#and i’m not gonna watch it by myself i know at this point this is an experience i need to be subjected to y’know?

[passengerprincessblog]

“Breaking Point” ~ Pt 4 Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Warning: SMUT, NSFW, angst, arguments, sleepy oral? Idk.

Summary: When Lewis shows up unannounced at Y/N’s filming location and follows her back to her LA home, unresolved tensions boil over, sparking an intense argument that exposes the growing rift between them. As they clash over misunderstandings and unspoken resentments, Y/N struggles to hold her ground, refusing to melt under Lewis’s charm, even as he tries to bridge the distance in his own stubborn, unrelenting way.

The silence in the car is suffocating, thick with all the words left unsaid between us. We’re heading back to my house in LA, and the tension stretches like an invisible line, taut and fraying. Every time I glance his way, I catch Lewis staring, his gaze heavy, filled with something that feels like disappointment or maybe just frustration.

It’s strange having him here, in my city, in my space. He’s never part of this life—my world where I’m more than his girlfriend, more than a footnote in his racing saga. Today, he got a glimpse of me with my crew, laughing, bantering, a side of myself he barely knows. A side that doesn’t revolve around him. And maybe that’s why this hurts so much. He’s so supportive of everything about me… except this. My career. The one thing that pulls me away from him.

I feel his hand settle on my thigh, his fingers warm against my skin. Instinctively, irritation flares up. I want to shove him off, to shake his hand away, but I don’t. I know it’ll only set him off, and I’m too tired for another argument. Instead, I focus on the passing streets, letting the city lights blur together, pretending not to notice his fingers tracing idle circles. He reaches over, grabbing my hand, playing with the rings on my fingers like I’m his personal stress toy. The sensation is grounding, sure, but also infuriating. Does he even realize how invasive this feels? How much he takes from me without even realizing it?

When we finally arrive at my house, I pull away the second the car stops, sliding out and thanking James, my driver, with a quick “Goodnight.” Lewis lingers, watching me with that unreadable gaze, like he’s studying me. I feel exposed, as if I’m a stranger he’s trying to understand, trying to fit into some mold that doesn’t really exist. It’s clear he’s not used to seeing me here, in LA, in the life that belongs to me.

I walk up the steps to my front door, feeling his presence right behind me. My house is beautiful—sprawling, a mix of modern LA glamour and Spanish-style architecture, spacious and luxurious. It’s mine, yet not entirely mine. After all, it’s Lewis who pays for it. I hadn’t wanted his money in the beginning, fought him on it, but he insisted, saying that rejecting his help felt like rejecting him. So here I am, living in this house he gifted me, a reminder of his presence even when he’s not here.

I unlock the door and step inside, throwing my keys on the table in the foyer. The house is decorated to my taste—soft hues, eclectic art pieces, warm textures that make it feel like home, my sanctuary. I walk into the living room, hearing his footsteps close behind me. He glances around, taking in the space, a look of faint surprise on his face.

“Wow… did you change it?” he asks, looking genuinely intrigued.

I shrug, not bothering to hide my irritation. “Not really… well, kind of.” I don’t give him much more. He hasn’t been here in nearly a year. Of course he wouldn’t remember.

He huffs, following me up the stairs, his footsteps deliberate, like he’s pushing through the tension hanging between us. I can feel the irritation rolling off him, the way he’s holding himself back, and it makes me want to push even harder.

“Are you gonna be like this all night? Y/N?” he says, his tone laced with barely restrained frustration.

I reach the top of the stairs and turn to face him, crossing my arms. “Yes.”

His jaw clenches, and he lets out a frustrated sigh. “Why can’t you have a normal conversation with me? Why is that so hard?”

I roll my eyes, throwing my hands up. “It’s not a ‘normal’ conversation, Lewis.” I can’t hold back anymore. “I can’t believe you just showed up like that,” I blurt out, the annoyance bubbling over.

His eyes narrow as I open the door to my bedroom, stepping into the softly lit space. My room is intimate, filled with small decorations and touches that feel so personal, so me. It’s like a slap in the face to him, a reminder that he doesn’t see my life like this enough, that he doesn’t really know this part of me.

“Because I love you? Because I wanted to surprise you? And support you?” he scoffs, almost as if my irritation is absurd.

I throw my bag at the end of my bed, barely glancing at him. “Okay… well, thanks. You can go now… I’m so surprised and supported. Mission accomplished.” My tone is dripping with sarcasm. “You can go back to your life.”

He stares at me, his eyes flashing with anger, a dangerous edge simmering beneath the surface. “Don’t talk to me like that. I’m trying.”

“Cool. I’m so impressed… you’re so impressive. Mr. champion, millionaire, stupid playboy. Is that what you want? Me to praise you for your attempt? You’re so fucking amazing, Lewis!” My voice rises, my irritation finally spilling out in sharp, pointed words.

He takes a step toward me, his gaze dark and intense. “You’re really pushing it. You know what I mean… I’m trying to make you feel loved. What’s wrong with you?”

“You’re what’s wrong.” I snap back, feeling the weight of my resentment boiling over. “Just leave now. I know you’re gonna leave in the morning anyway… with your stupid race on Sunday.”

He sighs, exasperated but unwilling to give up. “I don’t have to leave until Wednesday night,” he says, his tone hardening as he steps closer. “I’m staying.”

I roll my eyes, brushing past him into my bathroom. “No. Just leave.”

He follows me, his voice low and demanding as he steps into the room behind me. “I said…” he grabs my arm, pulling me toward him, his hand firm on my chin as he tilts my face to look at him. “I’m staying.”

My stomach flips, a mix of nerves and something else swirling inside me as I meet his intense gaze. His eyes are smoldering, his jaw tight, and I can feel the determination radiating off him, daring me to challenge him.

“Fine,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper, trying to sound annoyed.

