if it's the roughest (because first chapters and opening scenes are always - in my opinion - my weakest) because then it's there.

from then, i fuck about and find out. sometimes i know X, Y and Z needs to happen before i reach the ending, and sometimes a scene will pop up in my head that I decide needs to be in it, and so i then have to move things around to make it work.

if it's a series, I'll have a document of rolling ideas, a document of dialogue (dialogue comes to me easier than scenes) and then my plot. if it's a one shot, I'll separate the document into sections to achieve this so i can work in one place.

before i get into the gritty of it, i need to know my characters. for pedro boys, it's a little easier as I'll already have a concrete-ish idea of who they are, but the person they're paired with often i need to spend a bit of time with. usually they either come to me or i have to work a bit harder (use spotify to find their song, pinterest to find their vibe and play around with dialogue to find their voice).

phone versus PC: i write on both, i tend to find i can write my first draft on my phone - this does also allow me to move around rooms. sometimes, i start something in one room, and then need to sit somewhere else. i can write on my laptop, but the vibe and the mood needs to be right, but my phone doesn't need a lot of that. i can only edit on my laptop though, and usually in a quiet room (i'm dyslexic, so i dread to think what would happen if i didn't). when i edit on my phone, it's for a quick drabble and I'll spend so long editing that i give myself a headache... not ideal.

poor @goodwithcheese and @secretelephanttattoo know the wind can blow and i get inspo. i am somehow incapable of having ideas, it's just that some are like fun "OMG IMAGINE" and some are like, "i need to write this". but i can only write either later at night (post 7pm) or early in the morning (4am-7am) anything between 7-7pm has to be like so good i can't put it down. it does happen, but it's rare and special when it happens. (do me yourself is the exception, if i can squirrel myself away, i can write it, it's the most fun I've had writing in a really long time).

EXTRA BONUS FACT: music is always involved. i have playlists for almost all moods and some fics, and often, i can't begin something without a song. music matters to me a lot.

EXTRA EXTRA BONUS FACT: my commute is 30 mins each way and i usually turn over difficult ideas or issues in plots, and so this either leads to a voice note that i have to cringingly listen back to, OR a note OR, i work out i need to rewrite the chapter. ugh.

I am sure there's likely more jo-weirdness, but i feel I've talked so much, so i'm going to stop, but feel free to ask follow ups if I've not been clear hahaha.

ily, thank you so much for this lovely ask

[outer-space-beech]

I’m gonna tell you a story about my journey that isn’t yet complete

I majorly changed my wardrobe recently and I’ve been loving it, I feel so much more confident than before by something simple as a shirt. I even dyed my hair purple on a whim. But I was mildly apprehensive about my family’s reaction, they can be a bit judgy sometimes.

I walked out into the kitchen last night in my button up shirt (which is a men’s and a type of outfit I’ve never worn before) and my dad said he liked my shirt and that it complimented my hair really well, he also said he liked the colour my hair is fading to (the weird in between purple and blonde). Let me give some context by saying that my dad never comments on our outfits, simply a “you look nice” when we ask for his opinion - so him saying all of that almost made me tear up.

And right now I’m at a family gathering wearing the same shirt and with my same purple hair. My family can be a bit traditional, not so much that it’s weird and uncomfortable but enough that purple hair would set them off. I walked in expecting looks and comments, but when I greeted my pa he said that I looked beautiful and that I should never think I’m not.

Some people may not care about this type of stuff because their families are accepting and don’t really mind if someone is a bit different, others may have more extreme cases of families being judgmental (my heart goes out to you). But for me I’ve been told for a very long time what parts of myself I need to change slightly to be more appealing to everyone else.

Unfortunately the person I’m most worried about is my mum, she’s out of the country atm and will be back in a few days. She is probably the most judgemental of my outfits than anyone else I know, constantly telling me I’m too pale to wear something that I really like and that people will think it looks silly (as if I dress to impress other people when I don’t). Any pale or white piece of clothing I have she makes me get a tan to wear (I hate tans for a plethora of reasons that I don’t wanna list today). It’s a big problem and I’m trying to break her down slowly to just accept it but she won’t.

I guess that’s it, I kinda just wanted to vent and get all my thoughts off my chest. On one hand I’m super happy about the acceptance I’ve already got but I’m also incredibly nervous about how far I’ve still got to go - because I still haven’t come out to anyone except my sister. Maybe I’ll revisit this post and update, maybe I’ll let it drift into the void.

Thanks for reading if you made it this far

[spectrumed]

20. talk to me

I talk. Quite a lot. I am a good talker. My brain talks to me. I know that the internet has been set ablaze lately discoursing about how the brain’s mental mechanics differ from person to person. Some have an inner monologue going on at all times, others don’t. Some are able to visualise information quite easily in their head, whereas others suffer from total aphantasia. Though, I am not sure if I am supposed to refer to aphantasiacs as “sufferers.” According to those blank-minded dorks, everyone else seems utterly insane when they go on talking about how just thinking about an apple makes them literally see the fruit right in front of them. I am sure that to those that have never experienced what it is like to feel like some big stormy cloud of chaos walking with two legs, what I would consider to be my normal level of mental functioning would to them appear to be utter lunacy. Not only do I have an inner monologue, I often have three or five of them at the same time. And quite often, at least one of them is being needlessly shouty.

When needed I am able to connect one of these rambling inner monologues straight to my mouth. My lips move, spilling out words in that typical stream of consciousness style that some time ago dominated the literary genre. Remember that? When nearly every new book that came out was written in a pretentious stream of consciousness style that made it practically impossible to keep up with even the slimmest of narratives? Well, I guess that I can’t be looking down on those writers, because what is this blog if not a burlesque feast of stream of consciousness diatribes. Still, what I am attempting to get at is that when I am expected to talk, I can go on talking for a long time. Perhaps even eternally, if not for the fact that I’d occasionally need to eat and drink, and that of course one day I would inevitably die from old age unless it were to turn out that vampires do indeed exist and they are absolutely desperate to see me continue talking. Surely, I am fascinating enough to get the attention of the blood-drinking fiends of the night?

