#I have since taken my own advice and blocked those involved!

[redlikelove]

sometimes I'll just see the tip of a drama iceberg passing for a fandom I'm not in where people just complaining about this subgroup of fans who are Doing Things Wrong and I'll go "glad I'm not there but even so maybe we just need to apply more judicious self content regulation?"

#blocking is free! I love doing it for the slightest things #I just use it as a ''get these posts out of my sight'' button at the drop of a hat #If i have a bad encounter the rare times I go out into wider fandom of the things I love #I just Don't Go Back There. frankly I dislike engaging with wider fandom in general #fandom for me is me and my group of friends' Correct Opinions. #at that point if someone does something Funny™ you can just... talk about it civilly? #that's another thing I feel like we could give a try more often but we don't want to have that conversation! #stop talking Red #on reflection ''we don't want to have that conversation'' feeds into that so revision: #it seems a wider trend is to immediately condemn anyone with an opposing opinion without giving them the space to grow from that opinion. #I do not like that and wish we could work towards a better place of understanding! #not ''tone policing.'' just asking to show a little more compassion for the human on the other side of the screen #EDIT: this was about Dragon Age stuff lmao #I have since taken my own advice and blocked those involved!

[argyrocratie]

"I remember the beginning of 15M [the 15 of May movement of 2011] in Las Palmas of the Gran Canaria. Initially we were four anarchists who erupted into a quiet camp with leaflets that cried out against the elections or the possibility that parties demobilise the movement. The poor university students who then had the leading voice did not have much of an idea of what anarchism was, and those who knew of it, did not have the most favourable views regarding it. On the first day, an assembly was held to throw us out. Today I remember it with a big smile.

That experience was enough to stir things up, people with more political experience or with more empathy towards the persecuted defended us, our adversaries would rethink their supposed pluralism and their democratic convictions and the majority would ask “what the fuck is this anarchy about?”

In the end, the results were surprising: many people stopped judging us by their preconceived ideas and began to judge us by our actions; a few days later, anarchists began to emerge from hiding, everyone was or had been an anarchist but nobody dared to say it until we started the commotion; unpoliticised people began to take an interest in our ideas, to debate and to organise; many declared themselves anarchists without being previously (a group of 4 isolated anarchists became a group of 20, not counting supporters, with the ability to call demonstrations on their own); in a public square, anarchism was spoken of, as perhaps it had not been done in the Gran Canaria since the 1930s of the last century; black flags began to be an identifiable symbol for people (to think that the majority could speak of “mourning for democracy” [this is quite true], that began to appear on posters and statements, as a call to attract libertarians); the anarchists gave workshops or were involved in the commissions and in the resolution of conflicts; there were well-attended assemblies in which, without proposing it and to my surprise, the libertarians were the majority; and so, in a few months, the FAGC [Anarchist Federation of Gran Canaria] was born.

There was another important factor: the anarchists never hid the fact that they were anarchists, and rigthly or wrongly (I still think it was correct), we decided not to interfere in the assembly decisions collectively (there were no previous agreements on any common position in the voting) so as to preserve the autonomy of the movement. Other groups, on the contrary, especially those fishing politically, tried to manipulate the assemblies quite clearly, vetoing proposals and votes, or promoting votes in series, with strategic compulsive applause. In the end people could perfectly identify if the Humanist Party, DRY [Democracia Real Ya!], or whatever, was behind a proposal. The most curious thing is that many of the members of the different collectives or political parties did not openly identify as such, they mobilised under collective slogans, but without making explicit their links or affiliations. This generated some suspicion and animosity among many of the assembled. Is that the tactic that anarchism should follow, that of parachuting and infiltrating? I’ve always thought not.

We do not have to be naive. When we declared ourselves to be anarchists, the people from political parties, those who were there to make personal gains, aspiring journalists, those who were tied to institutions or those who sought to turn 15M into a party, they never stopped attacking us and trying to block or even sabotage any initiative launched by the anarchists. People can be influenced and manipulated, but not everyone and not all of the time. If the boycott of political parties could work when demonstrations without flags were called, and when they appeared, they were booed or taken down, these same people who protested were asking us for advice on what to do in case of arrest and celebrated with us when we blocked evictions with human walls, and when we solved the internal problems of coexistence in the encampment without resorting to the police, or when we resisted with our bodies the eviction of the Plaza de San Telmo. Finally, these same people, regardless of the fear that politicians tried to instill against us, approved by majority, without any orientation other than common sense, the proposal for the organisation of 15M that was based on the libertarian principles, laid out by a libertarian.

Discovering that the anarchists could not only stir things up, but also build, propose and reason, opened the eyes of many people, regardless of the weight of violent legends and the decades of television news, which had shaped their judgments. Based on close contact with us, they stopped evaluating us by what they had heard and began to value us for our activity."

-Ruymán Rodríguez, "Anarchist Identity" (2018)

#anarchism #Ruyman Rodriguez #15M #gran canaria

[slightlyrebelliouswriter23]

hey so i'm hoping to get some writing advice about creative burnout? like i seem to write in fits and spurts. some months i can churn out a oneshot or chapter everyday and some months i can do one (1) creative thing only. so i'm wondering how to prevent creative burnout and how to just create more smoothly <3 thank you!

Creative Burnout & How To Ward Against It

First, I’d like to preface this all by saying you’re definitely not alone. You probably already know this, but sometimes it’s nice to be reminded.

I know from personal experience that creative burnout can leave you feeling hopeless, detached from yourself—the kind of identity crisis no one needs in 2020. 

So buckle in, folks. It’s a dosy.

I. The Symptoms

Not to be the local WebMD page here, but signs of burnout can include:

Procrastination (more than usual)

Dreading writing and feeling stuck or overly perfectionistic when you try

Physical tiredness and/or irritability

Feeling like everything is monotonous

It’s more than just writer’s block. It’s a physical and emotional exhaustion response to something that goes deeper than a simple lack of inspiration. In my experience, and from a bit of research, I’ve found that what your brain is really looking for is dopamine.

Dopamine is essentially your brain’s chemical reward system for doing something interesting or exciting to you. As someone who is diagnosed with ADHD, I have chronically low levels of dopamine, so this is a constant struggle for me—but it is absolutely made worse by creative burnout.

II. The Problem

Studies have shown that the more we do A Thing the less that thing will give us dopamine (unless a component of the activity changes regularly). This is because eventually our brains desensitise to the stimuli provided by the activity, and subsequently, we become disengaged.

But it’s not necessarily The Thing (i.e. writing) that becomes boring. Actually, more than a few factors could be at play here, and the first step to finding a solution is to identify the problem.

1. ENVIRONMENT LACKS EXCITEMENT/CHANGE—

Sometimes, the monotony of everyday life can feed creative burnout. This becomes especially applicable in quarantine when you’re not leaving your house.

What we don’t realise is that even something as small as the variables of driving to and from work, or interacting with passing coworkers, gives us dopamine. So if you have the same routine every day that does not involve any added variables, your brain will begin staunching that dopamine supply.

2. EITHER TOO EASY OR TOO CHALLENGING—

In 1975, Hungarian-American psychologist, Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, coined the term “flow”, which refers to a heightened state of creativity and concentration on an activity. Csikszentmihalyi posited that if your skill level is equal to the level of challenge in any given activity, you will experience this state of flow.

The chart below is taken from Csikszentmihalyi’s own study on the subject of flow and motivation. It examines “your skill level” on the x axis in relation to the “challenge level” on the y axis.

Essentially:

Too much challenge + not enough skill = anxiety, worry (which might lead to procrastination and perfectionism)

Too much skill + not enough challenge = boredom, apathy (which might lead to monotony, irritability, and other depression-like symptoms)

Skill level = Challenge level = Flow

3. NOT ENOUGH “ACTIVE” STIMULATION—

When it comes to dopamine seeking, there is a distinct difference between active and passive stimulation in the brain.

Active stimulation is any form of activity that you have to actively engage in. For instance; exercising, doing a crossword puzzle, or reading a book. These kinds of activities not only give you dopamine, they also facilitate critical thinking and problem solving thought processes, which act as catalysts for creativity.

Passive stimulation, on the other hand, comes in the form of television, social media, and YouTube. It’s anything you can consume without having to actively engage. Passive stimulation will indeed give your brain dopamine, however, it won’t activate your creativity.

The problem also lies in the speed at which you receive the dopamine from passive activities. Passive stimulation is so easy to access that the more you consume, the harder it becomes to pick up active stimulation. Your brain expects a hit of dopamine just by picking up a phone or turning on the TV—it becomes addicted to the quick fix of a Netflix binge.

III. The Solutions

Based on the problems mentioned above, I am going to list a few solutions. Keeping in mind that not every solution will work for everyone, these can act as both preventative measures and remedies for someone who is currently burned out.

1. CHANGE UP YOUR ENVIRONMENT/ROUTINE—

Aim to do at least one thing per day that will add “variables” to the monotony. This can be as simple as going on a long walk, dressing up in that bold outfit you always wanted to wear to the office but never did, or sitting at a different workspace in your home.

Anything you can do that’s simple, but might provide an extra variable to your day to spice things up. Note: this shouldn’t be the same thing every day.

2. CHALLENGE YOURSELF MORE—

If you find yourself bored by your work, try challenging yourself more. This could mean setting goals for yourself that go a bit beyond what you’ve been doing. 

For example, if you’ve been writing 500 words per day, see if you can beat your own word count every day for the next week. If you’ve been writing mainly fluff pieces, switch it up and do an angst piece. See if you can write a book in a month, or start a blog where you don’t write fiction at all!

Anything you can do to add a little kick to your workload. Note: Beware of challenging yourself too much! This can lead straight back into burnout.

3. CHALLENGE YOURSELF LESS—

If you’re on the flip side of that coin, and find that you are anxious, procrastinating, and perfectionistic when it comes to writing, fret not. Just because you’re experiencing any of these things, doesn’t mean you’re incapable of doing the job with your skillset.

It just means your perception of the job needs to be shifted.

Procrastination, at its heart, is a fear of failure, which results in actively avoiding the negative emotions associated with the task that causes this fear. Perfectionism is a type of procrastination that is a combination of a fear of failure and a fear of success (or, more accurately, other’s critiques of your success) all at once.

Neither have anything to do with your actual skillset, but they have everything to do with your perception of your skillset. Obviously, this is a harder thing to fix, as it has to do with deeply ingrained levels of self-esteem.

What I can offer you is a tactic to trick your mind into thinking you’re capable.

If you have a task, big or small, and you are feeling overwhelmed by it (like you might go curl up in bed and scroll Tumblr), immediately break that task up into smaller tasks. Keep breaking up the smaller tasks until you have the smallest possible part of the bigger task without doing nothing.

Then do that smallest possible thing.

If your goal is to write a 2000 word one shot, a small part of that task is writing half of it. An even smaller part of that task is breaking the one shot up into “scenes” and writing one scene. For instance:

Jude wakes up to a sore throat, a runny nose, and a fever.

She tries to go to work, but Cardan, being the mother hen that he is, threatens to never make her another grilled cheese sandwich (her favourite food) ever again if she doesn’t stay home.

Jude agrees begrudgingly, and Cardan sits her down in front of the TV with a bottle of Gatorade. He leaves to go get medicine from the store.

When Cardan comes back, Jude is worse than before. He makes her soup and saltine crackers and spoon feeds her.

She complains the whole time and, in her feverish state, threatens to never buy him another bottle of wine (his favourite food) ever again if he doesn’t let her feed herself.

Each bullet point represents one “scene” of about 200-400 words each. Obviously, there will be more details that you work out as you write. But with these five smaller scenes, your goal is no longer writing the 2000 word one shot. Your goal is writing the first of the five scenes.

If you complete the smallest possible task, you can stop, and you’ll still feel like you’ve accomplished something because you can cross off that task from your list. But chances are, by the time you cross off one task, you may have inspiration enough to keep going.

4. ENGAGE IN ACTIVE STIMULATION—

Since active stimulation has been proven to turn on the creative “tap”, try incorporating more of these activities into your daily routine:

Exercise: As the resident couch potato, I hate to say that exercising is good for creativity, but it is. Even if it’s just going on a short walk, so long as you’re moving.

Reading: Sometimes you have plenty of ideas, but no words to fit those ideas. Fill your well of words by carving out an hour or two each day for reading a good book.

The Creative Process: In the writing world, the creative process is a process of about 20-30 minutes that the writer partakes in every day before they start writing. This process should be creative, but also have nothing to do with writing. You can try colouring in a colouring book, painting, organising a page in your bullet journal. Anything that is creative but does not make you think about everything you have to do that day. Think of it as creative meditation.

Listen to music: Having APD, I personally can’t listen to music while I write. However, studies have shown that if you listen to at least ten songs per day, it will significantly benefit your dopamine levels and overall mood. If you’re like me and prefer to work in silence, maybe stick on a couple songs during your creative process. If you can manage music and writing together, get out those headphones!

5. KEEP A REGULAR SCHEDULE—

I know this is the most cliche point in the book, but it’s valid. This doesn’t mean do the same thing at the same time every day over and over, because ultimately we’re looking to avoid monotony. 

But having pillars of structure to bolster the excitement can definitely work to keep you from slipping into burnout. Going to sleep, waking up, and having your meals at relatively the same time every day are good examples of this. 

Feel free to change up the things you do between breakfast and lunch, but make sure you have those pillars of consistency so your brain knows that a break is on the horizon and doesn’t get tired.

6. PACE YOURSELF—

This is particularly difficult for those of us who are coming out of a creative burnout, but I urge you to pay special attention to this one. If we are suddenly hit by inspiration and the writing is flowing and flowing and flowing, eventually we will hit the point of highest dopamine capacity for writing.

Not putting a check on the flood of inspiration coming out of a creative burnout, I’d argue, is actually a guarantee that many of us will experience burnout all over again. It becomes this vicious cycle in which we are trapped.

While it feels great to write non-stop and receive immediate validation for that work, try to limit yourself to how much you’re writing and how immediately you post your writing (if you plan on posting it).

Whenever I finish a one shot or a chapter of something, I like to allow at least one day for editing before I post. This timeframe is important, because it acts as a buffer of rest between writing marathons. 