He lets go of my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek in a gentle, almost tender gesture that makes my heart ache. I can tell he wants more, that he’s craving some kind of reassurance, something from me, but I can’t bring myself to give in. Not yet.

He starts to step back, but I turn to the mirror, trying to compose myself, pretending his presence doesn’t affect me as much as it does. But he doesn’t move far; instead, he leans against the counter, his gaze fixed on me.

“Give me a kiss,” he says softly, his tone almost pleading.

I glare at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“Give me a kiss…” he repeats, his voice coaxing, insistent.

I continue to glare, refusing to budge, letting the silence stretch.

“Y/N…” he murmurs, his tone dipping, a hint of something darker beneath it. “I’ll be getting a lot more than a kiss when we get to bed, so you better just give me one now.”

I furrow my brow, stubbornly refusing to indulge him. “You’re not forgiven. You don’t get a kiss… and you don’t get to stay in my room.”

He groans, rubbing his eyebrows in frustration. “Oh my god. You’re such a brat. Why are you like this? I’m trying to fix things.”

“They aren’t fixed. Leave me alone,” I mutter, turning back to the mirror, focusing on brushing my hair, anything to avoid the pull of his gaze.

He steps closer, his expression softening, and he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to my cheek. “I love you, baby girl. Please… stop being like this.”

I narrow my eyes, knowing exactly what he’s doing. He’s trying to be all soft and sweet, pulling at my heartstrings, hoping I’ll melt and give in. But it’s not going to work. Not this time.

“Goodnight. The guest bedroom is perfect for you,” I say, flashing him a sarcastic smile.

He glares at me, his expression hardening in irritation. With a heavy sigh, he finally turns and leaves, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the hall, leaving me alone with the hollow ache that always seems to linger when he’s gone.

It’s late—sometime in the early hours, I’m sure—and I’ve barely settled into sleep when the faint sound of my bedroom door clicking shut pulls me out of my dreams. I stay still, eyes closed, hoping it’s just my imagination. But then I feel the bed shift, the mattress sinking slightly as a familiar warmth slips in beside me.

A heavy arm drapes over my waist, and I instinctively make a soft, annoyed sound, shifting away, but he just tightens his grip, pulling me back. His presence is warm, enveloping, and for a moment, I consider giving in, letting his touch soothe the tension between us. But I can’t quite shake my irritation, even through the haze of sleep.

“Baby… baby girl… shh…” His voice is soft, a gentle murmur as he leans in, pressing feather-light kisses along my neck and cheek. Each kiss is an apology, a quiet plea, and I can feel his regret seeping into each touch.

I hum in response, somewhere between annoyance and surrender, too drowsy to put up much of a fight. His hand slips under my shirt, his fingers gliding over my skin in slow, soothing circles, as if he’s trying to coax the tension out of me, to ease the edges of my frustration.

“I’m so sorry, baby girl…” he whispers, his breath warm against my skin. “I love you so much… please don’t be mad at me.”

The sincerity in his voice tugs at something deep within me, a part of me that’s been holding onto my anger, but now feels it starting to crumble. I want to hold onto it, to let him know how much he’s hurt me, but his gentle touch, the warmth of his apology, makes it hard to keep the walls up.

I sigh, barely able to form a coherent response, the words slipping out in a quiet murmur. “Lewis…”

His fingers trail lower, caressing the curve of my hip before slipping beneath the waistband of my panties. I squirm at the intimate touch, a shiver running through me despite my lingering irritation. His hand settles between my thighs, and I can't help but part them slightly, allowing him access.

"Let me make it up to you, baby girl," he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. "Let me show you how much I love you."

I'm too sleepy to protest, the warmth of his touch lulling me back towards unconsciousness. My body responds to him, a soft moan escaping my lips as his fingers begin to move, stroking me gently, coaxing me towards arousal.

"That's it, baby," he whispers encouragingly. "Just relax for me. Let me take care of you."

His words wash over me, soothing and seductive, and I feel myself melting into his touch. My hips begin to move of their own accord, squirming against his hand as he works me closer and closer to the edge.

I'm lost in a haze of pleasure, the earlier argument fading away as his skillful fingers bring me to the brink of climax. Just as I'm about to fall over the edge, he withdraws his hand, leaving me frustrated and wanting more.

"Lewis..." I whine, my voice thick with need.

He chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through his chest as he shifts position. "Not yet, baby girl. I'm not done apologizing."

With that, he moves down the bed, settling between my legs. I feel his breath ghosting over my sensitive flesh, and I can't suppress the moan that escapes my lips. He looks up at me, his eyes dark with desire, before he leans in, his tongue sliding over me in one long, slow lick.

I gasp, my fingers tangling in his hair as he begins to work me with his mouth, his tongue delving deep, stroking me in all the right places.

He continues his ministrations, his tongue swirling around my clit, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through my body. I can feel myself getting wetter.

"Fuck, Lewis," I moan, my hips squirming against his face. "Don't stop."

He obliges, doubling down on his efforts, his tongue delving deeper, his lips sucking harder. My fingers tighten in his hair, holding him in place as I grind against his mouth, chasing my release.

"You taste so fucking good, baby girl," he groans, the vibrations of his voice sending shockwaves of pleasure through me. "I could eat this pretty little pussy all night."

His words are filthy, but they only serve to turn me on more, spurring me towards my impending climax. I can feel it building, a coil of tension in my lower belly, winding tighter and tighter with each flick of his tongue.

"Lewis, I'm gonna... I'm gonna," I pant, my body tensing, my thighs quivering around his head.

He doesn't relent, his mouth working me feverishly, his tongue flicking rapidly over my clit, pushing me over the edge. I come with a cry, my back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crash over me.

He laps it me up eagerly, prolonging my orgasm until I'm a trembling, boneless mess beneath him. Only then does he pull away, crawling back up my body to claim my lips in a deep, passionate kiss, sharing the taste of my own arousal with me.

"I love you, baby girl," he murmurs against my lips, his eyes shining with adoration.