I have, at times in the past, found myself talking too much. Not by intention, mind you, but I have been accused of the occasional railroading of conversations, or at other times derailing conversations, generally acting like quite the irresponsible rail driver. All conversation is narrative, and I all too frequently act like the sole author. But, y’know, it is easier that way because others are so damn quiet. And so damn shy. I’ve come to loathe shy people. Those mousy little irritants. No matter how many times I try to pressure them to talk, to make their piece heard, they keep on murmuring in that silent little hum that makes everyone nearby wonder if they have all suddenly gone deaf, or if it is truly possible for a person’s voice to be so truly lacking in volume. Speak up! Say something without spending five minutes first apologising for your mere existence. You are a human, a radiant spark of intelligence and ingenuity, not some pesky rodent that must hide away from sight in the stinking sewers underneath our feet. Don’t you have anything to contribute to this conversation? No? Then why should I feel guilt over being so awfully domineering? I talk too much? You don’t talk at all!

But, still, I’ve done work on myself. I aim towards self-improvement. I try to be more considerate, patient, and generally less of an ass. I seek to be liked, of course I want to be liked. It is often assumed that autistic people don’t aim to please, that we’re so deep in our own heads that if we come across as unlikeable, we don’t much care what you think about us. Of course, this is a gross misconception, just part of the wider plethora of misunderstandings that if I tried to dispel them all, I’d end up working on this blog 24-7 for decades to come. “But Fred, you can’t be autistic, you are a very empathetic person!” “Okay, maybe you are autistic, but you’re not like those other autistic people.” The way that much of society seems to labour under the impression that autism is in some way comparable to psychopathy causes me some concern. Certainly telling people to be more sympathetic with autistic folks is going to get an awful lot harder if the general conception of autistic folks is that we’re all a bunch of inconsiderate jerks.

I’ve put it this way in the past, conversations are like a minefield. All the little stuff, all the unspoken stuff, the subtleties of body language, the slight emotional timbre of the voice, the at times arcane context you must keep in mind before opening your mouth, all those things are the landmines. To some it is easy to spot these traps from a far distance. But to those of us who suffer a constant flurry of thoughts, those of us who at times can’t help but babble on, clumsily but enthusiastically, the probability is high of accidentally placing your foot somewhere it doesn’t belong. “Sorry, I know how that came across, but I didn’t mean it that way. I used the wrong word. I used a word whereas I shouldn’t have used no word, silly me.” Sure, it is true that autistic people can often accidentally offend others, but the thing about not seeing the landmines, you still feel it when they explode.

I have noticed, in the last few years, as I’ve gotten better at talking to others, less impatient and more concerned with what others wish to communicate, I am still scolded for talking too much. Believe me, I have improved, I go into conversations now actively monitoring myself, exercising a great deal of restraint, but effort has largely gone unrecognised. I know that, as a person, it is difficult to judge oneself objectively, and I recognized that I may come across as being somewhat conceited in this, claiming that others are wrong when saying that I talk too much. Though, the funny thing I’ve learned, the years I’ve spent living with autism, is that neurotypical folks, they sure don’t spend a lot of time thinking about others. Try as much as you might to make changes to your way of being, the odds of anyone picking up on it? Don’t kid yourself, this effort of yours simply won’t go recognised.

I don’t wish to bellow like some bore about family drama, but I had an instance recently of my sister constantly interrupting me in a conversation we had, declaring that I talk too much and I should just shut up and let her speak. And true, I do talk too much, but in this conversation I had barely gotten more than a couple of sentences out. We were all a little tipsy, so I am not going to say that any of us were at our peak performance, but it struck me how in my sister’s mind, it just wasn’t even a possibility that she was the one dominating the conversation. That she, the non-autistic sibling, was the one acting like the ass. No, no, the established narrative, the way these things work is that Fred is the one talking too much, so it is never wrong to interrupt Fred. The fact that we had found ourselves very much in the reverse positions didn’t occur to her at that moment. Because, of course, people never change, do they?

It is hard not to occasionally feel beaten down and bitter. Here you are, stuck between balancing your own output, with your willingness to hear from others. Here I am writing another blog post. How many blogs do I read? Do I subscribe to any other blogs about living with autism? I’m just some dumb puppet going on and on about my own experiences, expecting people to listen, but do I actually listen in return? If we are meant to have a conversation, it should go roughly fifty-fifty, right? A fair exchange of ideas, back and forth, like a dance. You scratch my back, I scratch yours. But how are you supposed to handle this great communion with people who either, a, don’t want to fully participate out of shyness, or b, actively refuse to believe you’re doing your best trying to do better than you did in your past? Should I talk, or shouldn’t I talk? What must I do to convince you that I am coming at this in good faith?

A consequence of living with some psychiatric diagnosis, whatever it may be, is that you will often find yourself working harder at improving yourself, at cultivating good mental health for yourself, than the majority of people without any psychiatric diagnosis. Want to find a real mess of a human being, someone barely able to keep it together? Don’t go looking for people diagnosed with mental illness, we’re the ones actually working on ourselves. And at times it feels unfair, to have spent so much time trying to rehabilitate these fundamental parts of your psyche, only to still get stereotyped. Only to still get told that you’re hopeless.

[stories-sometimes]

I’ve Made A Huge Mistake{10/?}

Peter Parker x Reader, Quentin Beck x Reader

Summary: Peter just wanted to enjoy his trip to Europe, maybe even confess his feelings to his best friends.But along came a mysterious new hero to ruin those plans. Peter and his class are aged up and in college.

Warnings: Violence in later chapters, manipulation, age gap

Word Count: 1673

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Peter awoke, every atom in his body in almost unbearable pain. He felt a patch of dried blood on his cheek and the bruises forming under his eye. No matter how quickly he healed, he’d always go through that moment of agony. He looked down, noticing a bright orange football shirt draped over his torso. He looked around, seeing three other men, all with orange body paint and the Dutch flag painted over them.

“Hi.” The one to his left greeted him.

“Where am I?” Peter asked, still dazed.

“Municipal holding facility.”

“They said they found you unconscious at a train yard. Very dangerous.” Another said.

“We gave you the shirt because you looked a bit cold.” The final explained.

“Thanks,” Peter replied, his consciousness slowly coming back, “You guys are really nice, You speak really good English.” He continued to ramble.

“Welcome to the Netherlands.” They said in unison.

“I’m in the Netherlands, right now?” They all nodded in response, dread quickly filling Peter. “Guard!” Peter shouted, rushing towards the cell’s door.

“The guard’s on a break, properly talking to his wife.”

“Yeah, she’s pregnant.”

“Oh ja, what luck.” Peter wrapped his hand around the padlock, easily breaking it and stepping out of the cell. He left the facility unseen by the guard and made his way to the marketplace outside. He limped his way over to a man by a vegetable stall.