You can take however long you need for the editing process, but definitely make sure you have a set amount of time in place. Otherwise, your brain might not have enough time to come down from what is essentially a writing high, and you will always need to reach greater heights in order to achieve that same level of dopamine.

~~~~

Overall, the most important things to take away from all of this are: 

Change up your environment

Keep your brain actively stimulated 

Have pillars of structure between which you can run about chaotically to your heart’s content

PACE YOURSELF!

Hope this helped. Happy writing!

-Em 🖤🗡

Writing Tip Masterlist

Fic Masterlist

Celebrate 2K with me!

#this one was a spiritual one y'all #thanks for the ask babes! #writing #writing tips #writing advice #writeblr #writing tip masterlist #writer #writer's desk #writer's life #writer's problems #writer's block #ao3 #fanfiction #creative burnout #asked and answered #em answers #danaanruhn #thank you for 2k!! 🥳💜

[everythingthemoontouches]

Hiii Jahn!🌙 I’m just a new follower. I discovered you while searching for D9 asks. I was amazed by your in-depth explanation on each placements. 🤍 I’d like to send in my D1 & D9 charts also for future spouse reading to understand more about it.Thank you so much!!🤍 Please take your time. I’ll patiently wait. 💕 Hoping you’ll have a lovely day/night! 🌹

Hello there

This, my love has been a longtime coming. First off I'm gonna introduce you to an intuitive read and then present it in a more formal, bulleted manner. You seem to ha e chosen quite a challenging path in this lifetime. Props to you for bravery. And a hug + some tea to help you brave it 💕 your life could be a beautiful movie on love, healing, growth, spirituality and personal power.

Future BAE seems to be stable, practical reliable with service being his love language. He is down to grow together, and help you walk in your power.

Taurus rising.

Scorpio 7th house. + Pluto + moon.

Wow. Lots of shadow work involved when it comes to close personal relationships. You need to turn that critical eye inwards.

Untill you work at managing or integrating your inner child issues, any partners you end up with will continue to trigger you. At its best, this is someone who helps you work through your feelings. Breakdown. Confront reality. Breakdown and rebuild yourself stringer than ever. A hades and persephone kind of love. Lots of sexual allure. Strength, protectiveness, passion, push and pull, makeup sex? Specially since the ruler of the 7th house (Mars) is in the 5th house. You're not the kinda person who'd be happy to marry just for stability. Passion and mutual attraction, love is a must.

Mars and rahu. Service. Over exerting for those you love. Days spent in bed. Service kink. Lady in the streets, freak in the sheets.

You're definitely attracted to people who help you better your place in the world. They have to have a little bit of ' I wanna do good / change the world in them'. A friendly leader kinda figure. Disciplined.

Your darakarka Mars is retrograde. Controlling. Dominant. Future BAE is definitely gonna overthink themselves into a worry when it comes to dating and wooing. Or they could think that only their way is the right / best way to do soemthing. Poor lil baby( I say baby, but as a Virgo Mars they're probably the person who takes charge, plans, overanalyzes things has a set way of doing things.) this could be someone who is an advocate for universal free education, teaches children for free or some such. Could second guess themselves when it comes to taking action.

Mars Rahu conjunction: sub kink. They'd want a lot of adulation. Could be from a different culture from you or have studied in a very different environment.

I think your fs gets better at dealing with overthinking after you guys tie the knot. They learn to be more at peace with themself, letting their intuition guide them instead of focusing too hard on trying to do the logical thing. Okay with being messy. May like to act and arrange things behind the scenes. Imagine coming home tired to find that they've already called the restaurant, arranged for your favorite food to be dropped off, warmed, alid out on the table. Gives me the vibes of a puppeteer(katputli - a rajasthani folk dance)pulling the strings. You can't see them, but the show goes on.

From being ficusssed on accumulating wealth your focus goes towards doing things that boost your sense of Self confidence. You could also grow more tactful as you learnt to seek out harmony. You probably become more direct and assertive as a result the peopep you attract are more easy going / Libra like.

I'm seeing a house for a wedding present? Or moving into your spouse's ancestral home. They could also come from a matrilineal lineage.

Your household could be supported by one or both of you working in tax, insurance, financial industries. There could also be soemthing related to life insurance.

Pluto and Saturn in the 7th is a tad concerning. There's a very heavy sense of some kind of karmic duty. Saturn is exalted in Libra.

Way too controlling. Narcissism. Moon Mars mother. Karmic ties. Moon 8th house.

U must learn to stand up for yourself.

If you're meant to have any babies in this lifetime, they'd probably visit you in a dream or a psychic trance before they come down to earth. Call it mothers intuition. This is just a gut feeling wrt your moon in 8th house in Scorpio in the D9. I say this because the moon rules the 4th house of home, and children are an important part of the house if you're a mom. The 4th house is also the home/ heartland what you'd protect.

You suppress your emotions. Emerges as a volcano. But a cold one. U turn to ice and grow aloof.

Out of body experiences

You need to learn to be more dominant and combative. I'd suggest watching the teal Swans video on creating a zero sum game in relationships. Strengthened by Aries ascendant in d 9. This life u gotta learn to fight for yourself, and not sit quietly because people attacked u or kept u under their thumb when u were younger by a strict dad.

OK, now let's look at the placements and aspects

D1 lagna (ascendant) VS D9 lagna

You go from comfort stability minded to taking more risks and initiative. Self Confidence increases. Assert your needs better.

Vargottama Moon

The moon is quite dominant as it does not change signs between d1 and D9. You're super cooperative and hate to disappoint people. I'd suggest reading up more on Anuradha Nakshatra.

Moon - Pluto - 7th house

Could indicate karmic ties or past life connections to FS. You work through a lot of your own inner insecurities, self doubt, lack mindset related issues in close romantic relationships. There could be some mother wound related issues. You can only love as deeply as you allow yourself to love yourself. In order to attract people who inspire positive growth in you, you must first sit with your shadow, examine why people trigger you, and make peace with yourself or, perhaps your mom?

Mars Rahu - sextile moon

Mars and Rahu are both impulsive action oriented Planets. Them sextile your Pluto and moon could lead you to feel quite triggered and attacked by the slightest hint of advice or suggestion from someone else. Sex with the wrong people can really mess with you. In a better manifestation good sex has you feeling liek you can change the world and also that you're super safe and secure.

Venus combust - 10th house

You need to feel appreciated for your uniqueness. Ego battles could arise and get in the way of finding, expressing love.

Saturn- Ketu Pisces

The ruler of your 7th Nakshatra this is someone who loses themself to community service, could do too much for the wrong cause. Money could come in from fish farming. Seduments or other aquatic culture.

Anuradha 7th house

This is a Nakshatra that focuses on achieving success by working with a group. Your fs is collaborative and good at managing people. Someone who shares success. And is hence likely to go far ahead in life. Major success may come later in life.

Mars 7th house

Expect healthy amount of frank, direct communication. Some arguments with FS. But there's also protectiveness, concern, and the will to do the best by someone. Mars and moon aspects indicate a healthy sex life. They're probably enamored by you. You in turn would find them super sexy.

7th Nakshatra lord and Ketu

Your fs and relation with FS is a highly spiritual one. You could both be looking for a soulful connection. There is love, there us duty there is a need to help each other value time, focus on the future. They could have been a strict disciplinarian figure Ina past life. You both probably have a knack to look down at your phone just in time tos ee an email / message alert from them? Perhaps you two run or help/volunteer at an institution for the mentally challenged.

7th house relation to pieces

OK, so this is where we have a lot going on. Mars opposes saturn. And is placed with Rahu. Mars here feels restrained. Your fs could feel blocked in their creative gifts. In the sense that all they want to do is focus on it, create, post, gain fame but saturn and Ketu try to restrict their creative time. They could be perfectionists. Having to redo things. Since Rahu is also in virgo there's a focus on creating things with the hands and fine tuning every single detail. Directed towards you, this is someone who is always encouraging you while trying to micromanage a lot of details because they think they're being helpful. This is sosmrhtinf you two could have in common so

Mars Darakarka: they teach u to fight for you. Opinionated. Honest. Perfectionist. Service before self. Hardworking. Have integrity. Very active mind.

Mars conjunct Rahu-venus D9 creativity

The 5th house rules creativity and with your venus in the 9th house in D9 your fs is someone who encourages u to be more creative and follow or take up a course to be better at your hobbies. It's like full creative freedom to be you and do you.

D9 Exalted Saturn

Justice. Duty. Not very affectionate but they make sure you have everything you need. Balanced approach. Someone thoughtful. They're fair in a fight.

Libra, venus ruled 7th house

Beauty, peace and harmony in thr relationship. You're not gonna feel like you're being taken for grated. They will treat you to nice things and probably have a schedule for dates and other such romantic leisure activities.

Jupiter rules 9th, in 2nd house

Philosophy. Art. Culture. Museums. Travel coudk be a key focus in your married life. This is something you two bond over. Could also strike God fortune when u do travel or go on pilgrimages. Luck and money via foreign sources.

Rahu in aquarius

Social media influence or you get better at making friends just make sure that they're not provoking you into taking uncalcukated risks or actions that are wya too bizarre. Could denote some kind of breakthrough with technology, a love for a high end gadget driven spaces. An interest in Photography. Any couples pictures posts would be well received. Like you're the couple that looks exotic in their photos. Radiant. Aloof, intellectual, stimulating and even more appealing together.

Jupiter Taurus in 2nd house of D9

Debilitated Jupiter 9th house- religious issues - venus 9th house - conversion?

You may have struggled with religious ideologies being forced on you, or the one you were born into didn't quite feel right. Your fs may follow a different religion or show you that being religious does not mean you feel bad about some of your lifestyle choices.

Pisces Mars d9: he is either tactful and charming or a bit manipulative. You may feel like you prefer to act behind the scenes. It may be a little hard to be recognized for the things you do untill you get really really angry.

D9 Cancer 4th house: the home is a serious source of pride. Beautiful interiors and you'd be quite guarded about who you invite over. The best meals. Soothing interiors.

Pilgrimage within the 1st year of becoming a mom ( Jupiter's aspect on the 9th house)

Venus in Sagittarius D9: future BAE is gonna love his freedom. He could be a workaholic.

Alrighty, that's all I've got today. I hope this helps. I wish you the best on your healing and integration journey

#Shadow work #Mars saturn Pluto 7th house #Future spouse astrology #Future spouse reading #D1 and D9 analysis #Navamsa analysis

[moonbeambucky]

Hey Neighbor (Part 14)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Billy Russo x Reader Word Count: 6039 Warnings: fluff, light angst, mentions of cheating

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: Major cringe warning everyone.. I can’t wait for your reactions! 😂 A huge thank you to my wonderful beta Sam @buckyofthemyscira​​​​ Feedback is always appreciated! 

PART 13 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

Bucky pulls off his headphones, pressing a finger to the keyboard to stop the music he’s reviewing, taking a moment to pinch between his brows. He gets up to stretch his legs, grabbing the empty beer bottle along with him for the short walk to the kitchen. He tosses it in the garbage with the rest.

He doesn’t like drinking this much but lately he hasn’t been feeling great. His music has been stagnant, devoid of life and energy. Thinking about it only makes him feel worse, a painful reminder that deadlines are coming up and what little he’s created is absolute shit.

The knob squeaks as he turns the faucet, letting the water turn to liquid ice before he runs his hands through them, splashing it up against his face. He hears the hiss of the pipes next door and his heart sinks.

It’s Y/N’s shower. He looks towards the wall wondering if she’s alone, quickly shaking the thoughts out of his mind. He shouldn’t care if she’s alone or not. She’s in a relationship and it shouldn’t matter.

Bucky tried really hard to not think about her. He promised himself he would get out there and find someone and well, it hasn’t exactly worked out. In the last three weeks he’s been on a dozen dates. Most of the girls could barely hold a conversation, while the others were less exciting than watching paint dry.

He fucked a few of them even though he said he wouldn’t. That wasn’t the point of these dates but Bucky needed the distraction. It was hard hanging out with everyone, it didn’t matter if Y/N was there with Billy or if they were not; Bucky wasn’t sure what was worse.

Over the last few days he has been messaging someone new who’s been doing a pretty good job of keeping him entertained. Bobbi, she works at a gym Uptown. She’s worked extremely hard for her body and flaunts it in most of her photos and sure, Bucky would love to hit it but there’s something more that keeps him drawn in.

She’s so direct, talking to him as if they had known each other for years. He loves checking his phone to see her latest message, a smile already stretching across his face when he sees a long text about something that happened at the gym. Apparently a lot of characters workout there and she has an endless list of horror stories she couldn’t wait to share with him.

They planned a date for the end of the week and Bucky was very excited to finally meet her. It was promising, the idea that he could be happy with someone just like… just like everyone else.

You hug yourself a little tighter as you walk down the block, feeling the cool breeze move right through you. Billy seems to be in his own world, his head gazing down to his phone as it had been through most of dinner. You didn’t voice your annoyance though because it would only make things worse.

Billy’s been in a bad mood ever since the Feds came knocking at ANVIL’s door. A few former employees were recently involved in a string of armed robberies and Billy was questioned about it. Word got out and he lost a big account as a result.

Obviously the situation is upsetting but it’s not just that, Billy’s been distant lately. You’ve been spending a lot of time together but maybe that’s the problem, the honeymoon period might be over. You know it’s a normal part of any relationship but the idea that things could change so drastically doesn’t make you feel great.

“Hey watch where you’re going,” an unfamiliar voice barked.

Your head turned quickly to find Billy getting in the face of the stranger he apparently bumped into.

“What did you say to me?” Billy’s dark eyes sharpened like a bird of prey closing in on its target. His nostrils flared as he snarled, staring down the other man until he backed away with his tail between his legs. Billy looked him up and down, a smug smile creeping across his face in silent victory.

A heavy arm fell around your shoulders as Billy pulled you closer to him when he began walking away.

“What the hell was that?” you asked after a long beat of silence.

He faced you with the same incredulity he gave the man before. “That was people knowing better than to get in my way.”

Your stomach churned with unease and that silent alarm inside you was going off. You needed to get away from Billy, for tonight at least. By the time you got to the front of your building you figured out an excuse you hoped would work.

“Hey so, I promised Elena I would head in early tomorrow. Paperwork’s been piling up and medical records have been on our case about it. So, can we raincheck this?” You smiled, using your best doe eyes to seem sincere about it.

Billy stared you down, looking for the slightest crack in your expression. It was something he had always done, reading people, checking for lies. You know it’s a product of his upbringing, with so many broken promises made by a faulty system.

“Yeah. Yeah that’s fine,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Remember I got us Knicks tickets.”

You nodded in agreement, gasping slightly when he caught you off guard by his kiss. It was the last thing on your mind but you gave in, opening your mouth to his forceful tongue. Anything to keep up appearances, for tonight.

Billy watched you enter the building and you waved back at him right before you disappeared for the hallway, finally able to take a breath. On the way up to your floor you wondered if you should talk to Wanda about what happened. It was kind of late though and even though she would want to hear everything about it you didn’t want to disturb her.

As you approached your door you looked towards Bucky’s. Maybe he could give some advice from the male perspective. Then again you didn’t want to bother him either. Bucky’s also been pretty distant lately and you’ve barely seen him in the past month. Maybe everything’s changed, your relationship, your friendships. Change is supposed to be good but this felt all wrong.

You couldn’t find a comfortable spot on your bed, tossing and turning, kicking off the covers, pulling them back up again. Nothing seemed right. There was too much on your mind and you couldn’t relax.

“Shut up brain, just shut up!” you begged out loud, grabbing your phone to find something to distract yourself.

Scrolling through your playlists you tried to find one that wouldn’t give you the urge to stay up and sing along, and then you stopped on the perfect one. It was Bucky’s playlist, Greatest Cinema Scores. Grabbing your headphones you laid your head back on the pillow as John Williams carried you to dreamland.

You groan, rolling over to one side. It’s still dark out. You don’t want to look at your phone but you give in anyway. Two in the morning. At least you still had a few more hours of sleep. Your stomach spasms forcing you to get up, hurrying your paces to the bathroom because the weird rumbling has you convinced you might not make it in time.

It’s five past two in the morning when all hell breaks loose. Hell translating to everything you’ve eaten this evening coming up and out of you from both ends. It’s not pretty. Tears are streaming down your face as you puke into the garbage can you’re rapidly filling, trying to catch your breath in between painful heaves. The other end isn’t much better, hot liquid expelling itself from your body; stomach cramps, body spasms all doing their part to add to the mess.

Ten minutes pass by the time it’s safe to leave the bathroom. Your throat burns with the remnants of vomit, your ass is on fire and you curl back into bed, brushing aside the tears from the corner of your eyes. Your reprieve is short lived as your stomach grumbles again and you rush across your apartment, giving yourself over to the porcelain throne.

More comes out of you than you’ve taken in and you wonder about the science of it all. When will it stop? Dinner was simple, a glass of wine, a small house salad, chicken parm and some vegetables that come out whole as you peer into the soupy garbage held out in front of you. A whiff of the stench makes you gag again setting off another round of vomiting.

Everything hurts. Tears burn hot against your skin as you cry alone, half naked and in need of a shower at this point to clean yourself up. Elvis died on the toilet, is that how you’re gonna go too? It seems entirely possible at this point.

By the time the sun begins to peak out through the large buildings you’ve exhausted your body of all its worth. You’re shaking as you change into clean pajamas, crawling back into bed, barely having the strength to raise your phone to your ear as you leave a message for Elena, telling her you won’t be able to make it in today.

Sleep doesn’t come easy, not when you’re still getting out of bed every hour to get rid of every part of your insides. Isn’t it out of you already? You think back to dinner and the slightly pink chicken you thought at the time was your imagination or bad lighting. Dammit.

You text Billy, telling him you have food poisoning, hoping his seafood and linguine didn’t leave him in the same position you were currently in. After the hundredth trip to the bathroom you opened up your fridge looking for something. You squirm as you look at the orange juice, however tempting it is the acid would probably burn through you. Your mouth waters looking at the forbidden food, aka anything that isn’t a plain cracker. Do you have any of those? Nope. How is it possible you don’t have a single thing you could possibly eat?

The trek across your apartment and back to your bed seems like it went on for miles and now you shake with chills, wrapping yourself up in the blanket as you text Wanda begging for her to come over with Gatorade, ginger ale and crackers.

You whimper out loud as you feel your stomach gurgling, it wants another round versus the toilet where you’re going to lose. By the time you come out again you’re sweating, shaking on weak legs as you cry yourself to sleep.

In another hour you’ve woken up, thankful for the returned text that she would come by before heading to work. After your latest round in the bathroom you trudge to the front door unlocking it, and move to your couch where you plop face down. You text Wanda, telling her the door is open, and try to shut your eyes until the inevitable happens. Because you know it’s going to happen again. For some reason you’ve been cursed and there’s nothing you can do about it but suffer.

You aren’t sure of how much time has passed but you hear your door opening, bags rustling in hand and the tiniest smile spreads across your face.

“Wandaaa, my butthole hurts,” you whined, lifting your head up off the couch slightly to groan even more. “It’s like a volcano that’s erupting hot brown lava. There’s so much of it Wan. It won’t stop. My ass is vomiting shit.”

“Wow Y/N, that’s quite a visual.”

Oh no. Panic surges through you when you realize that was not Wanda’s voice. A weak arm pushes you up from the couch where you turn around to find Bucky somehow looking at you in the eye after he heard your very blunt confession.

You’re stunned into silence, not knowing what to say because you had just said far too much than you ever wanted to. Suddenly you feel nauseous again but for a different reason.

Bucky shifted one of the bags he was holding into his other hand so he could send a small wave in your direction, trying not to burst out laughing as he said, “Hey neighbor.”

“B-Bucky, what are you doing here?” you asked, sinking back down onto the couch because you couldn’t support yourself anymore.

“Wanda texted me, said she wasn’t able to get these to you before work.” He set the bags down, walking closer to you and crouching down by the couch. “Are you okay?”

Your head shook a little before you answered. “No. I think I’m dying. I’m puking up my organs.”

“Oh yeah? Which ones?” he chuckled.

“My intestines, definitely my stomach… maybe a kidney or two.”

He cracked a beautiful smile that somehow made you feel better just by looking at it. Bucky reached the back of his hand out to feel your forehead. You were a little warm but you didn’t feel feverish.

“Well I’m here now and I brought all the good stuff you need. Will you let me help you?”

Tears filled your eyes as you replied, and Bucky smiled again. He emptied the bags in your kitchen, taking out a bottle of ginger ale, Gatorade, crackers and some instant white rice.

“How about a little ginger ale to settle your stomach, yeah?”

Bucky brought over a glass that was less than half filled. Sitting next to you, he helped you sit up and you waited for the room to stop spinning before you took a few small sips as he told you to. Your hand was shaking and Bucky took the glass from you before you spilled it.

You didn’t think a few sips of ginger ale would be a magical cure but you wished it would. You felt so shitty… which seemed fitting, but it really wasn’t funny. You leaned against Bucky, closing your eyes as you sighed in frustration. It was comforting to feel his arm around you, and hear his whispers that everything would be okay.

“Are you nauseous? Do you need to…”

“I just don’t feel good,” you cried against him.

Bucky pressed his lips into a thin line, wishing there was something more he could do for you. When Wanda texted him he had shot right up, threw on clothes and raced to the store. He wished you had asked him, that you were as close as you used to be but he understands why you might not have wanted him to know.

The briefest thought about Billy crosses his mind. Did you tell him? Was he going to come in and take care of you? Would you shove Bucky aside if he did? But Billy isn’t here, and Billy isn’t important. Right now this is about you and doing whatever he can to help.

“Hey doll, do you want to try and eat something?”

You barely process the nickname as you think about how your stomach is feeling. It’s still too early to try and eat so instead you ask for some Gatorade, hoping that might make you feel a little better.