I whimper slightly, the fleeing still lingers. I look at him as I become fully awake. Is he serious? Only Lewis would try this…

“‘Mmm…” I hum in response, not giving him the satisfaction of saying it back. He’s not forgiven, not matter how good he makes me feel.

His eyebrows furrow at me as he looks down at me. He sighs heavily, looking and sounding annoyed. He lays down next to me, cuddling close. I close my eyes… I’ll let him stay the here.

————————————-

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[sakashq]

Miedica. 𐙚 lamine yamal x black!reader

🤍 summary. Lamine is taking you on your first date together and he teases you for how awkward you are.

🤍 warnings. just fluff and banter i fear! also y/n usage 😒😒

🤍 wc. 600+

🤍 yap! i love lamine yamal nasraoui ebana with my heart. my starboy, golden boy, and my favorite boy. i fear no one loves him like i love him no beyoncé/yeah yeah yeahs. extra special dedication to myself because lamine is the loml!!

🤍 my girls <3. @ar4ujos @halfwayhearted @hrts4havertz @iovepoem @planetpedri !!

Now playing … While We’re Young by Jhene Aiko.

Baby while we’re young, I think we should do something crazy. Like say, “fuck everyone” and just run away from the daily routine. Yeah you know what I mean.

You were terrified. This was your first date with Lamine and your first date, well… ever. You had never been asked on one by a guy in a romantic way, not that it bothered you. It was just nerve-wracking that the guy you ended up liking the most would be the one. You didn’t know what to do, how to dress, or what to expect.

This was all new to you—and unfortunately, Lamine wasn’t going to let you live it down.

You arrived at the agreed place (the local fair), looking anxiously around for him. Maybe it would have been smarter to go together, but you weren’t ready for an awkward car ride quite yet.

“Y/n!” You heard a familiar voice call out to you. That same voice that melted cooly into your ears whenever you heard it, whether it was in person or his interviews.

You turned around, face to face with Lamine. “Hi Lamine.” You smiled, hoping your fear wasn’t displayed on your face for him to see.

“You look… amazing,” he returned the smile. “Is that the bracelet I got you?” He lifted your arm so he could see it more clearly. One thing about Lamine was that he had no sense of boundaries when it came to his friends. He was just a touchy person, growing up with the trait. You loved it about him.

“Yeah, it is,” you responded, feeling your face heat up with embarrassment. You hadn’t expected him to notice, certainly not this fast. Pulling your arm back, you asked, “Ready to go inside?”

Lamine tried to cover up his frown, masking it with his same award-winning smile. “Yeah.” He grabbed your hand, leading you in.

You passed a few rides and games before your eyes landed on the cutest plush tiger. “Oh my gosh, I need that tiger.”

“Which one?” He asked, standing next to you as you both looked at the vendor. You pointed to it and he nodded firmly. “Watch me work.” He held your hand, waving you through the sea of people. It sent a jolt through your body, his constant touchyness bringing you butterflies.

“Lamine, you’re insane,” you giggled as he handed the vendor his tickets.

“Oh, I’m insane for wanting to make you happy, okay,” he sarcastically responded, a sly smirk on his face. “I’m gonna win this tiger for you, miedica.”

“Disculpe? Miedica who?” You acted fake-offended, gasping and putting your hand on your chest.

He roller his eyes jokingly saying, “Forgot Héctor was teaching you Spanish. I need to tell him to stop.”

You giggled in response, watching him as he attempted to win your tiger. He did just that, handing the plush to you once won.

“Thank you, Lamine,” you smiled, holding the tiger close to you.

“Of course, miedica.”

Telling everybody your mine, and I like it. And I really hope you don’t mind, I can’t fight it. No, you know I cannot hide it ‘cause I’m so excited that I finally decided on you.

As the date went on, you realized maybe this wasn’t so bad. Until you got to the ferris wheel.

It was going so well, but he just had to recommend the most intimate ride of them all. Okay, fine. You were going to be super calm and chill about this.

Except your heart felt like it was pounding out of your chest and you thought you were going to drown in sweat. Could you really do this? Was this going to be too much?

“Are you okay?” He broke you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking,” you responded. Half-truth, half-lie.

He nodded, grabbing your hand again and guiding you to your spot. You two were way too close together on this ferris wheel. Your shoulders were touching and you kept ‘accidentally’ brushing hands.

Lamine looked over at you and said playfully, “Hey, miedica. Are you scared of me or something? You act like this is your first date.”

You didn’t respond, just giving him a blank look.

His eyes slightly widened before saying, “Wait, it is?” When your nod gave him conformation, he continued teasingly, “I’m honored to be your first.”

“You’re saying it like it’s a kiss,” you scoffed with an eyeroll.

“Were we not going to do that?” He asked. When he saw your fear he followed up with, “Just joking. But if you’re offering…”

“Lamine!” You playfully hit him on his arm as if you were reprimanding a toddler for their wrongdoing. “I don’t know, no one’s ever asked me on a one-on-one date before.”

“Strange. So that’s why you’ve been such a scaredy cat all night.”

You glared at him saying, “Scaredy cat?”

He put his hands up as if he was surrendering. “No, I just mean whenever I grabbed your hand you’d flinch. I was starting to think you didn’t like me.”

Your face softened, a smile growing. “The problem is I like you a lot. I don’t know how to show that.”

Lamine smiled, saying, “Well, we can start with this.” He grabbed your hand, your fingers lacing inbetween his.

[struwberrii]

chapter 3 : terms and conditions ⋆⭒˚.⋆

masterlist

you look up from your bakery duties, prepared to greet those who just walked into your shop, when you hear a familiar laugh. standing in the entrance of your bakery was osamu, atsumu, suna and a guy you hadn't seen before. you felt your heart skip a beat when your eyes locked on suna.

you quickly catch yourself and go back to helping the current customer youre with. all you could do was hope he didnt catch you staring, hed probably think you were a total weirdo or something, or even worse, you could just be boosting his ego.

in between helping customers and packing orders, you exchange quick glances at your phone to check on what akaashi is up to

after 2 more customers you finally reached osamus group.