“Excuse me sir, can I borrow your phone.” The man immediately passed it over with a friendly smile, “Thanks, everyone’s so nice here.” He pondered on who to call. Calling her might put her in danger, MJ and Ned wouldn’t be able to do anything with him in the Netherlands, May would just freak out.

“Hi Happy, I messed up, I, I need a ride. Where am I? Um, sir, where am I?” The Dutchman answered, “Could you say that into here?” Peter handed the phone back over.

“Broek op Langedijk.”

“Thank you.” Peter said before walking out of the town centre. There was a vast tulip field a few minutes away, where Peter saw Happy’s jet landing.

“Peter, are you okay?” Happy asked, concerned as he stepped off the jet.

“Wait.” Peter raised his hand, still paranoid about Beck’s illusions. “Tell me something only you’d know.”

“What?”

“Just tell me, please.” He was desperate now.

“Okay,” Happy racked his brain for a second. “Remember when we went to Germany? You pay-for-viewed a video in your room? They didn't list the titles, but I could tell by the price it was an adult film at the front desk. And you didn't know how I knew-”

“Okay, okay, you can stop.” Peter cut him off, feeling heat rush to his cheeks.

“Come on, you need to relax.” Happy instructed once he was stitching Peter up.

“Don't tell me to relax, Happy! how can I relax when I've messed up so bad? I trusted Beck. Right? I thought he was my friend so I gave him the only thing that Mr Stark left behind for me and now he's going to kill my friends and half of Europe.” Peter snapped, “And, and she’s with, doing God knows what. I can’t get a hold of her, so I don’t know if she’s safe or dead in a ditch. She’s trapped with him and I didn’t do anything to stop it. So please don’t tell me to relax.” Peter continued, tears threatening to spill. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t shout. I just feel like I’m letting Mr Stark down. I can’t do it, I’m not Iron Man.”

“You're not Iron Man. You're never going to be Iron Man. Nobody can live up to Tony. Not even Tony. Tony was my best friend. And he was a mess. He second-guessed everything he did, he was all over the place. The one thing he did that he didn't second-guess was picking you. I don't think Tony would've done what he did... if he didn't know that you were going to be here after he was gone.”

“Thanks.” He mumbled.

“Tony really liked her.” Happy mentioned.

“Yeah.”

“Absolutely, when he first met her she walked into the lab, straight away corrected one of his calculations and then immediately started apologising profusely. And all Tony could do was laugh, that this teenage girl waltzed into his home with all the confidence in the world, then switched into this sweet little girl who didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. He thought it was all hilarious. He thought she was good for you. She was smart, kind, supportive and willing to put up with all the shit that comes with dating a superhero.”

“Oh, we, we weren’t or aren’t dating.” Peter turned slightly red at the implication.

“Never really understood that.” He muttered under his breath, “So, where to Spiderman?”

“Um, pass me your phone.” After Happy handed it over, Peter pulled up Instagram, finding Flash live streaming.

“Ello governor, cup of tea for you? I'mma be in London soon.” The voice rang out.

“We’re going to London. And I need a suit.”

“I’ve got you.” Happy pressed a button, opening a hidden compartment to reveal Stark’s old on-board building station. Peter grinned and got to work.

Across the ocean, in London, Beck was leading her up a bridge across the Thames, giving a spectacular view of the city.

“Shouldn’t you be preparing for the elemental attack.” She pointed out as they reached the top of the bridge tower.

“We’ve got another hour, I just need to show you something.” He dragged her by the hand out to the centre of the bridge. He wrapped a hand around her waist. “Look at that.”

“It’s beautiful.” She replied, admiring the multitude of skyscrapers clashing wonderfully with the historical buildings of the city.

“And see that bridge there.” He pointed out.

“Yeah.”

“Your friends are gonna be trapped there in about an hour.”

“What?!” She said, starting to panic a little.

“Shame that’s exactly where the elemental’s supposed to attack.” He noticed her breathing and heart rate increase rapidly. “Oh, you thought I didn’t know what you told them, that you know about my dirty little secret.”

“How did you -”

“I’ve had a drone following you since we first met.”

“And all your stories, of your wife, your world.” She knew it was a lie, but part of her still wanted to wake up from this nightmare and go back to the sweet Beck she thought she’d known.

“All bullshit. I meant it when I said you were perfect. Beautiful, kind and stupidly naive enough to believe my lies.”

“You’re a monster.”

“Maybe, but I’m also the future. And the fate of your friends rests in my hands. So once this is all done, you’re gonna stick to my story, play the role of the supportive little girlfriend to the world’s newest hero. And if you can stick to that, your friends might survive. Alright.” He said menacingly.

“Yes.” She replied, feeling as though her world was crumbling around her. Beck clenched his jaw, squeezing his hand over her waist, just enough to make it hurt.

“What was that?”

“Yes sir.” Beck leaned in to rest his forehead on the side of her head, kissing against the shell of her ear.

“Good girl.” Beck mocked as he pushed her top up slightly to trace his finger over the bare skin. Every touch made her want to throw up, but she tried to hold it together for the lives of her friends. Beck left the room momentarily, when he came back he was dressed in a grey morphsuit, two drones floating by his sides. “You’re all we have Beck.” She overheard Fury say a few minutes later.

“This is what I feared. God help us Fury, God help us all.” Beck said dramatically. “Okay people, no Avengers coming we’re good to go.” He slipped back into his regular voice. “EDITH.”

“Yes Quentin.”

“Show me my loose ends. Once the show’s going, execute the kill order on my command.”

“Kill order, you said they’d stay alive.” She walked back towards him.

“Just a precaution sweetie.”

“Please, I’ll do anything you want, just don’t hurt them.” She begged.

“I know, but until I’m certain they won’t say a word, I’ve gotta keep an eye on them.” He smiled threateningly. She stepped back for him, face dropping. She felt trapped, helpless in the situation. Forced to sit back and help this villain or watch her friends die.

Taglist Open:

@cool-ontherun-world 

@eleventhdoctorsangel 

@chubby-tink

@eridanuswave

@squishychar1ie

@sincerely-cronch

@charmed-asylum

@lukesbabylon

@cutie1365

@smilexcaptainx

[much-ado-about-nothing03]

Introductions

Hi, welcome to my blog. This introduction is here for me to briefly introduce my blog and show what kind of books I will be writing about here. I have no expectations for this, I can hardly believe anyone will find it, let alone read it therefore if someone does come across this and for some reason reads what I have written I am obliged to firstly apologise for my bad grammar and spelling. For although I love to read and spell check does exist that doesn't, unfortunately, cure my dyslexia. I have to also admit that I most likely will not post regularly as I am constantly bombarded with homework.

