1) post partum depression may lie to you and make an otherwise mentally healthy person suicidal. Just because you've made it to five months doesn't mean it won't ambush you. Even if you know you're being irrational you might not be able to access that. Make sure you know someone who you can talk to and will be willing to hold you .
2) nursing isn't always some magical bonding thing between mom and baby. It might be hard, you might just not like it. It is OKAY IF YOU DON'T/CAN'T NURSE YOUR BABY! It doesn't make you a bad mom if you choose to put your baby on formula for any reason. Yes, there are health benefits to breastmilk. There all also benefits to having a mom who doesn't dread the process of feeding her baby.
3) sometimes cosleeping is the only way to get your baby to sleep, and sometimes it's the only way you can sleep. Be very cautious about it, but be aware that your baby might need you and you might need them within reach. Be extra careful if either of you move a lot in your sleep.
Clarification: I don’t hate this book, I love it, it’s amazing. It’s just that taking a step back and looking it out of context is still really funny. Especially the line “We participated in a genocide, Barney.”
Bedrock is having a mayoral election. One of the candidates is a violent war mongering asshole that riles people up against the lizard people. This reminds Fred and Barney of their time in the army.
Back then the father of said violent candidate was riling people up against the “tree people”. Fred, Barney, and other soldiers fought what they believed to be a defensive measure against the tree people. Turns out, it was actually an invasion, in order to kill off the tree people and take over their forest to build Bedrock.
That’s what Fred means when he says he and Barney participated in a genocide. They literally did.
(Extra fun fact, Barney adopted a tree person baby after the war, and his son Bamm-Bamm is the last tree person.)
In February I'm going to challenge myself to intentionally do one thing per day with the goal of boosting my mental health. These could be fun things like bubble baths and manicures or less enjoyable things like cleaning the living room. I'm gonna call it "Feel Good February" and see if I can make a new habit. Anyone want to join me and/or hold me accountable?
@jo-the-nerd @nakitengoku @lostinthoughtsandfandoms @you-get-killed-walk-it-off @5-dollars-in-the-slug-jar @bonobos-candy-bar @lesserbeans and anyone else who would like to participate :)
Egg: don’t like them, but as a meme they’re top tier, egg meme for me,, I do like the yolks of fried eggs tho
Steak: thoroughly cooked, assume that means well done
Milk: cannot drink 😥
Alcohol: no
Warm drink: because cannot drink milk,, brr,, but I like to have juice made with warm water sometimes, like a heathen (prefer cold drinks 100%, favourite is ginger ale,, again a heathen)
Tagging: hm @myjaneposts @chaoticconfusedqueer @tyistired @lilithlibrxa @yes-i-am-happyaspie and anyone else who wants to do this,,, also the tags are optional as always
steak -> I don’t rlly like steak but well done I suppose
milk -> semi-skimmed or maybe almond milk if I’m at starbucks
alcohol -> anything that will get me drunk and shut my brain up
warm drink -> I’m supposed to say decaf tea because I have been disallowed caffeine bc I had a Problem but its still the strongest black coffee I can find or maybe horlicks if I’m sad
Steak: none, I’m trying to be veggie and I’m cutting down on my meats
Milk: oat (it has the least CO2 emissions and it’s delicious)
Alcohol: none, I don’t drink
Warm drink: black tea (Yorkshire tea specifically, really good with oat milk)
Tags, I want to know more about my lovely mutuals. Also tell me what you can deduce about me from this (if you want, no pressure): @gotnofucks @winteralpine @slothspaghettiwrites @the-iceni-bitch @foxgloveprincess and everyone who wants to :)
I’m terrible at finding new music, so I have to thank my friend that introduced me to Oh Wonder (which I am now obsessed with) and the algorithm makers for making listening to “Lonely Star” into a pretty dope playlist.
“Lonely Star” by Oh Wonder
“I Like You” by Addict
“Soho” by Handsom Eli
“Shades” by Catt
I am tagging anyone that wants to participate. Say I tagged you. I always feel like I’m putting pressure on people or making them be like “why didn’t she tag me” when I leave them off a list. So do it if you’re so moved and share awesome music with all of us!
So we’ve got actual me and what I wish my hair was, lol. Also, I always wear earrings but they looked floaty on my actual hair. And the mug blocked my necklaces :( Tagged by the lovely @leilaorgana.
Rules: make yourself using this picrew, then in a new post, post your photo + tag people you’d like to do this too!
