#like you don't know how that person lived to know what lead them to be thinking like that

[rcmclachlan]

8x06 fix-it fic: Amnion

Buck doesn't bounce back from Tommy the way he did with all his other breakups for reasons he can't articulate or even look at. He thinks of how long it took him to recover from Abby, but even that felt different, because he'd had hope carrying him through most of it. He doesn't have that now.

The worst part is it's bringing everyone else down. It's starting to affect the job, and he can't take any more of Bobby's pity dinner invites or the kid gloves Eddie handles him with. Then one day, Chimney (in an attempt to lighten the mood) asks Buck if he's pregnant, and it awakens some primordial rage in Buck that he never knew he possessed and damn near rips off Chimney's head about it.

But once the blood levels in his adrenaline start rising and he calms down, he starts thinking about it. Before he knows it he's thinking about it day and night, and now that's starting to affect the job more than his heartbreak had been.

Then one night Maddie invites him over to watch trash TV and eat junk food until they can't feel feelings anymore, but instead of the patented Maddie Hug he's expecting, she hands him a First Response test stick the second he walks in the door.

Five minutes later, he comes out of the bathroom pale-faced and dripping tears because there are two lines in the test result window, and Maddie leads him over to the couch where they curl up and cry together. Just like the old days.

Maddie asks if he's going to tell Tommy, but there's no judgment in her voice, like she's behind him no matter what he decides, and Buck tries to make her laugh when he says, "How do you know it's his? I could've been living it up for the last month. New person almost every night. Exploring myself."

She just gives him a Look. Also patented.

Under the weight of her scrutiny, Buck thinks about Tommy's face before he left the loft that night and how ''Buck'' looked and sounded so wrong coming from him. Like the shape of it was so painful he could barely move his mouth around it.

Finally, he shakes his head. His eyes well up with more tears, which feels impossible, because the human body can't possibly produce this much liquid. He's going to drown them both. "I thought... I thought we had a future, Maddie. I really did. I guess I still get one... but only with part of him."

A couple of months pass and Buck's entire world shifts. The 118 have rallied around him in a way that almost feels like they're closing ranks to every other firehouse. Eddie becomes especially protective and devises a 5000-point care plan that makes him twitch if Buck so much as thinks about deviating from it, but he also keeps telling Buck that he needs to tell Tommy about the pregnancy.

"If only to get his family history," Eddie says reasonably, but there's something pleading in his voice every time, like there's so much more under the surface that he's trying to keep under wraps. Like there's more about this that he thinks Tommy should know.

Chimney's in the middle of explaining why he's stealing the cool uncle crown from Buck and sitting pretty on the throne when Buck asks him about it.

"Is there something about Tommy that no one's telling me?"

It trips Chimney up. Literally. He just barely catches himself from going headfirst into the kitchen counter.

Buck's heart starts pounding. "Chim, does he know?"

"No," Chimney says, firm and almost a little offended. "We promised you we wouldn't say anything. But Buck... you should tell him. You should talk to him."

Part of him wants to whip his phone out right then and there and dial Tommy's number. He could do what he did the first time: ask to meet somewhere and laugh about bad coffee and plead his case for a second chance. He could reach across the table for his hand, but this time, he'd stand up and walk over to Tommy and place it on his belly. "I don't care about firsts or lasts," he'd say. "I care about only's. And you're the only one I want."

But the other part of him, still licking its wounds, hormones in flux and forcing organs to shift and bend as it makes room for the thing he and Tommy made together, bares its teeth and snaps, "He made it very clear that he had no interest in hearing what I had to say."

Chimney never brings it up again.

Meanwhile, Hen goes a little overboard with forcing him to undergo random physicals—she pops out of the shadows twice a day to ambush him with the blood pressure machine, and he keeps threatening to avoid rooms that have doors—but he loves it. His body is a complete stranger to him for the first time in a long time, but the changes he's experiencing are interesting and he's having a blast cataloging every new one. He and Hen have a spreadsheet with like fifty tabs, and she helps him navigate every test his actual OBGYN sets him up for.

He's over her house at least once a week, although pregnancy talk at the dinner table is verboten.

"If one of you says the word 'amniocentesis' one more time, I will start a food fight," Karen had said, finally putting her foot down. Across the table, Denny perked up.

As much as he hesitates to even think the Q-word, it's a pretty quiet pregnancy. The cravings are kind of wild, though, and he goes most of his first trimester feeling like he's going to die if he can't eat rice krispie treats with cottage cheese. Every time Bobby sees him cracking open another container of Hood, it looks like he's seriously reconsidering sobriety.

But as incredible as they are about the pregnancy, they're all tiptoeing around the other elephant in the room: when Buck is going to stop working scenes. He and Bobby have a series of discussions that satisfies neither of them and resolves nothing, and it builds to a big blow-out that ends when Bobby tearfully begs Buck to stop risking his own life and the life of Bobby's grandkid.

After that, it's like some stone thing in him dissolves into sand and he finally eases back a bit in his fifth month. He doesn't put up a fight when Bobby orders him to only handle the winch or stick with hose duty, and if he stays a little closer to the engine because he gets winded so easily these days, no one comments on it.

In his sixth month, the inevitable happens: there's a call out at Palos Verdes and it's all hands on deck, which means the 217 is there too. At first he thinks he might make it through without running into Tommy at all, but he turns a corner and—there he is. Smudged with mud and looking like a drowned rat because of the downpours, but in his turnouts he's big and capable and, for a second, he's walking into First Presbyterian and apologizing for missing the ceremony.

But the memory is easily wrestled back into the past the second Tommy's gaze fixes on Buck's belly.

Buck wants to stage a retreat that would make the Allies at Dunkirk stand up and applaud. He wants to throw his arms open so Tommy can get a better look at it, say something cool and mean, like, "Did you know that INNOTEX makes turnouts for carriers these days? Pretty progressive of them, if you ask me."

He wants to be weak and ask if Tommy will spare him a hug. Just one. Nothing greedy. Just—a moment to soak in his warmth, to inhale the smell of his skin. Enough to carry him through the rest of it.

But he does none of that. He inhales through his nose, lifts his chin, and says, "Firefighter Kinard."

At that, Tommy smiles, and it's completely awful. There's no joy in it. Not even amusement. He looks like he wants to be sick, and Buck feels like a monster.

But Tommy swallows and says, earnest as anything, "Congratulations. I-I knew you'd find it. I never doubted for a second that you'd find the person who'd be your last."

Even as he says it, Tommy's face does something indescribable, but it rips through Buck's chest and shatters his ribs, tearing through pericardial layers until it scores the vulnerable muscle of his heart. It's so shocking that it almost knocks the truth right out of Buck's mouth.

Someone comes over the radio and requests all available first responders with flight experience to report to the B-zone, and Tommy straightens up and locks whatever it was away.

With an unsteady hand, he tips an invisible hat to Buck and says wryly, "Firefighter Buckley," before jogging away.

And Buck stands there like an idiot watching him go. It's that night all over again. It's Buck instead of Evan.

"See you around," he whispers, and then runs back to his post in the A-zone.

+

Tommy gets the call when he's halfway through a burrito foisted upon him by Dana, who had taken one look at him and said, "You look like a flood victim. Eat something before I get HR involved."

He'd taken a mutinous bite and couldn't argue with her. Months later and it still felt like he'd watched everything he loved wash away with a tide he couldn't fight. Except he'd sent the tide himself. He had no business feeling like this.

But they send him to the site of a car accident where a pregnant driver had been T-boned by some asshole who ran the red light, and the RA unit called to the scene didn't have the right equipment to assess the fetus. But the victim's belly was hard enough to warrant a med evac.

By the time Dana gets the victim loaded on the backboard and inside, Tommy's already on with both First Presbyterian and LA General to see whose neonatal surgery team is available.

The door on Tommy's side slides open and Tommy turns in his seat to ask what the hell Dana's doing over there, but it's Hen who's pulling herself inside.

His stomach clenches with dread. "Hen?"

"I'm riding with you," she shouts, taking the headset that Dana gives her.

He looks just beyond her and wishes he'd had the presence of mind to listen to the manifest when Dana had read it aloud to him, because Evan Buckley is strapped to the gurney and looks like he's on a completely different planet.

"Hen." Tommy can't hear him say her name, but he sees Evan's mouth shape the word. Evan reaches clumsily out for her with one hand while pressing the other to his belly.

Hen murmurs something to him that the comms can't pick up, and Tommy wonders if they've notified Maddie, if they've notified the father, whoever they are. If they're already at the hospital waiting for them. If Tommy will have to see them, talk to them face to face.

Tommy bites the inside of his cheek until he feels the hot wash of blood over his tongue, then forces everything down to join the burrito from earlier that really wants to make a reappearance. It isn't his right to know any of it. That went out with the tide, too.