Despite these things, that I hope you may forgive, I only aim is that this blog reaches at least one person who may want to read what I write (which I plan to be around the current book that I am reading or have just read.) I am not up-tight about what I read and don't look down on books that aren't apart of the typical literary canon such as Jane Austen, Charles Dicken or William Shakespeare so don't expect long winded and tiring analysis' ,I do that enough in my schoolwork. Therefore it will be more of a discussion or stream of consciousness of my thoughts and feeling about the the book.

Who Am I?

For personal reasons and my own preference I won't be sharing my name or any personal and social contact details. Furthermore I won't specify my age or where I live. In a very unexciting and anti-climatic way: I am a very private person. I'm not a creep but how do I know that someone reading this also isn't ? So I hope that my personality comes through in my writing and even though you have no idea who I am, you still feel comfortable while reading.

To sign off my blog I will be using the name Eliza Moon, the first name Eliza is a reference to Elizabeth Bennet from Pride and Prejudice a female literary character that I admire and inspires me. The second name Moon is a reference to the character 'Moon face' in Enid Blyton's Magic Far Away Tree series a favourite of mine when I was younger and a character which I adored due to him always offering delicious and extraordinary baked treats to the protagonists of the story.

Of course in my ramblings and opinion's you may learn certain things about me but I will never include anything of substantial value and I hope that's ok.

Some Of My Favourites So Far:

I can't say that I've read an excessive amount of books, I tend to prioritise different things, but I would say for my age group I've read more than most.

I went through a stage of obsessing over series which include:

-Harry Potter, JK Rowling

-The Hunger Games, Suzanne Collins

-The Maze Runner, James Dashner

-Nought and Crosses, Malorie Blackman

All I enjoyed a great deal, but the first three I still have and believe will always have a connection too. I specifically love the characters of Newt from the Maze Runner and Peter from the Hunger Games. Also what girl doesn't aspire to be like Hermione Granger?

Other books that I have loved include:

-Lovely Bones, Alice Seabold

- The Diary of Anne Frank

-84 Charing Cross Road, Helen Hanff

-Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen

- Room, Emma Donoghue

What's Next?

Now that I have outlined what this is and shown examples of the range of books and genres that I have read and enjoyed I now feel I can start to delve into and discuss the current book I am reading. Therefore in my next blog I will be talking about my opinions of the fictional thriller novel 'Ragdoll' written by Daniel Cole which I have nearly finished reading.

I'm not sure when I'll write next but I can't wait to share my thoughts even if no-ones listening. (That's better anyway- you say what you really mean when no ones listening)

See you soon

Eliza Moon *(

[gogoseabrook]

#CreatorLove2020 Updates

So as everyone knows, an event was planned come early July regarding celebrating all the amazing creators within the zombies fandom. As you can guess with everything going on, it didn’t exactly go to plan and instead I’m here to update with full details regarding my thought process and what will be happening instead. All of this will be below the cut in full, but the tl;dr is:

Given the state of the world, with important protests and a global pandemic, those deserved everyone’s full attention. As a result, I made the choice to let July pass, and will attempt to do the first (of hopefully many) #CreatorLove events later this year in October. 

Here are some resources for the important issues the world is facing right now before I go into detail about CreatorLove:

https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/

https://www.cdc.gov/coronavirus/2019-ncov/index.html

https://www.who.int/emergencies/diseases/novel-coronavirus-2019

Stay safe everyone, and let’s make the second half of 2020 as good as we possibly can 💚💖

From here on in this is mostly just a stream of consciousness, so I apologise if I’m really rambly about all of this.

So the in depth decision making came around Mid-June, when I knew I should start posting about the event to make sure everyone in the fandom knew it was coming up, and if they wanted to take part there would be plenty of time to get organised.

But at that point, not only was the Covid Pandemic in full swing, but we were all focused on the very important issues of Black Lives Matter, the death of George Floyd, and the fight against institutionalised racism, fascism, and police brutality. As you can see from my post history, this is something hugely important and not to be overlooked, and it felt like bringing up an event would have detracted from something far more vital. After all, we can all do this at any point, so why derail things when we can just wait and do it a little later?

I figured it wouldn’t hurt to push it back, especially since there’s so much going on, not only did attention need to be focused there but (although I can’t speak for other people) I figured it might not be easy for everyone to just put everything aside and have fun given the seriousness of the state of the world at the moment. A global crisis needs to come first, no ifs ands or buts. 

Of course, that led to the problem of when to move it to. Obviously it would be easy to just shift from July to August, but that didn’t feel right. Whilst I did consider it, I couldn’t in good conscience do that since movements need so much more time than just a month or two, and it’s pretty clear the Covid-19 crisis won’t be dying down any time soon. Just pushing it back a little felt...wrong. Like it was trivialising everything.

But, then given this is supposed to celebrate the whole fandom, I still wanted it to be accessible for everyone. So I felt September was wrong, since in the end, it’s back to school/college season for a lot of people, and with the added dilemma of working around a pandemic, I can’t imagine it’d be much fun to try and throw fandom stuff on top of everything- though feel free to correct me if I’m wrong. Honestly a lot of this relies on assumptions, which is never a good idea, but it was what felt like the best choice as opposed to bothering everyone with all of this.

So  I looked even further ahead. I wanted it to be before Christmas, since that’s a time of vacation and presents and all that good stuff, and with Secret Santas and all the other goodies that the fandom creates, we’ll all be plenty busy then anyhow! So, I settled on mid-October, likely the 2nd or 3rd week, so that we should all be back to education/work normalcy, and it’ll give us something to do during that weird lead up to Halloween!

As for the future, I’m actually hoping to expand this into a much bigger thing than it used to be! Ever since Zombies 2, the fandom has only grown and our family has seen so many new faces join it! As a result, if we only ever did this once a year...well, I can only imagine how long it would take to get through everyone! 😂😅 Thanks to some much more perceptive friends who pointed that out, from here on I’m hoping that, as long as the first one goes well, we’ll look at something like 3/4 #CreatorLove events every year, to spread the love all year long 💖💖💖 

The dates aren’t completely set in stone yet, but we’re looking at January, April, July and October as the general outline for when it would be, but of course if anyone things a different timetable would work better, don’t hesitate to let me know and I’ll rework it. This is for the whole fandom after all, if there’s more work that needs doing so everyone can be happy, then more work will be done!