These are so fun! @darcylightninglewis we are twinning for the flannel :-D
Tagging @grimeysociety, @that-wimpy-cowboy-doll, @typhoidmeri, @melifair, @snailsarecute, @stargazingfangirl18 and @fudebusho + everyone else who wants to play. I love these things!
Haven't been on in a while, so not sure how long ago @chrissihr tagged me. Here you go:
Me, eating junk food, wearing layers, hair in a messy-bun type thing. The necklace and choker are the closest to the ones I actually wear, and the closest glasses were nowhere near my real ones
(Yes, this is a response to a post going around how maybe it’s okay if adults are in fandom as long as they understand that fandom is for ickle kiddie-boos and walk on eggshells. Um, no. Back in my day, we kicked y’all off our yahoogroups so we could post adult material, and rigorously didn’t post adult material if the list allowed you.)
So, back in the day, several of the authors of an LJ community that posted NSFW fic met up and had a group photo, which they posted. Apparently, some of the 18 year olds said, “Ewwwwwww! They’re all, like, oooooollllld!”
There’s actually a good reason for that.
Writing is part being good with words and part being good at turning your life experiences into something that other people want to read. Remember my previous rant about how you can’t assume a mystery writer is a homicidal maniac, and you can’t assume that a reader who likes a character has the same personal flaws as that character? There’s a reason people assume these things about authors.
See, if you’ve never fallen in love, you might think romance is when the other person brings you a dozen roses and a box of chocolates. And that’s fine! That’s romantic, too! But if you have fallen in love, you might remember the time that you woke up and went to go to class and found a bunch of wildflowers and a plastic ring from a bubblegum machine tucked under your windshield wiper. And you might remember the half touched, half about to burst out laughing expression on your sweetie’s face when you showed up to class wearing that tacky plastic ring. You might think that love is thinking the other person is the best-looking person in the world, or that love is wanting to spend your life with someone else. That’s love, too! Well, at least the second one is (the first is probably just infatuation). But if you’ve been in love before you’ll know that love is also hurting all over because your sweetie’s abusive parent died and they’re unexpectedly destroyed over it. The latter is worth a million flowery declarations.
Now, I’m not saying that no one under 30 can write. Some young people have had very full lives. And some young people have a natural talent for extrapolating from their own feelings. Virgins can write convincingly about sex, even. But the more life experience you have, the easier it is to extrapolate, and the easier it is to come up with the specific details that make things feel real and true.
If you want to become a better writer, the best things you can do are write a lot, share what you write, and live a full life. And remember, before you say adults should be banished from fandom: your favorite author is probably over 30.
When I started writing fanfics I was 23 years old and I knew several writers who were in their 30s and 40s. I learned a lot from them because they had more experiences than I did. Now I’m in my mid-30s and my writing has changed and the subject matters I write for has changed and do include things I have experienced personally (those of you who know my Prompto stretch marks fics…these are based on things I dealt with after the age of 27). The funniest thing is when someone tried to lecture me on how to write children and that I wasn’t portraying their developments appropriately (based on their understanding of the older develops faster albeit all the subjects in question are born the same year and in my verse just mere months between the oldest and youngest) but mind you I have children of my own and a sibling much younger than me and I’ve taken child development classes so perhaps I do know what I’m talking about. These are things an older writer can bring to the table.
Some of the best fics I’ve ever read were written by older fans.
I got a private message on FF.Net once about how I wrote so well, and I’m pretty sure my response was basically “I write so well because I’ve been at this for over a decade.”
It’s not just life experience (but it does help), it’s also the fact writing, like any art form, takes time being put into it.
As a 30-something year old fanfic writer, yes, all of this. I wouldn’t necessarily say I’m the best fanfic author out there, but there’s some things that I’m only able to write now just because I’ve got the life experience to do so – and these were often things I struggled to write in my 20s, and never knew why.
Turns out all I needed to do was be patient, and carry on doing what I was doing. Eventually life experience, or talking to the right person at the right time, meant that I was able to figure out how to write about things I found difficult to write about as a 20-something.
It also helps that I’ve been a professional full-time writer for 8 years as well. So don’t beat yourself up if you think you’re not as good as another writer – you don’t know what their level of experience and practice are, and chances are it’s probably higher than yours. That’s OK! All it means is that you just keep practising, keep living the best life you can, and it will come in time.