"heyy y/n! how've ya been?" osamu smiles at you, you smile in return and greet him and all his friends.

"so you're the infamous y/n" the friend you hadnt seen before holds out a hand to greet you. "infamous?" you question, worry rushing over your body, what have these guys been saying about you?

osamu kicks aran in the back of the knee from behind the counter so you werent able to see. "i talk very highly about yer bakery, these guys know all about ya!" osamu nervously chimes in, followed by a forced laugh.

"yeah, nice to finally meet you, i'm aran" he smiles shaking your hand firmly. you take his order and add osamu’s regular to the order as well, then you take atsumus order, then finally sunas.

“what do you suggest, y/n?” suna speaks up after examining the menu for a minute. “our cheesecakes are pretty popular” you smile, pointing to a few flavors in your display case. “is that your favorite?” you look up from the display only to see suna staring right at you, he had no interest in the cheesecakes. you felt your face heating up at the interaction.

“uhmm…. my favorite are the chocolate chip cookies, i put a lot of work into those” you smiled “i’ll try those then” he smiled lazily. you returned the smile and added the brownies to his tab. you then go to package his brownies and hand him the bag. “thanks” he says taking the bag from you, he turns to make his way over to his friends at their table, but stops and turns back to you. the business in the shop had kind of died down, you had started to make you way to the back until you heard your name called out

“y/n”

“yeah?”

“do you want to, uh, sit with us?”

“uhm, sure!”

you feel your palms get sweaty as you make your way around the counter to the table, one of your employees taking over the register

just as you pull out your chair to sit down you hear the doors of your bakery open. you look over and see akaashi staring back at you with a confused look on his face as he walks up to the ordering area.

“i think it’s bout time i properly introduce myself to ya, im atsumu miya, but cha can just call me tsumu’, i play volleyball on the msby team” he grins at you while tearing UP the banana bread and milk tea he ordered. it’s a little funny watching him talk about himself with bread crumbs all over his face, you couldn’t help but smile, it seemed like everyone was really enjoying your baking.

“oh, and i’m aran, i also play volleyball but for the tachibana red falcons, ive known these 3 idiots since high school though” he laughed, leaving the floor to suna

“we’ve already met, but yeah, i also play volleyball” he replied flatly. jeez, why even ask me to join you. “aren’t cha’ gonna tell her what team you play for!!” atsumu nudged him on the arm “i play for ejp” he says to you turning his phone off and putting it down for the first time since you’ve sat down

“so, how’d you meet osamu?” aran asked. “well we opened a few weeks ago and osamu was kind enough to bring some onigiri over as a welcome gift, after that we’ve kind of just been friends” you smiled. “wow, samu being nice, almost hard to believe” aran says side eyeing osamu next to him.

“woah” suna suddenly speaks up, you look over and see him taking a bite of the cookies you made. “these are actually a lot better than i thought they’d be” suna says looking at you with stars in his eyes. this was the first ounce of emotion he’d shown since you first met. “it’s like, you can taste the love that was put into these” suna smiled genuinely. “that’s probably the $45 flour yer tastin’” samu laughed. “yeah i must say, your baking is other worldly y/n, you’ve got serious skills” aran says validating sunas claims. “thank you guys so much” you smiled feeling your face heat up again

the rest of the night went smoothly, the conversation even continuing after closing at 8pm. akaashi had left about an hour ago and you felt yourself finally feeling comfortable around your new found friends.

“hey, how bout we all go to karaoke later, my treat!” osamu suggested.

everyone agreed and started to pack their belongings up. “i’ll have to close up shop but i could meet you guys there!” you smiled. “that’s fine, we’ll just go get a room and order drinks and food while we wait, it shouldn’t take you long right?” aran asked. “nope! maybe 30 minutes? and then i’ll be on my way”.

“here, put your number in my phone and i’ll text you the information” suna said handing his phone over to you. you knew he was just giving his number over to give you directions, but you couldn’t help but feel your face heat up at this gesture.

“i already have y/ns number y’know?” osamu cocked a brow at suna while you typed away on his phone. all suna did in response was shrug at the brunette in front of him, earning an eye roll from osamu. “i’ll text you soon” suna smiled at you as everyone waved goodbye on their ways out.

just as you begin to lock up shop you get another notification from suna

you already decided you weren’t going to sing but hearing everyone else sing sounded really fun, especially suna, you wondered what type of song he would pick or how his voice would sound. once you got to the karaoke spot you noticed someone waiting outside. suna? why was he out here all by himself.

“hey suna! why are you out here?” you asked curious.

“just getting some fresh air, oh, you’re here” he said standing up straight. “to be honest, karaoke isn’t really my scene” he admitted sheepishly.

“oh, me neither” you laughed in return

“wanna ditch?”

taglist: @karasusrealwife @iluv-ace @cc1306 @wakashudou @kawahearts @weirdowithaphone @sugacor3

(comment to be added to the list :)

[jeckilon]

long ass rant about that one show and fandom experience and some other stuff feel free to read or skip or whatever

everyone that follows me here probably already knows my feelings about andor since I don’t even hide it lol but let me tell you that I wasn’t always a hater bitch

