Dillie60fso

K. Bai.

My first and probably last edit cause I’m just not about that life frl 😭😭.

But I seen a comment about this song to a Richonne edit and when I listened to it, I just had to do this.

I hope you all like it 🥰❤️

Songs that would make Rick think of Michonne and/or he’d dedicate to her. 🌹

Songs that would make Michonne think of Rick and/or she’d dedicate to him. ❤️‍🔥

Honestly, my issue isn't about her sleeping with someone else, even if it was a blink and two footsteps after finding out her husband (and the father of her son) was "dead." And I know their marriage was headed for the trash before everything went down. The biggest issue I have with her is about WHO SHE CHOSE to lay down with. Her husband's best friend (and damned near brother) is just vile, imo. Y'all know it would hurt you too, so stop lying.

"I just needed to feel something." OK? 😒 Flesh-eating monsters running around in a collapsed world, and THAT'S what you were thinking about?? 😑

And then, you get PREGNANT on top of that?! 🤦🏾‍♀️

And when you're a fan of a show whose white fanbase always has excuse after excuse for EVERY SINGLE ONE of Lori's toxic behaviors, who sympathizes with her adultery (intentional or not) and ignores her terrible treatment of Rick, labels anyone who disagrees as misogynistic or an incel, but then turns around and tries to minimize Rick and Michonne's relationship AND their son, cancel Michonne as a mother for leaving to find the missing piece of her family (with Judith's insistence, might I add), and act like Rick wouldn't tear the world apart for them (or that he would EVER leave his family to go over the ocean to find Daryl), I immediately want such a ridiculous post to disappear from my sight and memory entirely. Don't even get me started on the copious amounts of whataboutisms that start raining down about Shane. 🙄 YES, he also betrayed Rick. He's not innocent. I get that. But it takes TWO. And I'm not talking about Shane right now. I'm talking about the one who was supposed to be Rick's life partner, his wife. The one whose promises were supposed to mean something. Who, at the very least, wouldn't have moved on AS FAST as she did, and certainly not with WHOM she did, if she had truly loved her husband. Homegirl didn't even mourn him!

At the end of the day, Michonne tops Lori as a wife, mother, and warrior all day, every day. PERIOD. Richonne FOREVER.

"I just love Lori so much!" 🥴 Yeah, yeah. Good for you. Glad you've got someone you can relate to. I hope your man knows. 😑

Meanwhile, we got Queen Michonne. A TRUE ride or die. She and King Rick deserved their happy ending. AND THEY GOT IT. No amount of whining or bigoted insults will change that.

Okay so after watching Rick and Michonne kiss for the umpteenth time, I started to notice a play-by-play of their actions I think other people haven’t discussed yet. (keep in mind this might not make sense  because i’m a little drunk)

When the kiss first starts you can see Rick has Michonne set the tone and pace of their kiss. 

That’s why it begins slowly. He’s trying to stay calm as Michonne gets a feel for what it’s like to be intimate this way again. (He’s moaning here regardless but that’s not what this is about)

Then once she starts to get as enthusiastic as he is, (putting her fingers through his curls and all of that) he moans and starts kissing her harder.

That’s when the gun upholster briefly cock blocks them. (That’s why he says dammit and Michonne starts laughing)

Then he says okay “we’re good to go” and then she’s like “okay good”. (After her affirmation he surges forward and starts kissing her hungrily, tongue and all)

At this point Michonne is starting to feel how needy he is for her, and she moans 

So she starts kissing him back enthusiastically which causes him to pull back for a second. 

Then she’s kind of smiles at him like “It’s okay, I’m still with you.” This is the moment that he surges forward and kisses her, moaning, as he pulls her hips into place.  

When he pulls back this time Michonne’s breath hitches. That’s why we see her head kind of fall back onto the pillow (because she’s lost her breath). And she touches his face like “hold up give me a minute”.

Then she sucks in a huge breath, and he just smiles before kissing her again.

Once upon a time, I used to write fanfiction. I mean before AO3, before FF.Net, before AniPike—hell, before the Internet was even available via dial up to us normal folk. I had spiral notebooks, composition books, steno pads—whole forests worth—filled with fanfiction and original stories. (And yes, I can also be found in the vaults of FF.Net, but I shall never reveal that long gone alter ego. Please don’t ask.)