Bucky brings it back, along with a wet washcloth he places on your neck, feeling your skin prickle at his touch as he moves aside the collar of your shirt. It’s a nice relief for the short while it lasts. You head back to the bathroom again but at least you didn’t vomit this time. You’re thankful since you’re really not sure you have the strength to even handle throwing up anymore.

Back on the couch you lay your head down on Bucky’s thigh, curling your body into a fetal position as he lays a throw blanket over you. You don’t realize when you’ve fallen asleep but you wake up at some time later to find the sky is lit in a golden glow of the afternoon sun. Bucky assists you with sitting up, helping you quell the dizziness with more sips of Gatorade and ginger ale.

You feel brave enough to eat, hoping that one single cracker will not send you back on the hell ride through your digestive tract. Bucky can’t help but smile as you nibble on the cracker slowly like a hamster.

“What did you eat that got you sick?” he wondered.

“New Italian place on 23rd and 8th. Bad chicken. I mean, I thought it was good at the time but I don’t think I’ll be going back again.”

“Good to know. I’m gonna cancel my plans tonight,” he said, digging his phone from his pocket.

“Yeah, definitely go somewhere else.”

“No, I’m cancelling the whole date.”

Your head spun as you turned it too fast to face Bucky. “You have a date tonight?”

His head shook before he began speaking. “Nope, not anymore. I want to stay here and take care of you.” You began to protest but Bucky insisted. “Y/N, I really want to do this. Please, let me help you.”

The fluttering in your stomach made you wonder if you needed to rush to the bathroom again but it didn’t feel the same as before. Instead you smiled softly, thankful to have Bucky’s kindness. It was nice to know someone wanted to take care of you.

In the moment you scanned the table for your phone, remembering the text you sent out this morning. Billy still hadn’t replied. Maybe he’s sick too or maybe… well you don’t have the energy to think otherwise at the moment.

Your mouth is watering, craving anything and everything that you can’t have. Even the drinks have to be sipped slowly otherwise you’ll set your stomach off again. It’s so unfair. Why is this happening? And why is every commercial food related?

“Bucky, can you change the channel?” you begged.

He switched it to a show about animals, that’s fine, that’s… not fine. The TV shows a raccoon eating delicious red grapes and you feel the tears begin to flood your eyes. You huff against Bucky’s leg, not bothering to change the channel because there was no point. You couldn’t eat and you probably never will again. Was that being dramatic? Maybe, but right now you’re not in the mood to think sensibly.

“I feel bad askin’ but is it okay if I order food? I know you can’t have any and I really don’t want to make this worse for ya.”

Bucky is staring at you with big blue eyes, hoping his small request isn’t too much of an offence at the moment. You almost wanted to say no but you couldn’t, it’s not Bucky’s fault you ate bad chicken.

“Pizza? Really?” you whined after he placed his order.

His eyes grew big with panic and he was about to call back and cancel his order before you stopped him.

“No, no. I’m sorry Bucky. It doesn’t matter what you eat, I’m gonna want everything so enjoy yourself.”

You pouted, grabbing the throw blanket to pull it over your shoulder as you adjusted your position of resting on his leg, shutting your eyes until he got up to answer the door when the pizza arrived.

“That smells really good,” you said, frowning as Bucky opened the box.

He was hesitant to take a bite, feeling guilty as you looked at him. “Can I make you anything? Think you could handle some rice?”

Your head shook and you took out another single cracker, chewing on it slowly as Bucky sat down beside you with a few slices.

“I’m sorry Y/N. You’ll feel better soon, I promise. And when you’re up for it let’s get pizza. We still haven’t kept our promise.” Bucky’s mouth dropped open in response to your confused face. “Our pizza quest! Remember? Eat our way through the city to find the best pizza!”

“Oh yeah!” You smiled for the first time, bright and beaming across your face and Bucky was happy he was able to bring that out in you. “We definitely have to do that.”

The night continued with Bucky putting on Galaxy Quest for you both to watch. Halfway through the movie you went back to the bathroom, missing a call from Billy. Bucky couldn’t help but look over as your phone buzzed, seeing a picture of you and Billy smiling together.

A moment later a text came through and he knew he shouldn’t read it but he couldn’t help himself. Bucky looked towards the bathroom to check that you weren’t about to come out before he grabbed your phone, reading Billy’s text.

Billy: Wtf Y/N where are you? Did you remember the basketball game?

Bucky placed your phone back on the coffee table, remembering to unclench his jaw as your bathroom door opened. What an asshole. He didn’t even ask how you were.

“Your phone rang,” Bucky reluctantly said as you sat down again.

He watched as you read the text, typing back furiously. Another buzz and you were responding to Billy again, your face getting angrier the longer the back and forth messaging went on.

“I’m sorry, that was rude,” you said, tossing your phone on the table. “Let’s put the movie on.”

You got comfortable against Bucky, ignoring the buzz of your phone. The texts didn’t stop coming in and you tried your best to ignore it and pay attention to the movie but Bucky could clearly see you were upset.

“You can answer that if you need to.”

“I really don’t want to. Billy’s so concerned about wasting money on tickets, not once has he even mentioned the fact that I’m sick. Did he not get my messages?”

Bucky bit his tongue, not wanting to say something he might end up regretting, especially if this isn’t the end of you and Billy like he hoped. Why would he hope that? He’s dating now. Or at least he thought he was.

He cancelled his date with Bobbi tonight without hesitation, just so he could take care of you. She seemed cool about it, asking if he was free tomorrow and Bucky agreed to another date but the longer you stay curled up beside him the less interest he has in wanting to see anyone.

The warmth of your body against his lulled Bucky into a deep sleep. It wasn’t the most comfortable, slumped on the couch in a mostly sitting position but he didn’t want to move, not when you had fallen asleep before him. You were exhausted from everything you went through so your sleep was more important to him than the cramp that developed in his neck overnight.

You woke up, slowly opening your eyes, rubbing the sleep from them as you realized you weren’t in your bed but on the couch resting your head against Bucky. You watched the rise and fall of his stomach through the soft sweater he wore, the one that most certainly left tiny marks on your cheek from leaning against it.

Looking up at Bucky you smiled at the way his head was tilted to the side, eyes shut peacefully as small puffs of breath left his mouth. You thought about everything Bucky had done for you, what was supposed to be a simple task of dropping off ginger ale and crackers turned into his whole day being rearranged just to take care of you.

You wanted to do something nice for him in return, it’s something you’ll have to think about when your head’s not as light as it feels. Slowly you begin to sit up, taking a few sips of Gatorade from the bottle that was left on the table. You feel… better but still not great.

It’s daring but you aim to eat two crackers, hoping it won’t set off your stomach. It was grumbling with hunger but you knew better than to give in with actual food even though you were craving pancakes.

After sitting up for a while you didn’t think you felt dizzy anymore so you got up slowly. You felt the weakness in your legs as they carried you across the room but at least your trip to the bathroom was normal. A regular pee was a lot better than everything else that came out of you yesterday.

“G’morning,” Bucky said mid-yawn as you opened the door, seeing his sweater rise up to reveal a sliver of his toned stomach as he stretched his arms out.

���Morning Bucky.” You smiled as you made your way beside him again, reaching your arm across his stomach as you settled back against him, nuzzling your head on his chest.

Bucky loved this but absolutely hated that he needed to use the bathroom and therefore ruin the way you cuddled up against him. “I’m sorry doll. I’ll be quick,” he said, rushing up off the couch.

Doll. You liked that nickname. It was a little on the old fashioned side but it was endearing. Billy called you babe which was fine and all but it definitely didn’t have the same effect as doll. The thought of Billy made you roll your eyes. You would have to speak to him today but you really didn’t want to.

“Alright, where were we?”

Bucky’s voice rang out as he opened the door, walking back towards the couch. He moved his neck from side to side to crack it before he sat down again, letting you cozy up to him.

“How’re you feelin’ today?”

“Better. I think I might try some rice later.”

“Just let me know and I’ll make it.” There was no hesitation in his offer, just pure tenderness in wanting you to get better.

The morning was spent cuddling on the couch until Bucky’s stomach began grumbling worse than yours. He got up to make himself something while you insisted you weren’t ready for anything more than crackers and ginger ale yet.

“I’m gonna take your garbage out and head home for a quick shower. You think you’ll be okay? I’ll be quick.”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Thanks Bucky.”

He was thankful you didn’t tell him not to come back. You seemed much better than yesterday and you probably didn’t need him but Bucky really didn’t want to leave. Sure he had work to do but this was more important. He wouldn’t have been able to get you off his mind anyway so he might as well be useful.

During Bucky’s absence you debated talking to Billy, knowing it would probably end up in a fight but you didn’t have the strength to do that yet. Besides, you hadn’t done anything wrong so there is no need for you to be chasing him down.

With the little energy you had you decided to freshen up. While splashing your face with some water you noticed the broken blood vessels in your eyes, the result of straining so much to throw up. Fun stuff.

It was a bit of a struggle to get undressed and changed into new pajamas and you had to lay down in your bed before the room stopped spinning. Thankfully Bucky had come back and was able to help you.

He handed the glass of Gatorade to you, rubbing slow circles of comfort on your back that seemed so natural for him.

“You need to eat something Y/N. Think you’re up for some rice now?” he asked softly, gazing at you with concern as he awaited your answer. You gave a simple nod and Bucky leapt up to get it started.

The burn of tears rushed to your eyes as you thought about Bucky. He was so eager to make sure you were okay, taking out your garbage that was filled with various bags full of vomit without hesitation, spending every minute of his weekend just to take care of you. He even cancelled a date.

Something inside your stomach twisted at the thought of Bucky actually dating someone. It’s not like him sleeping with someone was a surprise to you but apparently in the last month you’ve drifted apart from him, unaware he had started to date people instead of just sleeping with them. You’re not so sure why this makes you feel so… well, you’re not really sure how you feel about it but you know you feel something.

None of this should matter though. You have been dating someone for two months. Someone you thought you loved but this past weekend has taught you a lot about Billy. Not only has his change in demeanor put you off but the fact that he hasn’t shown any concern for you over this weekend really makes you want to end your relationship.

Bucky happily brought over a small bowl of white rice. There wasn’t much in there to begin with but you could only manage a few teaspoons before you had to stop. The worst part of it all is that you were so hungry but you really couldn’t eat much, and certainly couldn’t chance upsetting your stomach anymore no matter how badly you wanted to shovel the rice down your mouth.

The afternoon was spent on your couch again, cuddled up against Bucky as you continued to watch movies. His arm was around your shoulder and occasionally you felt his hand rub up and down over the curve of your arm. You smiled against him, letting yourself enjoy however long you could have Bucky like this.

In the back of your mind you thought about him dating again. Whoever he ends up with would be the luckiest girl ever, to have someone as kind and caring as Bucky take care of them as he has been with you. You chew on your bottom lip remembering the shared kiss on New Year’s Eve. Yeah, it was safe to say you would be completely jealous of any girl that ends up with him.

While attempting to have a little more rice you watched Bucky respond to his phone that had gone off a few times. It was hard not to glance over at him, imagining what pretty girl he was probably talking to.

What you didn’t know was Bucky was talking to a girl, Bobbi, cancelling the plans they had rescheduled for today. He didn’t bother to reschedule again and Bucky knew it was stupid not to but somehow the weekend he’s spent on your couch made him lose all enthusiasm for dating someone. Logic tried to reason with him, remind him that you were in a relationship but it was hard to deny the way he felt about you, how he’s been feeling for a long time now.

Bucky can’t stop staring at you, watching as you finish up the rice from earlier. He’s hated seeing you in pain but being able to help you this weekend has been such an honor.

As the sun set you realized you were not at all prepared to go back to work tomorrow. You probably could use another day off but since you weren’t throwing up anymore you wanted to at least give it a shot. Besides, Tony had been relying on you a lot recently with the logistics of getting The September Foundation prepared and you didn’t want to disappoint anyone.

“I need to take a shower.” As you stood up you felt a little dizzy and Bucky had his arms around you just in case. After a moment of a few deep breaths you felt a little better. “I’m okay,” you assured him.

Bucky didn’t quite believe that so he poured more Gatorade and handed you the glass.

“I’m not leaving you.” Bucky wiped his hand down his face realizing how forceful that sounded. “I mean, I won’t leave until you get out okay? I don’t want you to slip and fall or anything.”

“I’ll leave the door unlocked just in case but now I feel like I’ve jinxed myself,” you joked. Having Bucky hear your vivid description of shitting was bad enough, you really didn’t want him to find you passed out in the shower.

Bucky lowered the volume of the TV to barely above mute, wanting to listen out for anything out of the ordinary. He heard the shower turn on and a minute later the curtain pulling as you stepped in.

A text from Sam pulled his attention away from listening and he opened the message, his jaw clenched as he scanned the photo attached. It was Billy, with his arm around another girl. She was short with dark hair pulled into a bun, dressed professionally and Bucky questioned if he was jumping the gun at thinking the worst. Maybe she worked with Billy or maybe it was his sister.

The next text that came through proved his theories wrong. Sam captioned the picture of Billy kissing the girl with “Asshole.”

Bucky: I’m with Y/N now. She’s been sick all wknd I don’t think she knows about this.

Sam: Do you want to tell her or should I have Wanda come by? She’s ready to rip his head off.

Bucky: So am I Bucky: Fuck. Bucky: idk maybe Wanda should talk to her?

There was nothing Bucky wanted more than to tell you what an asshole Billy was but he didn’t want to be accused of using it to his advantage in any way. Bucky would be there with everyone else to support you through this but as a friend only. You deserved better than Billy no matter who you ended up with.

“Bucky!”

The sound of your voice in distress makes him pop up from the couch. He runs to the door, fear coursing through his veins as he hopes you’re okay. Inside the steamy bathroom he finds your head poking out through the shower curtain, the rest of it pulled close to your body not to reveal yourself.

“I forgot to grab a towel,” you said, smiling. “They’re over there.” A bare arm slick with water points behind him and he grabs a towel from a shelf. “Thanks,” you said, taking it from him, watching as he nods awkwardly before shutting the door.

Bucky’s cheeks are flushed from the brief humidity and the sight of seeing you in the shower. Well, not that he saw anything but just the idea of it has his heart racing.

Ten minutes later and you were out of the bathroom, changed into new pajamas, these ones covered with a cute cactus print, brushing through your still wet hair.

Silence filled the room as you finished your post shower routine of putting on a variety of moisturizers and facial sprays and Bucky felt like he had overstayed his welcome. You were winding down even though it was still early, and truthfully he had a weekend’s worth of work to catch up on.

“So there’s more rice on the counter, plus an unopened bottle of ginger ale too, and if you need anything else you know where I live.” He chuckled uncomfortably at his bad joke. “Really though if you need me please call me okay? I’ll come running.”

He didn’t mean to sound so desperate but it was true.

“Thank you so much for everything Bucky.” You threw your arms around him for a hug, melting deeper into him as he wrapped his arms around your body.

Neither of you realized the other didn’t want to let go but you made the move to reluctantly pull apart. Bucky had spent his whole weekend doting on you, you didn’t want to force him to stay any longer.

Bucky smiled as he gazed upon you, the way your eyes shifted down before staring back up at him. He leaned in slowly, pressing his lips to your forehead and a surge of electricity went racing through you. His kiss lingered and the longer he made contact with your skin the more you wanted to press your lips to his.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said, walking away slowly towards the door.

Your heart was caught in your throat as you locked it behind him, letting out a deep, longing sigh, and the realization that you might have feelings for Bucky.

PART 15

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #billy russo x reader

[procrastinatorimagines]

Here For You Part 6

Fandom: Chicago PD / One Chicago

Series: Here For You

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 (Final)

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

Warning/s: none

Word Count: 1,534

Summary: Y/N’s world spun out of control after she got pregnant, uprooting her life and moving to Chicago only for her brother to get involved in a murder trial. Now, her baby is finally here, and with Jay by her side her life feels like it’s finally coming together again, until someone from her past comes back into the picture and threatens to tear down everything she’s tried so hard to build.

The trial process was nervewracking, multiple interviews, assessing characters, income, stability... You were glad you had Jay to lean on when it got overwhelming, but you knew you were the best thing for Lucas, and you held onto that throughout the ordeal. 

Between juggling raising your son and fighting to keep him, you made yourself think about your own future, not just in terms of Jay, but in terms of a career too. So when Lucas was big enough, you were going to start training to be a nurse. It was a time of near constant fear, but also hope; you could see your life beyond this, all you had to go was get past this colosal hurdle. 

Tommy on the other hand, as you learned in court, didn’t have a job or apartment, and had bailed on two separate court-ordered rehabs, leading to hefty fines he couldn’t afford to pay. Needless to say, the trail was going in your favour.

Eventually, the judge ruled that you were to receive full custody, but adviced you let Tommy have visitation at your own discretion, and at a time when he was in a fitter state and child support was being paid regularly and in full, the issue of custody could be revisited. Tommy wasn’t happy, but it was everything you could have asked for. 

You left the courtroom with your head held high that day, Henry passing you back Lucas as he and Jay led you out towards the elevators. Tommy chose that moment to approach, your smile wiped from your face in an instant. 

“Y/N,” he said with force, making you stop in your tracks and turn to face him. He was angry, and while you couldn’t exactly blame him... wait, yes you could. Tommy was the one who wanted to take this to court, actually having the audacity to put you and Lucas through all that thinking he had a chance. 

Jay put a protective hand on your back, positioning himself so that he was slightly shielding you and your son. “You brought this on yourself,” you told him, watching his eyes flare with rage as you continued, “if you’d have just reached out properly, we might have been able to sort something out without needing it to get this far.” 

It wasn’t a lie, you would have considered it, maybe not when you were lying in a hospital bed with your new born baby obviously, and he never should have expected that, but you could have come to an arangement. 

Tommy rolled his eyes and grumbled something you didn’t care to repeat, Jay tensing beside you. “Who the hell is this guy anyway, seriously?” He asked, gesturing to Jay with indignation, “this guy isn’t Lucas’ dad, I am, and what? He gets to be around my kid whenever he wants while I have to beg you for scraps?” 

Lucas was starting to fuss in your arms as you took a step away from Jay towards Tommy, wanting to show him that you were fighting your own battles. Jay cast you a worried glance but he didn’t stop you. You took a breath, leveling yourself as you felt your blood boil. 

“Yes,” you answered his question, much to his shock and anger, “Jay’s been there for me, for us, this whole time since we met, since you left. He’s a good man, kind and dedicated, and Lucas would be lucky to have Jay for a dad.” 

You heard Jay suck in a small sharp breath, not expecting you to say that; Tommy gasped in surprise, almost looking hurt. Honestly, you were surprised you said that outloud too, but there it was. Henry was smiling in a knowing way, glad his sister was finally standing up for herself.  

“You little...” Tommy hissed, taking a step forward and pointing his finger in an acusatory manner. Instinctively, you took a step back, a protective arm around Lucas as he started to cry. That was all the cue Jay needed to intervene, blocking Tommy’s path.

Security took a step forward, ready to de-escalate the situation if they needed to, but Jay had it under control, sensing the shift in Tommy’s stance and the way he clenched his fist. It was an obvious swing, one that Jay dodged with ease, a slight glint clear in his eyes, gaining all the justification he’d been waiting for as he aimed a well placed punch at Tommy’s nose, knocking him to the ground in one hit. 

Tommy looked daised, steam practically coming out of his eyes as he tried to stand, clearly going for round two before he froze, staring at the badge Jay had just revealed under his shirt. Jay signaled to the guard to pick him up off the floor.

“Congratuations Tommy, you’ve just assaulted a police detective in a court house full of witnesses,” he told him, nodding towards the crowd of people who had stopped what they were doing to witness the commotion. 

Any sympathy you might have had was gone as you looked him square in the eyes. “Goodbye Tommy,” you told him, turning on your heals as you soothed your crying son. You already had an actual baby to take care of, you didn’t need to pile a grown man onto that list. Somewhere down the line, you might consider letting him visit Lucas, but that wasn’t going to be anytime soon. Besides, after this there wouldn’t be a judge around who wouldn’t take your side on that matter.

As the doors shut to the elevator and Tommy was taken into custody, you let out a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding, grateful when you felt Jay’s fingers slip into your own. You glanced down at his bruised knuckles and ran your thumb over them lightly, squeezing his hand in thanks as Lucas began to calm down. 

It had been satisfying to watch, if you were being honest, you knew Henry agreed by the smirk that had become permanently plastered on his face. Jay definitely enjoyed it a little too much, but you didn’t blame him.

You looked around at the people in the elevator. They were your family, Lucas’ family. You didn’t need Tommy, hadn’t for a long time, maybe now he’d realise that.

-

“What’s going to happen to Tommy?” You inquired once you were back in the comfort of your own apartment, Lucas finally calmed down and asleep after the ordeal at court. 

“I don’t know, but after that outburst he won’t be allowed near you or Lucas for a long time,” Jay informed you, temporarily putting on his serious detective voice, “I’ll make some calls tomorrow.” You knew he would, he took yours and Lucas’ safety very seriously, Tommy was probably at the 21st right now nursing his nose.

“I didn’t want this, Lucas deserves stability, a good father...” You sighed with frustration, all the emotion you’d bottled up during the day and the trail threatening to boil over. Jay grabbed your hand and you met his eyes, “I meant what I said in there, about you. I want you in his life.”

“I want to be in his life, I love him...” Jay told you honestly, taking a deep readying breath, as if preparing himself for what he was about to say, “I’m kind of in love with you too.”

“Jay-,” You breathed, shocked by his declaration.

“I know you’ve been through a lot and this is sudden, but I love you Y/N, and I want to be a part of your life, both of your lives,” he continued, taking your other hand too. 

His touch was strong, warm, comforting, everything you wanted for yourself and Lucas. Jay had proven time and time again the kind of man he was, without fail, he’d been kind, patient, supportive... everything Tommy had never been, everything you didn’t think you deserved, but here he was, ready to give it all to you without hesitation. 