I literally had a news account on twitter (that it’s still there btw but it’s run by someone else since I quit), I was super excited for it that I read everything you can imagine about this show, I knew every new thing, every interview, anything. I woke up every week 4am to watch the new episodes and mind you I worked all day and studied at night. I literally ruined my sleep schedule for this so I guess I have the right to be a bitch if I want okay

so why such sudden change you ask. first of all I started doing therapy and finally realized that hypertixations like that are harmful as fuck and ruin your mental health. it was a good point to start and get away from it. it wasn’t easy at all lol if it was easy people would be suck on that stuff but it was making me sick and I’m glad I left that hole lol

second thing, the fandom experience after this show aired started to be SHIT in ways it waned before. I know star wars fans are definitely not know for being civil or decent people or whatever but our corner was safe. until it wasn’t. people started to get over here and try to dictate how we should feel or make fun of us for liking rogue one or shipping rebelcaptain and it really started to ruin things for me. don’t even let me get started on the fucking asks lol wtf was that. unfortunately I was not in a good mental state so I answered those and wanted to pick fights but don’t worry I now realize it’s stupid and we should let these people choke alone

and well, those two things combined kinda woke me up from this obsession and the result of seeing all this left a super sour taste in my mouth. that you can see from all my salty posts from my alt account lol I apologize for that also

after 2 years in, I just decided want to ignore all this the best I can and honestly pretend this show doesn’t exist if it’s possible. I love and respect everyone here that I consider a friend and I hope y’all have a blast with season 2 but I’ll do my best to pretend it’s not even there. maybe I’ll find other interests to keep me busy, maybe I’ll take a break from here or whatever but it’s not worth it

I’m really NOT looking forward for all the dumb takes and posts taking shit about rogue one and jyn and rebelcaptain shippers or whatever lol this is beyond pathetic please these people need to get a life. I know I’m guilty of finding these horrible shit and I apologize, I promise I’ll definitely not look for them anymore

I love rogue one with all my heart, rebelcaptain is literally the most important ship for me and I’m so grateful for everyone I met here but if I need to just leave for a while then I will

and if I’m allowing myself to be a massive bitch for the last time while we’re here… no I’m not doing this. whatever. it’s not worth it. jk im gonna say it these annoying people are super jealous about rebelcaptain because their “canon” ship is boring as fuck and will never have 10% of rebelcaptain’s relevancy lmaooo keep being pressed and irrelevant mwah

[messiahzzz]

while it’s perfectly fine to have your own headcanons that are non-canon compliant — by all means, go wild. recognizing pieces of yourselves in fictional characters can be a very healing and validating experience. this is nonetheless a casual, well-intentioned reminder that gale, in fact, does not have bpd.

bpd is a pervasive pattern of instability affecting interpersonal relationships, self-image, and mood. the disorder is marked by impulsivity beginning in early adulthood and is present in a variety of contexts. a diagnosis requires at least 5 of the following 9 criteria to be met:

Fear of abandonment

Unstable or changing relationships

Unstable self-image; struggles with identity or sense of self

Impulsive or self-damaging behaviors (e.g., excessive spending, unsafe sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, binge eating).

Suicidal behavior or self-injury

Varied or random mood swings

Constant feelings of worthlessness or sadness

Problems with anger, including frequent loss of temper or physical fights

Stress-related paranoia or loss of contact with reality

source: [x]

i highlighted the criteria that do apply to gale in one way or another in a pretty purple.

i personally believe that it’s rather harmful to equate his relationship with mystra with her being “his fp”. she is a deity, his goddess, and the source of his powers, who is in in full control of the magic he wields.

gale: mystra commands all magic. salvation, if such a thing exists, is hers to bestow or withhold.

gale has been effectively groomed and conditioned to serve and revere her at every turn since early childhood. imo this comparison really undermines a lot of crucial points in gale’s story that deal with his overall trauma and abuse. after all, you wouldn’t call shar sh*dowhe*rt’s fp either.

gale doesn’t revile mystra, nor does he commit benevolent deeds solely motivated by the secret hope that she will somehow notice and take him back. when you meet gale in the game he has already fully come to terms with the fact that he has been abandoned by mystra with no hope of reconciliation whatsoever. he also had some very fitting lines in ea regarding this topic that i'm sad haven't been repurposed in the full release in some way.

gale: [the tadpoles] don't know that some things are impossible. they don't know that... they don't know. player: what is impossible about what you're being shown? gale: forgiveness. gale: it is mystra i see. and yet it cannot be her. there was a time when i would have believed - but no longer. gale: suffice it to say she would not bestow upon me the favors promised in these dreams. that is how i know they are delusions.

he has already reached the stage of acceptance. moreover, gale only starts to realize that mystra might have been in the wrong for requesting his death once the tadpole squad & tav speak some sense into him. and even then he doesn’t ever show that his emotions regarding mystra are anywhere along those lines. he is instead rightfully angered that she only saw value in his death, after he had been worshipping her loyally for years.

gale: i worshipped mystra loyally for years, and in that time she granted me the barest sliver of the power i was ready to wield. gale: even with the fate of the world at stake, she had little more to offer me than the means of blowing myself up at a more convenient time. she's done nothing to help us.

gale: you abandoned me in my hour of greatest need. i had no obligation to help you in yours. gale: because you had no right to ask that of me. you cast me out, remember?

gale doesn’t display rapid changes in mood either. he is a character who is generally very composed and has been known to remain nonchalant even in the face of utter horror. tim downie himself even commented on this once. source: [x]

the only instance i can think of is his sudden switch from resigned-to-death to utter-eye-sparkling-enthusiasm once he spots the crown of karsus. apart from crucial story reasons that i won’t touch upon in this post, i’d also like to add that it’s a rather common phenomenon for people who have just barely survived a suicide attempt to suddenly be filled with zeal and unbridled energy. he doesn't display impulsivity without thorough consideration when it comes to its acquisition either. he considers this a golden opportunity and is positively enthusiastic and elated that this might prove an alternative to him ending up in a cloud of netherese smoke. nonetheless, he knows what he is doing. evident in him actually succeeding in ascending in one of his endings.

gale: this is no passing whim, trust me. if i can obtain that crown, it will affect us all. it is not a decision i'll take lightly. gale: it's our future that i'm thinking of - we can't rely on anyone else to do it for us. gale: for now - we've learned all we can.

neither are his relationships that we do know of (namely elminster, tara, and morena) frequently changing. they are marked by years of mutual respect, care, and consistency. there is nothing unstable about them. while it's important to note that his relationship with tav is still in its honeymoon stages during the main game, there is no inclination of any push-and-pull dynamic between them whatsoever.

gale isn’t preoccupied with keeping up some sort of benevolent act in order to win (back) affection — he genuinely IS a good person and he proves this at every turn. moreover, to have a tressym become your familiar you must be of Good alignment.