My friends and I would swap stories or read them aloud to each other at school, on the subway, on city buses as we delayed returning home to our respective realities. My muses and motivation rose and fell depending on whatever family crisis I was navigating (or avoiding). We moved so often I could never hold on to those precious notebooks or any of the few belongings I was granted when my mom or stepfather were feeling exceptionally magnanimous (or riding a happy high, to put it mildly). .

More often than not, there was violence and lamentation. Climbing down the fire escape to use a neighbor’s phone to call 9 1 1 or walking to my grandmother’s house on the other side of the city with nothing but the clothes on our backs at 1 in the morning. I was also… different. One of my earliest memories is traveling with my mother on the subway to a “special” doctor’s appointment in Manhattan. I didn’t understand it then, but years later I learned that this “special” doctor was a developmental pediatrician, and I’d completed a battery of tests now used to diagnose autism. I remember my mother’s reaction—dismissive, angry, impatient. I was too young to understand any of it. But I was a selectively mute, hyperlexic and hyper graphic kid; at my happiest and most compliant when provided with a book or something to write with; and to my mother’s relief—stay out of her way as she did whatever she did.

I remember one happier Christmas when I got a typewriter. Like a real one, but kid sized. It was off white with blue trim. I’d seen it at the Alexander’s department store on the Grand Concourse. I wanted it so badly. That Christmas was magical. I don’t know what happened to it—probably left behind in yet another apartment after yet another drunken, drug induced blow up between my mom and stepfather.

Getting lost in the landscapes I built in my mind was my only true comfort. The empty platitudes of well meaning relatives whose floors we slept on—not so much.

My point—and I do have one, this is just how my brain works—is that I used to write fanfiction. I don’t anymore. Haven’t for at least… twenty years.

Oh, I’ve wanted to. Believe me. I have tabs and tabs of outlines, scenes, bulleted lists, dialogue running laps in my brain. But navigating my AuDHD brain, my AuDHD daughter, my ADD husband (whom I also suspect is somewhere on the Spectrum), and the general chaos of my life makes it nearly impossible to sit down and complete a single idea. And when I don’t finish a story, it plagues me to self-deprecating distraction—so I just stopped trying.

But I still read fanfiction. I hadn’t for a little while until this past summer and have been riding the euphoric wave of Richonne fandom. Another idiosyncratic quirk of my AuDHD—these overwhelming obsessive-compulsive inclinations.

In these past few months, I have accumulated so many favorite stories and authors. As I finally bring this plane in toward the runway, I’ve decided to try a small, manageable endeavor—highlighting some of my favorite fanfiction authors on my Tumblr.

Specifically, my favorite Richonne writers and stories.

The material in this genre is just too damn good that it makes me want to shout from the roof tops of our condo.

If I manage to finish my first entry by tomorrow, I might just shock myself.

Why am I like this? ¡¿Por qué?! I’ve fallen headfirst into a classic lit spiral, cycling through my battered Austen and Brontë copies and every adaptation I can stream—all while being dragged around by my rambunctious AUsomeDHD kiddo and juggling more doctor’s appointments and medical procedures than should be humanly possible.

I’m currently knee deep in Jane Eyre, and because I have zero self control, I immediately follow it with Jean Rhys’s Wide Sargasso Sea—a Caribbean Gothic gut punch that reframes everything you thought you knew about Bertha Mason and the brutal realities of colonial Caribbean society. A masterpiece, period.

And look… I love me some Mr. Rochester. If you’re into Jane Eyre and Wide Sargasso Sea, you NEED Sarah Shoemaker’s Mr. Rochester in your life. Not a definitive prequel, but the backstory she builds? Delicious. I inhaled it.

Meanwhile, my summer break is already halfway gone and the “school nightmares” have started. I still need to finalize my curriculum for next year, and I’m juggling two novels I want to weave into my themes: Isabel Allende’s El cuaderno de Maya—a messy, tender, coming of age story bouncing between Chile and California—and Cristina Rivera Garza’s El invencible verano de Liliana, a devastatingly brilliant account rooted in memory, justice, and sisterhood.

And because I clearly enjoy suffering (masochist points to self), I wandered down the femme lit rabbit hole (not subtle, am I?) and found The Taste of Sugar by Marisel Vera—a sweeping Puerto Rican historical novel about love, survival, and the racist, classist politics that shape ordinary lives. Naturally, I added it to the pile.

And let’s not forget the almost ten years of Richonne fanfiction I’ve been cramming in whenever humanly possible and my Richonne Rec series (@twriter12 I'm coming for you mujer!)