Lastly, I really should offer an apology. Although I did have my reasons for not bringing this up, it still feels wrong that I completely ignored it. I should have said something sooner, and from now on I’m going to make sure I keep up with this a lot more. Again, sorry that the whole thing was announced and then disappeared from the face of the earth, I promise that will not happen again and I’ll start getting things rolling this coming September.

Anyway, congratulations if you made it through this entire essay. It really was just a bunch of rambles about something I’m sure most people really aren’t too bothered about one way or another, but it still felt right to address everything and let everyone know what was going on. This is such a wonderful fandom that really feels like a family, so I want everyone to know that- if you read to this point- this has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life, and you’re all such wonderful, stellar people. Thank you for being so awesome, and taking the time to create such wonderful things to share with us all. You’re all truly amazing  💖💖💖

[ashekirk]

On Contrapoints

I have thoughts. Unfortunately I can have a hard time putting my thoughts into words with enough precision to be understood well. So please, if you have a strong reaction to anything I write here, ask me to clarify before making any definitive statements about it, because it might not have been what I intended. The reason I've written the above paragraph can also be seen as one of the reasons I have the opinions I do. See, online, people have a tendency to take things people have said and written in the least charitable way. In some instances, they can be correct such as when they are pointing out dog whistles. I don't want to take away from that aspect, but they seem to extend it to anyone that they have any kind of beef towards, and it can cause them to make snap judgements about others that are unfair.

OK, let's zoom out a bit. This post is to try and articulate my thoughts about Contrapoints (Natalie Wynn) and the shitstorm surrounding her, the video she just released about it, and the general concepts of cancellation and criticism.

But first, a little about me. My name's Ashe, and I'm intersex non-binary. I've identified as enby since 2006, and known I was intersex since 2007, so I've been around. My given name is Natalie, so be happy I am not using that name here lol. Around 2014 or so, I entered the small burgeoning feminist community that was slowly growing to fight against the tide of anti-feminism on YouTube and in GamerGate. Over time, I found myself in a Facebook group of people, some of whom are currently fairly well-known on YouTube. One of those people was Natalie Wynn, who at the time I first encountered her, was still an egg (one who hasn't fully realised they are trans). I'm not going to say that I knew her, because we barely interacted in the group. But I was among her earliest fans on her Contrapoints channel (I understand she had previously had a different YouTube as well, but I only knew her as Contra). One of her earliest videos was pushing back on the— at the time fairly new— concept of "transtrenders." She was the first person I ever saw on YouTube defending Milo Stewart, who was an extremely hated figure at the time merely for being non-binary. That should be your first clue that the narrative that she's some kind of truscum is wrong. But let me continue. It was in that Facebook group that I, for the first time, asked people to refer to me as "they/them" because I felt so safe in that group. It wasn't without its infighting though, and it eventually came to an end after someone betrayed the trust of the group.

Anyway, Natalie's controversies happened to start after that group was gone. I no longer had any real line of communication with her so I just kind of watched them happen. But it came to be obvious that every time something happened, she would kind of go into hiding for a bit. To me, this makes it clear that she was having a hard time dealing with the hate. Now I'm not here to engage in apologetics for the mistakes she has made. She has written things that came across as hurtful to enbies, and she has not done the best job at apologising. Having said that, many of my fellow enbies have been very unfair in their judgements and characterisation of her views. Some of the things Natalie went through in her video showed a vicious, bad faith side of our community that I cannot support.

Here's the thing. When someone well-known fucks up, they will obviously receive criticism from lots of people. Some will be constructive, others just abuse. My suggestion would be, don't give criticism unless you are sure nobody else has given that same criticism. And do not ever abuse. A person can have 10 comments of praise, but it only takes 1 piece of abuse to make that person feel bad. It's human nature to ruminate on the worst, most vicious feedback. And getting it in droves can make them feel like they are universally hated, even if there are plenty of supporters. This makes a person withdraw. In some cases, it makes a person double down. Be happy that Natalie tends not to do that. But it's clear from her video that she is in a period of self-loathing. Her mental health is really fucked. So to abuse her, knowing her mental state, is no better for her than a right wing bully making fun of her for being trans. But it's even worse, in fact. In her video, she states that she had turned to the online trans community for emotional support. To have people she trusted and loved turn on her for what she perceived as dumb mistakes or unfair interpretations, is more damaging to a psyche than some dime-a-dozen troll. Now I do see both sides - many enbies felt the same way, reversed, when they perceived Natalie to dismiss them or say something callous about them. It's perfectly valid to feel that way. But that doesn't give you carte blanche to dismiss her attempt to explain that she didn't mean how you interpreted what she said. Ugh, see the ramble here? This is what I meant when I said I have trouble putting my thoughts into words. My mind is not ordered well enough to explain myself. 

Let's back up again and take stock. I haven't used the term "cancel culture" here, because I think that it is a distraction from the real meat of the problem. From what I see, the problem is people are too quick to form their opinions and too slow to give people the benefit of the doubt. Kneejerk reaction is what right wingers do - let's not be like them. Think. Ask questions. Try to understand. Additionally, don't try to force your opinions of people on others. Let others come to their own conclusions. Don't assume the worst of people, but get to know their views better before jumping to conclusions.

I don't say this to be some kind of fence-sitting centrist, I say this to encourage empathy. Compassion. Critical thinking. Values on which the left prides itself. As I've said, Natalie is not without her problems. But it's far better to come to her about it with an open mind and heart than with wrath and anger. The former will make her far more receptive than the latter. If we can resist lashing out, we could shape her into a great ally of enbies. At least I think so.

If you managed to make sense of this stream of consciousness, I applaud you.

[my-soul-sings]

Till We Meet Again

A/N: Emo writing mood bc finals r in a wheek-ze so here ya go more tears for everyone.

BTW: This story is also up on AO3 as a chapter under the story “Tactlessly in Love”!

He’s sustained many wounds before. Slashes to the back, knife to the stomach, arrows to his arms and legs. The smell of blood in the air and the metallic taste of it in his mouth isn’t new to him. 

That’s why he knows better than anyone else that he’s dying.

He can feel the blood flowing steadily out of the bullet wound to his stomach, and every slight movement his body makes from his irregular breaths causes excruciating pain to wash over him. 