(taken from tumblr user galedekarios's post.)

there is never a moment where his ideals or alignment suddenly change. in fact, i’d argue that he and wyll are most consistent in this regard when compared to the rest of the companions. gale makes his moral standpoint very clear from the beginning on and also explicitly states that he believes that in order to survive this entire ordeal it would be selfish of him if he wouldn’t be willing to compromise on his morals. this isn’t a sudden bout of ✨muahahaha wizard hubris✨ that he barely contained to hold in before, this is yet another act of selflessness — it is what he’s willing to do for the group and subsequently, the welfare of faerun.

player: i love unsavoury things. don't feel guilty on my account. gale: that's good to know. although i should say i do what i do out of a sense of utility and pragmatism, not a love of the unsavoury. gale: we're up against the greatest threat faerun has ever faced. i don't mind getting my hands dirty if it gives us a better chance of surviving. gale: whatever advantage i can gain for us. i will. and i refuse to feel guilty for it, no matter how much mystra's chidings might echo in my skull.

this is him, once again trying to be useful in whatever way he can. to give them an advantage, a slither of hope against seemingly impossible odds, so they might make it out of this in one piece. gale wouldn’t approve of those actions under normal circumstances, but their predicament is as far from any definition of “normal” as it can get.

gale is no fool, he realizes this is essentially about survival. he knows that he has no option left other than to tolerate, which is why he can be convinced to not immediately depart tav’s company even if they choose to commit atrocities. this is no character flaw of his or him displaying a previously dormant openness for cruelty, this is about recognizing the necessity.

player: you don't stand a chance alone. you're free to go. i dare you. gale: gods damn you - you're right. few things are more powerful than the will to live.

gale: i thought the orb to be the greatest of my sins, but i see now that there are darker depths to which i might yet sink. you may be content to sink into that abyss, but i assure you - i am not.

gale doesn’t lead a split existence. he has a very strong sense of identity. he knows what he wants, what he doesn’t want and he isn’t shy in expressing his boundaries either. which he has especially shown when it comes to his relationship with tav. i originally had intended to touch upon this in another post entirely but: i firmly believe his entire Gale of Waterdeep™ persona is more of a performance than him struggling to find a sense of identity and trying them on for size. it is an intentional decision to separate gale dekarios from the great wizard of waterdeep, to create distance and make sure his family name remains untarnished in case things should ever go sideways.

gale: i agree. and on the plus side, if i get myself into any truly cataclysmic straits during the remainder of our journey, my family name will go untarnished.

there is also a deep-rooted feeling of unworthiness and his firm belief that love and praise are conditional resources that he will only be granted through his talents alone, naturally. presenting himself as gale dekarios, the man, would mean highlighting his shortcomings and very human flaws, while distracting from the aspects of himself that are deemed praiseworthy, the ones that actually matter: his magical prowess.

i personally believe that part of the beauty of gale’s story is him realizing just how “little” it takes for him to be truly content. he gets his happy ending, with someone at his side who truly sees him, understands him and unabashedly commits to him. they worship and adore him in return — and it is well deserved. he isn’t reduced to be constantly and restlessly searching for some unattainable ideal to fill the gaping void within himself. he doesn’t secretly thirst for more power still or believes that in being with tav he is settling for something. instead, he is finally happy to just be. be and be accepted. teaching a class of unruly wizards and coming home to his spouse each day already fulfills him.

gale: that's how i feel with you - content. it's a rather unfamiliar feeling, i must say. not something gale of waterdeep ever craved.

even if he doesn’t pursue a romance with tav, he reaches a realization of “oh, it appears i am not irredeemably flawed and only able to reach true redemption through my own death. what i needed was actually with me all along.” throughout their journey and through his friend's support. i think that’s a very powerful and comforting message. he is very well capable of finding peace within himself.

devnotes: his default state is that he returned to waterdeep and became a professor of illusory magic at his former school, blackstaff academy. general vibe here is that this is a gale who's found peace with himself - he's a great teacher, one his students are mostly in awe of.

to repeat myself: sharing your headcanons is all in good fun, nor should you ever be discouraged from doing so. this is your personal tumblr experience, after all. but i personally think we should be mindful of unintentionally perpetuating negative stereotypes, such as narcissism being a general indicator or being deemed a classic depiction of bpd. i think we can all agree that the continuous longing for acceptance, connection, praise, and approval is something we all have in common deep down, regardless of whatever disorder we may have. [insert victoria justice meme here]

gale may be many things to many people, but he is no entitled narcissist.

[gregmarriage]

gonna become pepe slivia charlie, while trying to write the plot for this fic

[sharkieboi]

okay Aabria’s experience watching LOTR for the first time with a bunch of longtime fans is so relatable cause fucking SAME I still have not watched LOTR and I have had multiple friends who are big big fans tell me they’re gonna make me watch all of them and so far no one has followed through but I know for a fact I will also afterwards be like “I’m allowed to not get that, right?”

[merevide]

one thing about me i will trick u into thinking i’m normal and like chill and have good music taste and then u start getting to know me and my lore and then you go ohhh no this girl is a bit strange she’s a bit weird she’s cringe. worst of all she still listens to the songs from winx club

[pissfizz]

I’m going to lose my mind oh my god I am so scared for this quincenera wtf

[fakeoutbf]

.