So you told him the truth, the truth you hadn’t even realised it until this moment, buried deep down as you’d tried to navigate your new life. “I love you too,” you told him, and it was like something cracked open in your chest, and you could breath again. You’d never said those words to anyone, not romantically, but you knew it your heart that you did.

“Yeah?” He asked hopefully, not quite believing that you’d said it back so quickly, or with so much confidence. You took him in as you thought of what to say, every detail.

“Yeah I really do, I guess I’ve been trying to fight it, thinking that it might be selfish to think about a relationship right now, but the truth is you are what’s best for him, and me,” you tried your best to explain, “I love you, and although I don’t know what’s going to happen with Tommy, I know Lucas could never ask for a better father than you.”

“You mean that?” 

"With my whole heart.” 

And then you kissed, and it felt like a promise, a promise of ‘i love you’, a promise of a future, a promise to always been there for each other, whatever came next. 

#jay halstead #chicago pd #one chicago #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead imagine #chicago pd imagine #jay halstead imagines #chicago pd imagines #one chicago imagine #one chicago imagines #here for you

[lumina-rose]

Tear You Apart

Chapter 2/4

AO3 Link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32168824/chapters/79765408#workskin 

Pairing:

Laszlo x Reader

Summary:

Mere months after the conclusion of the Beecham case, Dr.Kreizler and his associates are asked once again to solve a new series of murders that plague the streets of New York. They are joined by the alienist's new assistant, who's presence soon unravels startling revelations. Not only within the case, but also within the mind of one of their own.

(This story is set between the events of Season 1 and Season 2)

Warnings:

Murder Mystery, Graphic Description of Corpses, slight dark!Laszlo (kinda. Think Will “This is my design” Graham), Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut (MINORS DNI), Minor Violence, Friends to Lovers,Assistant, Boss/Employee Relationship,Tension, Sexual Tension, Mutual Pining.

(More Future Warnings TBD)

Notes:

Chapter 2: Love & Hate

It had been a full day since your strange interaction with Dr. Kreizler.

After waiting to for him to gather everyone involved with the investigation, you were troubled when no call came. Part of you worried that it was due to your disturbing experience, but you fought back your anxieties with logic. Even if something had happened between the two of you, Laszlo would never let it interfere with the case. Still, that did not stop you from worrying about the alienist. Your mind constantly returning to that moment.

His tired appearance, caused by countless hours of work and stress, which were aided by sleepless nights theorizing the motives and background of the murderer that haunted New York. The vacant trace-like state that overtook him, as though his actions were being controlled by something else. Someone else. The warm feeling of his palm against your skin, a feeling that would have been calming and welcome, had it not been placed around your throat. Yet, the firm but gentle hold had thrilled you- excited you. But it also frightened you. And even now, you debated your mixed, complex emotions. There was fear, yes, but excitement too. Or was there both? Or were they the same? What was the difference between the two?

You had felt like this before, in fleeting moments and never quite as strong. You had felt it with small admirers from your past, though nothing ever came from these interactions. You had felt it when you first began your work at the Kreizler Institute, upon seeing the care taken to provide the city's troubled youth with a sanctuary, free from the pressures of society. And recently, in small moments with Dr. Kreizler, himself, after working by his side tirelessly. On your trips to the Opera, when you both would be given a chance to simply talk- not about work or the mentally ill- just genuine conversations, discussing your hobbies, interests, and hopes for the future. One particular moment had stuck out to you, thinking back. It had been late, and you had joined Kreizler back at his home after a long day of work. You shared a drink together, when he finally asked you what you hoped to gain from learning from him.

Usually when men asked about what you wanted to do as a working woman, they were against the notion that you wished to become an alienist, believing that a woman could never become a doctor despite the fact that there were a rare few that already were. Indeed, even with the likes of Marcus, Lucius, and John Moore there was apprehension. With Dr. Kreizler, however, he never tried to persuade you otherwise and spoke only with respect and encouragement in regards to your dream. Ever since that moment, you had harbored affection for the alienist, though you would never act on it. If not for the sake of your own feelings, then for Laszlo's reputation.

"Ms. (L/n)?"

Your mind found its way back to the present, returning you to your surroundings. You stood in the small apartment that had become your home, a space you had rented out from a Mr. Louis Arnett. He was an older man who had been left a widower, and remained unmarried to this day. While he was a bit older than yourself, perhaps eleven years your senior, it wasn't impossible to imagine the possibility of him remarrying. It often made you wonder if his lack of interest in remarriage was due to his age or grief. Due to the sudden passing of his late wife, he had moved to a new house in the city, but offered for you to live in his previous residence, as long as you kept paying your bill on time. Since the Kreizler Institute was more generous in terms of wages, that had never been an issue for you. Still, sometimes the older landlord would come by to check on the space, often taking time to sit and chat with you despite your insistence that it wasn't necessary.

"I must apologize, Mr. Arnett." You sighed, giving a small smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "I'm afraid my mind is elsewhere as of late."

The older gentleman sat at a small table in the center of the room, drinking from a cup. He wore his typical suit, all black- save for one pin attached to his tie. A lily was depicted on the small item, as a tribute to his late wife. You eyed the item warily now, only being reminded of the bloodied bouquets.

He gave an understanding look. "As I can imagine. Nasty business. I must say, I'm rather concerned about that alienist you say you work for....Kreshner, was it? Letting a lady such as yourself work well into the night, with all these horrible attacks going on."

"Kreizler. Doctor Kriezler." You corrected. Another burning heat flashed through you, upon Arnett's mentioning of your employer, wrapping around the collar of your dress jacket. "As for myself, I am capable of finding my way home safely."

"Of that, I am certain. I do hope the man doesn't keep you there too late." Arnett relented, chuckling slightly at your reaction.

You turned to the landlord, scoffing.

"I assure you, if Dr. Kreizler had it his way, I'd be back well before the sun had begun to set. If anything, it's at my insistence that I spent so much time at the Institute."

"Is that so?"

You were used to speaking casually with the older gentleman, during such visits, but your comment seemed to intrigue the man. Perhaps you should be a bit more careful with your words. You stiffened slightly, rushing to correct your mistake.

"With the attack of those four women, I believe we should be using what time we have to catch the person responsible. My beauty sleep can wait, for now."

The man nodded, thinking for a moment, before standing to come closer to my side. Holding a hand out, he gave a quick goodbye. "Very well, Ms. (L/n). I suppose I shouldn't keep you. Though, I do wish you would take care of yourself."

"I thank you for your concern, Mr. Arnett." You nodded. "I should be heading to the Institute soon, anyways. Perhaps I can walk you down?"

"You are too kind, my dear."

You brushed off the endearment, convincing yourself it was merely a phrase he used often, and went to join the man in his exit. Once outside, the sounds and smells of the street hit you, reminding you that even with a killer on the loose, nothing could stop the momentum of New York. You escorted Mr. Arnett on the sidewalk, waiting as he attempted to hail a cab. After a few long minutes of idle conversation, a small carriage approached, stopping before the two of you. You gave a quick goodbye to the landlord, beginning to rush him away, as you grew more concerned with the time. Finally, once the cab was out of sight, you let out a heavy sigh.

It wasn't that the man's company was unpleasant. In fact, you were grateful to find a landlord in the city who was so welcoming and reasonable with rent prices, there was just something about Mr. Arnett that seemed odd. It was as though he sought to interject himself into a person's life, whether or not it was welcomed. Though you were now used to the man's occasional visits, it had been a bit unsettling at first. From what you'd heard before moving here, most people in the city didn't bat an eye when it came to the lives of strangers. Then again, he was a widower, offering up what used to be his home to anyone who would be willing to pay. Maybe having a woman in the house reminded him of happier times?

Now on your own, your mind was drawn back to Dr. Kreizler and the investigation that had taken over your current daily life. You had been a bit untruthful in your conversation with Mr. Arnett earlier, in saying that you needed to return to the Kriezler Institute for the day. In fact, you had been given the day off in advance by the alienist, for what he called a "well deserved break". Nevermind the fact that he had ignored you when you suggested he do the same. Looking back on it now, you wished he had taken your advice. These murders were clearly effecting him, if yesterday was any indication.

The walk to the Institute had been short, given that you only lived a few city blocks away. Even from the sidewalk outside, you could hear the cheers and laughter of the children inside, followed quickly by the voice of one of the matrons. You smiled lightly, knowing that at least the patients of the Institute seemed happy, despite the dark times the city was currently facing. It reminded you why your efforts in the investigation were so important. You faced the ugliest parts of life, so that they wouldn't have to.

When you entered the front doors of the Institute, you were relieved to see that no one appeared to be in the halls. While you usually enjoyed the company of the children, you didn't want to be pulled away from your current goal of finding Dr. Kreizler. You made your way towards the alienist's study, knowing you might find him there. After the fourth victim had been found, there was no doubt in your mind that he had once again stayed up all night, trying to go over every detail of the murder.

You found the door to the doctor's study left ajar, a sight that unsettled you. You crept inside, calling out softly for the doctor, before stepping in fully. After receiving no response, you glanced around. The walls of bookshelves towered over you, but you noticed spaces were there were empty slots where certain books were meant to be, no doubt to help create the ever-growing mountain on the main center table. Papers and pages were scattered about, messily, along with notes and photos from the murder victims. A chalk board had been placed inside the study, and had stayed there ever since the new case began. Countless questions were written, some organized to certain corners, while others were placed haphazardly.

Sleep fascination? Somnophilia?

Meaning of Flowers? Personal or Symbolic?

Physical Strength- perhaps a labor worker or military background?

Love and Hate?

Your eyes landed on the last question, drawing you back to your last discussion with Sara. Only now it seemed the question wasn't love or hate, rather love and hate. Much like your fear and excitement, it seemed Dr. Kreizler was starting to blur the two. In your distraction, you had failed to notice the door to the side laboratory open, where Laszlo emerged from, followed closely by a young girl.

"Ms. (L/n)?"

The gentle questioning tone in words were countered only by the rough, scratchiness in his voice. Turning quickly, you gave the doctor a startled stare. The circles under his eyes were darker, confirming your suspicions, but you were pleased to see that he had taken the time to clean up his appearance overnight.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Kreizler, I had called for you but you never answered." You explained.

"It's quite alright, I was just talking with Loretta." He gave a small smile to the girl, who clung to his good hand. When his eyes came back to you, a small jolt went through you. "I hope you weren't waiting too long."

"Never."

The man quickly told the young girl to go join the other children outside, earning a silent nod and goodbye from her. As she rushed out, her hair bounced behind her, as she eagerly went to find her friends. You couldn't help but grin. Loretta was one of the more troubled youths. After an incident with a wild dog as a small child, she had been left with an intense fear of all animals. That fear later formed into troubling habits of torturing and hurting any creature she came across. Even going as far as to set fire to a neighboring cat's tail. You never would expect such a sweet smile to hide such violent tendencies.

"How did she react to the monkey?" You asked, curiously, looking back at Laszlo.

"She's improved, but is still afraid of them unless someone shows that they're friendly. It may be a while until she can deal with animals on her own." He nodded, mostly to himself, as if making a mental note. He stayed in his spot, by the door, as he continued. "I wasn't expecting you, I'm afraid. I believe I told you that you could have the day off."

"You did."

"And yet, you are here."

Still, he remained in place, as if he wanted to be near an exit at all times. You paused for a moment, stepping back towards the chalk board.

"I wanted to discuss something with you, but if you are otherwise occupied, I can wait." You said.

He stepped closer now, but still a good distance away. For some reason, that fact irked you. "Then you caught me at just the right moment. Tell me, what's troubling you?"

Ah, avoidance.

You didn't miss the fake curiosity in his tone, as he vaguely asked you what was on your mind. It was a test, and you both knew it. Would you mention his strange behavior? Did you dare? Did you want to? Did he want you to, or was this simply an attempt to forget the action, altogether?

You bit the inside of your cheek, biting back a frown. Two could play these games. "I wanted to share a thought I had about the case."

Instantly, Kreizler approached the table, overlooking the piles of read and unread books, in order to watch your expression, gauge your behavior. His expression became serious. "Go on?"

"I was thinking about why the killer used chloroform on his victims, despite failing to render them unconscious." You answered, your eyes meeting his. "I thought about the possibility that perhaps putting them to sleep wasn't his goal, nor was it to be used as a painkiller. As you pointed out, if reducing pain was it's purpose then he wouldn't resort to strangling the women. So then what if his goal was merely to disorient them, to make them unable to fight back? Perhaps the combination of panic and the effects of the drug caused them to go into shock? If that were his goal, then that would explain why he continues to use it."

The alienist pondered this for a moment. "He’s created an obsession with his true target, creating a delusion and using his victims as substitutes for her. If this is true, then perhaps the use of chloroform was simply a desperate attempt to keep them from fighting, from breaking the illusion he's created in his mind."

"That would also explain why he would then turn to using violence against them when they struggled." You nodded. "I suspect our latest victim fought a bit harder than the others, due to the stronger markings on her."

"It also supports the killer’s effort to cover up the wounds of the struggle. It would suggest that the victims didn’t want it to happen, when his delusion depends on their submission to him." Laszlo added, looking over the photographs. "He's become obsessed his target, taking pleasure from the idea that they will accept him, and escalating to violence when he's denied that pleasure."

He moved with a strong purpose, over to the chalk board, writing down a new series of thoughts and questions. There was a serious focus in his gaze, contradicted by a light glint in his brown eyes. You focused on his hand, as he quickly scratched the white chalk against the board's surface, following its path until he was done. The doctor stepped back, his chest heaving up and down slightly. A slight, satisfied smirk on his face.

"How did you come to this conclusion?" He asked, curiously, sighing.

A burning blush had reached your face, and your heart raced at the fact that your theory had brought some level of joy to the man. Blinking, you looked away, slightly embarrassed by your reaction. "I had an idea back at the morgue, before you..."

...before you grabbed my throat. You had trailed off, not wishing to speak the words aloud. Still, It seemed your message got through to Laszlo.

Now his eyes turned away, looking to the ground, as a rosy color reached the apples of his cheeks. There was a mixture of emotions in his expression, ones you could see he was fighting to hold back. Shame, embarrassment, regret, and something more. He no longer stood far away from you, as he had been just a moment before, yet you could tell he wanted nothing more than to be closer to the exit of the room.

“I must apologize, it was improper on my part and disrespectful to your boundaries." A hand went through his hair, a nervous reaction. "I fear I’m not sure what came over me.”

He didn't seem capable of looking at you, and you found yourself desperate to see his eyes. Taking a small step towards him, his head slowly turned to you. You gave him a reassuring smile.

"This case has been disturbing for all of us, Doctor, I won't blame you for being effected by it. Trying to understand the thoughts of the person responsible for these acts has proven to me that there is darkness in all of us... and that it's hard not to be consumed by it." You said, hoping to sound understanding.

You now stood only a couple feet away. His eyes met yours, as his expression gave way to something softer. "I’m not sure how I could make it up to you, after frightening you in such a way. If I still...”

Now you understood. There was the slightest tremor in his voice, but it was there. He was afraid. Afraid of his actions, afraid of how you'd react, afraid that you were scared of him now.

"I don't fear you, Laszlo." You admitted, softly. "I fear for you. If you truly wish to make it up to me, then allow yourself a break, if only for a day."

"I.." He shook his head, stubbornly, and glanced back to the photographs. "I can't-"

"-you will do no good if you work yourself to death before we even find a suspect." You countered, standing your ground. "Perhaps time away would clear your head. Please, Laszlo."

You bit you lip, as you prayed your heart would stop racing. You knew that Kreizler could be stubborn, often not listening to reason once he'd made up his mind. He paused, debating whether or not to listen to your advice. The ghost of a smile flickered over his face, before disappearing just as quickly as it came.

"How long has it been since we last went to the opera?"

You stared, unable to process his question for moment, as you focused solely on the word: “We”. After your initial shock, you cleared you throat. "I..I believe a month, perhaps?"

In truth, you weren't sure. After your investigation began, days and nights began to blur. You knew it had been more than a couple of weeks, at the least. Kreizler chuckled, softly.

"Well, then we must remedy that, shouldn't we?"

You weren't sure why you were so nervous. Going to the opera with Laszlo wasn't a first for you, so why did it feel so different this time?

You stared at yourself in the mirror, after changing into yet another dress for the outing. Perhaps it was because you felt surprised that Laszlo had asked you to join him, after the events of the day before. Or maybe it was because you couldn't get his actions out of your head, constantly thinking back to the feeling of his hand on you. You had been understanding that his action wasn't completely his own in that moment, but had that changed anything between you? Had he thought back to that moment, as you had?

Surely not, since you were about to accompany the alienist for the night. Then again, when you had insisted that he took a break, you didn't think he'd want to spend it with you, and yet here you were: stressing over what you should wear to the engagement. You wondered if you were just making a big deal out of nothing. He had said he wanted to make it up to you, and perhaps this was a compromise he'd found acceptable, allowing you both to have a night without worry or stress.

"Foolish." You sighed at your reflection, and the obvious blush that overtook your features, making it clear that it was not simply makeup that gave your cheeks a darkened color. "Absolutely foolish."

It wasn't often that you wore your formal attire, nor did you have an entire day to prepare for the night ahead. The payoff was that you looked far better than usual, a small comfort for your nerves. Was this too much? The question was now an echo in the seemingly endless cave that made up your mind. You shook your head, turning away from the mirror, once again cursing yourself for thinking in such a manner. Regardless, it was far too late now to worry about these little details, as the clock in your home rang out, signalling the time. You'd have to leave soon in order to make it to the theater at a reasonable time.

Every so often, as you began to gather you things for the night, your mind returned back to the investigation. You'd scold yourself. Tonight was a break, you didn't need to think about the horrors you'd seen. Laszlo needed this. Lord knows you needed this. Despite your nervousness, tonight was just a fun outing with a dear friend. And you intended to enjoy it, while you still had the chance.

A knock at your door startled you, as you prepared to leave for the evening. A shadow danced under the crack at the bottom of your door, signalling that there was indeed someone there, and not just your ears plating tricks on you. Cautiously, you reached for the knob. Was someone meant to visit today? No, you wouldn't have forgotten if Sara or the Isaacson twins were meant to come by.

When you opened the door, a man stood there, smiling down at you.

"Oh, hello Cyrus!" You greeted, sighing in relief.

The tall man gave you a nod, a smile playing out over his features. "Ms. (L/n)."

"Why..I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting you, has.. Has something happened?"

Your heart and mind raced together. Had Laszlo changed his mind? No, he wouldn't be so rude as to cancel your plans last minute. Unless there was something important. Had another body been found?

Cyrus chuckled, shaking his head. "No, nothing of the sort. Dr. Kreizler just asked if Stevie and I could take you to the opera."

"Oh." It's all you could say, as you fought back another flush from your face.

"You look lovely tonight, Ms. (L/n)." Cyrus said, comfortingly, before turning his head back to the street. 

There, Laszlo's young ward, Stevie, sat at the driver's seat of the carriage, clearly itching to leave, so that he might race through the streets. You smiled, unable to hold back your joy.

"Thank you, Cyrus."

You had already gathered your belongings for the evening, not that there was really much you could bring, only a small bag attached to your wrist. You stepped out of your home, pausing only to lock the door behind you. You hurried down the front steps to the sidewalk, where you were promptly let into the empty carriage. Once inside and settled, you beamed, unable to contain yourself. You reasoned that your unexpected escort was probably due to concerns for your safety at this time of night, and nothing more. Still, a certain lightness in your chest emerged, bubbling up inside you, causing you to beam as you looked out the side window. 

You heard Stevie cheer out, and suddenly the vehicle pulled forwards. After a moment, you felt the wheel hit a large bump. You laughed after a second of surprise. Maybe your ride wouldn't be as calm as Doctor Kreizler had expected, but you couldn't find it within you to care.

When you finally made it to the theater, you had arrived a bit earlier than you expected. Not that you should be surprised, given how Stevie raced you through the city. On the carriage had stopped, Cyrus opened the door and bid you farewell. You watched the boy-driven carriage disappear into the night, before turning to face the opera house. The building was a towering structure, with large marble beams that made up the entrance. The warm, yellow light from the inside called to you, ushering you to join the fun. Given that Cyrus hadn't told you when Laszlo would arrive, you assumed he was waiting there for you. Picking up the skirt of your dress, you began your climb up the stairs, a slight urgency in your step.

You had found him a few minutes later, standing by the large stair case that lead to the upper level seats of the theater. Before he had seen you, you took a moment to admire his form. You had seen him in his formal suit before, a simple black suit with a white bow tie, but you always had to stop and admire the expensive outfit. He also had his cane with him, the one with the bird handle that you had once said you liked before. The one detail you thought was odd was the fact that he held the item with his right hand, as opposed to his left. Due to the weakness in the arm, he usually kept it close to his side in order to keep from hurting himself. It was only until he pulled a pocket watch from his vest with his dominant arm that you understood the change.

You walked towards him, until your approaching figure finally drew his attention. With a shy smile, she greeted the man. "I hope I'm not too late."

He shook his head, giving you a warm look. "Right on time."