Of course, not everyone over 30 is a brilliant writer, and not everyone under 30 isn’t – one of my all-time favourite fanfics was written by someone who was 18 when they wrote it, and their turn of phrase and characterisations are still something I love about their fics even now. Just keep doing you, and practising your writing craft (and getting honest feedback can really help), and more than likely you will come good in the end.
Sorry for hijacking this post but I feel this one a lot. I’ve been contemplating a lot lately how as a thirty-something I’m able to write about things that I never ever considered writing about in my 20s. And, yes, that includes the NSFW stuff I write nowadays. That was near unthinkable for me a few years ago. My life experience and the time I had to process things that happened to me in the past really shows in the way I choose, explore and present themes. I’m also much more confident and self-aware about my contributions to a fandom than I was ten years ago. And I actually enjoy that.
But for the younger writers who get discouraged by the talent of others, I just want to add: Keep going. Keep practicing. Chances are that the writers you admire spent years honing their craft (hence the likeliness of them being 30, 40 or even older). Sure, there are some who are naturally gifted at a younger age, but for most creatives, writing doesn’t come so easily.
I, for instance, have been at this for twenty years now, ten of which I’ve been a professional copywriter. The amount of writing that went from my brain and straight into the trash can is ridiculous. Ninety percent, at least, if not more. I also had the privilege of working with a few creative directors who taught me a lot about the craft – all of them 10+ years my senior, mind you.
Writing is an art form that requires a lot of time and effort and love and dedication, regardless of age or experience. Competitions and gate-keeping only detract from the fun that can be had with writing. The important thing is to keep going and enjoying what you do, whether you are 20, 30 or even 60.
My copy of Neil Gaimans The Graveyard Book includes the text of his Newbury Medal acceptance speech for the book, and I love this speech so much.
One of the things he talks about is that he had the idea for this book when he was 25, back at the very very beginning of his career, when his son was 2, but when he started it he knew it was a better book than he was writer. Which doesn’t mean he gave up on either it or writing of course - he just set that particular idea aside and wrote other things for 20 years, until he felt like he could actually do it justice. I’m not sure he says this explicitly in the speech, but it’s clear from the stories he tells in it and the context he gives that 20 years of life experience - of parenthood and dealing with things like death - were just as vital to being able to write this book as actual writing skill.
If 40-something Neil Gaiman can openly admit that he couldn’t have written this book at 25, you can’t expect fic writers in their teens and early 20s to, on average, write as well or be capable of writing the same stories as those who have been at it for 20 years either.
Many or even most of your favorite fics were written by people over 30.
I didn’t even know fanfiction existed until I was almost 30, and then I thought it was a silly concept. Why would you write something so “unoriginal”?
Says the woman who wanted to be an author when she grew up, but gave up on writing before graduating high school.
When I was 31, I finally read my first fanfic, and y'all… I was wrong. And I was hooked. And at 32, I started writing my own. For the first time in my life I finished a story, and even more astonishing–I shared it with people.
It’s not just about gaining writing experience, or practicing for decades. Some folks come to fandom later.
Don’t gatekeep them. They lost out on something magical that younger folks take for granted.
I’m 40 now, and I’ve written almost 2 million words in 8 years. And the thought that I might have missed out on that completely makes me grieve for my AU self who never discovered the joy of fandom at all.
Meanwhile there’s me, I’ve been online since 1994 and I posted my first fic as a round robin Star Trek TNG story on AOL message boards when I was 12. I didn’t know it was called fanfiction but there I was pretending I was Worf. I submitted a self insert story for a class assignment when I was in 7th grade. I wrote a fix it for the ending of the Enchanted Forest Chronicles cause I hated it so much. I wrote my first “intentional” fanfic when I was 18, for anime fandom, and if you’re curious you can read it cause I tossed up on AO3 and spoilers it’s really mediocre. (Backdated ancient ao3 stuff: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforth/works?page=16)
We’re not good writers solely cause we’re old…we’ve been working our asses of for fucking YEARS. We’ve learned how to distill the essentials of our experiences into compelling narratives. We’ve experimented (literally and narratively) and we’ve failed and we’ve experimented and we’ve taken criticism and we’ve toiled away.
And then kids come into our fandoms and act like we’re the ones who don’t belong…bitch please I’ve been here since before you were born and I never had a reason to leave. You dare? In my fucking house?
And to the younger folk not being dicks…you don’t have to give up what you love. You don’t stop being you as you age. You’ll be you, but more experienced and more knowledgeable and more capable (and more tired, sorry). It never really gets easier to create, but the qualities of what you create for the same amount of effort improve remarkably, and that’s very gratifying.