[inbabylontheywept]

i did wrestling in middle school. on one hand, i was actually quite good at it, which was nice. being good at any sport was a new achievement for me. on the other hand, i was bi, and i was trying very hard not to notice that i was bi, and getting folded into knots by very kind, very muscular dorks made that task somewhat difficult.

adding fire to the problem was that my parents and my grandparents wanted to watch my matches, because they were very proud that their Gangly Nerd Son was actually Sporting, and they wanted to cheer me on. which would've been sweet and all, but if there are four people you do not want there during a key part of your Burgeoning Sexual Awakening, it is your mom and your dad and your grandma and your grandpa.

right? i mean, imagine some guy's got your head in his armpit, and you're going you know, old sweat smells bad, but fresh sweat has a sort of and then you make eye contact with your grandpa in the stands and you remember you're swearing spandex so if you pop a boner people aren't just going to be able to see the outline, they're going to be able to count the veins, and the only way you will be able to restore your family's honor after that would be by moving to siberia and renouncing joy, forever. that, or lift your entire body up by your kneck then twist 180 degrees without paralyzing yourself.

it’s a lot of pressure, is what i’m saying.

still it did motivate me to win my matches really fast. because i was so tall and skinny, i was stupidly good at the double leg takedown, and then once someone was knocked down, i'd just do the half nelson and kind of flip em over for the pin. then the ref would count to three and i’d win. EZPZ.

i had one match where that went great. won in the first ten seconds, sat back down, and prepared myself for a good hour or two of doing fuck all. didn't even feel bad the parents/grandparents were gonna be bored. the matches went up from me in 5 pound increments (i was in the 115 lbs division) and it was going great until we got to the 145 lbs division. the other school's wrestler stepped onto the mat, and she turned out to be a girl so our guy flipped, because for straight guys, wrestling a girl is not a pleasant experience.

i'm not entirely unsympathetic. my experience wrestling dudes was definitely a little traumatic. but also, i dealt. guy could've dealt too. instead, he refused to wrestle, and the coach went - fine. not even worth fighting over.

so he went to the 140 pounder, and that guy said, nosir, my mom said mormons can't wrestle girls. next guy down, 135 pounder, now he knew he could pull the same card and thus did. 130 pounder, 125, both tapped out. he got to the 120 guy, and that guy was catholic, but he said he was considering being mormon, and thus would have to pass. as a precaution.

coach blew up a little at that. he said "is there anyone - anyone - on this entire goddamn team that is willing to wrestle a girl?" and then he pointed at me and said "YOU. MAT. GO."

and i'll be real, if i'd been paying more attention, i'd have pulled the mormon card too, but i'd just been putting all that audio into a buffer file because i was reading, so i was halfway across the mat before i even processed what had been said and by then it was too late to turn back.

still i had a plan. and my plan - my beautiful, perfect plan - was to do what i'd always done. tackle, flip, pin, win. sit down. read. bore my family to death. move on.

i got the first part right. she was bigger than me, but she wasn't taller. just an incredibly stout woman. god built me like a snake with glasses, just as he built her like a combat cube. the problem was the half nelson. soon as she was down, i tried hooking my arm under hers from behind and for both genders, the defense for this move is just clamping your arms really fucking tight against your sides. if you're a guy, that's whatever, but if you're a girl - especially if you're god's chosen combat cube - that pins your opponents hand right against your boob.

so, i got the hook in, she clamped, my whole arm pressed against something soft, my coach was yelling THE HALF NELSON. BABYLON! JUST FINISH IT! FINISH THE HALF NELSON! and i was just trying to press hard enough to finish, when then my brain went

...oh.

and i flipped out. of course i flipped out. i like girls, and touching a boob is an elemental experience, and i was not ready. i was not prepared. i had not committed the sacred rites. i recoiled like i'd just brushed my arm against the surface of the sun, stood up, and backed away. nobody in the room knew why i'd given up. all they saw was me, right about to win, suddenly flailing around and scrambling. so everyone started screaming at me to just get the half nelson again, and i couldn't really yell back there's a fuckin' boob in the way and it was very distressing, and the only way i could think of to make them stop was just doing it over again the right way.

so i did.

i hunkered down and prepared myself for Wrasslin' Attempt #2: The Sequel.

i knocked her down again, EZPZ. i went for the half nelson again, but she knew what i was about to do so she super clamped, and i knew she was gonna super clamp, so i wound my arm back like a pop-eye cartoon punch before swinging my arm through the gap between her bicep and her side, but the amount of time i spent winding back super signalled what i was about to to do, which gave her time to clamp even harder, which somehow redirected the entire force of the popeye punch to the bottom of her bra.

it spat out a single boob the same way an action hero might spit out one single tooth after getting a solid crack across the jaw. as if to say:

*ptooie.* "that all you got?"

i did not actually see this. my experience was that first there was an arm, then there was a bit of boob, but i was braced, i was ready, forward at all costs, tatakae motherfuckers, and then the boob went away, and i didn't know where it went but my team, and the audience, and everyone who was in front of me, they all gasped like i just kicked them in the stomach. except for my coach. he was behind me, and thus one of the four people in the room who did not see the boob. now my mom, my dad, my grandma, and my grandpa, they all got flashed but nooooooo, coach thunderbutt was behind me, and he didn't see shit so he was still yelling NOOOOOO BABYLON WHAT ARE YOU DOING JUST FINISH THE NELSON! GO FOR THE KILL! BABYLON! BABYLON!

but i did not go for the kill. i stood up and she stuffed her boob back real fast, and we just kind of circled each other awkwardly until time ran out and i won on points. that's not technically allowed, but the ref had some mercy on me.

my coach did not.

i barely had time to sit down before he strode over to the bench to chew me out.