He seemed rested now, compared to earlier, no longer wearing the dark circles that had plagued him for the last couple of days. You felt happy, knowing that he must have taken a break from the day as well.

"I apologize for sending Cyrus and Stevie to you without warning, I thought it'd be best if you didn't travel alone." He explained, before quickly looking over you. "You look beautiful tonight, (Y/n)."

"Thank you, Laszlo." You replied, blushing, while clasping your hands together nervously. "Though, you didn't have to go through all the trouble."

"It was no trouble at all. Stevie, in particular, seemed more than willing."

When the crowd of people began to move into the auditorium, you joined Laszlo as he led you up the stairs, towards the direction of the private box seats. You were a bit surprised to see this, given that he had gotten the tickets on such short notice. As you entered the box, you each took a seat next to each other, with you seated in your usual spot on his left. The opera you were watching was Aida, a story about an Ethiopian princess of the same name who was held captive in Egypt, and fell in love with an Egyptian general, Radames, and he with her, despite being promised to the Egyptian princess. As the show began, Laszlo quickly explained to you that the opera had been made by Antonio Ghislanzoni and Giuseppe Verdi, and had premiered December 24th, 1871. You chuckled, mostly to yourself, as you knew he'd be listing off little facts like this throughout the night.

As the show went on, you slowly realized a running theme in the show, in relating to it's star characters. Love & Hate. You found it a bit ironic, given the circumstances. In the first act, Aida, the main character, loves her country deeply but has hate for the Egyptians who have taken her and her people captive. Including Radames, as he continues to fight against her country. Time passes in the story, and the two begin to fall for one another. You were impressed with how the performer playing Aida was able to portray the conflicting emotions of the character- with her love for her country and her love for Radames, as she begins to fall for the Egyptian general. 

One of the reasons that made Laszlo's company so enjoyable was his ability to talk during a show, without taking away or distracting you from the experience. Often times, he'd speak quietly, leaning slightly for you to hear him over the music. He'd go on to tell you the historical origins that the opera was based on, and you had a feeling he had studied the opera before coming here. It seemed nearly impossible for him to know so much, if that were not the case. However, once the music began and each new song was sung, Laszlo's words would fall silent as all his focus was placed on the stage. Occasionally, his hand would twitch in the edge of you vision, pulling away your focus to the watch as his fingers shot up and down in the air, as though he were trying to play something.

Act Two played out similarly to the first, but showed how Radames fights with his own loyalties. By the end, the Egyptian general asked for the Pharaoh to release Aida and her people, but the Pharaoh would only accept if the general agrees to marry his daughter. Once the woman on stage stopped singing, the curtains closed and lights flickered back on. Already, some of the crowd had begun to leave the auditorium, in order to socialize with the other members of New York's society.

The two of you join them, going out into the crowded halls and lobby in order to celebrate your evening. Drinking champagne, you exclaimed your love for the story so far, as well as the performer's work. Laszlo agreed, complimenting the orchestra as well, before listening to your thoughts on the characters, occasionally interjecting how it's history was exaggerated for the sake of entertainment. Truly, you felt content in this moment, sharing your same passions with the alienist, while being able to give each other new thoughts and opinions. 

You were both finishing up your drinks, when your name had been called from some far off part of the room. Turning, you were shocked to see none other than Louis Arnett for the second time today. The man came over to you, dressed to the nines.

"Mr. Arnett, what a surprise to see you." You greeted, politely. "I thought I recalled you saying you weren't fond of the opera?"

"I've been known to come on the rare occasion." He replied. "It's a pleasure to see you, my dear. Lovely, as always. I also seem to recall the fact that I said you could call me Louis."

Kindly, you shook your head in denial. "I apologize, Mr. Arnett, but I highly doubt that'd be appropriate."

Before, you may have brushed off the endearments, but now they were beginning to irritate you. Especially with Laszlo present. Turning your head, you looked at Laszlo, who's warm smile had returned to his usual subdued expression.

"Mr. Arnett, I must introduce you to Dr. Kreizler!" You said, steering the conversation away from you. Laszlo gave you a confused expression, before you quickly explained: "Mr. Arnett was kind enough to open his home to me for such a low price, when I first moved here. He'll stop by on occasion."

Laszlo smiled, giving Arnett a nod, before placing his cane back into his right hand. With his left, he shook your landlord's hand, introducing himself.

"Ah, the alienist." Arnett hummed. "Tell me, Kreizler, do you always take your assistants with you to the opera? One might think you're trying to keep (Y/n) all to yourself!"

"Mr. Arnett, please." You hissed out, appalled.

Arnett chuckled, but you found nothing about his words humorous. Not only were they rude, given the circumstance, but the implication alone was entirely inappropriate. You also despised how he had spoken as if you weren't right there in front of him. Laszlo was clearly uncomfortable with the man's words, but tried his best to hide it.

The alienist merely sighed. "While it's true, Ms. (L/n) does work with me, It's been a pleasure to enjoy her company. Though she does assist me with my work at the Institute, I'm honored to consider her a close colleague and friend."

The last word was barely more than a small whisper, yet Arnett seemed to catch it. The older man nodded in understanding, before looking to you.

"I understand entirely. I don't blame you for wanting to spend more time with her, especially way from those horrible murders."

You blushed, stiffening slightly at the mentioned case. "Mr. Arnett, I'm afraid the purpose of our outing was to get away from the investigation. I'd highly appreciate it if we could enjoy our night in peace."

"Ah," He cleared his throat, embarrassed at your reaction. His hand went up to smooth out his tie, his thumb brushing over the lily pin. "I apologize. Of course you wouldn't wish to speak of it here. " Something in the distance seemed to catch the older man's eye, drawing his attention. "If you'll excuse me, I must be going."

You found yourself stunned at his erratic behavior, as he moved away back into the crowd. Once out of earshot, you let out a heavy sigh, turning to Laszlo with an apologetic look.

"I must apologize for Mr. Arnett. He has a tendency to overstep in conversations. I hope he didn't offend you too greatly."

Kreizler's brown eyes had followed Arnett, before finally looking back to you. While his smile hadn't returned, the warm look he gave you had. "John has, on occasion, accused me of doing the same. I suppose its only right that I should have to experience the same hardships I deal to others."

With that, the crowd was then directed back into the auditorium, as intermission drew to a close. To your surprise, Laszlo had offered you his arm, as you both returned to the private section. As the curtains rose and the next act began, you found yourself thinking about Mr. Arnett's strange behavior and how he'd spoken with Laszlo. You could understand if the man didn't like the alienist, given that Dr. Kreizler didn't have the best reputation among most of New York. Still, you weren't prepared for how casually he had disrespected him and spoke about you as though you were merely there to entertain them. Your chest felt warm, as you recalled how kindly Laszlo had spoken about you, complimenting your company. However, the way his voice has weakened upon calling you a friend had stirred all your anxieties back to the surface.

As the first song began, you looked to Laszlo, admiring him as he watched the show. Did he truly see you as a friend? Or was his hesitation an indicator of something more?

The third act began, with the story immediately picking up where it left off. Aida and her lover, Radames, perform in a song, where the characters are lamenting their forbidden and doomed romance. Once the song ends, Aida then began to plead with the gods, praying that they take pity on her people and the two lovers. In such dark times, as the one you live in now, you felt as though you would've done the same, had you believed in such a God. 

With the song at an end, you had expected Laszlo to then make another small comment about the show. However, when his gaze remained focused on the stage, you found yourself a little disappointed. It wasn't until you felt a warm brush against your hand, that your attention switched. It was brief, just for a moment, but Laszlo's left hand had touched yours, yet his eyes remained in place. Somehow, it seemed as though he hadn't noticed. Or if he had, he didn't mind. You blinked, clearing your throat silently, before looking back to the stage. The next song began, and followed the story with interest, wondering what would come of the two main characters, and the enslaved people of Ethiopia. 

Once again, you felt his hand against your own. There was no doubt now. Without moving you head, your eyes went back to his hand, a finger draped over your own. Slowly, you moved your hand into his, your palm covering over his own. Your heart raced, and the room felt significantly warmer. You began to doubt yourself, cursing whatever god there was for your foolish actions. But it all stopped, as his fingers wrapped into your own. You felt your breath hitch, but fell into a comfortable silence, watching the opera with a racing heart. As the song came to an end, you weren't sure if you welcomed it's conclusion or mourned it.

Laszlo turned, facing you. Even with the dim lights of the theater, you could make out the pink color of his cheeks and neck, as he continued to stare at you. His eyes held the same intensity as the day before, but that vacant expression was gone, replaced with something much softer. A binding energy trapped you in place, unable to look away. Even as the music began, signalling the next song, the doctor did not break his stare. Instead, his gaze slowly traced over you, a soft caress.

It wasn't until the music softened, transitioning from a loud crescendo to a soft steady melody, that you heard him whisper your name, as if asking something. You responded with his own.

You didn’t know who let go of the other’s hand, but it didn’t matter. Kreizler’s hand slowly reached up to you, the back of his fingers brushing over your cheek, as he pushed back a small section of your hair behind your ear, before finding it's destination against your jaw. He was hesitant to lean into you, not wishing to overstep your boundaries. It until you matched his actions, did the space between you disappear.

It was a small, innocent kiss. Even as you broke away, you felt the soft gentle buzzing on your lips. Your noses brushing, you looked up at him, staring into those brown eyes you've grown to love. You only broke the stare to lean in again, chasing the feeling of his lips on your own once more. You hardly cared where you were at the moment, as you lifted a hand to place over his own. You kissed him gently, not wanting to ruin this moment, as you lightly parted your lips for him. The hand on your jaw fell, finding it's place back against your neck, making you gasp. He seemed to grow more bold, matching your desperate enthusiasm. His fingers then dug down, not harshly but just enough to add pressure. The sensation was enough to send a sudden jolt of heat through you, making a small instinctive whine fall from you.

Suddenly, he broke away from you, a strange glint in his eye. As you caught your breath, you couldn't quite tell if his expression was one of excitement or fear. Before you could even ask what was wrong, the doctor got up from his seat, moving to leave the small theater box, not even stopping to take his walking cane. The light happiness in your chest died as quickly as it was born, and all that was left was the sinking feeling of fear and confusion. You then followed, doing the same, as the same nagging question played over in your mind. Had you done something wrong?

Tears threatened to form, but you fought to keep them down. At least until you had an explanation for Laszlo's actions. You found him just outside, in the empty halls of the theater. As you approached, he looked back at you, a troubled expression on his face. Your heart broke at the sight.

"Laszlo, I.. If I've done something wrong I sincerely apologize. I.. I'm sorry-"

Cutting me off, his head shot up, as if stunned. "You've done nothing of the sort!"

"Then why are you troubled?" You stepped forwards, searching for answer. "If I am not at fault, then you must tell me what it is I have done that has made you react in such a way."

"I just...I don't wish to see you get hurt. By being close to me." Laszlo looked conflicted, pausing as he tried to form his thoughts. His eyes looked to the ground, as he sighed. "By me."

The phantom hold on your neck returned, as you noticed the look of fear in his eyes. This man, who has trouble follow him wherever he goes, seemed haunted by something. You bit your lip.

"I've already forgiven you for you previous actions, as I know they were not entirely your own in that moment." You took a deep breath in order to keep your voice from failing you. "And even if they were, I trust you enough to know that you'd never hurt me, Laszlo."

"And if I wanted to?" He spat it out, quickly. Though the words didn't seem directed towards you, rather.. himself.

You blinked, a blush rushing to your face once more, as you were taken aback. Gathering yourself, you reached for his hand once more, silently. Lifting it gently, you gave a soft squeeze, a comforting gesture. His eyes met your own again.

"I'll trust you even then." You replied, feeling genuine in your response.

His lips parted slightly, his eyes widening as he looked down at you. He squeezed you hand, holding it in a grasp that was almost tight. A warning. Yet you stayed right there, watching as his eyes fell to your lips.

He pulled you forward, against him, as his lips met your own again. Unlike before, this wasn't so sweet and gentle as it had once been. No, now that underlying desperation, that need, broke to the surface as his teeth pulled on the soft subtle skin on your mouth, almost forcing you to open your lips for him, hadn't you not already been willing to. His weaker right arm found a place against your waist, as his left found the back of your neck, a strong hold keeping you there.

You gasped in surprise at the sudden forwardness of the typically reserved man. Your hands fell against his suit, finding a hold on the vest beneath his suit jacket. One of your hand slowly traced a path, running against the hairs behind his ear, as you gently pulled against them. The action sent a groan from Laszlo's throat, an unfamiliar experience for you, as you felt his voice against your skin. And Oh, how you craved more, smiling at how you had earned such a reaction. In response, you felt a quick nip at your bottom lip, a small jolt of pain coming from it, before his tongue ran along the same area. At the same time, the hand around your neck squeezed down. A thrilling chill passed through your entire being, finding it's destination just below your stomach. His lips changed direction, trailing a path from your lips to your jawline. You moaned, quietly, just enough for the alienist to hear.

"Laszlo."

Lust wasn't a look you were a stranger to, but seeing it overtake every aspect of Laszlo's appearance as he looked down at you definitely was. And you had no doubts that you looked the same. He pulled away from his advances, hesitating for a moment, blinking away the haze in his eyes. You leaned up, pressing a kiss against his cheek, as his left hand came down to your waist. As you silently stared at each other, you heard the volume of the opera's music return, reminding you of your surroundings. As much as you wished to continue, you knew you couldn't. Fortunately, it seemed Laszlo had come to the same conclusion, leaning back as he smiled again.

"It would be best if we return, before we are found in such a state..." He sighed, almost sadly.

He was right of course. If anyone had gone out into the halls at that moment, the mere sight of your disheveled states would be enough to cause a scandal, something neither of you wanted for the other. You looked away, nodding in agreement as you blushed, bashfully. As if you hadn't just clung to him, wishing that he'd continue. You returned to your seats, the two of you smooth out your clothes, erasing as much evidence to your actions as you could. Once you returned, Laszlo once again placed his hand against yours, drawing gentle circles against the back of your hand throughout the rest of the show. Permanent smile crept to your face.

The opera ended, with Aida and Radames dying in each other's arms. A tragic love story, doomed to fail from the start. But then again, did it truly fail? After all, Aida's people had escaped captivity and she had found her last moments with the man she loved. Perhaps if you hadn't missed part of the story you would've come to a suitable answer. You didn't regret missing it though, finding comfort in a far more enjoyable feeling in whatever it was that was between you and the alienist by your side.

You left the theater, with your arm wrapped around his own, sharing electric glances and soft touches. Once outside, you saw the familiar faces of Stevie and Cyrus, who apparently had been waiting to escort you back. Laszlo lead you to the carriage, opening the door for you. He took your hand, helping you step into the vehicle, before quickly joining you inside. Once settled, you met his gaze once more.

He smiled, warmly. "I hope you enjoyed yourself tonight. John has told me that the opera can be rather dull, at times.."

You blinked, bewildered. Surely, he was joking. You couldn't help but laugh, as you gave him a strange stare. "You're the alienist, Dr. Kreizler. What would you believe?"

Laszlo chuckled in response, taking your joke as a good sign. Lifting his cane, he tapped the roof of the carriage twice, signalling Stevie to start our journey. Your ride home had been much calmer than earlier, and you enjoyed the comfortable silence that fell over the two of you. However, as you neared your home, you sensed that Laszlo had something to say. 

"I'm sorry if my reaction startled you, that hadn't been my intention. The troubled minds of other have always been something that intrigued me, yet when faced with it myself, I find myself at a loss." He said quietly. "I meant it when I said you could get hurt, being close to me. Someone I held dear was taken from me, and I still fear that the same fate may reach you, the way it did her..."

He spoke as though a ghost hovered over his shoulder, a new level of vulnerability you'd never seen before. You realized that perhaps this is what John meant when he said Laszlo had been hurt the most by the last investigation. 

"I understand," You looked up, reading his expression as you spoke. "But you shouldn't blame yourself for the past. If you truly cared for her and could have changed whatever happened, I know you would have. You cannot punish yourself for something you could not control. If you worry for me, for whatever may come, I know you will work to keep the same from happening."

Laszlo stared at you, a sad smile playing over his face, as he mulled over your words. Once more the silence fell over you. It was only a few minutes more, when you reached your home.

As you glanced out the window, you paused. "Thank you, Laszlo. I had a lovely time, enjoying your company."

"Perhaps we should go to the opera again?" He suggested, hopeful.

"I.." You blushed for what felt like the hundredth time at this point. "I didn't wish to assume."

"Never, kedvesem." He replied, speaking a Hungarian word you hadn't learned yet. But it didn't take much to know that it was an endearment of some sort. "Though, perhaps we should save Delmonico's for the next trip to the opera."

You heart leapt at the notion, sending a rush through you. You gave your farewell, before stepping out of the carriage. Quickly, you did the same for Stevie and Cyrus, once again thanking them for their services for the night. As you watched the carriage disappear into the night, you felt as though you could die from happiness. Stepping into your home, the door being left unlocked, you gave a sigh of relief. The night had been a success and so much more.

You dragged yourself into your private room, tired after the long night.

 And in your distracted state, you hardly noticed the small bouquet of roses on your pillow.

#laszlo #laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo x you #the alienist

[kedreeva]

Second question: how do you, like, find friends in fandom? Because for some reason every fic-writing blog I come across in one of my fandoms is run by someone at least a decade older than I am. Do you have any tips on how to find writers the same age as you are? Are there certain events (bangs and stuff like that) for minors only/where you can ask for a partner in a similar age range?

I do not find friends in fandom, they usually find me as I am minding my own business. Except Chasing, because I was in her office at lunch and she hated me until she liked me.

In reality.... you get what you put into fandom. When you get consistently involved in commenting on fic/art/podcasts/etc, people do start to recognize your name. If you scroll tags for your fandom, you see more content creators; you can click through to their blogs and have a look around. A lot of people don’t mind if you just start talking to them. If you do start writing and people initiate interaction, you can interact back and encourage them to start conversations. Participate in fandom events to the best of your ability. Pass on content via reblogs (when you consistently reblog someone’s stuff, they NOTICE and they LIKE the support and if you start talking to them after a bit they’ll likely be inclined to answer and be friendly because they recognize your name). There are LOTS of public discord servers with chatty people in them.

As for “same-age” or minor-only events, I can’t really help you. I don’t really look at anyone else’s age. I’m not anyone’s parent, and it’s been a long time since I was a minor, so it hasn’t really been a concern for me within a time span that could be of assistance. I will say two things:

The first (and I say this as kindly as I am able) is that fandom, in general and since the beginning, is not really a “minors” space. What I mean is that fandom is an adult space that “allows” minors into it. Most online (like bangs and theme weeks and stuff) and IRL events (like conventions) are run by adults for adults. Most communities and websites are run by adults for adults. Most of the content (and arguably the better content due to life experience and time spent practicing their various crafts, writing, art, etc) is produced by adults for adults. And I don’t mean “adult” as in “sex, drugs, violence, ADULT ONLY THEMES etc” but I do mean that a LOT of fandom, the vast majority of it, is produced by people over the age of majority for people who have similar amounts of life experience. This is NOT because minors are incapable or anything, it’s just that “minor” applies to about 5-6 years of a human lifespan (12-17, as most younger than that aren’t [or shouldn’t be??? i don’t know what The Kids are doing, so take this is a rough estimate] really in fandom yet) and “adult” applies to literal decades of lifespan, so there’s just. more adults because it covers so much time. And they have money enough to host websites and buy art supplies and have taken classes and gotten a bunch of life experiences and stuff. And a lot of them have spent long years cultivating friendships and communities around themselves, and while OFTEN these spaces do allow minors... since they are being RUN by adults, they’re not going to exclude adults. I think you’re going to be hard pressed to find well-put-together and/or long-standing spaces/events/communities that are run by and populated exclusively with minors.

The second is that some communities and events are more minor-friendly than others, and that you may be able to find those easier than minor-exclusive ones. Again, I am not really sure I can help you actually find those communities, as I am not a minor, and you’ll probably end up doing some trial-and-error to find ones that are comfortable for you. Absolutely do not be afraid to get out if you feel uncomfortable in a space, and I know you’ve probably heard this advice before but if anyone gives you a weird vibe, block their ass and do not interact. You may be able to find ages in some profiles on social media (although again, that’s just the age they say they are). Some discords will lock up the adult-themed stuff and have either 18+ tags and/or “Under 18″ tags that you can use to navigate who to talk to (again, be careful who you talk to in private). And, hey, there’s always the route of “make the stuff you want to see in the world.” If you want minor-only minor-run events or spaces/communities, you can start them up (although the case of communities... you’ll need to decide what you do when you or people who have been a part of your community and have formed friendships “age out” of them.... another reason for my first point, it’s hard to keep anything “minor only” when minors rapidly turn into adults after a couple of years).

I’m sorry I can’t really help you on this one, and that this is probably not the answer you wanted, but I’m not (and haven’t been for a long while) a minor and I don’t really have any solid advice on how to navigate what is arguably a solidly adult space in order to find a possible group of people by a criteria you can’t really prove.