He’s weaving in and out of consciousness, his vision blurring even though he’s trying his hardest to keep them open. 

It’s only when he hears his name in a desperate, sorrowful cry, that his line of sight begins to clear a little. He knows that voice; he’ll recognise it anywhere, even on his deathbed. Happiness surges within him, but it’s accompanied with pain--the kind that hurts his heart inside. He’s glad that she’s here, but curses fill his mind at the realisation.

He doesn’t want her to see him like this. Neither does he want to see her cry. 

It’s too late for that though, because the next second, her face was hovering over his, tears streaming down her face and falling on his cheeks like warm raindrops. His name leaves her lips in broken whispers, as she tries her best to stop the bleeding by pressing a cloth on his wound and adding pressure. 

He groans, the pain heightening his senses and nearly causing him to pass out again. 

“You’ll be okay, Yuki,” she tells him over and over. He doesn’t know if it’s meant to comfort him or her more. But he knows that he isn’t going to be okay. He’s losing too much blood, and it won’t be long before he blacks out and goes to sleep for good.

He calls her name, weakly raising his arm to let his hand find her cheek. 

Her hand finds it midway and she lets it rest against the side of her face just as he wanted, and he takes the opportunity to wipe away her tears. A beautiful face like hers isn’t meant to look like this. She should be happy and smiling because she deserves nothing less.

“I’m sorry,” he said with a sad smile.

“Don’t be,” she mutters, gritting her teeth and trying to hold back a sob. “You’ll get through this. There’s nothing to apologise for.”

“I’m a goner. It’s too late.” The harsh truth makes her eyes squeeze shut and more tears fall down her cheeks.

“I-It’s not too late. I-I can still-”

“You can’t-”

“Just shut up and let me help you, you dummy!” she cries, lip trembling as she stares at him in grief and sorrow. It makes his heart shatter into a million pieces. He told himself he would never make her cry or leave her alone in the mornings again, but it seems he won’t be able to keep his promises to her. 

He’s never kept a single one, he realises forlornly.

“I’m sorry.”

“I told you to stop saying that!” 

She applies more force on his wound without warning, causing his protests to be interrupted by a harsh groan as the pain ripples through his body.

“You’re going to survive. I won’t let you leave me so easily,” she continues rambling, head hanging down. Her hair falls like a curtain to cover her face, and he tucks it behind her ear again, not wanting to lose a second of his last moments looking at the face of the woman he fell in love with.

“Really now. You’re such a crybaby.” He wipes more tears away, but they keep streaming down relentlessly. She glares at him, furiously wiping away her tears with the back of her hand, leaving bloody smears on her cheek. 

“It’s your fault! If you want me to stop crying you better stay awake until we get more help! Hideyoshi and the rest should be coming soon.”

He wants to tell her that it’s hopeless--that nothing’s going to save him now, but he decides against it, and settles for, “I’ll try,” instead. 

It’s hard though. The weight on his eyelids is making it difficult for him to stay awake. He attempts to stay focused by keeping his eyes on her, trying his best to pay attention to her questions. It seems she wants him to keep talking and stay conscious for as long as possible.

His eyes stray up to the sky then, noting its deep blue colour and the streaks of white clouds above them. It reminds him of the times they spent in that field of flowers, lying side by side and talking about anything and everything. He remembers the moments when he got to turn on his side on the soft bed of grass to press a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead in a show of affection. And she’ll blush a deep shade of red like the roses he passed by the other day, smiling contentedly and leaning into his embrace under the warm sun’s rays.

He wishes he could go back in time. He would have cherished those moments more if he knew things would come to this. 

“Come closer,” he says, tugging weakly on the torn sleeve of her kimono, and she complies, leaning down to hear what he has to say.

Except no words were needed.

He rests his hand on the back of her neck to pull her to his lips, and kisses her softly, tenderly, like it’s the last time they’ll ever get to be like this.

In the back of his mind, he remembers her yelling at him for being so sweet to her when he’d made up his mind to leave her for good. He’s doing it again, but he can’t help it. He can only apologise again, as he always does. He owes her a lifetime of apologies, and doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to make it up to her.

“I love you,” he whispers, tears finally welling in his eyes, fear of his imminent death gripping his heart. She whispers back the same, along with the promise to save him, even though she doesn’t know if she can actually keep it.

He gazes into her eyes as she rests her forehead against his, and their noses touch. He can’t bear the thought of leaving her all alone again, or the thought of her grieving. He grieved once when he lost his family and homeland, and he knows the pain never truly leaves. He doesn’t want that for her. 

“Forget about me,” he says, every syllable of it paining his heart--it’s worse than the pain from his wound. “And live a happy life.”

“That’s impossible, dummy,” she replies with a shaking voice. “You know it is.”

He smiles weakly at that. Yes, he does know. If they switched positions, he knows he would rather give his life than to watch the light in her eyes fizzle out while cradling her in his arms. 

“Just promise me you’ll try. If I don’t make it.”

“You will make-”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I’ve broken many promises to you, and left you behind time and time again. I’ll understand if you hate me.”

“You may have walked away before, but I always came chasing after you,” she said stubbornly, determining burning fiercely in her eyes. “I’m going to make sure you come back to me, but promise me you’ll fight too. Stop accepting that you’re going to die or I’ll kill you myself!”

“So do you want me to live or die?” he asks, chuckling before realising with a sharp inhale that laughing makes his wound hurt ten times more than it already does. He groans, and she glances down at his wound worriedly, before turning back to him after he dismissively waves it off. He can feel the fatigue taking over his body and soon enough he won’t be able to control it before he slips away for a while. 

“I promise,” he tells her seriously, eyelids beginning to slip close. “It seems impossible, but... I’ll fight. I’ll fight the demon king himself if it means I can return to your side and make up for all those broken promises I made to you.”

She sniffles, before leaning down and brushing her lips against his, trying her hardest not to cry. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

“You better be right next to me when I wake up.” 

“I will,” she smiles. “I’ll be right there in your arms. So don’t worry.”

“Good...” 

His vision begins to blur, the light gradually dimming until he can no longer see her face.

Till we meet again, he thinks to himself, before he finally succumbs to the darkness. 

[mentalcrash]

ƦɘʟȺŧȉơƝʂɦɨꝤꞩ

I am terrible at relationships. From the very idea of being in one to the actual case where it transpires I've ended up in one, I don't know how to handle it properly. I am not a good adult in this respect.