He locks it down tight enough that he gets them into the air so easily they might be a feather on the wind, then he heads in the direction of First Presbyterian. The real start of it all.

They're maybe halfway across the city when Evan shouts, desperation and fear carrying his voice over the rotors, the words sliding together, "Hen, check Nora! Y-Y'need to ch—"

"Nora's fine, Buck," Hen says, her voice clear as a bell in Tommy's ear.

Staring at a skyline he can't see, Tommy says, "'Nora'? Was someone else in the car with him?"

When Hen comes over the comm, her voice is as inescapable as a flood. "Nora's what he decided on for the baby. It's her name."

Tommy's hand tightens on the cyclic so the way it starts shaking won't be so obvious. "Nora was my grandmother's name."

He'd told Buck about the woman who was basically the only family he could stand, who was responsible for not letting him become his piece of shit father, who accepted him when no one else would. She'd meant the world to him. She'd been the world to him. And for Evan to give his kid her name—

Realization hits like a levy breaking, and he turns to look wide-eyed over his shoulder at Hen, because it can't—he couldn't be—

"Patient, male, 33, prenatal course complicated at 8 months gestation," Dispatch had said.

The timeline is right.

Hen stares right back, as good of a confirmation that he could get outside of a DNA test.

Without breaking her gaze, Tommy tells Dana to take over. She gives him an unreadable look but says nothing except, "Copy that," and smoothly resumes their journey while he squeezes into the back. There's hardly any room next to the gurney and his knees are compressing his lungs, but he takes Evan's' hand and stares blankly at the shiner forming around his right eye until Hen breaks the silence.

Why didn't you tell me, he wants to demand, but he knows that if he so much as opens his mouth, he's going to start screaming until someone sedates him.

"For the record," she says, "I hate what you did. I hate what you took from him. But I understand why you did it."

Tommy rolls his lips inward and wants to suffocate himself to death. She understands? Does she? Does she know a life can be obliterated in the span of a minute? Does she know what it is to live a half life, to walk through the world like a five-year old drew a scribble on a blank sheet of paper that was supposed to be a person?

Does she know what Evan looks like when his joy is sucked away? Because Tommy does. She hates what he did? No one hates what he did more than him. No one hates him more than him.

Shakily, he lifts his other hand and touches the tips of his fingers to Evan's birthmark, which used to know the touch of his lips so well that Evan would joke that it was actually in the shape of Tommy's mouth print. Like a brand.

He forces himself to inhale. It seems impossible that Evan's here, carrying their child, their Nora. Evan used to say the lightning strike gave him super powers, made him invincible, and Tommy's ashamed to admit that he almost believed him. It seemed like nothing could ever bring Evan Buckley down, but here he is in Tommy's sky, halfway to Heaven already.

He glances at the LifePAK—where Evan's life has been concentrated into a series of lines and numbers, the reading strong despite everything—and then looks back at Evan, who is still the most beautiful man Tommy has ever seen even now.

"Evan," he chokes out.

There's no answer. At least not from Evan.

Across from him, Hen breathes through her nose and then quietly says, "I'm only going to say this once, Tommy, so I hope you're listening. If you can't trust him to know what his own heart wants, then this flight will never have happened. When he wakes up, you will not have been here. I'll change the manifest myself."

Tommy closes his eyes. Something hot spills down his cheeks.

"I know things haven't been all sunshine and roses for you. Lucy's said you've basically shut down since it ended. I know you're hurting just as much as Buck is... which is why I'm telling you: be sure. He's going to have enough on his plate without worrying about whether or not you're going to swan out of his life again. You need to be sure, Tommy."

Tommy doesn't say anything, but he opens his eyes and holds her gaze without flinching, and he tightens his hold on Evan's hand.

The rest of the flight passes in the kind of silence that feels like a cyst was lanced. Or maybe a boil, as it were.

+

Buck wakes up in stages to find he's in a hospital bed, and when he puts a hand on his belly it's smaller and almost deflated beneath his palm. He is just starting to hyperventilate when suddenly Tommy's there, murmuring to him, "You're okay. Everything's okay, I promise, she's fine. She's fine. Look."

And Buck, heart racing, forces himself to breathe slowly while he follows Tommy's gaze down to the bundle in Tommy's arms. Then he stops breathing altogether.

"She's fine," Tommy says. "A little early, according to the doctor, but absolutely fine."

Buck collapses back to the bed and weeps in relief, because she's fine. She's here and she's fine and she's perfect. Tommy gently places her in Buck's arms before retreating to the chair next to the bed which has a dent in the vinyl in the shape of his ass.

But Buck is enraptured with Nora, who smacks her lips in her sleep, and he marvels aloud, "She has my mouth."

"Thank God for that," Tommy says with a laugh. "It'll help take the focus off my nose. Poor kid."

It hits Buck like lightning that Tommy is here. He's in this room and talking about Nora like—like he knows. And there are things Buck should probably be saying, like apologizing for not telling Tommy about her as soon as he found out, or asking why he's there at all, but the words are crowding in his mouth and he can't figure out which ones should go first.

Tommy's lips twitch in a smile that is awful to look at, like he completely understand Buck's struggle, but his voice is soft and even when he says, "I need you to know that it wasn't about you. Not you personally. It never was."

Buck stops trying to speak and just stares at him, because that is bullshit, and oh, he knows which words should come first, and he opens his mouth to release them into the wild but Tommy holds up a hand.

"I know," he says. "I was a coward and an asshole, and I'm more sorry than I can possibly say. I won't ever be able to make up for what I did. But I need you to know why I did it."

And, in fits and starts before he finally finds the thread, Tommy tells him about Jeremy.

After Tommy ended things with Abby and then finally came out, he dated around for a long time before he met Jeremy, who was brilliant and fun and new. Tommy was the first man Jeremy had ever been with, and Jeremy was the first person Tommy saw a future with. He'd been so sure about Jeremy. He'd believed that Jeremy was it.

Until, almost two years in, Jeremy ended it. He'd sat Tommy down and said kindly, cruelly, "You're amazing, Tom, but you're just the first. You can't be my last." And then he'd left Tommy completely shattered in the rearview.

"That night, when you asked me to move in... it was like I was watching him put on his coat all over again," Tommy says shakily. "But what I felt for you was lightyears beyond anything I felt for him. I'd fallen so hard for you that I knew if I had to watch you walk away I'd never get up again."

Buck stares at Tommy, eyes rimmed red, and says, "So instead you made me watch you walk away."

It must land like a fist because Tommy exhales sharply and hangs his head, bowing around the pain. He sits like that for a moment, absorbing it, before he lifts his head and nods. "Yeah. That's exactly what I did."

There are deep, dark circles under Tommy's eyes that speak of a hundred sleepless nights, and his body is sharper, leaner, trimmed entirely of anything soft. He's made entirely of angles. He's so unfairly hot. He's miserable to look at.

Buck swallows and murmurs, "You look like there's no love in your life, Tommy."

Sucking in a trembling breath, Tommy smiles weakly and sketches a shrug. It looks like the fatigued steel of his edges are starting to crack.

"I left all my love with you that night." His gaze darts down. "Among other things."

Buck looks down at Nora, who's sleeping the sleep of someone already exhausted by existence, or maybe just by her fathers' drama, and thinks that maybe he really has been carrying all his love plus Tommy's around. Because otherwise he has no idea how he's so full of it.

"She's absolutely perfect," Buck says, smiling dopily.

"She's... more than anything I could've ever dreamed of."

He looks up in time to see Tommy drop his gaze to the floor at the same time his shoulders lift and lock like they're bracing for a blow. And in a voice so thin it's barely a sound, Tommy says, "I know I don't have... any right to ask, but is there any... any chance I could be part of her life?"

The tears that have been languishing at the edges of Buck's eyes finally see an opportunity. He doesn't think he could've held them back any longer if he tried.

Mouth trembling, he whispers, "Just hers?"

At that, Tommy looks up, eyes wide, disbelief and hope chasing each other across his face like dogs. He jerks a little in his chair but he doesn't move. He doesn't move.

Buck stares at him, a tsunami pulling everything back from his shoreline, and bites out, "Thomas James Kinard, if you don't get over here and kiss me, I swear to Christ—"

But Tommy's out of the chair and at his bedside, cupping Buck's face and tenderly smearing a kiss over his open mouth, licking the relieved gasp right off Buck's tongue.

Between them, Nora makes a tiny noise, and Tommy startles away just enough that he can press the side of his head to Buck's and gaze down at her with a tremulous smile.

"She really is something, huh? Sorry about the nose, kiddo," he says softly.

Buck knocks their heads together and says, "I happen to love that nose, thanks. And like you said, my lips will help balance it out."

Huffing a laugh, Tommy kisses Buck's lips. And the side of his nose and the bolt of his jaw. Then he leans down and presses a kiss to Nora's little pink and blue hat.