#asks #anon asks #fandom #to be clear #I don't at all mind the idea of minors and adults #interacting in fandom groups #I think young people SHOULD have a good idea of what a healthy #interaction looks like across age groups #so they can develop pattern recognition #that sets off alarm bells if someone's being a creep #but I also understand the desire to find your own people #and I hope that you do! #maybe others will have some advice on how to go about it

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

Delete the Twitter app, Mr. Barba

In which Rafael Barba deletes the Twitter app because of the Householder case, and Carmen babysits him. 

Accidental Feminist Icon

The last thing on Rafael Barba’s mind when he was in the hospital room with Maggie Householder was his online reputation. Once he’d turned himself in and been released on his own recognizance, however, he opened his phone to call mami and instead saw hundreds of Twitter notifications, emails from people whose names he didn’t recognize, and missed calls and voicemails from unfamiliar numbers. He didn’t touch Twitter, texting Carmen to ask how bad it was and she advised him to delete the application until at least after the trial. When he went home, mami was there and just as disappointed as he expected. There were tears the minute she saw him, but not any offered comfort. 

“You murdered a child, mijo.”

“You don’t understand, mami. No lo viste. El no estaba realmente vivo.”

“Esa fue la decisión de Dios. No es tu decisión. Tu abuela estaría tan decepcionada de ti.”

“No estoy de acuerdo. Si estás aquí para regañarme, vete a casa.”

“Te llevo a la confesión.”

“Vete a casa, mami. Me confesaré cuando esté lista.”

“Rafa-”

“Go home.”

Lucia stormed out, and Rafael went inside his apartment and went straight for the scotch he kept aside. It wasn’t his good scotch. It was the cheap one that burned his throat and left him sicker than he ever was the next day. Before twisting off the cap, he heeded Carmen’s advice, deleting the Twitter app as he dropped to the couch and began to drink. It was only eleven, not even noon, but he didn’t want to remember what had transpired the day before. He should wade through his email, but someone had posted it. He knew because it was referenced time and time again that they’d found his personal email via some Twitter thread or Subreddit or something else he hadn’t yet encountered. He’d had to mute his phone as phone calls rolled in; the only one he answered confirmed it was strangers from the Internet who had seen the news. Carmen called it getting cancelled when it happened to other people. That usually didn’t involve the loss of a life, so the term seemed not quite right for what was happening, especially given the fact this included more than just the people he was used to. People who had never encountered him were hearing about him in the news. 

He ignored Olivia’s calls, considering the morning’s interactions enough. As he drank, Rafael was able to filter unknown numbers and messages, tossing the phone aside and quickly finishing the bottle. Olivia came by, and he didn’t answer, choosing to lay back on the couch as the room spun around him. Carmen texted him, and he didn’t look. An hour later, he heard her outside of his door with Olivia and unlocking he apartment for her. He’d given her a key long ago so she could get files or suits or drop off leftovers. Both of them came in, and it suddenly dawned on him that he had his suspenders down and shirt open over his undershirt. He’d spilled the most recent tumbler over himself with the pizza he’d ordered. And now, they could see him like this, eyes rimmed red and mood unstable as he thought more than he could about himself. 

“Mr. Barba,” Carmen said softly, kneeling by him. Olivia stayed closer to the door, surveying the room. By the nature of their constant proximity, Carmen had seen the tail end or starts of Rafael getting frustrated, though he always pressed it down with a glass of scotch and good meal. That said, she’d found him too drunk after a trial didn’t go his way. Seen him frustrated as he went through a case he may not be able to do anything about it. Caught him yelling at paperwork as though something would happen. She’d also seen him the next mornings when he came in pretending not to be insanely hungover and was wearing the suit from his office.

“I’m fine.”

“No you aren’t. Is this what happens between an eight o’clock bourbon and the office suit?”

“Shut up, Carmen.”

“Don’t talk to me like that. I’m helping you.”

“Sorry,” he said with a huff as his hand ran down his face, and Olivia had to stifle a laugh at how properly embarrassed he looked. “My email and phone are bad. How bad is Twitter?”

“Medium. A lot of people understand. Or they feel that they can’t understand, so they’ll watch the story.”

“People understand murder?” he scoffed.

“No. No one does. But we all understand how impossible your choice was. How badly the parents were hurting.”

“I was too selfish to do it for my dad.”

“I know, Mr. Barba. But people want to know how long until they hear more. Want people to wait. Can see why you did it. It’ll blow over. We can change your number and your email. Twitter has a really handy button. Block.”

“My name’s Rafael.”

“You’re my boss.”

“Not for long,” he chuckled bitterly before his gaze softened. “All I wanted was for people not to hurt.”

“You need to go to bed, Rafa.” It was Olivia now, and his eyes suddenly snapped open. It was different when it was Olivia. They were friends, but they kept things to work. Other than the occasional group event, they’d grab dinner after work. She didn’t hear him debate pocket squares or see him drunk alone in his office or help him think of replies on Twitter. He’d probably lose his friendship with Carmen once he wasn’t in the office, he supposed. She humored her boss a lot more than she probably should.

“I’m fine, Liv.” It came with more of a snort than he liked, and he was suddenly pulling himself up to sit, wrapping his shirt around himself as though it were a cardigan. Carmen watched he was steady, and Olivia was sure she now knew what she’d looked like when Noah was learning to walk on his own with her hand on his back to keep him upright. Once things passed, she wanted to ask if Rafael was always this willing to be relaxed around Carmen, but she wasn’t sure she really wanted to know.

“I don’t think I’m helping things,” Olivia said softly, and Carmen gave a gentle nod.

“My son’s with my mom for a visit. I’ll take care of him.”

“You’re sure? I can call Lucia.”

“I’m fine, lieutenant. And mami has already been here.”

“Make sure he meets with an attorney tomorrow.”

“I make his calendar. I know.”

“You two can stop talking about me like I’m not here,” he grumbled, heels pressed against his eyes. “I’m drunk, not deaf.”

“You’re belligerent, counsellor.”

“Call me Rafael,” he said again, flopping onto the couch when Olivia had left again.

“I thought Lieutenant Benson was your best friend, Rafael.”

“She is, I guess. Is that sad? My best friend used to be Alex, but I pursued that case. As if mami needed more reason to hate me.” 

“You don’t act like you in front of her. Not all the way.”

“This isn’t me.”

“It’s you without a carefully constructed persona.”

“If that’s the case, I suppose you’re my best friend, Miss Frye.” She’d expected to see a bemused smirk or annoyed scowl, but Carmen was taken aback by how sincere he looked as his hand moved to rest on her forearm and squeeze as well as he could.

“My name’s Carmen,” she teased. “Now come on. You need to go to bed.”

“My suit will get wrinkled.”

“I’ll hang it for you.”

“You can sleep in the guest room. It’s not safe for you to go-” His eyes were suddenly wide. “Carmen, where’s Ollie?”

“With my mom. I told her you needed me for a couple days.”

“You don’t need to disrupt your life.”

“I’ll tell you a secret Mist- Rafael.”

“What?” he asked, flopping into bed where she’d pulled the blanket down once he managed to strip to his boxers.

“You’re my best friend too.” She tugged the blanket over him, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple. He smiled up at her, and she made her way out turning off the lights. It seemed silly to say it to someone like him, but they’d worked together a long time, had a lot of late night talks. She liked him more than a lot of people she knew, and saw him more than anyone outside of her family. 

Carefully, she cleaned his living room, dumping his other bottle of cheap scotch out and disposing of both before setting up the coffee to brew at seven, just in time to have him at an attorney’s office by nine. McCoy had approved her to work from wherever she needed to in order to keep Rafael functioning. She’d have been miserable helping Peter Stone with this trial anyway. They both knew about his father, and it seemed he may be a ticking time bomb. She logged into his twitter, going on a blocking spree as she explored his mentions, tweeting from her own account and his that she’d done it and retweeting it from his account. 

She also liked all the kind ones. The ones asking for understanding or expressing empathy. The ones that acknowledged he had an impossible choice and neither one would have sat well with their own conscious. Leave a child and his family to suffer without end or expedite the inevitable. Then there were his direct messages. Since getting verified, he had the ability to only see messages from people he followed. As she combed through, there were a couple of hateful messages she ignored, but most who knew him expressed understanding and a couple even included leads if he wanted out of the city. She marked those down in her notes app before falling asleep in the guest bedroom. 

The sound that greeted her in the morning was Rafael Barba vomiting as the coffee machine roared to life in the background. Silently, she ordered ginger tea and vitamin b12 for delivery, going to fetch the pedialyte she’d brought from home. When he came out, hair wet from a shower, she’d already brewed him tea, cooked breakfast, and given him an expectant look as she slid a glass of unnaturally purple electrolytes to him. He didn’t know what to say, so he took the proffered glas and took a long sip before wincing.

“Grape,” she said plainly.

“Grapes don’t taste like that.”

“Ollie likes it okay. I make him popsicles though.”

“He’s old enough for popsicles? Isn’t he still on milk?”

“Rafael, he’s two. He drinks milk, but he even eats.”

“Does he like books yet?”

“He does. He really likes being read to.”

“I’ll read to him next time I see him.” He was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was thick. “Do you play him music?”

“Some. Usually my playlists.”

“Play him Bach.”

“You’ll have to tell me what’s best to play him.”

“I’ll send you a playlist.” 

“Why Bach?” She watched as his jaw shifted from side to side, lips pressed together, and that told her all she needed to know. “Drew liked Bach?”

“He’d never know if he liked Bach. Maggie was playing one of his cantatas.”

“Maybe we can take him to an orchestra one day.”

“There are some shows. Kid friendly.”

“He’d like that.”

“I’ll send it to you.”

“You’ll come, won’t you?”

“Me?”

“It’s your idea.”

“You’d still let me around your son?”

“My son is a healthy vibrant boy. If he was in the same situation as Drew, it would be hard, but I’d still want you there. You did exactly what I would have done for him, okay?”

“Did you mean what you said last night?”

“Which part?”

“The last part.”

“You probably are my best friend. And that hasn’t changed. I wish you didn’t have to be put in the situation, but I would hope I’d have been strong enough to do the same. And other people agree with me.”

“God, you’re not actually looking at Twitter.”

“I looked at Twitter. I blocked anyone vitriolic. But, I collected all the kind ones in your favorites for when you’re ready. A lot of your attorney friends have job leads for you if you leave the DA’s office.”

“I’m leaving. And I’m probably going to fucking prison. You’ll be down a friend in a few months.”

“Stop it.”

“They’ll end me in there, Carmen. I sent some of them there.” She wasn’t sure what to make at how at peace with the prospect he was.

“And you won’t go to prison. Don’t focus on that. Even if you do, they’ll have to do something to protect you. And I’ll come visit you.”

“You barely know me.”

“We spend more time together than I do with anyone else. I know you’re good, you have a good heart, you send birthday presents to every SVU detective’s kid and think I don’t know you send them coffee gift cards on their birthdays. You’re a total mama’s boy and despite what a snarky prick you are, you have imposter syndrome out the ass. You’re lapsed enough Catholic not to go to church, but you pray when things are really bad. I also know some part of your brain feels like you’ve let down people who think you do good work by this one thing, but one bad doesn’t outweigh an exorbitant amount of good. I hope Ollie has half of the ethical backbone you do. I know there have been occasions in the past you weren’t perfect, but the man I’ve known deserves every ounce of credit he gets. That doesn’t mean you’ve never made a mistake.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, and much to his chagrin, Carmen wrapped him in a hug that he returned, refusing to look at her. He was suddenly aware he’d cry if he looked at what he knew was a genuine smile. “I’ve got to get dressed to see an attorney.”

“Who are you going with?”

“Randy Dworkin.”

“He’ll be good.”

“I hate to admit that. And I’m sure I’ll hate every second with him.”

“How about you teach me about Bach this afternoon?”

“You have work.”

“McCoy approved me to be remote.”

“So you’re my sitter?” She could almost swear a smile pulled at the corner of his lip, and she felt pride she didn’t expect.

“I suppose. So Bach?”

“Bring Ollie?”

“Deal.”

#rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #law and order #law and order svu #law and order special victims unit #Rafael Barba x Carmen

[fallenhero-rebirth]

Brain update

First, let me say that this isn't about what anybody has done. My reactions are not in proportion to anything that has happened, and might be considered odd, weird and sensitive to people involved.

So let me explain.

I'm an Aspie (what we call ourselves in Sweden), on the autism spectrum. Yeah, might have guessed that from the story I'm writing, Sidestep is not the only one trying to figure out how people work.

Over the years I have built up an arsenal of knowledge and analysis to be able to pretend to be neurotypical, something that I can manage alright most days, but which breaks down once you get to know me better. I'm open with this at my current job, and luckily both my bosses seem to be okay dealing with open communication and just telling me what I need to do.

It was not always like this, and that is one of the reasons why I had a breakdown and needed to get off discord/tumblr.

Back in the late nineties, I had finally got my dream job. I was a product developer in the food industry, part of a rather small department of middle-class academics. I was the new hire, everyone else had worked there for years, and things were going well. Or so I assumed. I got cool projects, got along well with one of the sales people, and well, my boss was weird but bosses always are.

Three years later. Our parent company wanted to sell us off, everyone was starting to get worried about their job. We tried to expand into things were weren't equipped to do (you don't bring spices into a fruit jam line, will be hell to clean) and while I did the projects, I also raised an (in retrospect) too big stink about the fact that we were wasting time developing things we couldn't produce without expanding. My boss (who I had learned was a devout christian) started to get really weird, I got called in and he wondered if I was a member of a cult (I was often wearing a headscarf at the time because pressure on my head is good for stress relief). I also got told off for wearing army boots to work (we had lab shoes in the lab), because (I kid you not) if we had danish visitors to the lab (we didn't have visitors) they could be offended since they had once been occupied by Nazis. Yes, at the time I was an Antifa metalhead/satanist, it was a very volatile time in sweden and nazis were everywhere. Now they're a political party, go figure.

It all came to a head when I was confronted with a folder one of the secretaries of the department had where she had written down every odd and strange thing that I did, and there were a lot of accusations of things I quite frankly blocked out. Around this time I was suffering from bad burnout, had memory loss, my hair was falling out and I lost two bikes because I forgot where I parked them. All because of workplace hostility.

So for the first time ever, I went to the company doctor, who immediately sent me on a one month sick leave, and gave a reference to a therapist. When I went and told my boss, his reaction was "It can't be anything at work," in a dismissive tone. I wrote my resignation right then and there, left the building, snuck back a Saturday to clean out my stuff so I didn't have to meet anyone. Luckily I was backed up by my union, so I got unemployment despite quitting, and the therapist helped me get back on my feet and hook me up with some antidepressants.

Still, I was a wreck for years.

At the time, I had NO idea I was an Aspie. It weren't talked about, the only thing I knew about Autism, was from the various portrayals in movies, and well, in the nineties you can guess. Rainman pretty much was it.

What destroyed me the most was not that people disliked me, I didn't like them either, we didn't have anything in common, and middle-class people always scared me. No, what broke me was the fact that my system failed.

See, I had built up myself over ten years into someone I wanted to be. Smart. Capable. Metalhead. Researcher. Activist. I thought I knew the rules. How to interact.

It turned out I knew nothing. People had been talking behind my back for years, and I didn't know. Getting annoyed by my ticks, and I had no idea. Nobody ever brought anything up to my face until it exploded one day out of the blue. This is why I have ranted about anons on this tumblr. This is why I have been so openly against passive aggressive posts and bullying, especially the anonymous kind, because it destroys people and I don't think the people who does it knows the impact they can have. I hope they don't.

I have never gone back to the lab. I can't. I'm having heart palpitations just thinking about it when I'm writing this. I retrained. Became a machinist. Back to the working class I came from. Eventually started writing.

And this is exactly what these last months have felt like.

I thought I understood things. I was pretty open with being old, an Aspie, not understanding memes, or humor, or tik tok, or certain aspects of people's behavior like jealousy, but the problem with joking about this is that it's so easy to take as just a joke. That I'm just making fun of myself (oh it's that too). I got advice from some of you, which I ignored, because I thought that I could be different. That there was no danger in getting close. That I could be just another voice in the crowd. An occasionally evil avocado. That this couldn't blow up in my face, that everything was cool.

And then it did. And I was wrong. And the talking started, and things were coming out that I had no idea that was going on. That I was being held responsible for. Opinions that were spoken in my name. Events I was supposed to have been aware of and supported. All of a sudden I was omniscient, aware of the true passive aggressive meaning of every reblog, aware of every post in every room in the discord I wasn't even running. Wasn't even a mod on. All of a sudden I had power, and I had used it to hurt people. The people I cared about. Everything I wrote was taken in the worst possible way, twisted into things I never meant, and the more I tried to talk to people, the worse it went.

Look. I know this was at heart a war between people that just doesn't like each other and the things they do/the ways they behave. I'm still not entirely sure who's been involved, and I'm not interested in finding out. I tried to build a supportive space, reblog everyone's art and fics, encourage people to make their own things, get a kofi, get some money, make some friends.

And herein lies my problem.

I thought I understood how to be, and now I don't. I have no idea who hates my guts and who doesn't (well, except some who has very vocally let me know). I can't trust anything. I can't trust anyone. And it sucks. Someone I trusted stabbed be in the back because they were convinced I stabbed them in the back and that sucks more than I can describe. Every time I make a comment on AO3 or twitter it's after psyching myself up for half an hour, and I'm usually a wreck afterwards, because my brain doesn't know if they hate me too, and if I am imposing on them and making their day bad.

So yeah. I need to figure out how to be. How not to have a nausea attack every time I accidentally click open tumblr from pure reflex, looking away from the screen just not to see how may messages I have.

I never wanted to be the aloof author, but maybe I have to be. The question is if I can. I have been told I can't comment on pics or fics, because then I have favorites. And that makes people jealous. And it makes people think I take sides. I have been told I can't be on the discord, because then I will be held responsible for what the mods do there, and everything that's said even when I'm not around. I should apparently have someone manage the tumblr, it's not something that I, an author should do.

I now understand the authors who just stay away and remain distant, because people give themselves the power to write the narrative for you.

Part of me wants to tell people what I've told my current bosses, don't assume, just talk to me. I don't pick up/do passive aggression, I don't understand hints, I have trouble with nuance, I don't listen to gossip, I don't interact enough to know anything that's going on. Just ask before assuming.

Except that right now I can't. I can't talk about any of this. It's too close. It sets me off. It's getting better, sure, I'm on medication again, but the smallest thing still can ruin my entire day. I have no idea how long it will take me to recover and come back to some semblance of normality. I'm not posting this myself (my partner does). Writing is going well, because it lets me not be myself. I need those walls again. The therapy of writing about pain.

I'll rebuild them. I'm not entirely sure who I'll be on the other end of it. We'll see.

I have consciously not spoken about any details because those could be misunderstood, this is not a passive aggressive callout to anybody. I have no hard feelings towards anyone, I am not angry or upset, just confused and sad. I am truly so very, very, very sorry that I've hurt people, both by action and inaction. It was never my intention. I will do my best to do better in the future.

Still working on how to do that.

#personal

[astrowithkaro]

🍍🌴🍬🌴🍍🌴🍬🌴🍍🌴🍬🌴🍍🌴🍬🌴🍍🌴🍬🌴🍍🌴

Hellowzz there, for the “Languages of Birthdays” game I’d greatly appreciate it of you could write one about August 23rd :)

Thank you very much! 🍬🌸

🌊🌚✨🌚🌊🌚✨🌚🌊🌚✨🌚🌊🌚✨🌚🌊🌚✨🌚🌊🌚

Language Of Birthdays: August 23 - Virgo

[You can find the rest of the series here; or check out my masterlist]

The Day Of Lively Precision

Those born on August 23 often stand aloof from life, and thus appear to be detached and cool. Whether due to disinterest in mundane affairs or preoccupation with their own needs and wants, they can strike others as selfish. In reality they are not so much selfish as self-involved, thoroughly taken up with their interests and what they wish to accomplish in life.

Many August 23 people are adept at making money and amassing material possessions. Ultimately, however, it is their need to lead or direct those around them which is more important to them. Those born on this day tend to be compact, driving, intense personalities completely focused on their goals. The means they employ to accomplish their ends are most often straightforward and bluntly effective. Most people who stand in their way back off, but of course, not all; thus August 23 people can arouse powerful antagonisms.

This does not mean, however, that those born on this day are necessarily outgoing personalities. On the contrary, they prefer to be left alone with their work and projects much of the time. Though in interpersonal relationships and jobs they demand autonomy and are rather aggressive in fulfilling their needs, their attitude is generally live and let live, as long as they themselves are not impinged upon.

Technical skills are often granted those born on August 23. They have a knack for dis- covering how things work, are often handy around the house and generally bring expertise and a command of their medium to whatever profession they choose. They are able to focus their incisive mental powers on the material world with which they are so intimately involved. However, they tend to be rather possessive both with regard to objects and people, and therefore must learn to be less controlling. Their need to express kindness and love finds a ready outlet in altruistic acts, particularly since they enjoy being helpful in most situations.

August 23 people have tremendous stores of energy as well as a combative streak; they will rarely back down from confrontation. Often they see themselves as defenders of the weak or disadvantaged but must not get too enthusiastically involved in such protective behavior (when it is not warranted). It is essential that those born on this day learn to control and constructively direct their energy, hopefully during adolescence. Perhaps their highly competitive, aggressive urges can be well sublimated in sporting activities and exercise of all types. A love of excitement may lead August 23 people to associate with exciting people, whether free-spirited types who bring out their wilder side or solid individuals with whom they can have a relaxed time.

Strengths:

Intense

Poised

Technical

Weaknesses:

Self-involved

Detached

Emotionally blocked

Advice

Those born on August 23 are prone to various psychological difficulties, the most common being emotional inhibition. Too often their feelings are conveyed in an abrupt manner, or in extreme cases they can withdraw into a shell and become numb to pain. Psychological counselling is strongly recommended for those August 23 people suffering from such difficulties. As far as diet is concerned, August 23 people may not be able to handle excess sugar, although they often crave it, and this sensitivity along with potential food allergies should be kept in mind. As mentioned above, vigorous and regular physical exercise is highly recommended for the intense people born on this day. particularly competitive sports: such competition not only provides a chance to experience the thrill of victory but also an opportunity to demonstrate grace in defeat.