So much of this. I wanted to be a writer so badly when I was younger, but I straight-up did not have the skills to write longer works (time management, project management, etc.) until my late 20′s. Now, I don’t write a ton (I’m on track to hit 50,000 words this year, so… about 4,000 words a month), because I have school and kids and work and chronic health issues, BUT writing actually happens. I finish projects. I understand editing better (even if I definitely skimp on it - but everything I’m writing is for my own personal enjoyment so whatever).
It’s a skill and it takes practice. And not all of the related skills are actually directly related to writing. Honestly I think the thing that was most helpful to my writing was being thrown into some project management and case management, where I had to track a bunch of different things going on, document them, and come up with plans for how to handle real-life problems. I didn’t get that until my 20′s.
I’m 34. I’m currently in law school, and improving my writing and research skills in that area. It will inevitably ALSO improve my fiction writing. Growing, growing, and growing.
I always wonder how much of the “if you’re OLD you can’t POSSIBLY be in FANDOM” attitude comes from growing up around people who were never, ever, not once in their entire lives, in fandom, and who just happen to be older. And then these young people–who are still young enough to think their personal truths are universal–make the wildly inaccurate assumption that the adults they know, who are not interested in fandom, are that way because they grew out of it, instead of because they were never in it to begin with.
Signed, someone who does not do media fandom and so would indeed count as one of those ~old~ people who isn’t actively invested in it. Dolls, though…very much still interested in those.
If I was remaking the Princess Bride I'd have Buttercup hire Vizzini, Inigo and Fezzik herself to help her fake her death and take her away so she could go and seek out the Dread Pirate Roberts and get revenge for Westley's death, and also get out of the marriage to Humperdinck, so she rocks up on the ship in disguise and this time Westley doesn't recognise *her*, but she realises it's Westley and she's just making loads of snide remarks trying to figure out why he's been merrily fucking about on a boat this whole time, meanwhile Westley's having a little bit of a bi moment about Buttercup-in-disguise but because he's loyal as fuck he's not going to do anything about it but they get into a fight and Buttercup is like 'Why the hell did you just fucking leave your girlfriend to fuck around being a pirate you could at least have written a letter' and he's like 'Oh I'm sorry???? What on earth would you know about it, this is none of your concern, I should've killed you when you came on board' and of course during this scene they're also having a very tense sword fight with Inigo making quips from the sidelines like a sports commentator, and Buttercup's like 'WELL WHY DON'T YOU JUST KILL ME THEN, FARM BOY???' But then the ship lurches to the side and she gets thrown overboard and Westley is like 'Oh my God I'm so stupid!!!!' So then he has to dive in after and pull her out.
Once she’s back in the boat she and Westley have a heart a heart conversation and it’s very cute (Inigo and Fezzik are throwing rhyming couplets back and forth in the background).
Humperdinck is still trying to start a war, so when he hears his prospective bride is captured! by pirates! he chases them, and captures them all as soon as their boat makes landfall. Westley, Inigo, Fezzik, and Vizzini all go to the dungeons, and Buttercup is confined to the court physician’s rooms to ‘recover her wits’ from her ‘scare with the pirates’ (translation: she’s spitting mad and has a sword now and has to be restrained to keep from Murdering Humperdinck).
The gang in the dungeons are all in separate cells, so they each organize their own jailbreak. Fezzik just. breaks his door, Vizzini confuses his guard into handing him the keys to the door, Inigo has his ‘Father, guide my sword’ moment and finds a secret passageway out, and Westley is just sitting outside his cell waiting for them, both of his guards knocked out. he claims they turned on each other and then he picked his lock.
Meanwhile, Humperdinck releases Buttercup, which was a mistake, because now she gets to beat him up and give the ‘to the pain’ speech. Inigo has his conclusion with the six-fingered-man, meanwhile Westley finds the queen, convinces her that Humperdinck has been warmongering, and she decides to crown her younger child instead. Westley meets up with Buttercup, and together they find Inigo and Fezzik (who has grabbed the horses).
Inigo becomes the next Dread Pirate Roberts and Fezzik goes with him. Humperdinck never recovers from the scandal and gets shoved in a monastery somewhere out of embarrassment. Westley and Buttercup become wandering swords, just Robin Hooding their way through life, settling down to be farmers in their old age.
“Well,” said Inigo, shrugging, “I myself am no stranger to murder plots. I just don’t know that the four of us can fight an entire crew of pirates.”