"I'm sure if you are," Tommy murmurs, tilting his chin up so he can flash a brave smile up at Buck, who smiles back.

"I was always sure."

[overtakebrownwren]

three of the basic tools of the writer of detectives:

impossible numbers of friends and slightly distant family who don't come up in regular conversation but will appear at the catalyst for a visit or situation being brought to the (non-professional) detective. (Example: Jane Marple's numerous young goddaughters, former maids, and the nephew who always sends her on nice vacations. Fletcher, likewise, starts each episode traveling for work, visiting an old friend or family member, or meeting up with yet another member of her small town who we've never seen before. See columbo's wife as the antithesis of this- constantly spoken about and referenced but never the catalyst for any adventure.)

a sounding board. A friend/companion/client who doesn't comprehend the situation as well as the detective does and gets to tell the audience everything the see without ever noticing what matters until the detective sees and explains it. (You have your classics- Watson & Hastings & Robin. But the TV show Psych is an example of this with multiple layers- Shawn is completely open to Gus his bestie about his con, His dad knows how Shawn does the cons, and the two detectives he works with interpret & appreciate his exposition dumps at the end in different ways.)

A lack of background for as long as you can get away with it. The more open a background, the less the audience needs to question how or why the detective knows the intimate details of a such and such skill. (Father Brown & Miss Jane Marple know everything, because he has taken the confessions of too many criminals and she listens to more than enough gossip to know human nature. Lord Wimsey has far too much free time to not know something, but when he doesn't his butler will always know the trick. Sherlock has somehow conducted numerous studies on how the world works that gave him very solid data. Encyclopedia Brown has read the encyclopedia and memorized it. none of these are dated or time stamped so if you need to set a firm date on something later, nothing can get in the way.) This works best for stable detectives- ones who are not going to change or grow, and not detective stories that focus on character or drama.

And ignoring that leads these is why you get murder mysteries that focus on the drama and interpersonal conflict of it all and fail to give you a mystery. Modern NCIS isn't a group of colorful characters walking you through a mystery to solve, it's a workplace drama with some action scenes. Christie often used new POV characters to introduce & invest the reader to a murder (especially with Miss Marple- most of the fun was the little old lady showing up to fix things and shocking the POV character).

When you do a mystery, create a toxic situation with a colorful cast that ends with murder. Then introduce the detective by way of friend/relation/vacation. Pack them a companion. Never explain why they know something except in the vaguest terms. Let them collect their clues and bits of string and twist the tension up and up and up until the detective snaps the jaws of their trap closed around the killer. Make sure the killer is not justified (keep the exceptions to this one down- catharsis of a detective story is that the good detective wins and the bad guys lose). Decide what justice for the murder looks like (usually jail, sometimes a psychiatric institution, or rare but a goody- letting them live with the horrible consequences of their actions as a "free" person.)

Detective as an angle of Justice is a always a delight. Or in Christie's work, Detective as the goddess "Nemesis" is a delight.

The temptation, when adapting a really iconic detective, is to delve into his personal backstory. That's the devil talking.

[yanmuffins]

Hey there

Im actually gonna talk about your other series

I'm super curious for the yandere Batfam dynamic was they find our reader is a vampire, I kinda like the idea of reversing the typical vampire creepiness and instead of us, is the Batfam that really enjoy feeling the reader drinking their blood and each one figure out a way to convince reader.

For example let's say Cassandra manages to figure out which days your instincts are at the strongest so those days she always makes sure it's her turn to stay in the manor to keep guard and make sure you don't escape while the others are doing vigilante stuff

context.

oooooh vampire! reader ask!!! mild spoilers for future fic, gotham by night.

i'm honestly so excited to see where this story will go. this reader will not only have to deal with batfam issues, but also being introduced to a completely new world of vampires and deal with sire issues on top of daddy issues. she's having a great time (not)!

but tbh, i don't think reader would drink the batfam's blood. she would find the idea of feeding on her family extremely gross, and unnecessary, since there's other methods out there. it could be a last-resort thing, if she was starving and close to frenzy, but even then that would be something she would hate to do, as there is a risk of killing them accidentally.

and one of the main conflicts in this fic is yandere! platonic! batfam just not understanding (obviously, since they've never been exposed to it) the richness and intricacies of vampire culture, practices and social dynamics, leading to them to mishandle reader and her new condition as a vampire pretty badly. not only that, but batfam essentially kidnapping reader from her sire (who had also kidanpped her btw) messes up her self-discovery process as a vampire. oh, and a possible masquerade breach! disastrous.

but i can see the batfamily starving reader on purpose, to get her to drink their blood, saying it's safer for her to get used to drinking from her family so she doesn't feel tempted to attack innocent civilians. and she's yelling that that's not how any of this works, but they won't listen. yup, that's diabolical.

you see, this concept pretty much follows v*mpire t*e m*squ*rad* mechanics. and according to established lore, we have a variety of predator types: one of them being bagger, referring to vampires who prefer to consume blood through blood bags instead of live human bodies. this would be convenient for both reader and batfam, but mostly batfam since they could just arrange reader an endless supply of blood bags with ease.

we also have consensualists, who do not feed against their victim's free will (the lines of consent and free will might still be murky, lest they straight up admit they're a vampire looking for blood and won't you please spare some) and sirens, who seduce their victims! i'm not entirely sure which predator type vampire! reader will be, but i'm leaning heavily towards bagger, meaning she doesn't have a preference for biting necks. but who knows?

to be fair, it's a big adjusment for batfam. you were being weird before you got kidnapped (and embraced), and it takes a while and reader almost going into frenzy (aka vampiric reaction to situations of extreme stress, like starvation) for them to find out, holy shit, she's a fucking vampire now! that's what happened! and they can't just... let you go. the situation is complicated. the person who turned you is still out there, and you're unpredictable, and this wouldn't have happened if they just paid more attention to you! so let them keep you safe (captive) and provided for.

ALTERNATIVELY, deviating a bit from the original concept where reader is taken by her sire and then taken by the batfam straight back into captivity, we could have reader being so neglected and ignored in the family that they just don't notice she's been turned, and she gets time to go through a complete change in personality and confidence, and involve herself with the social and political webs of vampire society that wants to establish itself in gotham. it's not drastically different direction for this concept to go, because either way reader will be thrown in the world of darkness (ha), except here the kidnapping happens after she comes contact into it and in the paragraph above it happens before.

reader escapes them either way, cause she's a vampire ofc, and the batfam didn't have enough time and info to prepare and keep reader sufficiently trapped. they'll keep an eye on her, though.

either way, there's room for yandere madness, dark content, neglectful batfamily drama, sociopolitical vampire drama, vampire! reader being cunty, and all that in both ideas, which aren't that different, really.. i'm not sure! sorry for rambling. it's still a work in progress but i'm very excited for it.

[nightlyrequiem]

Basically when Valeria is getting questioned, she mocks Alejandro by bringing up the fact that right after she left the Mexican special forces, she took his girlfriend with her and made her into her wife. (A fem reader request with reader being the ex girlfriend of Alejandro who used to visit the base but ended up up getting charmed by Valeria and is now her wife.)

Oh I love this. Valeria would totally be able to steal his girl. She's just so suave

Might incorporate this idea into a future series. Or maybe just make a part two or something. I live for the drama tbh I want to write more of Alejandro being upset. I don't even hate his character but I've developed a dislike for him because people ship him with Valeria. That sounds a little pathetic though...

Tags/Warnings: Violence, Valeria and Alejandro Scuffle, TF141 Cameo, Reader Is Only mentioned

Under New Ownership

Phillip Graves keeps one firm hand on Valeria's shoulder as he leads her through Alejandro's base. So many memories flaring up at the familiar sights and smells. His touch is agitating her. Heavy, warm, masculine. She shrugs him off as she's sat in an uncomfortable wooden chair. The interrogation room is nothing more than a shipping container. The others join them. Men of Taskforce 141, and Alejandro and Rudolfo. Valeria regrets nothing. Not betraying and turning her back on her brothers in arms, and not all the damage she's done as El Sin Nombre. Valeria Garza is a woman with many achievements under her belt. Why should she apologize for being successful?

"Have a seat." The blond man says. He turns his attention to Alejandro, who is already glowering at her. "So, how do you two know each other?" He asks.

"Know is a strong word." Alejandro responds. Hatred frosting his voice. Just his voice is enough to alight Valeria's nerves with disgust.

"Strong words are important. Our word is our worth, right?" She taunts. using one of his past proverbs against him. That's all it takes to set him off. To send him storming towards her cursing in Spanish. The others are quick to intercept him. Grabbing ahold of him, like an out-of-control dog, Valeria thinks. Should put him down like one. She was always more of a cat person.

