A few lists

Things I find romantic:

• Hand holding (mostly, can be platonic)
• Cuddling (mostly, can be platonic)
• Sex (mostly, can be platonic... though I admit it usually isn't.)
• Getting married (yeah okay this is pretty much romantic unless it isn't.)

Things that I find platonic:

• Talk about ~feelings~ (bffs do this all the time)
• Exchange gifts (what the hell is a romantic gift anyway, I buy flowers for my mom and that is not romantic that is platonic stupid stupid stupid)
• Be there to support one another (duh)

Things I think are mostly BS:

• ~soul connections~
• ~love at first sight~
• ~one true love~
• ~looking into other people's eyes and seeing what they are feeling dude body language cannot be read in people's pupil dilations what the hell. except maybe for if they are aroused. but then again their pupils could be blown because of a natural response to a lack of light because you are leaning in waaaaay too close.~
• As an extension of the above, kissing with your eyes open. 
• The whole "this other person is the center of my whole universe and I do everything for them" thing. It might work for some people, but not for me, because-
• The idea that sex or romantic relations make two people somehow into one whole. what. Just because they are together does not mean they are the same person. They prefer different things and think different things and have had different lives, even if they happen to live together now. 

Things I know I am:

• Pansexual, tending towards feminine pronouns
• Cisgender

Things I know I am not:

• Asexual
• Heterosexual
• Homosexual
• And frankly I'm pretty sure bisexual is a misnomer, mostly. Though I wouldn't know, not being a bisexual. 

Things I suspect I am:

• Aromantic. Maybe. I sure read a lot of schmoopy fanfic for an aromantic, if that's the case. Which I think it isn't. 
• Bad at understanding other people. I always have been, and frankly most people don't help with this at all, what with their daring to have mainstream interests....

Savannah and James. Drabble.

James was grateful for the invitation, as he didn't have much of a home at the moment. His landlady had been less than impressed to discover that he had swathed the walls of his bedroom with blackboard paint, he had insisted that it could come off, and they had learned together that it could not, in fact, come off. And then she brought up a load of cardboard boxes and told him that he had a week to pack up all his weird future gizmos and get out of her building.

After pausing for an hour to reflect on this, James had begun to put books in a box. Books, heavy things. Far too cumbersome. Back home, he could carry thousands of books with him without breaking a sweat but now barely twenty fit into a single fucking cardboard box and they weren't all the same size and how could he jam the last one in when they're all so anomalous?

He realized that he was effectively homeless at the same time as he threw a paperback novel across the room in frustration. Then he burst into bitter tears and collected the book, whispering apologies.

He had somehow torn a page out of it. A page out of a lended book. Savannah had written on the page, a silly little doodle of Mrs. Vimes being heavily pregnant. (He had to admit that it was far more fun to write in old fashioned books than it was to highlight words in the books that he knew.)

Savannah had written her phone number and address in the cover of the book.

"Hello," He said.

"Hello," she answered. "Who's this?"

"James, from the café."

"Oh right! I lent you like half my Discworld novels. How are you, man?" (Bordering on twenty-five, she still acted like everyone she met was her best friend at some sort of frat party. She was also exceedingly dramatic and had a way of making plain things like loaves of bread hilarious.)

"I, um. Tore a page out of one."

There was a pause. An extremely long pause. "James," she said at last, "Your life may depend on how you answer the next question."

James relaxed.

"Which. Book. Was it."

"The Fifth Elephant."

"Son of a whore, I will murder you when I get back," she said pleasantly. "How bad is it? Will scotch tape do? Also, why did you tear a page out? I realize that those books get intense, but seriously now."

"Tape'll be fine, I think. And... I got thrown out of my apartment."

Savannah paused again before whistling. "I didn't know you had it in you, Jamie. Where are you staying now?"

"Well, in the apartment. I have until the end of the week."

"You have anything in mind?"

"Not... especially, no. Do you know someone?" He asked hopefully. Savannah seemed to know everyone.

"Yes, me. I bought a new place and there are three frickin' bedrooms in it. There's- Oh, shit, gotta run. Like, now. Sorry. Call you back."

--

I should not write things at two in the morning. 

Conflict

I have issues with conflict. Serious, serious issues. I hate conflict, or at least losing conflicts, and that comes out in my writing in a few serious ways.

Serious ways in which it comes out in my writing:

1. Every. Single. One. Of my characters. Get along perfectly. All the time, every day, they are BFFs. One of them makes an off-color joke? No worries, they have the exact same sense of humor (mine). 
2. My characters are ridiculously prepared for preposterous things that happen to them. That is bad and also not good, in that WHERE IS THE PLOT, WHERE IS THE STRUGGLE. 
3. I cannot come up with logical solutions to conflicts. An aborted plot line ran like this: "Benny gets kidnapped, the team freaks out, Benny frees himself and calls them from a phone booth, they are relieved." Anything that involves more than one or two characters working together escapes me. 
4. All my plots basically suck. 