They were drawing quite close to the Revenge, now.
Vizzini scoffed. “Obviously not. They say Roberts is a bloodthirsty pirate, but too honorable for his own good. Our employer will simply challenge him to a duel.” He glanced forward, to the front of the boat, where the enigmatic figure who had purchased their services stared intently ahead, and continued in an undertone. “And, since we’ve been paid in advance, the outcome matters little.”
“But, don’t they kill everyone they meet?” said Fezzik.
“Obviously not,” scoffed Vizzini, “or no one would know they existed. Besides, I’m sure that, if their captain wins, they’ll be all too happy to have us go and spread the story of his immense skill.”
“When you say skill...” said Inigo, leaning forward.
“They say he’s an accomplished duelist. Scourge of the seas? Known to have slain 100 men in single combat!?” Vizzini turned away in disgust at his evident lack of knowledge.
Inigo nodded his head to either side, trying to tally up his own numbers.
He didn’t have time to share his calculations, though, as a shout came from the Revenge.
“Ho there! Who goes?”
Their nameless employer stood up, and responded in that oddly light tone of his.
“I seek an audience with Roberts!”
The man who had spotted them, young, but already grizzled, laughed derisively. “You’ll meet him. Whether you get ‘an audience’ or not...” He let the implication of their treatment hang in the air.
“Whether I give him an audience...” Muttered their employer, hand going to the sword at his side.
A minute passed, and then, from over the side of the Revenge, there came a ladder.
“Come aboard,” said the man who had called out earlier.
They came alongside, and their employer stepped up first, nimbly climbing up. The rest paused, there, none quite as eager, until the voice called out again.
“And the rest of you.”
Inigo went first, and Fezzik took up the rear, and they made it to the deck, where...
The deck was filled with battered, scarred, salt-worn men. It was a motley crew, but each of them was armed, and none seemed especially friendly.
On a higher deck, a man leaned on the railing, and gave them all a careful once over.
“Well then... Not many seek the Revenge. Come to join the crew, then?”
Their employer shook his head.
The man pulled back, and looked closer at him. He took in the dark, loose clothing, the mask, and the hair, cut short, but brilliant gold all the same. And the mask...
“Then state your business.”
“I’ve come to seek an audience with Roberts,” he repeated. “Is that who I’m speaking to?”
There was a rumble of laughter from around the deck.
“No,” came a much smoother voice, and a man in black stepped forth from the shadows. “I am Roberts.”
He took a few paces around the four of them, but his eyes, bright beneath the mask, seemed only interested in their employer.
“Now... By the sword at your side, you are not rich... By the clothes you wear, you are a swordsman... And by the mask...” He stopped, and turned to face them in earnest. “You have come to kill me, then.”
Vizzini, Inigo, and Fezzik would have expected a stoic affirmation, but since Roberts had stepped into the light, an indefinable change seemed to have come over him.
“You took someone from me who I held very dear.”
Roberts paused, and then shrugged. “Perhaps. I kill many people.”
“I came to challenge you to a duel.”
Roberts nodded. “Naturally.”
“And you accept?”
“Of course!” he said, throwing his arms out, as if the question surprised him. “What kind of self-respecting legend of the seas can turn down an offer to duel?” That drew a laugh from the surrounding pirates.
“I ask that the men behind me, regardless of my fate, be left to leave freely.”
He raised his eyebrows. “A strange request.”
“They have no valuables to steal, and they are in similar work to you.”
“Are you asking for honor among thieves?” said Roberts, and clicked his tongue. “There is no such thing. But, nonetheless, if it is as you say, unless they make themselves my enemies, they will be spared.”
Roberts stepped forward, and, as if on cue, the pirates on the deck pulled back, going to the railings, and some onto the higher decks, clearing a large space in the middle. Vizzini, Inigo and Fezzik matched the motion, until there were only two figures in the middle of the deck.
“Now,” said Roberts, “you know who I am, but I must admit, I am curious who you are.”
“I do know who you are,” said their employer, a flash of light in his eyes, a perfect match for his sword, which was suddenly aimed straight at Roberts’ chest. Roberts seemed, for a moment, taken aback by his vehemence. “And if you do not know who I am, then perhaps you will have to continue wondering.”
“Fezzik,” whispered Inigo, “do you see the position of the feet?”
“Mhm.”
“Do you see the way he maintains his stance despite the shifting of the deck?” the words came out rapidly, as Inigo stared intently at every inch of their employer’s posture. “He has been trained well.”