"Yeah? Yeah." Alejandro growls, pulling away and reigning in his temper. He turns back to Valeria, drowning her in his distaste. "Go on, tell them."

Valeria leans back and gets comfortable. As comfortable as a person can be while sitting on a hard chair surrounded by hostiles.

"We served together." She explains with boredom. Nothing but unimportant history. Files collecting dust in a backroom kind of history. "Same squads different units. You were the wild ones. Los Vaqueros." She sneers at him. "We had a common... interest."

Alejandro stiffens. It's barely enough to be perceived but Valeria perceives it nonetheless.

"What might that be?" Graves inquires. Raising a light brow. Valeria angles her head towards the man but keeps her gaze locked onto Alejandro's.

"We have... quite the similar taste in women." She remarks. Picturing your soft face. The angle of your eyebrows. The delicate lines of your lips. The column of your throat. Something once belonging to him now under her ownership.

You always used to visit the base. All soft angles and colours amongst the gray and violence. Valeria felt compelled by you the first time she saw you, a rare flower amidst the barren desert. Such a thing would wilt under Alejandro's possession. Valeria made haste in befriending you. An act she knew would grate on Alejandro, but she didn't care. He felt threatened by her.

"Don't bring her into this." Alejandro demands. Jabbing a thick, angry finger at her.

"This lovely little thing used to visit him every week." She continues anyway. "But he wasn't the only one she sought out. She always liked me better."

"Okay, enough of this." Price sighs. Trying to redirect the conversation. In due time. Alejandro scowls and breathes heavily like a bull.

"You poisoned her mind with lies." He says, voice cracking with hurt. "She's a good woman, she wouldn't have left if you hadn't fed her your bullshit about me."

Valeria laughs in his face. Mocking and cruel.

"I didn't have to do anything besides show her attention." She scoffs. "You were always so high-strung and busy because of work. You had something so beautiful within your grasp and you chose your little Vaqueros."

"Lying bitch." He barks. Taking an aggressive step forward. "Are you hurting her? Threatening her?" 

Valeria scowls at the accusation. She's wicked and vile but she'd never hurt you. Not even unintentionally like Alejandro has. "I haven't." She snaps. "She's at home - our home, probably curled up in bed. Maybe she's baking something." Valeria shrugs, putting on a show of casualty. "She loves to cook for me. After a long day I get to return home to a warm meal, not something you can relate to."

Rudolfo shakes his head. This isn't going where they want it to. Time is ticking, much like the three bombs she's sent to Chicago.

"I'm going to kill you." Alejandro promises. Eyes wide with anger. "After they've gotten their use out of you, I'm going to put a fucking bullet through your head, Valeria."

"Alejandro-"

"You're not a very good leader if you couldn't even keep your own girlfriend." Valeria sneers. Goading him on. She's not scared of him at all. She leans against her chair, lips curled into a smirk. "You weren't very good at leading in bed either." She coos. "You won't believe the sounds she makes, I have her screaming my name every fucking night-"

Faster than anyone can react Alejandro is on her. Not holding back as he punches her hard in the jaw. The force sends her and the chair toppling over. Blinding her with pain. Not enough for her to not fight back. She slams her fist into his nose, feeling a spray of blood and hearing a satisfying crunch. 

Valeria's blood is fizzing with adrenaline and excitement. Unfortunately, the fight is cut short as the two are pulled apart. Alejandro left struggling and yelling in the grips of Ghost and Rudolfo.

"You're over." Alejandro hisses viscerally. 'Do you hear me? I'm going to get you. I'm going to fucking get you."

Valeria can feel a bruise forming in her jaw. You'll ask what happened and kiss it better when you see it. Alejandro has no one to worry over his injuries but himself. Valeria wants to keep fighting until only one of them is left standing but that will have to come another day. She rubs her jaw. Another day.

"You hit like a pussy." She growls, angry and wound up. Valeria is forced back into the chair. The time for games is over. Valeria hands over the information they seek with as much contempt as she can produce in her five-foot-six body. A storm is steadily rumbling in the distance. Its growls audible through the walls. An omen of what's to come.

[fiyaerrigan]

re: BuckTommy 8x06 and the Interviews

First point: I hesitate to say Oliver's response was biphobic

We don't know the man??? He could literally be bisexual (and guess what, it would be none of our damn business!) But within the context of "he has said he wanted change for his character and what he says in this recent interview directly contradicts that" I do have my gripes.

Second point: To me, the execution of this sucked.

Normally (as a resident Messy Bitch who likes seeing shit in her Complicated Fucked Up Life reflected in media) I live for drama and I live for narratives taking me wherever the wind takes them! but there was something so BLUNT and RAW about this that i cannot feel settled or satisfied with it (esp taking into account that, as noted before, this is a direct contradiction of what people IN the show have said they wanted for Buck) because it was SUCH a tonal shift from where they left off the previous episode.

I try to be gracious and remind myself that network TV has to deal with sudden changes that affect the way they go forward with planned storylines, but this was kinda ass, right down to the wire.

Assuming that it WASN'T a sudden change and that this *was* how they wanted everything to wrap up, I feel like it really could have been written with more consideration. It's one thing to pick up from where s7 left off and have their relationship in s8 be something along the lines of “we keep trying but it isnt working out” and then culminate in a breakup, but it's another entirely to break them up and...

Have Tommy's character interactions *still* be intertwined with Eddie (when it would have been more of a soft exit thing to treat Eddie's friendship in the same "implied presence" way they do with Hen and Chim rather than giving them scenes where Tommy and Eddie interact directly) as recently as the previous episode. Like at that point you've established an additional relationship for the guest character to have with the main cast, and given that relationship more recent screentime than any of his previous friendships, which THEN makes his departure have multiple fallouts to address

Have Buck be on the verge of a momentous confession when said breakup happens, because GOD that just hurts

From a writing perspective, you're leaving loose ends that are (imo) not going to really lead viewers to sit well with the story going forward?

On a personal level, even if (by some miracle) we still end up with Buck in a queer relationship despite the looming storm for LGBT media in the US, I'm probably not gonna be able to look at whatever relationship happens after this without feeling some sort of sting. I'm all for writers planning out stuff to happen in advance, but they could have spelled out the end for Buck and Tommy in SO MANY ways that would have been less bitter.

Like, fuck. Even if it WAS a sudden change, there are ways that this COULD have worked decently even *with* a single episode to wrap up the BT relationship.

You could have Put Tommy On A Bus for [insert serious reason that Buck can't argue with] here and that (at the very least) would soften the blow bc at least the loose ends are explained by "oh, *no one* who's close with this character is able to interact with them" and that would have hurt slightly less?

You could have killed Tommy off and that would have been INFINITELY better than this IMO because at least sudden death seems more realistic an ending (as far as the weewooverse is concerned) compared to "these two characters break up but somehow we're supposed to forget that he's also friends w his ex's bff and there are Ramifications (tm)."

Hell, I'm not big on Buddie but it could have brought Eddie and Buck closer via grief bonding, if that's what the writers wanted? idefk.

Overall, this Sucks.

I'm gonna try to stop looking at my weewoo tags for the time being and focus on stuff that brings me joy (like content from old fandoms where I Haven't Been Hurt Yet lol) and spend some time away from the show for a bit.

Honestly, for me, s8's main sticking points were the BT relationship and whatever the fuck those two had going on with Eddie. My personal sticking points for the entire series (found family vs. blood family juxtaposition, breaking the cycle, and group hijinks) don't seem to be the focus in s8 thus far so I'm not too keen on watching the show as intensely as I have been, going forward. Hit me up if they bring Chris back or if the 8x06 interviews are smoke and mirrors (though I don't think they are) but otherwise I'm gonna go back to weewoo-ing through dashboard osmosis.

I still have BT and weewoo plotbunnies in my drafts, and I don't see myself abandoning those completely! I think, after some time, I see myself coming back to that creative space, even if I'm not following canon super closely. Of course, my ass never finishes anything, so whether I finish and post those WIPS is another thing entirely.

Peace out, friends?

[posttexasstressdisorder]

Where we go from here...

It took me awhile last evening to get my mind in the right place to do the baking I had to do. I thought I would put on some music on my little radio station to kick my head into work mode. Tried some Glenn Gould playing Bach (always a go-to for morning coffee music), and it didn't hit right.

So I dialed up the huge mix I have titled "1969-72" and almost immediately started the long road back to feeling like myself. After about a half-hour, I was in the groove. Listened to the mix far into the night, after I'd finished working.

I managed to keep my focus and got the cookies all baked, and kiddo's mom happily packed them up and just left for her party, and I'm over here for the next couple of nights, sadly for my back. Two nights of "No Mattress For Old Men" and I'll need a week to recover, but hey...