This will burn the heart out of you.

If uploading things from my camera wasn't such a colossal pain in the neck, your eyes would be graced with the wonders of Aerosol Pancakes at this moment. And not just any Aerosol Pancakes, but Chocolate Aerosol Pancakes.

What is a Chocolate Aerosol pancake, you ask?

Why, it is just like a regular Aerosol Pancake.

And what is that?

Wellll, you know the cheese stuff, or whipped cream? It's like that, exactly like that. Only pancake batter. And it isn't all fluffy like whipped cream. It usually isn't as fun as the cheese stuff. It's more... drippy. And actually pretty delicious after you realize that there is a subtle difference between the dark brown of 'this pancake is done' and the very dark brown of 'this pancake is TOO done and needs some aloe for that sick burn.'

You don't have to mix it or clean up the bowl afterwards. All it takes is a few seconds with a hot pan. I am going to hell for advocating this.

Also today I ate a whole pack of orange Milanos with Sam while we struggled to find our Sim a man. His name? Mike Hawk. His hypothetical divorced wife? Yuraq Hunt. There were MANY jokes about this. Bad jokes. Terrible, terrible jokes.
Hey, come meet Mike Hawk!
Mike Hawk really wants to change clothes.
Mike Hawk needs to pee.
Once, I played a guitar with Mike Hawk.
Step one: I put Mike Hawk in a box.

SPEAKING OF COCKS. Guess who has a girl friend?
I'll give you one hint: It is me. I am confused as to how this happened and what is happening and what will happen, but whatever, I suppose there will be someone to make out with on this roller coaster ride?

Also, bisexuality invisibility is stupid and those who believe you can only be attracted to one gender are stupid.

Re: Fandom

It's four in the morning, but I have things to say. About fandom and the people in them.

Background: The Sherlock fandom. A crackier, crazier fandom has never existed, except maybe for the Rocky Horror Picture Show fandom. There is slashfic about John and Sherlock. Slashfic about John and Sherlock as a female-to-male transsexual. Slashfic about mugs belonging to John and Sherlock. I think I even read a slashfic once about cake and intercourse with said cake.

It made me really hungry.

But basically, this fandom is nuts and everyone in it is so, so sweet.

Useful definitions: Canon and Fanon.

Canon means something happened in the show. Sherlock says Mycroft is his arch-enemy. That is canon.

Fanon means it's usually kind of hinted at sort of, but most of the time it's just things most fans agree on. Fanon is the fact that most fics have Mycroft and Sherlock seven years apart.

Some more fanon is that the Holmes mother is extremely awesome and badass and accepting. Another fanon is that she wasn't the most loving of mothers and was forever away and Sherlock had lots of nannies that he scared away.

Which leads me onto the subject of Blogs.

I am going somewhere with this, I swear.

There's a blog run by some very awesome people. In character, it's written by John Watson, Super Nanny, who has been hired by Mrs. Holmes to be Super Nanny for her otherwise unmanageable children. She spends a lot of time in other countries and such, so they need someone with military training to keep her boys safe. (No mention of a father, there. Fanon: Mycroft and Sherlock had different fathers.) Sherlock is five, Mycroft is twelve.

And people comment on this blog, also in character as people on the internet as people that simply read John's blog. There are more people playing Lestrade, John, and Sherlock.

Recently, Sherlock informed John that he would be going with Lestrade to a convention. (this has been vetoed.) But during the ensuing discussion, it came out that Sherlock described murders as fun and interesting to his teacher.

And... and this is actually hard to explain, how touching this is. But people who watch Sherlock know how he's so alone at the beginning, and how he doesn't trust people. And here they have a five-year-old Sherlock.

Bronwyn is an awesome person that does audiofic for things, including the Paradox Series and a bunch of Sam_Storyteller fics. (GET ON YOUR KNEES.) (I swear it wasn't dirty in context.) (Well it kind of was, but not really. It was part of a list.) (that's not helping is it.)

And this is what she said:

*whispers to Sherlock* Murders aren't really fun. But they are the hardest puzzles in the world. For the people who die though (and the people who love them) it's not so much fun because in order for there to be a puzzle at all, they had to lose someone they loved and that's the worst kind of losing, I think. Losing just so someone else has a puzzle.

And remember, Sherlock, most people don't think in puzzles and questions. They think in emotions and appropriate public behavior. You have to learn how to say what you want to say in a way they'll understand and that isn't too awful to them. It's like visiting a foreign country. You have to learn the language.

Best of luck Sherlock,
Bronwyn

She... It's like going back in time to warn your father not to step in front of traffic. Well, not really.

But we all know what would come for Sherlock, if he didn't have someone to guide him. How alone he'd be. And even though it's just a blog, with four characters probably controlled by the same person, the instinct to protect him from that is...

I like fix fics when they're done correctly. This is much more than that.

Sorry for the incoherency, I'm blaming it on it being four in the morning right now.