I've had serious relationships, not-so-serious ones, and even an engagement. I've had relationships which were just cuddling, just sex, and ones where it was all about dom/sub play with no actual physical presence needed.

And yet, I don't know how to deal with them. I panic, I get distracted, I get anxious, I just cannot mentally deal with them. Without meaning to, I will place distance between myself and my partner; I will become concerned that I need to do better - keep being better than last time; I'll become unable to deal with having another physical presence around...

I apologise to everyone who has sought a relationship of some degree with me over the last decade, whether that is one of friendship or something more. I almost certainly will not keep in touch without sustained effort, and I will run away from interactions if I don't know how to handle them.

I make no effort to attract people, to forge relationships with them beyond becoming friends with them. And yet, it seems to be this very thing that makes me more attractive because people can just be comfortable around me (which is itself a desirable goal).

It has been nearly eleven years since the first time I properly (and willingly) had a sexual encounter, and the difference between then and now is that I have somewhat matured and recognise some of the traits that define me. I no longer seek sex because it is what people expect of me. Sex is something that can bring me closer to someone I am already close to. It is not a goal, it is a means. I rarely want to have sex with someone I don't have an emotional connection with (demisexual) and often find that sex just doesn't do much for me (grey-ace/ace). It is not unusual for me to be thinking of other things entirely during sex, analysing and worrying instead of simply enjoying it - and that's because I just don't get much out of the actual act itself. The reactions of my partner mean more to me than anything the act itself brings. I have no need for sex in my life and going years without has presented me with no hardships now I'm no longer a teenager who thinks sex is the main goal in life.

All in all, this is just me rambling about how I'm shit at relationships and why I don't necessarily bond over the same things that others do. I also have no idea why I seem to attract people with high sex drives when I barely have one.

Please don't take it personally if I seem uninterested, or rebuff you, or just kind of drift away from the mentions of it... I'm just shit at handling these things and I don't know what to do with interest once I have it.

It’s been a while since I made a post on here, and they’re usually just stream of consciousness things until I run out of things to say without editing or cleaning them up. This one has come about because I got asked to try and put things into words and I’ve spent a month trying to do just that and failing. It’s not an easy topic to cover and I don’t know if I’ve even covered half of it. I’m just shit at this stuff and I don’t know what to do with it and I probably owe a number of people apologies because I’m just plain shit at this stuff and I mess up and I abuse and break and abandon things because it’s easier to break or abandon them than it is to try and deal with it like a responsible fucking adult.

If you’re one of the people who has been involved with me in some fashion, then I’m sorry - in general, and for being shit at this stuff. I’m probably not going to try and fix things, I’m probably not going to get any better, and I’m probably not going to have any better of a handle on this stuff and my own head and how it works in regard to this stuff next year than I did three years ago.

I don’t/can’t do commitment. I don’t want/can’t handle stable relationships. Polygamy in passing is about the best I can do and even then I can’t make a single promise. I’m quite happy as things are, I don’t want to be “fixed” or have someone commit to me when I cannot commit back.

So take this as your apology and your warning about my lack of capacity to handle or deal with relationships, the way my brain will frazz out at the slightest implication that I’m expected to be in one, and my general incapability at communicating any of this in concise words.

Probably best to consider me an aromantic demi-ace genderqueer...

[the-heartbeat-carries-on]

With My Heart in My Mouth

(Original fiction by Mod Cuore of @the-heartbeat-carries-on)