“Oh. Good,” said Fezzik, trying and failing to see what exactly Inigo was so fixated on.
Roberts studied his opponent, a moment longer, and drew his own sword, the motion strangely nonchalant. Inigo’s eyes widened.
“What?” said Fezzik.
Inigo shook his head, seemingly unable to put words around what was so impressive about the motion. Perhaps the ease with which Roberts handled the weight.
Roberts settled into his stance, and there was a moment of silence, the two of them facing each other, neither quite willing to make the first move.
Their employer struck first, the jab snaking out. Roberts blocked ably, once, twice, thrice, the strikes coming in blisteringly quick.
“Do you see that motion? If the feet do not move quickly enough, then he would lose his balance in an instant.”
“They’re good then?” came Fezzik’s bass response.
Roberts struck back, jabs alternating in a dizzying pattern, first from the left, then the right.
“Oh, Fezzik, if you could see it as I do.”
Roberts’ deadly offensive seemed for a second to splinter, and then fracture back on itself, a pair of thunderous clangs seeming to almost disarm him.
“The entire stance was a feint!” cried Inigo, seemingly jubilant at the concept. “Tulis, flowing into a high lunge rather than a low slash!”
--
“I rarely find others who wear masks,” said Roberts, almost conversational as the fight roved across the deck. “Have you been burned by acid, or do you just prefer to keep your identity a secret.”
“I have as much reason to keep my identity a secret as you do,” she hissed in response.
“You know,” he said, “I thought you seemed suspicious of something.”
“I know who you were,” she said, managing to push him back, up to the upper deck, the perfect shift of his technique as he started up the stairs prompting another excited cry from Inigo, who seemed to have gotten the pirates riled up. They seemed to be shouting their own interpretations of the fight, though none quite so learned.
“I am Roberts, and no one else,” he said, but she knew the smile was fake. “You are mistaken.”
“No. Tell me, what have you been doing out here? Searching for adventure? Wealth? Fame?”
“I wouldn’t presume to know my business, if I were you,” he said, his expression suddenly darkening.
“Was it the prospect of drink? Gold? Women?”
That seemed to hit something, and, with a perfectly timed lurch of the deck (for the waves had been choppy all day) he managed to reverse the momentum of the fight despite his tactically poor position. Inigo, though neither heard it, interjected yet again with a rapid, excited burst.
Roberts seemed angry now.
“You say it like you have some reason for asking. Have you come here in the hopes of seducing me by your victory?”
“I came here with the intent of killing a spineless, unfaithful coward.”
The insult was hardly subtle, and neither his response. Both were the more effective for it, and the furious chop sent her sword flying away. It soared across the deck, almost impaling a crewmember’s foot, and then stuck in the wood, wobbling.
She was pressed back against the railing, his sword point almost in her chest, his expression as thunderous as the sea beneath them, which, during the fight, had begun to violently rock the boat.
“I don’t believe that I will take any satisfaction in killing you,” he said, “only in not having to listen to you speak anymore.”
She grimaced, and reached up to her mask.
“Then kill me and be done with it,” she pulled away the mask, “farm boy.”
For an instant, he didn’t seem to understand what he was seeing, and then, he staggered back, as if struck. The sword dropped from his hand.
“You.”
She nodded, grimly.
What now, Westley?
He seemed...
He seemed...
A wave struck the boat, and she, already forced backwards, toppled over the railing, and into the water below.
Honestly the best feeling in the world is when you pick up someone’s cat, and they’re like “I can’t believe she’s letting you hold her !!!” Like yes. I am the cats friend. The cat whisperer. The forest nymph. The cat charmer. Th e
The other end of this is when you fucking warn an entire house of people that your cat is a demon and they should leave him in his hidey-holes and then they get upset bc they tried to hold said demon and got hissed at/scratched/bitten.
That feeling tho when you find that fic writer that just absolutely fucking
understands the characters to their core
writes so well they–just so–they just—their writing is—-THEY WRITE GOOD
shatters your bad mood with a new update
writes a fic that you can read over again and still clutch at your heart like HOLY SHIT I FUCKING LOVE–I LOVE THIS FIC
writes a scene that has you all giddy in public and that one random stranger asks you like “ooo you are smiling :) :) is that a boy :) you are talking to :)” and you’re like “no I’m reading a Everybody Lives/Nobody Dies AU, please leave”
understands and portrays the characters better than the people who make MOVIES with those characters