Try to stay sensitive to the feelings of others but, more importantly

Get in touch with your own needs on a deeper level

Keep aggressive urges under control while remaining uninhibited

Make a conscious effort to give unconditionally

Don’t lose yourself in material concerns

Hello, I hope this resonated with you! Just wanted to point out that I’m aware that this day is a cusp between Leo and Virgo but as you may know, cusps aren’t actually real. This day is 29° Leo - 1° Virgo, and where it ends is the ‘official’ sun sign, so Virgo it is <3

#virgo #earth signs #astrology #virgo reading #virgo sun #virgo traits #virgo monthly horoscope #virgo sign #virgo astrology #leo sign #leo reading #leo sun

[yutaya]

Iron Fist Week Day 7: minor character/missing scene

Albert is a man. A man... with a van.

He's proud of his van. Sure it was a bitch and a half to get certified and sometimes trying to drive three freaking blocks in this city when he's having a bad enough day can threaten to put his blood pressure through the roof, but he's ground out an honest living for himself with it. That's no mean feat, in this neighborhood.

Plus, Al likes his job. It involves a lot of visiting every nook and cranny of the area, meeting loads of people at varying levels of talkative - it's a job that requires someone personable, and Al doesn't think it's too immodest to say that he fits the bill.

Staring down a fully loaded armoire, though, Al can admit to himself that there are times he's less fond of this job than others.

By the time he's got the thing down on the sidewalk, doors and drawers bound shut and with an initial layer of wrapping to protect it from pedestrian traffic while he sets up the loader, Al has mentally added two upticks to his pain-in-the-ass fee.

"Woah, can I help you with that?"

Al pauses in his transferring long enough to take a look at who's spoken. It's a white guy, 20s, a little scruffy but looks comfortable, and, most importantly, seems genuine.

Al smiles at him. "I appreciate the offer, but these need to be moved in a specific way to prevent scuffing."

"Oh." Al goes back to loading the armoire. "...Would you show me?" Al pauses again. Looks back at the guy. "I'm Danny, by the way," he adds, and smiles beatifically.

Al blinks up at the sky. Had the sun shone more brightly for a second, there? He turns back to wrapping the furniture with blankets and bungee cords. "You need to move a lot of furniture, Danny?" he asks while he works. Engaging in friendly conversation with strangers is second nature to him, at this point.

Danny, who has the courtesy to remain standing out on the street behind the van as they talk, bounces a little as he replies. "Yes, actually! My girlfriend and I have been redoing her apartment."

"Wow, big project. Hey, if you guys need stuff moved around, I've got you covered. Back and forth from the storage unit, delivering your new stuff from the store, bringing your old stuff wherever it's going... My rates are fair and, as you can see, I'd actually take care of your things." He pats the carefully cushioned furniture from his current job in indication.

Danny laughs a little, looking at it. "At least that isn't a piano, right?"

"Hey man, pianos have wheels. I can walk them right up the ramp."

Danny eyes the ramp Al uses with the handtrucks. "Isn't it too skinny?"

Al laughs again. "What kind of piano are you picturing, a grand?" As if anyone who owned one of those would be hiring Al to move it. As if anyone who owned one of those would be living in this area at all.

Danny shrugs, unbothered. "I haven't seen one since I was a kid. Maybe it seemed bigger back then." A beat passes, and then Danny continues talking, the oversharing sort of babble symptomatic of the sleep-deprived. "Anyway, we'll definitely call you for help with our stuff. And you can show me all the right ways to handle everything! I'm probably going to be doing a lot of rearranging furniture and stuff since Colleen is out at Bayard all the time now; she keeps talking about helping the community during the daytime - Colleen's my girlfriend, she's the best - and, I mean, she's right, of course, plus, we just got back to the city and I am not used to not having to do something -" he cuts himself off, lighting up. "Hey, could I get a job with you?"

Al startles. He can usually recognize when someone's coming at that angle. Granted, they usually don't seem to stumble into it by mistake.

"The shop down the street is hiring," he offers. "On the corner."

"Thanks! I'd like to work for this business, though."

Al pauses. Revaluates "Danny". There are only so many reasons someone would be looking for a moving job specifically, and in this neighborhood, the most likely scenario is one that Al has been very carefully steering clear of for 30 years.

"I appreciate the interest," he repeats cautiously, "but we're a small business. I'm afraid we don't really have the means to hire right now." It's a bit of a risk, revealing a vulnerability like that. Luckily, Albert is overstating it a bit; it won't be that easy for any of the triads to put financial pressure on him, and, well. He's stubborn. He swore a long time ago that he wouldn't go there.

"Oh, that's not a problem!" Danny says brightly. "You wouldn't need to pay me. I'm more looking for the experience, you know? I've never had a normal job, and Colleen thinks it'll be good for us to start over."

The alarm bell clanging in Al's head rises to a shriek, then falters. If this is a ploy, it is astoundingly poorly executed. If this guy is in with any sort of organized crime, he can't be more than a fledgling recruit. Al feels a moral obligation to try and steer him better, even if his self preservation instincts disagree.

"Look," Al says, watching Danny's face carefully. "I'm running an honest business, here. I'm not interested in having our name attached to anything. And, if I could offer you a word of advice?" Danny, who mostly just looks confused, nods. "Don't go saying that stuff about working for free. Depending who hears it, that's a good way to end up either severely taken advantage of, or in a coffin. Anyone you might be trying that hard to get a resource for won't be happy about you overplaying your hand."

Danny still looks confused. Al mimes swinging a hatchet. Danny's eyes go wide with clarity.

"I'm not with the triads," he says disconcertingly earnestly. "I'm the Iron Fist. I'm sworn to defend the city from people like them."

...Ok.

Well, at least this is an interesting conversation.

"If you're not with the triads, why do you want this job?"

"I guess I'm looking for something new. For fifteen years, I had one purpose. Now, it's done. Now, I need to build a new life, and..." His voice dips in a certain way with the next words, a way that makes Al's stomach sink with the familiarity of it. "...keep a promise to a friend."

Al looks at Danny, a pit in his stomach and memories in his heart. Resignation settles underneath his skin.

"You have a résumé?" he asks. At least Danny doesn't seem inclined to just throw things around, like some other shipping companies that Al could name. Royal Al Moving provides quality for its clients, thank you very much.

"I don't think so. What is that, equipment? I could buy some."

Al stares at him. He'd been expecting either an agreement to email or bring by a copy later, or a conversation along the lines of 'do I really need one?' followed by a verbal listing off of previous work or even just ability.

"Do you have any previous experience?" Al tries again. "Had any jobs before?"

"Yeah, I have," Danny says, and doesn't elaborate.

White people.

"What about ID?" Al asks, despite knowing full well he'll probably pretend not to notice if anything seems off about it.

Danny laughs a bit, seemingly unphased by his own complete lack of knowledge regarding ordinary job application/interview etiquette whatsoever. "Oh, I definitely have that. Had to fight really hard for it, too. It was almost all gone, but once everything got sorted out, we made, like, 10 new copies of everything." Danny pats around at his pockets, not appearing to notice Al's incredulous expression. "I don't have any of those with me right now, but... Ah ha!" He pulls something out triumphantly. "Business cards! I'm pretty sure my brother thought I was just going to destroy them, but my friend Jeri said it's important to always have one. It might have gone through the laundry, though, sorry."

Assuming this day can't get any weirder, like a fool, Al takes the card.

Even worn and slightly crumpled, the obnoxiously expensive quality of the original card is still clear. There's embossing and gold foil, for god's sake. The Rand Enterprises logo glints up at him almost mockingly even as the three dimensional lines of the border rise and fall under his thumb. Either seems unnecessary and frankly tone deaf for a Humanitarian Aid company, let alone both. Then again, maybe they reserve this version of the card for the executive level, those who hobnob among the elite, who need to make a certain type of impression on the too rich in order to convince them to donate well.

Because that's another thing this card reads, right there in plain English: a 9pt bold 'Daniel Rand', and under that, 'CEO'.

'What,' a little voice in Al's head wails semi-hysterically, 'the fuck?'

"Is this a joke?" Al asks out loud, vaguely surprised by how calm he sounds given the way the voice inside his head might be having a meltdown. "Am I on Candid Camera?"

But, no, wasn't he just thinking that this card is way too expensive - and thus definitely too expensive to be a prop?

"Hey, I know that one!" Danny Rand says cheerfully. "Joy and I used to watch it together!"

'Joy,' the voice in Al's head supplies. 'Joy Meachum.

'Well, at least this explains why he said he doesn't need money.

'Wait, why is he looking for a job in the first place? Is he not CEO? Did they kick him out or something? Did they disown him for wearing a hoodie with holes in it? Is that what he meant earlier when he said the thing he was doing before is over now?'

Al has never felt more rueful that he doesn't pay much attention to celebrity news.

"So," Al tries to find a way to word this that isn't 'have you been cut off or what?' "Why is Danny Rand looking for a job here?"

By "here", Al means a lot of things. This type of neighborhood, in general. Chinatown, out of all of them. At a low-wage position in a manual labor business with very little room for growth, if they're really getting into it.

"I like your name," Danny replies. It's far from the kind of answer that Al was expecting, but he finds himself unperturbed. Maybe he's hit a point where nothing is surprising anymore. "It reminds me of a friend. He was more of a Big Al than a Royal one, but I saw your logo and it seemed right."

-

(Al still pays Danny, because he refuses to be a shady business and because if he's finally getting around to setting up an employee system, he's needs to make it one that will work for anyone he might hire in the future, too. They won't all be Danny Rand. Danny keeps finding ways to immediately give it back, because he's literally a billionaire.)

#here it is like an entire week late #it took so long to write and i still kind of hate it but whatever #ironfistweek #iron fist #danny rand #fanfic #? #my stuff #the immortal iron fist #the internet is for fanfiction #colleen and misty's days still to come #they're just gonna be gifsets tho so~

[takadasaiko]

Conflict of Interest (a Superman & Lois oneshot)

FFN II AO3

Summary: His daughter’s relationship with Clark Kent has always been a conflict of interest for Sam, but never so much as it had been that day. Set after the main events of 1.12

Conflict of Interest

He had warned her. When Lois had dropped the bombshell that she'd agreed to marry Clark Kent, he'd warned her. She wasn't just marrying the bespeckled reporter that she'd fallen for - while lying to her for the first several months of their relationship and putting a bullseye on her back for the ones that followed - she was marrying Superman. Their lives would never be normal, no matter how much they wanted it to be. How much they pretended, because that's what it really was once the boys came along. Lois might know her husband's secret, but little boys that had no concept of the kind of danger they'd put their mother and themselves in? No, there was no way to tell them, and that left their parents lying to them, because their father - Lois' husband - wasn't normal. Earthquakes collapsed bridges during family dinner and supervillains didn't give a damn about PTA meetings.

Sam had hoped one of those warnings might stick all the way up to the wedding, but he'd raised a stubborn daughter. For a brief time he'd wavered back and forth on if he should assign one of his more promising up-and-comers to play liaison between Superman and the DOD. That didn't happen, though, and as he had stood on the Kent farm in full dress uniform and watched as the alien that the world had come to rely on so heavily lifted his laughing daughter up into his arms and spun her around, he had grimly started to come to terms with the fact that it never would. It was a clear conflict of interest and the military wouldn't blink twice before stripping him of all involvement with Superman if they ever found out. If they did that, though, Sam wouldn't be able to protect his little girl. To protect his family, and if he liked it or not, that included her husband.

They'd made it work, the two men finding a new and awkward balance between family and work. Sam had kept the casual meetings to a minimum. It wasn't until the boys were born that things started to get more complicated. Suddenly Lois wanted him around more. There were Christmas invites and birthdays, not to mention the once a year dinners that Martha Kent somehow thought he was required to attend. He even made it to the occasional pee wee football game or piano recital. Still, Sam was able to compartmentalize for the most part. He and Clark had lost the formal undertones of their conversations outside of the DOD and most days it was like talking to two separate people that wore the same face. So much so that Sam could almost understand how a pair of glasses somehow threw the world off his scent.

Somewhere along the way they got closer. Clark never approached him for parenting advice - Sam imagined that Lois had had a few warnings for him on that front - but there were moments when he caught the question behind the question the younger man was asking. His own father had been gone for years unless you counted some hologram something or the other that had access to the history of his home planet that apparently took on his biological father's form, and it was clear that Clark held a respect for Sam, even if there were a frustrating amount of times that they didn't see eye-to-eye on something. Personal conversations were had behind closed doors and eventually, as long as no one else was around, he became Clark even in red and blue. He was, no matter what name others referred to him as at that very moment, his son-in-law. He was family, and Sam always did whatever he thought was necessarily to protect his family. Sure, it was a conflict of interest, but one that he had told himself benefited everyone in the long run. He helped to protect his daughter's husband and, in turn, his daughter's husband helped protect the world.

He had just never expected to have to choose.

Clark Kent was many things, and one of those was steadfast in his devotion to the world that had welcomed him. He felt a responsibility, he'd told Sam time and again, and Sam believed him. That's why the four star general had thought that the worst case scenario that he'd authorized John Henry for was going to be just that. He'd been firm with Lois - give her an inch and she'd take a mile with it - and was treating it like any other threat. It wasn't until Irons was boots on the ground and Superman had laid him out like a ragdoll that it became evident that the worst case was also the reality and Sam was left with two choices: trust the man that he'd come to respect or take out the alien threat before he could destroy the very people that he'd once loved.

It couldn't be a conflict of interest. The world depended on it.

And with that, Sam had authorized Irons to put his son-in-law down like a rabid dog.

A long, loud car horn dragged him out of the horrible day's memory and Sam realized he'd simply stopped his SUV at the point he should have hung right down the dirt road leading to the Kent farm. A neighbor he was blocking down the east-bound lane made a frustrated gesture as he swerved around him and Sam steeled himself to make the turn. Well, they'd left the lights on for him. Apparently he was still an acceptable guest even if maybe not a welcomed one. It was fine. It was late enough that the household would be asleep and he could grab a quick shower and sleep for a few hours before hitting the ground running the next morning with the sun. After some rest maybe he could find the words to tell Lois… something. He was proud of her, he wished he'd had her resolve, he was sorry he put her through that. Something. Heaven knew she deserved it and he had promised things were going to be different.

Sam pulled the SUV up and parked it in front of the white paneled farmhouse before he killed the engine. His overnight bag was already in the guest room and he all but fell out of the vehicle, exhaustion snapping at his heels. He trudged up the path and was at the next-to-top step before he realized that he wasn't alone. "Clark," he greeted roughly, drawing the younger man's attention over to him from where he was leaning heavily against the railing that lined the porch.

"Sam. Hey. Get everything wrapped up?"

"We'll be wrapping up for a few more days, but we have -"

"Can it wait 'til morning?"

The question stopped Sam mid-sentence and he registered the pained expression on his son-in-law's face. A little pale, a little hunched over. He looked beyond exhausted. "You doin' alright?"

Clark forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "All alone in here," he promised, tapping a finger to the side of his head. "Just like the scans said."

"I know they did." Sam shifted his weight, feeling oddly uncomfortable under that blue-green gaze he'd long since become accustomed to. He loosed a long breath. "Listen, Clark…"

"If this is going to be an apology, I don't need one. I don't want one."

"I did give John Henry the green light to kill you."

"And it was the right call."

"Clark."

"In the moment, it was the right call." He grimaced and plucked his glasses from their place so that he could squeeze the bridge of his nose. There was a long, tense silence between them before he put them back, the weight not lifting off of him as he did. "He would have killed everybody we love."

"He?"

"The Kryptonian Tal-Roh tried to use me to resurrect," Clark answered softly.

Sam moved a little closer to better hear him. Not everyone on the property had super hearing. "Who was he?"

His gaze was distant, fixed on the cornfield that stretched out beyond the house he had grown up in. "A general. Zod. My father - Jor-El - knew him, but I only know the highlights. They're nothing compared to having him battering around your head even for a few hours."

"Is this someone we should be concerned about moving forward?"

"I don't think so. I think it was all or nothing. Either he won or I did."

"Glad you came out on top."

"Me too." He perked up, head swiveling towards the door like he heard something and Sam saw a shadow before his daughter became visible. She was dressed for bed in pajama pants and an oversized sweatshirt with a Smallville High crow on it. Her house shoes had quieted her steps.

"Dad," she greeted, though it half sounded like a question as she pushed through the screen door. "It's freezing out here." Well, at least it didn't sound like she was about to turn him away. She did, however, turn to Clark. "The fresh air helping your headache?"

"A little."

"No one gets away from that one, huh?" Sam murmured, thinking about the one constant response from everyone they'd spoken to the night the Kryptonian consciousnesses had been ripped from them.

Clark gave a small, mirthless chuckle. "First one I've ever had. I think it's safe to say I'm not a fan."

The attempt at a joke tugged very slightly at the corner of Sam's lips and he risked a glance back at his daughter. Lois, though, was focused in with a worried expression on Clark. The tiny smile instantly vanished. "I'll let you two get some rest."

That brought her attention back around. "Is there any update?"

"It can wait 'til morning," he echoed Clark's earlier request. "Good night."

Sam thought he heard a quiet response as he pushed through the screen door and into the house. Shower, then bed. Tomorrow would be a new day and by then he was sure he'd know how to say what needed to be said. How to convey that, despite what Clark had just said, he disagreed. He hadn't made the right call that day. He should have taken a page from Lois' book and had a little more faith in the man that had proven himself time and time again.

And he would. It was time to end the conflict of interest and choose his family.

---

Notes: I've been wanting to write a one shot touching on Sam and Clark's relationship for some time now. I have two unfinished fics, but apparently this is the one that I could finish, so here we are.

Seriously considering a second chapter that follows Clark and Lois after Sam leaves and their conversation between his return and the next morning's debrief. Anyone interested?

#Superman & Lois #Superman & Lois fanfiction #Sam Lane #Clark Kent #Lois Lane #Clois

[spnfanficpond]

Pond Diving - Queen-of-deans-booty

Welcome to today’s Pond Diving Spotlight! We hope that you enjoy this little insight to our members and perhaps even find some useful tips for your own writing. Happy reading!

Want to volunteer, send us an ask! We’re looking forward to learning more about all of you! Not sure what PD is, you can learn more here.

“Don’t Be Koi About It” - All About You

Name: Jordan

Age: 23

Location: Arizona, USA

URL: @queen-of-deans-booty 

Why did you choose your URL: Honestly, Dean is the first person I liked on SPN and his ass is so tight and I believe all women are queens so that’s why.

What inspired you to become a writer: I remember reading a book in middle school about vampires, and it’s the first book I remember reading that made me feel all sorts of emotions that books never used to do for me before then. It amazed me to feel these things from a book, and I realized that I wanted to do that for other people someday, thus, is why I became a writer.

How long have you been writing: Gosh, since 8th grade. Might have been a little bit before that, but I remember in 8th grade writing a full book at 20k words, which if I might say, is impressive for a thirteen-year-old.

What do you do when you are not writing i.e. Job/Hobbies etc? I actually am a security guard at a chemical plant. There is some down time to this job, and I try to spend it writing. I even gush to my boss about the stories I write and where I post, and he is all for supporting me about it. When I am not working or writing, then I am either watching Criminal Minds, Manifest, and movies while in my room. With this COVID thing going on right now, I barely leave my house as it is xD

How long have you been in the SPN Fandom? Since season 11 was on TV. It was actually after season 11 had ended and before season 12 had started, so in that four-month span, I managed to watch 11 seasons.

Are you in any other fandoms and do you write for them? Yes! I am in the Marvel and Criminal Minds fandom! I used to be in The Vampire Diaries fandom, but I lost my passion for it so I knew my writing was suffering, so I stopped it. I am doing series rewrites for all three of my fandoms along with one-shots and drabbles!

Do you do any writing outside of fanfiction? If so, tell us about it?  Yes, I try to. I took a NaNoWriMo class in college that made me write my first real book, so that is exciting. I also took fiction classes that made me write poems and short stories. I do want to get into writing more original fiction, but right now, I am focusing more on fanfiction.

Favorite published author: I love Riley Sager, B.A. Paris, James Patterson, Ruth Ware, and there are specific books I adore, but they aren’t from the authors I mentioned. I tend to like books rather than authors.

Have you ever read a book that made an impact on your life? Which one and why?: Vampire Kisses by Ellen Schreiber. That's the book that I mentioned about inspiring me to write, and I dedicate my love for writing to her.

Favorite genre of fanfic (smut, angst, fluff, crack, rpf, etc):  I really enjoy reading fluff, but I enjoy writing angst because I feel I can have a lot more emotions and feels when I write angst.

Favorite piece of your own writing:  My SPN series rewrite. I am currently planning season 7, and I am in the process of releasing season 6. I have gotten so many good reviews of it, and that fuels my passion for it.

Most underrated fic you have written: I can’t think of any at the top of my head. I tend not to look back on my own writing too much. I’ll have an overwhelming need to rewrite it and fix it up, and I don’t need that right now xD

Story of yours that you’d most like to see turned into a movie/tv show: Is it bad to say my series rewrite? It’s already a show, but I’d like to see my version of the show. If I can’t pick that, then my original fiction novel that I wrote that has over 70k words. That would be pretty cool.

Favorite Tumblr Writer(s): @impala-dreamer, @torn-and-frayed, @crispychrissy, @kittenofdoomage, @acreativelydifferentlove, @saxxxology, and there are others, but those are some of the people that come to mind.

Favorite fic from another writer: Can I mention a few? Rock, Paper, Scissors by @impala-dreamer, The Curious Incident of Episode 14x09 by @luci-in-trenchcoats, On the Road by @notnaturalanahi, Cherry Surprise by @crispychrissy, A Change of Scenery by @cass-trash, and On the Case Files (Criminal Minds fandom) by @hotchnerfuckmeup​.

Favorite character to write: For Supernatural, it’ll have to be Dean Winchester. For Marvel, it’ll have to be either Loki or Bucky. For Criminal Minds, it’ll have to be Spencer Reid