Wanna thank all y'all for your comments and messages when I posted that I was prolly just gonna go black. Y'all loved me back off the ledge. Posted in a moment of true despair...something I haven't felt in awhile. I am hurting for all of us...and all of you. I have never in my long life been scared for the nation until now. Or at least that's what I thought. This feeling of complete despair, the emotional pain of millions of people, the hopelessness, the fear for the future...after I sat with it awhile I realized yes, that I have felt this same combination of toxic shit before.

In the 65 years I've been on this stinkin' rock, I've been through a number of particularly devastating previous elections, most notably the two Bush2(Dumbya) regimes. I remember the night of the 2004 election...Americans were posting tearful photos taken by their webcams, with them holding up signs saying "We're sorry."

I saw first-hand all the fights for rights that we have gained from the early '60s onward. To find ourselves set back to square one, 50-60 years later, when we had finally gained some footing toward fairness, is cruel. And cruelty is what they will wield as their main weapons in the coming days, as we suddenly find ourselves in the same predicament as 1963-65 when a virginal Joan Baez and little Bobby Dylan changed protest music forever.

So yes, I have felt this same way, and no, the nation didn't die or descend into complete chaos. Our lives went on, essentially as they had, with a growing pile of "things we can't do anymore" heaped atop via the collective wounding of 9/11.

This is another collective wounding--an intentional collective wounding. The next few months are going to be chaotic, they will try to push through their agenda as quickly as possible come january.

I may not post much overtly political stuff from this point on, but if I do it will be refocused on positive news. I don't know for certain how long that might last, but I can't take a 24/7 barrage of bad news and outrage bait. I'm probably gonna unfollow a few blogs, but don't think it's personal...it is Mental/Emotional Health Care.

And yes, I've been in the trenches with y'all a long time...we are all Family at this point...Brothers and Sisters in arms. I'm not leaving, but my presence/role will be different, out of the renewed sense of self-preservation this has thrust me into.

I woke up disoriented, but quickly remembered I'd gotten what I needed to get done done, and had a slow re-entry, sipping my coffee for a couple hours. I kept remembering how well the music had helped me last night, and then the beginnings of what this might turn into began to coalesce. Concepts of a plan. lulz.

As the day went on, I've been on a roller-coaster, emotionally, with seemingly hopeful leads on a roommate not materializing, on top of my craigslist ad for a roomie getting flagged and deleted. Pretty goddamn hopeless as far as this situation is going.

Looked at the huge box of cookies I'd managed to bake last night and it hit me. I've been reblogging the "Gooood Morning, TUMBLR!" graphics every morning up until the election. The image of Robin Williams being in character calling up the role of the military DJ.

Back when I did my cafe in the mountains of NM, a friend lent me a book called "Radio Venceramos", about South American rebels who had a radio transmitter and clamped the leads to the barbed-wire fences to broadcast their signal/programming to their fellow rebels.

Still not sure how the format will work out, but I've decided: my new role is going to primarily be the voice of inspiration over the air-waves to my fellow rebels. Not sure if it will be a second blog or if it will be a continuation of PTSD, but with no further ado, I will become the Voice of my fellow rebels with:

I may make a second blog out of it, but until then I guess I'll make it a series of posts. Tumblr will let you blog up to ten videos/post, and that may be how I start things out. Consider them like stacks of 45s and LP tracks from my paul-shaffer-brain...meant to help keep spirits up and keep the focus.

Made a couple of graphics, will probably try others in the course of it.

So the message today was "You did what you had to do. Heal up for what's ahead."

I will probably start this new focus in the morning...I'm still chewin'.

[boxwinebaddie]

i feel like i’ve written some version of divorce era kyle describing how frightening looking at a stan he thinks HATES him is like A Million Times, but i feel like i can never articulate the quiet mounting Horror quite right, but this is the one i like the best thus far, i think? xx

[moinsbienquekaworu]

I'm sorry I'm going to be insane for a second, avert your eyes

[northwest-cryptid]

With the amount of notes this has I'm sure someone has already explained something like this but probably in a much better way than I can. However I'll try to explain it as best I can. I want to emphasize here that this information is based on conversations and discussions that I have had, with people who openly refer to themselves as Right Wingers (or who were previously Right Wingers) on forums and websites. While I am a Leftist and can't speak to how the Right operates from personal experience, I can speak as someone who has spoke to individuals who do know from personal experience.

The general gist is that the thing you need to keep in mind is that, so many of us on the Left have an understanding of what the problem really is. We get that the problem isn't that someone happens to be a man because of how they were born of because of their gender identity. However as someone with far less (if any) understanding of those societal issues they do not. They see the Left as saying "men are inherently bad." It gives them no recourse to not be a problem, they may not even actively be part of the problem yet but they don't know that the problem is larger than "you're a man, and I don't like that."

Meanwhile that meanspo you speak of, gives them direction. It gives them a direct out from being a person who is looked down on; and promises them that if they can just do these things on a checklist, they'll be respected, they'll live a good life; they'll be an "Alpha" or whatever. It's an easy decision when you feel like one side is telling you not to be what you are, because what you are is somehow inherently a problem; and they (the loud majority) hate you too much to explain how. While the other side is saying you're just not as good of a man as you should be, you're just a beta male because you don't do X, Y, Z.

As someone who is a Leftist who spends a lot more time than I probably should; actually talking to Right Wingers online. This is literally something people have told/asked me outright.

"Do you expect anyone in their right mind, to side with people who say they're wrong for just being a man; when the other side would offer them a ladder to be on top?"

If you notice, this statement neglects the actual problems, it summarizes the issue down to "you're wrong for just being a man." Which isn't what many of us are saying at all, but is what the Right, and individuals who would be converted to it; are hearing.

You are correct in saying it's objectively worse, in that yes; the Right are horrible people. They thrive on treating others on their side poorly to stay "above" them. However they always hold the promise over others that if you make enough money, if you work out, if you have enough sex; then you can also be on the top. The top doesn't seem that great when the bottom is comfortable enough. They have to ensure you feel like garbage but make sure you also have a clear understanding that it's only because you're not doing enough to climb the ladder.

Leftists don't really offer any similar ladder. Our issues with sexism, inequality, the patriarchy as a whole; etc. are a lot harder to break down. Not to mention that a good man isn't really given any reprieve from these problems, he's simply aware of them. A good man, no matter how good; can't just end racism or sexism himself. We don't do a lot to actually give men a proper course of action, we don't give them an easy to follow guide on how to be a good man by just doing quantifiable things, it's not that simple. We just tell them they're bad because the culture they grow up in is predisposed to turn young men into sexist, racist, bigots.

Obviously we're not all actually just saying "men are bad, fuck men; fuck you if you are a man." Some of us, I'd argue a lot of us, are actually trying to educate people as to the wider issues around "being a man" so to speak. I think that's sort of what leads to this question of "how could anyone in their right mind willingly side with the Right?" It's really no different than how cults recruit depressed and desperate people. The Right isn't watching for people to sort of react poorly once to a Leftist and then immediately jump in like "hey kid come join the Right!" It's more that they prey on dejected men who don't feel like they have direction. The Right gives them direction, it's awful; but it's something quantifiable. Last week they were a "beta male" this week they're going to the gym, they're talking to women; they're applying to jobs that pay more or whatever. Because some "Alpha male" made a video, blog post, podcast; etc. that told them that these things will make them successful, get them out of the rut they're in; and fix their problems.

It's a problem that can't be simplified down to a singular answer unfortunately, it's obviously much larger than that. This isn't meant to be a catch all "I've solve the grand mystery of why people are bigots!" Rather I'm just trying to offer some insight into one such potential cause.

the idea that reactionary spaces are attractive to men because they treat them kindly unlike The Left is so odd because whenever I come across that content it's essentially the same dynamic as pro ana "meanspo". if you don't know what that is, it's "motivation" based on degrading the viewer to the point where they can't "make excuses" and not become anorexic, or in this case a true Alpha Male. I feel like thisis objectively worse for someone's mental health than The Left

[levbolton]

i think that "influencers" that ask people on streets stuff only to make fun of them online (or post their stuff specifically bcs they know people will laugh at it) deserve to skinned alive

(the only exception would be to make fun of them if they say something racist or lgbtqiaphobic or mysogynistic, like yes let's laugh at this idiot and let's attach their face to it too)

[mortalityplays]

This is a dangerous sentiment for me to express, as an editor who spends most of my working life telling writers to knock it off with the 45-word sentences and the adverbs and tortured metaphors, but I do think we're living through a period of weird pragmatic puritanism in mainstream literary taste.

e.g. I keep seeing people talk about 'purple prose' when they actually mean 'the writer uses vivid and/or metaphorical descriptive language'. I've seen people who present themselves as educators offer some of the best genre writing in western canon as examples of 'purple prose' because it engages strategically in prose-poetry to evoke mood and I guess that's sheer decadence when you could instead say "it was dark and scary outside". But that's not what purple prose means. Purple means the construction of the prose itself gets in the way of conveying meaning. mid-00s horse RPers know what I'm talking about. Cerulean orbs flash'd fire as they turn'd 'pon rollforth land, yonder horizonways. <= if I had to read this when I was 12, you don't get to call Ray Bradbury's prose 'purple'.