Here it is! Decided to write a bit of original fiction with a cardiophile theme :D This was fun. A little rambling and very informal (and first person, present tense, what even), but still fun to do. I hope you all enjoy it! (Rated PG for mild language)

~~~~~~~~~

Right now, teleportation sounds like the best idea in the world.

Picture me, a young woman in love, having brought her boyfriend back from the airport after a nervous but still joyous car ride. I'm beyond excited and happy that he's finally in the same house as me instead of a few thousand miles away. Picture him flopped over on the couch. He's exhausted from all the travel, but still eager to spend time with me and is in cheery spirits (even if his eyelids are dipping every so often).

And then, picture me, wanting to dive into his arms and flee the country at the same time (the latter possibly including a new identity). We’d hugged for a long while at the airport; in fact, I’m pretty sure people stared as the minutes-long embrace went on… and on… and on… So why was I getting cold feet about… well, about this?? Isn’t it natural for a girl like me to want to cuddle with her boyfriend? And listen to his heartbeat? Even though it’s something he doesn’t like? His heartbeat, not the cuddling. Jury’s out on the cuddling. But I know for a fact that he’s said before he doesn’t like heartbeats. Which you’d think would be a dealbreaker for someone like me, a cardiophile who’s loved hearts for as long as she can remember.

But noooo, my heart didn’t think that was a problem. So here we are, in my house, me sweating like a fountain and him stretched out on my couch… looking so nice and relaxed… and looking like he has the perfect spot next to him where I could fit in nice and neat--THERE I GO AGAIN.

Unfortunately, for me, he seems to have picked up on the anxiety. “You all right, Jenny?” Dammit. Either I was too obvious or he's just that good at reading people. Probably both; he’s always seemed like a people-person.

“I…” Right now would be the perfect time to lie about it, right? No, no good… he hates liars. I suddenly found just about every piece of advice I’d ever heard about honesty starting to flood my head. “Communication is key,” it all says. “It’s important to talk things out,” comes another voice. Sage advice to be sure, but with my heart pounding as hard as it is right now, can I even get the words out?

“You…?”

My lips finally part. “...Are you tired?” DAMMIT, Jenny. Just… go bury yourself in the corner, why don’t you.

He nods. “Yeah, I mean… it was a really long flight. But you look tense.” He pauses a moment, an odd look of shame crossing his face. “Oh, no, sorry; you probably wanna sit. Hold on.” In a few swift moves, he’s sitting up on the couch, cheeks a little red. Nooo, Will; that’s the LEAST of my worries. You’re not taking up space.

Well... if he’s offering me the spot, it’d be rude to not sit there, right? It’s a few moments before I find myself creaking toward the couch, like I’d just hopped off of Frankenstein’s table. Will isn’t keeping it a secret from me that he’s confused by the way I’m acting, his bushy eyebrows doing all the talking. Honestly, he has every right to be; I feel like an idiot. And all because I want to cuddle up next to him and…

He reaches over and puts a hand on my shoulder. “You’re looking really pale; you sure you’re all right?”

I try to look over, but the gaze from his slate blue eyes is a little too much. My heart punches me in the back of my ribs and I cough a little. “I’m… just kind of…”

His expression melts into one of warmth and concern. “If you’re nervous, you really don’t have to be. I mean… wait, what am I saying…?” He takes his hand off my shoulder and buries his face in his hands. “I mean… okay, I’m a little nervous myself. But… I guess a bit of nerves in the beginning is healthy. Means you’re not taking this lightly or for granted.”

That’s true; after all the time I’ve spent, thinking about me and him together, I’m not going to let any of it seem as though it’s something I’m owed. Heck, the fact that I’m together with anyone seems like a miracle in of itself after all these years (crushing on people is hard… at least for me. I feel lucky this even happened). So, with that in mind… I guess I can relax a bit. I smile, trying to look at him but still avoiding his eyes. “Y-You’re right. I guess I’m just nervous. I just… I’ve been waiting for this for so long.”

He smiles, his slightly crooked teeth glistening in the remnants of daylight streaming through the window. “Me too,” he says.

A few moments of thick silence (save for the ticking of the living room clock and the ridiculously loud pounding my heart is doing, what the heeeelllll) pass before I decide to clear my throat. “Um… I h-hope this isn’t too forward of me, but…”

What am I doing?

“...I was wondering…”

Oh no.

“...if you wouldn’t mind…”

MAYDAY, MAYDAY; SOMEONE OVERRIDE MY STUPID MOUTH, QUICK!!

“...could we, you know… cuddle, maybe?”

...I blew it. That was WAY too forward, wasn’t it? I mean, this is only our second time of meeting in person, the first time we’ve met as a couple. Heck, maybe he’s not even into cuddling. He’s a hugger, sure, but… but maybe… ohhhh, I blew it.

“...Sure.”

There’s no way I can accurately describe the tone of his voice. A period doesn’t do it justice, and an exclamation point makes it sound way too enthusiastic. But there’s a definite tone of… happiness to it. It’s lighthearted, gentle… maybe not super eager, but it actually sounds like he’s… into it.

I can feel a stupid grin crawling onto my lips; good luck prying that off, I tell myself as he starts stretching back out, watching me, waiting for me to… oh, he’s patting the side next to him. I look at his face.

He’s smiling. Ohhh heavens, I can’t take this. Maybe it’s quicker than I should move, but I almost slam myself down by his side trying to fill in the space.

“Whoa! That was a rush and a half…”

I breathe in sharply. “Are you okay?? I didn’t hurt you, did I??”

Thankfully, he’s shaking his head. “No, I’m fine. That was just, I dunno, REALLY sudden.”

“Ah, sorry, sorry…” I mutter, resting my head on his chest. I try to make it as casual as I can, but, truth be told, this is what I’ve been waiting for. I’m just hoping HE’S okay with it.

I can feel him gently wrap his arm around me as I settle my head down, suddenly hearing the sound I’d longed to hear ever since my feelings for him developed.

B-thump b-thump b-thump b-thump b-thump…

I am both simultaneously mesmerized and flustered. On the one hand, I’m finally getting to hear his heartbeat. On the other hand… so much faster than I was expecting!

...And I suddenly realize that it’s probably beating that way because of me. My own heart skips a few beats, something I don’t realize he can feel.

“I think something happened…” he says. I look up into his face; his eyebrows are still reaching for his hairline.

“A-Ah, yeah…”

“It felt like your heart just kinda had a freakout.”

A wave of warmth rushes through me as he says that word, “heart.” Ordinarily, anyone saying that word would make me smile, but him? The way he curls the vowels and the “r” sound just… it’s too much. My face goes a little redder.

“I’m just… I’m sorry.”

His eyebrows crease even further. “Sorry? Sorry why? You literally haven’t done anything you need to apologise for.”

I sigh, more blush creeping up my neck. Might as well remind him, shall I? “Okay, I… you’re right,” I start. “I just… d-do you remember that first letter I gave you? Way back when we first met?”

He closes his eyes as he thinks back. “Man, that was so long ago. So much happened too; what was in it?”

No use turning back. “Well, I… I told you in it about my being a… a cardiophile.”

Yep, there’s a definite silence here. “A what?”

“I like hearts. A lot. It’s like…” The words just started pouring out. “It’s like a lifelong obsession for me. I’ve liked them ever since I was little.”

“Ohhhh…” he says, looking up as though he’s searching his brain for memory banks. “So that’s why you’ve got all that heart stuff on your blog.”

I nod slowly. “Y-Yeah…”

“So…” He looks down at me. Not two seconds go by before someone turns on the light behind his eyes (I could almost swear I can see it). “Ohhhh. You can hear my heartbeat right now, can’t you?”

All I can do is nod. “I just… I just remembered something, though.”

“What’s that?”

“You said on your blog, a while back, that you don’t like heartbeats.”

He thinks for a moment. “Yeah, I just, couldn’t really stand hearing my own so often. Like, lying in bed at night when I’m trying to sleep… Also kind of reminds me of all the horror games I’ve played. And that’s not something I want to have when I’m trying to sleep.”

He stops a moment, looking a little embarrassed. “Buuuuut I mean, if you like hearts, hey, who am I to judge?”

...Did he just say that? Really?

I can hardly believe it; it feels as though a weight has been lifted. “You’re… okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? If it makes you happy, then like away. Just because I don’t like my own heartbeat doesn’t mean you can’t. I mean... it’s not hurting me or anyone else if you do. At least, I’m assuming you’re not gonna plunge a dagger in and scream ‘Kali-ma!!’ or anything like that. If you do, I’m afraid we’re gonna have to rethink this relationship thing.”

I giggle. I have never felt so good or validated in my entire life. Smiling intensely, I let my head nestle into the gentle curvature of his chest, taking in every enthusiastic beat. A few seconds slip by before I say “In that case, let me love the parts of you that you don’t like. That way, all of you can be loved and appreciated.”

“Awww…” His expression lightly rumbles through his chest and his heartbeat picks up slightly. I catch a bit of blush on his cheeks before he closes his eyes, sighing deeply. It’s a few moments before I realize that he’s drifted off, finally robbed of consciousness at last by all the travel.

Welp. Looks like I’m stuck here beneath his arm, nestled between him and the back cushions of the couch. But with his stamp of approval and my new location next to his heart, you won’t hear me complaining. In fact, you won’t hear me at all. I can’t hear his heartbeat if I’m making any sounds of my own, after all.