Favorite Pairing to write: I only write reader-inserts so the characters don’t really matter as long as it’s x reader.

Least favorite character to write (and why): For Supernatural, it’s Crowley. I don’t know why, but I can never seem to get him right. He’s more sadistic and hardcore sometimes and I just can’t get that right.

Do you have anyone you consider a mentor?  I don’t really have anyone right now. It used to be my teachers/professors, but I graduated and I don’t see them anymore.

Do you have any aspirations involving your writing? I want to be a published author. That’s all I want. I want to see my books on the shelves, and I’d also love to be a fiction editor! I can’t do anything right now because of COVID, but hopefully one day!  

How many work-in-progress stories do you have: More than I can count right now. Like seriously, I probably have over 100. I have a bunch of bingo cards that I have ideas for, but I have so many that they all just pile on. There will come a time when I get through all of them, but I don’t know when.

What are you currently working on?  Right now? Some requests and my spn series rewrite.

“Pond Diving” - All About The Writing

What/who has had the biggest influence on your writing? Like I mentioned above, it’s Ellen Schreiber. She is the one person that made me want to become a writer. Also, all my followers on all of my blogs. They are the truest influencers because they are what gives me passion for my writing.

Best writing advice you've been given: Write as if you’re the only audience. I’ve learned that if you don’t like what you’re writing about, then your audience will certainly see it. You can’t please everyone, so please yourself. There will always be someone who loves your writing for what it is, so don’t go changing it to please others.

Biggest obstacle you’ve faced in your writing: Trying to pace myself. I’ve heard of people spending two or three days (or even longer) on a fic. It’s either all or nothing with me. I either spend two or three hours on a fic and complete it right there and then, or I don’t write it at all. Pacing is an issue for me, and I am always trying to spend longer on a fic. I guess I just type really fast, I don’t know.

What aspects of writing do you find difficult when you write fanfiction? I find that trying to keep the character as canon as possible is most difficult. While it’s not always super hard, it does have its moments. All fanfiction are AUs, so it’s okay to change the characters to make them your own. While I don’t think one should make them the complete opposite if they are wanting to stay within canon, I do believe it’s okay to change a few things around.

Is there anything you want to write but are afraid to (and why): I want to write ships. Now that I think about it, I’m not quite sure why I don’t write them. Maybe it’s time that I start.

What inspires/motivates you to write: Feedback!!! Reader’s don’t always see it, but every piece of feedback I get makes me want to write. I do better knowing there are actual people out there that are looking forward to what I write. I do better knowing that real people are reading them and judging it. I do my best knowing that there is an audience. If I don’t get feedback, then that motivation just goes away.

How do you deal with self doubt: I’m not so sure I always do. There is always a voice in the back of my mind telling me that my stories are complete and utter shit, and I shouldn’t bother writing anything. It’s why I take a step back from writing so often. When I first started my blog, I came out with fics every single day. I was always writing new stories. Now, I may get a story out per week. Maybe two per week. I know when it’s time to take a break for a few days because it gives that voice time to calm down. My best advice for someone dealing with self doubt is to just take a break. Separate yourself from the thing that your mind is telling you that you suck at. Take care of you before jumping back into it. Trust me, it helps.

How do you deal with writer's block: Kind of the same thing as I mentioned above. I have suffered from writer’s block a lot more than in my earlier years. Sometimes, I just don’t have the motivation or the passion to write, and I just get so mad at myself for not doing it. One of the things that help me is writing down my ideas. Yeah, I get ideas that float in my head about stories I’d like to write, but actually writing them down makes them concrete. Then, I am able to make notes and side notes and notes of my notes about what I’d like to happen, and before I know it, I’m writing it.

Do you plan/outline your story before you start: ALWAYS! Always, always, always plan your writing, especially if you’re doing a series. It’s good to know what is going on in your story. You don’t always have to follow it to the exact detail (you’re allowed to make changes as you go), but having a plan makes it easier to get through your story. You’re able to look back at it and remind yourself why you're writing that exact scene or if something needs to be added or taken away from it. If you have a plan, then you’re less likely to lose that passion since you know what’s going to happen. You’re able to see the finish line well before you start.

Do you have any weird writing habits: This may be weird, but I like to listen to Got U On by Darci feat. Nessly, Highest in the Room by Travis Scott, some music by Juice WRLD, and other loud rap songs. Don’t ask me why, but I find the music soothing when I write. Those rap songs sound the same to me, and their voices just drown out so I’m just listening to the music. There are other kinds of music I listen to like piano instrumentals and rain/thunder sounds, but it’s really any song I can tune out.

Have you ever received hateful comments on your fic and how do you deal with it? I don’t want to sound arrogant or snobby, but I can honestly say I’ve never received one hateful comment on anything I’ve written (knock on wood xD). I’ve only received good things about my stories, and I think it has something to do with how much good energy I am putting into the world. I believe in karma, and I tend to be nice to everyone regardless of who they are, and I think it comes back to the kind of comments I receive. However, I always think about what I’d do or say if I’ve ever gotten a hate comment. I wouldn’t encourage them to send more hate, but I wouldn’t apologize either. I write the stories I write because it makes me happy. If they don’t like it, they can go somewhere else. Though, I know those hate comments can get to some people, and here is what I have to say about that: remind yourself of when you actually wrote the fic. If you were truly happy about it, then it shouldn’t matter what that person says. You love it, and that’s all that matters.

Conversely: what’s been some of your favorite feedback on your fanfic?  I have to pick a favorite? XD I have an album in my phone of screenshots I took of my favorite comments left by my followers. I’ve been compared to John Green, there have been comments that thank me for giving them an escape from their realities, people have told me they want to write just like me someday, people have told me that my work has made them smile and get chills, that my stories are the highlight of their week, and a bunch of other stuff. I am just shocked that there are people out there who think this. It means so much to me, and I get tears when I read them because this is literally my dream. I can’t thank my followers enough for the comments they leave, and this is exactly why it’s so important to leave feedback.  

If you could give one piece of advice to a new and/or struggling writer, what would it be? Write for you. I can’t stress this enough. I’ve mentioned it before, and I’m going to mention it again. If you’re not happy, it will show through your writing. Your audience will see it based on how you word things and your flow of ideas. On another note, please brush up on your grammar. I can’t tell you how many times I read such an interesting summary, and noticed the story was full of grammatical mistakes. It made me not want to read it anymore. I’m sure it was a great story, but I didn’t want to put myself through that just to read it.

#pond diving #spnfanficpond

[fishoutofcamelot]

For the ship opinion, Arwen.

[Send me a ship and ill give you my brutally honest opinions about it]

Most people who dislike Arwen have one main criticism: the heteronormativity. There is very little buildup or chemistry to their relationship, yet by nature of them being opposite genders we have to suspend our disbelief and swallow the romantic/sexual tension the writers are shoving down our throats.

And for the most part, i agree. Aside from a few cute shippy scenes in later seasons, Arwen is almost textbook heternormativity. More than that, it perpetuates a tired and in some ways harmful trope: the Fixer-Upper Boyfriend.

You know the type. The guy is rough around the edges and deeply flawed, but easily redeemed via edgy tragic backstory. The well-meaning good girl swoops in to help heal his broken heart. "I can fix him," she says, sounding less like a girlfriend and more like the host of an HGTV home renovation show.

This idea of 'fixing' someone through sex love has become romanticized and idealized by media, creating harmful relationship goals in the minds of young children. Girls, as with all things, are conditioned to be providers who give and help their partner with very little reciprocation from the other party to show for it. They're expected to be a housekeeper, sex doll, mother, and therapist for the men in their lives. Whereas boys are conditioned to believe they aren't capable of resolving their own personal issues and must instead rely on women for everything that doesn't involve being emotionally constipated.

Arwen is very clearly a perpetuation of this. Gwen has to teach him right from wrong, be his moral compass, be the responsible one, take care of him. And while it's not a bad thing for lovers to help each other grow, a lot of times it feels like she has to hold his hand and put up with his entitled behaviour. Gwen is expected to sit and wait for a man who doesn't do anything for her besides promote her and sometimes rescue her from perilous situations. Did he comfort her after her father died? Did he give her advice on her problems? How many of his romantic gestures weren't the result of Merlin's help?

It's a conditioned entitlement Arthur has that Gwen is here to provide him comfort and emotional support, that caused him to banish her. But killing or banishing someone for cheating on you is extreme, not to mention traumatizing. Just because he couldn't bear to look at her after her quasi-betrayal, he thought it was fair to uproot her from her home and friends.

Even if she hadn't been enchanted into a situation that's essentially fantasy sexual assault (since neither party technically consented - Gwen was magic-roofied, Lancelot literally had all of his bodily autonomy stolen by Morgana), Arthur's reaction was still outlandishly harsh. If he truly loved her and didn't just see her as a Therapist He Can Kiss, then he would have put her best interest at heart regardless of what she did.

And the thing that bothers me most is that it didn't have to be like this. Like with most things in BBCM, the show already contains all the building blocks it needs to create a compelling narrative. They could have taken their time with Arwen, could've made the relationship more mutual: Arthur learns to respect Gwen for her skills with blacksmithing and her stubborn spirit, while Gwen learns to respect his compassion and desire to serve his people well. Maybe he takes her sparring and she shows him how to sneak into the kitchens. Arthur helps her be more confident, Gwen helps him be more considerate. They both support each other through difficult emotional times and call each other out on their mistakes (and Gwen has to make mistakes too, not just Arthur). And when Gwen is cursed into cheating on him, he handles it like a responsible adult and later apologizes to her when the truth comes out.

At its best, Arwen is about self-improvement and bringing out the best in each other. And the BBCM writers could have very easily used those themes to create a heartfelt, believable relationship. It's not even hard. But due to hetenormativity and amatanormativity giving creators the lazy way out, Arwen never achieved its full potential.

Thanks for the ask! <3

#to be clear this isnt anti-arthur #arthur is perhaps the most complicated character in the show #i love arthur #i just think hes not ready to be in a relationship just yet #bbc merlin #merlin bbc #merlin #bbcm #ask #fish post

[liusaidh-writing]

Call it True - Chapter One

 Claire and Jamie are neighbors - though they’ve never met.  Claire, infatuated with her Scot upstairs, is more than a little certain that it’ll never happen. Is she wrong?  

Prefer to read at AO3? 

Hope you all enjoy this...I really wish I could say I’d update on a regular day weekly, but as of right now I don’t get much time to write. So please be patient!  

**I’d like to thank (profusely) @faithperry46  for being my life-saver/beta reader.  I wouldn’t/couldn’t have done this without your help!**

Here we go...

-----          

Claire chuckled to herself, hearing the vacuum come on downstairs again. Every morning, without fail, the older lady who lived downstairs turned it on...to hoover her back patio. Living on the first floor, she was granted a small back garden - one Claire was envious of. Though she didn't think she'd do much but sweep her patio with a broom.  

Claire pushed open her kitchen window and held her breath, wondering if he'd be here at his window today. Claire figured this was her favorite way to start her days: a small chat with her mysterious, yet lovely -and stupidly handsome,- neighbor, Jamie. 

Claire hid a grin when she spotted his curly auburn hair. 

"Poor woman. Shall we buy her a broom for Christmas?" He joked, greeting Claire with his unassuming smile. He gave her a wink - if it 

could be called that, seeing as he couldn't wink correctly but instead closed both eyes in a humorous attempt.  

Claire smiled properly this time, calling to him as she rested her elbows on the window sill. 

"She's going to break that thing soon enough. I'll get the dustpan if you'll get the broom?" she offered with a laugh. It was only May, but who was Claire to say it was too early to start Christmas shopping? Especially if she could do it with Jamie.

"It's a deal. We can present it to her together." Jamie smiled at her, and Claire as per usual, panicked, swatted her face with her hands while mumbling something about a bug before excusing herself. 

"I've got to run just now, but we can work out the details later. See you soon!" 

She shut her window as she heard him respond with a friendly 'Have a good day, Claire!' 

She didn't truly need to be anywhere for another half hour - her shift at the hospital started an hour from now, but she just couldn't talk to him for long. She'd get all flustered, and was terrified she'd say something completely stupid and ruin what they had. Claire had never met the man in the flesh, but she was completely enamored with him...or his face rather, since that was all she could see from her window.  

She loved his stupid wink, his big smile that nearly met his slanted eyes as he greeted her when they saw one another. She had no idea if he lived alone, but she was certain that someone that handsome had to have a girlfriend at the very least. Or a boyfriend, perhaps. He certainly had no need of anything more from her than a quick morning chat... or else it would've happened already - that's what she told herself six months into their weird connection. Her erratic schedule at the hospital kept her from seeing him every morning and explained why they'd never met in person. 

Their relationship never ventured much further than chatting about their mutual source of amusement: their elderly neighbor with the hoovering obsession. They chatted here and there about happenings in their respective days: 'You got a haircut!' She'd say, noticing his hair was slightly shorter. He'd nod, pretend to preen, and run his hands through his hair with a laugh. 

He had no idea what that did to Claire. She was sure her cheeks went pink whenever he was even slightly flirty. She'd lose the ability to concentrate, to speak, so she'd excuse herself in some clumsy way and go about her day with him swimming around in her imagination. She'd fantasize about knocking on his door, asking him for coffee, laughing over a shared joke that didn't have to do with their neighbor, Jamie kissing her dumb as his hands roamed her back for her bra strap... 

Sometimes she got carried away.

---

Claire got to work, noticing that her favorite co-worker, Lesley, was already there. Claire saw Lesley's toddler's car seat in the back, knowing it hadn't been a fun morning at her house. Lesley had a two-year-old son named Harry who Claire enjoyed, but Lesley's ex-husband Frank wasn't always in a helpful mood. So, this morning -like a lot of mornings,- the two-year-old was brought to the hospital child care center instead of staying home with his father.  

Claire sighed, shaking her head on Lesley’s behalf. Claire remembered when she’d gotten married to Frank and when she’d had her son - Lesley had thought she had it all. "But look," Claire thought, "it all fell apart at her feet shortly after it began." 

"I’m better off by myself. Only me to worry about.” It was her mantra of sorts, and Claire had convinced herself it was true. 

She got to her floor, put her stuff in her locker, and slowly shuffled to her station as she wondered what her day would bring. Lesley was there, as expected, riffling through some files as she smiled at Claire in greeting. Lesley was slightly shorter than Claire, with medium-length blonde hair Claire was sure wasn’t entirely natural. Lesley’s down-to-earth demeanor and penchant for keeping Claire grounded in reality was, unbeknownst to Claire, her saving grace during the work day, and though Lesley had had a rough go of it with Frank, she remained, for the most part upbeat - something Claire struggled with at times. Always there to lend an ear, Lesley was invaluable to Claire, and she was happy to return the favor whenever possible.

“Here you go, Lady.” Lesley said as she handed Claire a bright red folder with a name Claire couldn’t read on the side. “New admittance - a 72-year-old woman had a stroke and is in for observation.” 

Claire worked on the cardiac floor and enjoyed it... for the most part. The majority of her patients were older men and women, and she found them easy to talk to. She knew she could offer them some comfort and help during their stay.  

Grabbing the folder, she headed to her first room and started her day. 

---

Claire’s lunch left much to be desired - leftover Chinese food that had Lesley crinkling her nose. 

“How old is that, Claire?”

“I'm not sure. A few days…” 

“It doesn’t smell right.” 

Claire watched as Lesley’s mouth formed a frown. Lesley had her own lunch - a fresh salad with grilled chicken and cashews. 

“We can’t all be chefs, Lesley,” Claire said as she took a bite of her Kung Pao chicken. She made a face, struggling to swallow. Perhaps she should’ve thrown it out - but it was all she’d had to bring today.

“You live alone, Claire - you can cook all you want! I have to make my lunches once Harry has gone down for the night. After folding all of the laundry and scarfing down what’s left of dinner.” Lesley took a bite of her salad and chewed slowly as Claire shook her head. 

“I don’t know how you do it,” she said quietly, pushing her fried rice around with her fork. “I could cook, I suppose,” she continued, thinking about the ingredients in her refrigerator. Those consisted of a block of parmesan cheese, a bottle of orange juice, and a small pint of milk. “I could make...well, not much at the moment, but…” Claire, wanting to change the subject from her nonexistent domesticity, decided to bring up Jamie.

“I think he must have a girlfriend,” Claire said, deciding to throw her lunch out and buy some peanut butter crackers from the vending machine. As she fished for some coins in her purse, she continued. “I mean, he’s gorgeous...surely he’s taken. You know I have no luck, Lesley.”  

“Well, Claire,” Lesley began, sounding unsure about her next statement. “Do you...try?” 

Grabbing her crackers from the slot at the bottom of the vending machine, Claire whirled around, brows knitted and mouth in a scowl. 

“I do try,” she said, opening the crackers and stuffing one in her mouth. “I just figure he’s not worth my time,” she mumbled, spraying crumbs over her shirt. She brushed them off, shrugging. 

Lesley rolled her eyes, then set them on Claire, giving her a pitying, yet frustrated look. “You don’t know anything, Jon Snow.”

“It’s ‘You know nothing…’” Claire corrected, ignoring her comment. “Look how it worked out with Frank. You’re not exactly a great example of romance gone right.” Claire felt somewhat guilty when she saw Lesley’s face fall for a second, but the conversation was cut short by the clock. Time to get back to work.

“Just give it a go, Claire - the worst that could happen is that he is involved with someone else. You don’t know unless you ask.” Lesley gave her parting advice before they headed out of the lunchroom. 

Claire believed that the idea of knocking on his door and asking him about his relationship status was a little too much to ask of her. She’d talked to him - flirted even, and still...nothing. Nothing good could come of her asking him out, she decided. Only mortal embarrassment, and the unfortunate circumstance of having to live under someone who’d turned her down. No, thank you. 

Claire managed to push down all her thoughts about Jamie and get through her shift, and was relieved to plop down on the bus seat that would take her home.

Getting home, she eyed Jamie’s door, craning her neck in the stairwell to get a glimpse of the bright red door identical to her own, except he lived at 3C, she at 2C. 

"No sign of life," she sighed, hitching her purse and bag higher up her shoulder as she made her way to her flat. Her phone buzzed as she went in, tossing her bags on the entry table and reaching to dig into the depths of her purse for the offending object. She didn’t want to answer it, but she saw it was Lesley, so she swiped up, putting it to her ear with some trepidation.

"Please don’t ask me to babysit. Please, please," she begged silently as she heard Lesley begin to talk. She didn’t not like Harry. He was an adorable child and didn’t cause much trouble when he was here, but she had been looking forward to a much-needed day off work, and babysitting a toddler hadn’t been at the top of her agenda.

"…so anyway, I know it’s your day off,” Lesley said, and Claire groaned inwardly, covering the phone with her left hand. “But I’m just stuck, and I thought...maybe you’d help me out?” 

Claire gave a pained smile, even though Lesley couldn’t see her, rubbing her hand through her hair as she sighed. 

“Sure, Lesley, you know I will. It’s no trouble. Just drop him by in the morning.” 

Claire hung up, trying not to feel irritated by the prospect of watching a two-year-old all day. She had no plans, really, except to vegetate in front of the television, devouring Netflix true crime shows. But it sounded so good. Pizza delivery, maybe pull out her untouched bottle of whisky from some Christmas past...

"Oh well, she thought, I’ll just get through it. I’ll have another day off eventually." She thought. It then registered that she was due to work some night shifts coming up. "Oh... fun," she groaned to her empty apartment.  

Claire glanced at her ceiling when she heard footsteps upstairs. Jamie was home. What was he doing tonight, she wondered. Was his girlfriend over? Did he have a date, or was he, too, looking at an evening of solitary drinking?

Claire nearly jumped out of her skin when her doorbell rang. She shuffled to the door, warily looking through the peephole. She wasn’t in the mood for visitors. 

Puzzled, she saw a young teenager standing there holding a plastic bag, marked with a local restaurant’s logo. He wore a bright red hat, had more zits than craters on the moon, and he bore a scowl. Slowly, Claire opened the door, knowing she hadn’t ordered anything.

“Did you order this, lady?” the kid spat, holding the bag out to her, desperate to unload his delivery and get out of there. 

“Er...no...What’s the address?” 

“I don’t know, It’s smudged. I’m just...working my way around.” The kid shrugged, still holding out the bag.

“Well...I didn’t order it. Sorry. Try upstairs. Above me, perhaps? I know my neighbor just got home.” 

The kid sighed, drawing the bag away from Claire. He didn’t say anything, but slowly turned around and, swinging the bag around in a wide arc, growled as he started to make his way up the stairway. Claire waited at her door, hearing the delivery attempt upstairs. 

Hearing Jamie’s voice, she put her face in her palm, frustrated with herself. She could’ve made that delivery. She could’ve been standing in front of him now, complete with food. They could’ve eaten dinner together, watched a movie, somehow become entangled on his bed… 

Shut up, Beauchamp! 

She grabbed her phone, dialed to order a pizza, and slumped on the couch, resigned to her fate as a spinster, alone in front of Murder by Numbers for yet another evening. She folded her arms, brows knit, imagining Jamie upstairs with the girl he definitely had over. Why couldn’t she be hopelessly in love with someone at work, someone she saw every day? Someone she’d seen the bottom half of? That would make it easier. She always imagined Jamie as being about her height, but she could tell just from what she’d seen of his arms that he worked out. When he wore the sleeveless t-shirts, she always marveled at his biceps and had recurring dreams about them draped around her waist. 

She also knew he was a Scot, a transplant from somewhere north. She wondered if he ever wore a kilt because she figured she’d pay good money to see it. Oh, she was pathetic, she knew, but she didn’t care when she was alone in her thoughts. She wondered if it would do her good to get a cat. Perhaps then she wouldn’t do so much daydreaming. Surely it wasn’t healthy.

#outlander #outlander fic #outlander fanfiction #writing #lord help me #i will try to post more at least weekly... #i'm excited about this one though #i even have it all planned out! #that's never happened...ever #enjoy! #feedback welcome