I griped on here recently about the prepossession with fictional characters in fictional narratives behaving 'rationally' and 'realistically' as if the sole purpose of a made-up story is to convince you it could have happened. No wonder the epistolary form is having a tumblr renaissance. One million billion arguments and thought experiments about The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas that almost all evade the point of the story: that you can't wriggle out of it. The narrator is telling you how it was, is and will be, and you must confront the dissonances it evokes and digest your discomfort. 'Realistic' begins on the author's terms, that's what gives them the power to reach into your brain and fiddle about until sparks happen. You kind of have to trust the process a little bit.

This ultra-orthodox attitude to writing shares a lot of common ground with the tight, tight commodification of art in online spaces. And I mean commodification in the truest sense - the reconstruction of the thing to maximise its capacity to interface with markets. Form and function are overwhelmingly privileged over cloudy ideas like meaning, intent and possibility, because you can apply a sliding value scale to the material aspects of a work. But you can't charge extra for 'more challenging conceptual response to the milieu' in a commission drive. So that shit becomes vestigial. It isn't valued, it isn't taught, so eventually it isn't sought out. At best it's mystified as part of a given writer/artist's 'talent', but either way it grows incumbent on the individual to care enough about that kind of skill to cultivate it.

And it's risky, because unmeasurables come with the possibility of rejection or failure. Drop in too many allegorical descriptions of the rose garden and someone will decide your prose is 'purple' and unserious. A lot of online audiences seem to be terrified of being considered pretentious in their tastes. That creates a real unwillingness to step out into discursive spaces where you 🫵 are expected to develop and explore a personal relationship with each element of a work. No guard rails, no right answers. Word of god is shit to us out here. But fear of getting that kind of analysis wrong makes people hove to work that slavishly explains itself on every page. And I'm left wondering, what's the point of art that leads every single participant to the same conclusion? See Spot run. Run, Spot, run. Down the rollforth land, yonder horizonways. I just want to read more weird stuff.

[archaeren]

How I learned to write smarter, not harder

(aka, how to write when you're hella ADHD lol)

A reader commented on my current long fic asking how I write so well. I replied with an essay of my honestly pretty non-standard writing advice (that they probably didn't actually want lol) Now I'm gonna share it with you guys and hopefully there's a few of you out there who will benefit from my past mistakes and find some useful advice in here. XD Since I started doing this stuff, which are all pretty easy changes to absorb into your process if you want to try them, I now almost never get writer's block.

The text of the original reply is indented, and I've added some additional commentary to expand upon and clarify some of the concepts.

As for writing well, I usually attribute it to the fact that I spent roughly four years in my late teens/early 20s writing text roleplay with a friend for hours every single day. Aside from the constant practice that provided, having a live audience immediately reacting to everything I wrote made me think a lot about how to make as many sentences as possible have maximum impact so that I could get that kind of fun reaction. (Which is another reason why comments like yours are so valuable to fanfic writers! <3) The other factors that have improved my writing are thus: 1. Writing nonlinearly. I used to write a whole story in order, from the first sentence onward. If there was a part I was excited to write, I slogged through everything to get there, thinking that it would be my reward once I finished everything that led up to that. It never worked. XD It was miserable. By the time I got to the part I wanted to write, I had beaten the scene to death in my head imagining all the ways I could write it, and it a) no longer interested me and b) could not live up to my expectations because I couldn't remember all my ideas I'd had for writing it. The scene came out mediocre and so did everything leading up to it. Since then, I learned through working on VN writing (I co-own a game studio and we have some visual novels that I write for) that I don't have to write linearly. If I'm inspired to write a scene, I just write it immediately. It usually comes out pretty good even in a first draft! But then I also have it for if I get more ideas for that scene later, and I can just edit them in. The scenes come out MUCH stronger because of this. And you know what else I discovered? Those scenes I slogged through before weren't scenes I had no inspiration for, I just didn't have any inspiration for them in that moment! I can't tell you how many times there was a scene I had no interest in writing, and then a week later I'd get struck by the perfect inspiration for it! Those are scenes I would have done a very mediocre job on, and now they can be some of the most powerful scenes because I gave them time to marinate. Inspiration isn't always linear, so writing doesn't have to be either!

Some people are the type that joyfully write linearly. I have a friend like this--she picks up the characters and just continues playing out the next scene. Her story progresses through the entire day-by-day lives of the characters; it never timeskips more than a few hours. She started writing and posting just eight months ago, she's about an eighth of the way through her planned fic timeline, and the content she has so far posted to AO3 for it is already 450,000 words long. But most of us are normal humans. We're not, for the most part, wired to create linearly. We consume linearly, we experience linearly, so we assume we must also create linearly. But actually, a lot of us really suffer from trying to force ourselves to create this way, and we might not even realize it. If you're the kind of person who thinks you need to carrot-on-a-stick yourself into writing by saving the fun part for when you finally write everything that happens before it: Stop. You're probably not a linear writer. You're making yourself suffer for no reason and your writing is probably suffering for it. At least give nonlinear writing a try before you assume you can't write if you're not baiting or forcing yourself into it!! Remember: Writing is fun. You do this because it's fun, because it's your hobby. If you're miserable 80% of the time you're doing it, you're probably doing it wrong!

2. Rereading my own work. I used to hate reading my own work. I wouldn't even edit it usually. I would write it and slap it online and try not to look at it again. XD Writing nonlinearly forced me to start rereading because I needed to make sure scenes connected together naturally and it also made it easier to get into the headspace of the story to keep writing and fill in the blanks and get new inspiration. Doing this built the editing process into my writing process--I would read a scene to get back in the headspace, dislike what I had written, and just clean it up on the fly. I still never ever sit down to 'edit' my work. I just reread it to prep for writing and it ends up editing itself. Many many scenes in this fic I have read probably a dozen times or more! (And now, I can actually reread my own work for enjoyment!) Another thing I found from doing this that it became easy to see patterns and themes in my work and strengthen them. Foreshadowing became easy. Setting up for jokes or plot points became easy. I didn't have to plan out my story in advance or write an outline, because the scenes themselves because a sort of living outline on their own. (Yes, despite all the foreshadowing and recurring thematic elements and secret hidden meanings sprinkled throughout this story, it actually never had an outline or a plan for any of that. It's all a natural byproduct of writing nonlinearly and rereading.)

Unpopular writing opinion time: You don't need to make a detailed outline.

Some people thrive on having an outline and planning out every detail before they sit down to write. But I know for a lot of us, we don't know how to write an outline or how to use it once we've written it. The idea of making one is daunting, and the advice that it's the only way to write or beat writer's block is demoralizing. So let me explain how I approach "outlining" which isn't really outlining at all.

I write in a Notion table, where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry. I do this because it makes writing nonlinearly VASTLY more intuitive and straightforward than writing in a single document. (If you're familiar with Notion, this probably makes perfect sense to you. If you're not, imagine something a little like a more contained Google Sheets, but every row has a title cell that opens into a unique Google Doc when you click on it. And it's not as slow and clunky as the Google suite lol) (Edit from the future: I answered an ask with more explanation on how I use Notion for non-linear writing here.) When I sit down to begin a new fic idea, I make a quick entry in the table for every scene I already know I'll want or need, with the entries titled with a couple words or a sentence that describes what will be in that scene so I'll remember it later. Basically, it's the most absolute bare-bones skeleton of what I vaguely know will probably happen in the story.

Then I start writing, wherever I want in the list. As I write, ideas for new scenes and new connections and themes will emerge over time, and I'll just slot them in between the original entries wherever they naturally fit, rearranging as necessary, so that I won't forget about them later when I'm ready to write them. As an example, my current long fic started with a list of roughly 35 scenes that I knew I wanted or needed, for a fic that will probably be around 100k words (which I didn't know at the time haha). As of this writing, it has expanded to 129 scenes. And since I write them directly in the page entries for the table, the fic is actually its own outline, without any additional effort on my part. As I said in the comment reply--a living outline!

This also made it easier to let go of the notion that I had to write something exactly right the first time. (People always say you should do this, but how many of us do? It's harder than it sounds! I didn't want to commit to editing later! I didn't want to reread my work! XD) I know I'm going to edit it naturally anyway, so I can feel okay giving myself permission to just write it approximately right and I can fix it later. And what I found from that was that sometimes what I believed was kind of meh when I wrote it was actually totally fine when I read it later! Sometimes the internal critic is actually wrong. 3. Marinating in the headspace of the story. For the first two months I worked on [fic], I did not consume any media other than [fandom the fic is in]. I didn't watch, read, or play anything else. Not even mobile games. (And there wasn't really much fan content for [fandom] to consume either. Still isn't, really. XD) This basically forced me to treat writing my story as my only source of entertainment, and kept me from getting distracted or inspired to write other ideas and abandon this one.

As an aside, I don't think this is a necessary step for writing, but if you really want to be productive in a short burst, I do highly recommend going on a media consumption hiatus. Not forever, obviously! Consuming media is a valuable tool for new inspiration, and reading other's work (both good and bad, as long as you think critically to identify the differences!) is an invaluable resource for improving your writing.

When I write, I usually lay down, close my eyes, and play the scene I'm interested in writing in my head. I even take a ten-minute nap now and then during this process. (I find being in a state of partial drowsiness, but not outright sleepiness, makes writing easier and better. Sleep helps the brain process and make connections!) Then I roll over to the laptop next to me and type up whatever I felt like worked for the scene. This may mean I write half a sentence at a time between intervals of closed-eye-time XD

People always say if you're stuck, you need to outline.

What they actually mean by that (whether they realize it or not) is that if you're stuck, you need to brainstorm. You need to marinate. You don't need to plan what you're doing, you just need to give yourself time to think about it!

What's another framing for brainstorming for your fic? Fantasizing about it! Planning is work, but fantasizing isn't.

You're already fantasizing about it, right? That's why you're writing it. Just direct that effort toward the scenes you're trying to write next! Close your eyes, lay back, and fantasize what the characters do and how they react.

And then quickly note down your inspirations so you don't forget, haha.

And if a scene is so boring to you that even fantasizing about it sucks--it's probably a bad scene.

If it's boring to write, it's going to be boring to read. Ask yourself why you wanted that scene. Is it even necessary? Can you cut it? Can you replace it with a different scene that serves the same purpose but approaches the problem from a different angle? If you can't remove the troublesome scene, what can you change about it that would make it interesting or exciting for you to write?

And I can't write sitting up to save my damn life. It's like my brain just stops working if I have to sit in a chair and stare at a computer screen. I need to be able to lie down, even if I don't use it! Talking walks and swinging in a hammock are also fantastic places to get scene ideas worked out, because the rhythmic motion also helps our brain process. It's just a little harder to work on a laptop in those scenarios. XD

In conclusion: Writing nonlinearly is an amazing tool for kicking writer's block to the curb. There's almost always some scene you'll want to write. If there isn't, you need to re-read or marinate.

Or you need to use the bathroom, eat something, or sleep. XD Seriously, if you're that stuck, assess your current physical condition. You might just be unable to focus because you're uncomfortable and you haven't realized it yet.

Anyway! I hope that was helpful, or at least interesting! XD Sorry again for the text wall. (I think this is the longest comment reply I've ever written!)

And same to you guys on tumblr--I hope this was helpful or at least interesting. XD Reblogs appreciated if so! (Maybe it'll help someone else!)

[rametarin]

Also I'd like something clarified VERY FUCKING HARD

Calling something "actually just christofascism" is such a dodge to say, "you can't be part of our ideology because you have a bad take, and our ideology can't have bad takes. Bad takes means it's not our ideology" is just No True Scotsmanning, and it feeds into this idea the plan can't be lead to a wrong result, or it must not be the plan and other people may have just tried to institute "other disgusting plan"

No. TERF logic is ONLY different from Intersectional Feminist logic in that TERFs do not consider you a woman just by your self-identified gender, and treat being a woman as something static and biological, not a mutable fact. They otherwise maintain everything else about Class Struggle Theory, greviance studies, and the idea of Critical Gender Theory.

They still hold that we arbitrarily live under a "patriarchy" because, "the nature of conflict is one must oppress and the other be the oppressor- woman is inarguably oppressed because they aren't in control, and as the designated oppressed demographic, that makes their intrinsic relationship to men as one of oppressed to oppressor."

It is the nature of this absolutist "IF X IS Y THEN Y MEANS Z ABSOLUTELY" of Class Struggle Theory that is the problem. It is the "lens by which to analyze" (a stupid truism pretending to be anything scientific whatsoever) that is wrong. And it's the same lens they hold up to the issue of why BDSM is wrong.

These people believe that you cannot allow something to exist in fiction, because they believe culture is more or less monolithic and society is this hivemind of intellectual objects. If you let a bad object into this collection, you "taint" or "poison" what they think society is- which is the great big metaphoric monolith that we all draw our perceptions and understandings from. Which is asinine, because this is not how individual human beings work, this is how sycophants and people with broken social wiring try to emulate one another to fake understanding things, the way sociopaths try to mimic emotions and their appropriate use without actually feeling or understanding them.

So they dogmatically approach this idea of how culture absolutely works, and they tie it into the idea of policing it to keep it "healthy." They maintain this convenient top-down idea of authority and the idea good-authority still uses power to police the dangereous or bad stuff from people "for their own sake." And they believe NOTHING can exist in fiction that doesn't count as something "Society" (capital S), the embodiment of the collective of what is Right(tm) and Acceptable(tm). In short, they believe the fact rape fiction exists, is why some random person will just suddenly feel like raping another human being. Because, "that's part of our culture, he's just acting within how the media and literary culture of our people are told they are allowed to operate," look you in the eye when they say that, and say THAT is the reason why you shouldn't be allowed to write spicy fanfiction if you happen to like sexual assault themes.

They will act like your very input of spicy smut has poisoned the culture, like chat GPT learning to use slurs and inappropriately using them at every opportunity. They argue their censorship and policing are required to prevent sexual assault and rape by sanitizing "the culture".

Do you understand how draconian and collectivist and psychotic that is? Do you understand how it's similar, but SO VERY DIFFERENT in origin, source and scope from the justification theocratic authoritarians operate?

Calling it just "another form of christofascism" deflects the true horror of what is being done here, and fails to really address how horrifying the implications are to this ideology. Akin to seeing something like a movement in, I don't know, Southern India to oppress and deprive North India of civil rights, property and life, and calling that, "another form of White Supremacism." (I chose South doing it to the North for a reason- because calling it white supremacism when it is a different source to a similar outcome is what it has in common with calling godless Marxist philosophy operating like theocratic Christian authoritarianism, is just like when you use call a browner demographic white supremacist for acting in its own demographic interest over another demographic.)

terfs are incredible

> “it doesn’t matter if they consented, you’re a bad person if you get off to causing other people pain”

so you agree? you don’t actually care about consent and you just have moral standards for what people do? you don’t think their consent matters because they’re doing something you personally find gross? that’s what you’re saying there?

damn girl hows the christofascism taste

[medicinemane]

I don't know, I get tired of a lot of positivity

Like yes yes, the world's wonderful and I'm so strong or whatever generic thing is being said (because it's always so generalized to the point of meaningless), but you know shit is what it is, and the only way forward is with changes I manage to make... which you're not helping with at all

And as for like... my internal mood, I'm deeply isolated, sorry if hollow platitudes don't sooth the gaping maw inside me

It is what it is, and I probably get my shit together enough to do stuff like teach out of my basement like I'd like, it's just I believe that I'll be alone in a crowd like I've always been

But positivity... I just... I kinda get sick of it. There's this guy on youtube I watch who talks about economics stuff, he's recently started doing positivity and... I just fucking know his personality enough where it's like sorry mate but I'm not interested in hearing you spout Secret light kinds off drivel

...I don't know, I suppose it boils down to this

One, I can barely fucking take in positive things said directly to me, about me. Generalizations don't help even a little... I'm a mess, I'd really like someone to toss me a life preserver instead of always tossing confetti at me while I struggle to stay afloat... doesn't help

Two, the world is a terribly imperfect place, and rather than taking a mentality of "everything will work out", I think it's important to acknowledge that sometimes good people live alone, die alone, and they never got the break they needed and slowly bled out

I think it's worth knowing that if you can't step in and help yourself, then maybe no help'll come at all

...I don't know, I suppose in the end the core of what I'm saying is a lot of positivity seems like self help tier stuff and... I get tired of that, and I see so many good people struggling and... eh... either I can at least come in and say something positive custom fit to them, or I can keep my mouth shut

Just fucking let me rot. Help or let me fester on my own, you know?

I got rid of the trailer, I maybe did something like cleaning though I can't tell... at what point will my pace on trying to make things better be good enough for people, and I'll be able to stop having people tell me to fix my life... as if I hadn't thought of that already

...everyone means well, it's just tiring

[skullamity]

All of this. I will also add that there are so many factors that go into determining what the right amount of testosterone for someone to take even is.

What's your age? Weight? Height? What were your levels like before starting T and is it possible that you have undiagnosed PCOS that could cause you to over-estimate how much you should be taking? Do you have other health issues (possibly also undiagnosed) that could be exacerbated by T if you aren't microdosing? How is your liver doing?

All of these are things that an endocrinologist keeps an eye on through regular blood tests. My first year on T I had blood tests every month or so and we adjusted my dose several times. Now I need blood tests once a year, and we are keeping an eye on my liver because of past issues with FLD.

I know at least one person who is permanently disabled because of an inattentive doctor who over-prescribed doses, which eventually lead to a stroke that absolutely could have been prevented. If a medical professional can get that wrong, what makes you think that some dude at the gym, even if you find this mythical gymbro willing to hook you up, is going to know exactly how much you should be taking. Is he going to send you for blood tests? And even if he's just a hook-up, what makes you think your average trans dude is going to know how to read those numbers, provided they can even access the right tests?

Where I live, if I want a blood test? I need a doctor or endocrinologist to send a requisition for it. There's still a layer of needing to involve a doctor, and if you are accessing T illegally, you are going to have to fess up because they WILL find out, because you are going to have to tell them why you want blood tests if you want them to give you that requisition form.

It pisses me off every time I see people online sneering and telling trans men to go find a gymbro to hook them up like it's easy. Even if you set aside the fact that outing yourself to one or more jacked strangers is a MASSIVE safety issue, you still have to contend with the safety issue of essentially flying blind as you inject yourself with what you HOPE is the correct dose, fingers crossed you don't have a stroke or take so much that it converts back to estrogen.

It does, in fact, need to be easier to access T. It would be wonderful if there were easier to access DIY options. But currently? There are not, and for most people, the risk of just doing this unmonitored, the risk of arrest, the risk of getting your ass beat or murdered? The risks outweigh the reward. Shady gym T isn't going to alleviate your dysphoria if you're dead, so please fucking stop telling trans men that they're pussies for not wanting to take this route.

While I have thoughts about the election that I haven't quite been able to put into words yet, I've seen a lot of misconceptions that "if DIY HRT is so easy for gymbros to get, it must be easy for trans men too!" and "Just go up to a gymbro and ask for his T!"

As the "trans gym bro" blog, I feel like I have to be the one to say

NO. IT IS NOT THAT SIMPLE.

First of all, because T is a regulated substance, it is hard for gymbros to get as well. That means even if they DID use T, they would NOT be sharing.

Secondly, there's "natty" culture. For those who aren't in the know "natty" is short for "natural". Being "natty" means you got your gains without the use of testosterone or steroids. There are those of the mindset "if you're not natty whatever, just disclose", but there are also those who look down on the idea of not being natty. Not to mention a lot of these gymbros strongly discourage the use of T in their circles because of the negative effects (namely the aromatization of T into E) of too much T. Basically, not every gymbro uses T, many actively discourage it, and those that do use T are likely hiding it.

Third, very few people are going to just bring their T into a locker room. Partially because of the previous point, but also because the locker room is just unsanitary, often don't have a proper disposal bin for sharps, and/or because the gym bans the use of steroids (sometimes needles I think?) entirely (this may not stop everyone but it's at least a deterrent).

Fourth, and very importantly, a large number of gymbros are transphobic. This varies from ignorant to actively malicious, and you never know which one you're going to get. To be fair, not every single gymbro is transphobic, but there is a large enough portion of them that are, such that you would be at substantial risk if you outed yourself to one. No transmasc in their right mind is going to risk outing themselves to someone who hates you AND is jacked as fuck.

There are other things preventing those who want testosterone HRT from accessing it also, such as doctors refusing to prescribe it to an AFAB person because "you'll ruin your body" reasons, those gymbros being a big part of the reason why T is a controlled substance, as well as it just being unsafe to use someone else's vial of T.

The point is though, we DO need resources for DIY T, ESPECIALLY in the current political climate in the US. Do NOT fucking ignore us because you refuse to acknowledge that not every gymbro is going to fit whatever idea of them you have in your head.

Anyway. I have to hit legs now.

[teaboot]

I've never had a cat before and I'm hoping to get one soon. Do you have any advice?

Treat a new cat as you would a new roommate. Give them space and time to settle, establish a pattern and a rhythm, and in time they may choose to become friends and spend time with you. Dont force a friendship.

Use simple words and repetition to establish communication. Words like breakfast, treat, snack, lunch, supper, dinner, food, and eat all basically mean, "I am feeding you; expect to be fed", but it's a lot for a little guy to remember. I just say "Dinner" when I mean "cat food is coming", and so my boy knows exactly what I mean when I say it. As a plus, using only one word for snack time means he has no idea what the other words mean, so I can talk about food in front of him without ruling him up.

Pay attention to body language. Cats all have different personalities, and you'll learn their likes, dislikes, and messages over time this way. Son boy here loves anything with plumbing but dislikes getting wet- his favourite blanket to chew and snuggle goes on his favourite chair, and he gives me a specific gesture when he wants me to kneel down so he can jump onto my shoulder.

Read into problematic behaviour. Cats pee in weird places when they're hurting, in distress, or have insufficient of unclean litter box space. Biting, attacking feet , and knocking things off tables often means they're understimulated and need you to play with them, or at least need some kind of enrichment or puzzle to tackle. Tail flicking can be frustration or irritation. Purring is usually good, but may also be self-soothing behaviour to alleviate pain, encourage healing, and relieve anxiety, like over-grooming.

Like children, "bad" behaviour isn't malicious- it usually means there's something you aren't seeing.

Learn how your cat expresses love. Loads of people think cats are uncaring, cruel, and indifferent, but the truth is, they're just not dogs. Spending time near you, showing an interest in tools you're using or projects you're working on, sitting the way you sit, laying on their back, rubbing on your legs, wiping their face on your shoes when you get home- these are signs that your cat is enamored with you. You're their family, they feel safe and protected around you, they're curious about things you enjoy and want everyone to know you're family.

Set reasonable expectations. Again, cats are not dogs.We bred dogs to desire our approval- cats walked into our lives themselves. They have no human-programmed need to fulfill a duty or perform a task to your standards.

Training cats to do tricks isn't as hard as people say, but the willingness or interest in doing the trick is more heavily reliant on personality and mood. Some cats will refuse all but the most basic requests- I'm lucky in that Ollie understands and is willing to do several, provided I don't abuse his trust and he's not crowded or overwhelmed or just bored of doing it over and over in a short period.

Ollie, for example, knows Up to stand on his back legs and hold my hand, Down to get to a surface I indicate, Out to emerge from a closed space, Come to find me where I am, Help? when I'm offering to let him use me as an elevator, Dinner when I understand he's hungry and am getting food, and when I put on his collar he knows to climb into his carrier 'cause we're going somewhere. And he'll do any of these about 90% of the time, either ignoring me or phoning it in when there's something interesting somewhere else, or if he's feeling anxious.

Lead by example. If you dread taking them to the vet, they'll see the anxiety in your body language and behaviour and likely learn to hate it, too. Again using my guy an example, I starred taking him on walks long before his first vet appointment, just to get used to his carrier and leash. Then his first checkup was relaxed and informal, with plenty of treats, and I let him explore the examination room with permission from the tech. Now he loves going, so I'm not stressed about taking him, so I don't stress him out in turn, and the vest doesn't have to deal with a stressed out cat slowing things down and fighting with them.

Make sure your sources are good ones, and also good ones for you. I will recommend Jackson Galaxy's YouTube channel for cat advice because a lot of what he does matches up with what I've learned and know to be true. I don't personally recommend Ceasar Milan because I personally find his methods distressing to recreate regardless of efficacy, so even if that advice was useful, *I'd* be miserable, and it'd just be trading one issue for another.

Have a person who can help. You never know when you might end up out of town overnight unexpectedly, or when your place may need serviced or fumigated, or if you may be called out of town. Before getting a cat, research reliable pet sitters, house sitters, pet daycares, whatever, just in case.

Consider pet insurance. No long spiel here, just think about it. Especially if you don't know your cats ancestry or potenyial health risks. An on top of that, fucking vaccinate them.

Dont let them free roam. At all.

I grew up on a farm with free-roaming barn cats. Do you know how many times child-me cried over having to bury them? Illness, disease, pregnancy, vehicles, other territorial cats, ticks, fleas, litter, poisoned prey, malicious humans, local wildlife, predatory birds, scrap metal, extreme heat, freezing temperatures, tainted water sources, poisonous or venomous critters, getting stuck in small or high places, tapeworms, loose nails, old equipment, falling branches...

I've seen some truly body-horror slasher-movie shit- just truly nauseating visual fuckery- and I'm telling you not to let your cat free-roam.

Leash training isn't hard. Supervised walks aren't hard. Even keeping your cat physically fit and entertained indoors isn't an impossible feat. Don't let your fucking cat fucking free-roam. Fuck

Also read up on foods and plants cats can't do, like every houseplant in existence is toxic it's insane

Anyhow yeah that's like. A couple things I guess

Here, have an Ollie Pic