"babylon," he said, in that very calm way people get when they're too pissed to yell. "why didn't you pin?"

and i didn't know how to say well coach, i tried, but there was a boob, and it kept getting in the way, and my mom was watching, and so was my dad, and so was his dad, and his mom, and god (like bible god) and that's a can of worms because i'm pretty sure he was already mad at me, and i'm wearing spandex, and i think i might have to move to siberia, so instead i said

"i uh. i forgot how to do the half nelson."

which is actually impossible. forgetting how to do the half nelson is like forgetting how to swallow your spit.

and he looked at me, like i was the dumbest person in the entire world, and i looked through him like i'd just survived my 250th day in a trench at verdun, and he said: fine.

fine.

but we're all going to practice it for an hour tomorrow because you forgot.

and then he left.

and my buddies had the gall to be salty about it. i got so many comments saying "dude, why didn't you just tell him the truth?" and i said "you can if you care so damn much. you could've wrestled the girl too. maybe someone else should do the hard thing today."

but they didn't. so the next day, we did an hour of half nelson drills, and i spent a decent amount of time getting thrown around the mat, and it was pleasant in exactly the way that i hated and the year after that, to the surprise of everyone but myself, i quit wrestling and joined the trivia team.

and if you want more reasons to love my mom, my grandpa joked after the match that i might have to talk to my bishop about it, and my mom told him he would be allowed to make jokes after he stood in front of a crowd of 110 people in spandex underpants while wrestling a woman that was not his wife.

he paused for almost five seconds after that. then he said: aw. hell. sorry babylon.

and i'd have preferred my apology from god, but getting it from him was pretty good too.

[livvyofthelake]

cup that i’ve used for my stupid chai lattes too many times that i nor the dishwasher can ever seem to wash thoroughly enough that there isn’t a faint residue of tea in it i can taste every time i try to put water in it now.

[sarabyfleetwoodmacmp3]

💭

[voiceshearingyouloud]

If you were worried about me based on my last diary entry post, worry no more! My parents are our for dinner with friends and it turns out when I’m not completely dissociated from PTSD I exist as a human being who I like and enjoy spending time with 👍

The pain from the various PTSDs gets so bad that it does convince me that life has always been and always will be pain. But that is so deeply not true and there is so much joy and love in my life and there always has been and always will be. It’s so so lovely to feel that again. I am such a lucky person in so many ways, mainly because of my partner (I still pinch myself wondering what they see in me) but also my friends and uni and my brother and so many other wonderful things.

I know once my parents get back I’ll probably get triggered again, but I had genuinely forgotten what it felt like to not be in fight or flight (or freeze, really) so hopefully having this now will sustain me for another month until they go on holiday. If I can figure out how not to get triggered at work then I should be in a much better place, because that’s been making things a thousand times worse.

[caelum-in-the-avatarverse]

Fandom can do a little gatekeeping. As a treat.

So I finally decided to archive-lock my fics on AO3 last night. I’ve been considering it since the AI scrape last year, but the tipping point was this whole lore.fm debacle, coupled with some thoughts I’ve been thinking regarding Fandom These Days in general and Fandom As A Community in particular. So I wanna explain why I waited so long, why I locked my stuff up now, and why I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m a-okay with making it harder for people to see my stories.

Lurkers really are great, tho

I’m a chronic lurker, and have been since I started hanging out on the internet as a teen in the 00s. These days it’s just cuz I don’t feel a need to socialize very often, but back then it was because I was shy and knew I was socially awkward. Even if I made an account, I’d spend months lurking on message boards or forums or Livejournals, watching other people interact and getting a feel for that particular community’s culture and etiquette before I finally started interacting myself. And y’know, that approach saved me a lot of embarrassment. Over the course of my lurking on any site, there was always some other person who’d clearly joined up five minutes after learning the place existed, barged in without a care for their behavior, and committed so many social faux pas that all the other users were immediately annoyed with them at best. I learned a lot observing those incidents. Lurk More is Rule 33 of the internet for very good reason.

Lurking isn’t bad or weird or creepy. It’s perfectly normal. I love lurking. It’s hard for me to not lurk - socializing takes a lot of energy out of me, even via text. (Heck it took 12 hours for me to write this post, I wish I was kidding--) Occasionally I’ll manage longer bouts of interaction - a few weeks posting here, almost a year chatting in a discord there - but I’m always gonna end up going radio silent for months at some point. I used to feel bad about it, but I’ve long since made peace with the fact that it’s just the way my brain works. I’m a chronic lurker, and in the long term nothing is going to change that.

The thing with being a chronic lurker is that you have to accept that you are not actually seen as part of the community you are lurking in. That’s not to say that lurkers are unimportant - lurkers actually are important, and they make up a large proportion of any online community - but it’s simple cause and effect. You may think of it as “your community”, but if you’ve never said a word, how is the community supposed to know you exist? If I lurked on someone’s LJ, and then that person suddenly friendslocked their blog, I knew that I had two choices: Either accept that I would never be able to read their posts again, or reach out to them and ask if I could be added to their friends list with the full understanding that I was a rando they might not decide to trust. I usually went with the first option, because my invisibility as a lurker was more important to me than talking to strangers on the internet.

Lurking is like sitting on a park bench, quietly people-watching and eavesdropping on the conversations other people are having around you. You’re in the park, but you’re not actively participating in anything happening there. You can see and hear things that you become very interested in! But if you don’t introduce yourself and become part of the conversation, you won’t be able to keep listening to it when those people walk away. When fandom migrated away from Livejournal, people moved to new platforms alongside their friends, but lurkers were often left behind. No one knew they existed, so they weren’t told where everyone else was going. To be seen as part of a fandom community, you need to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known, etc. etc.

There’s nothing wrong with lurking. There can actually be benefits to lurking, both for the lurkers and the communities they lurk in. It’s just another way to be in a fandom. But if that is how you exist in fandom--and remember, I say this as someone who often does exist that way in fandom--you need to remember that you’re on the outside looking in, and the curtains can always close.

I’ve always been super sympathetic to lurkers, because I am one. I know there’s a lot of people like me who just don’t socialize often. I know there’s plenty of reasons why someone might not make an account on the internet - maybe they’re nervous, maybe they’re young and their parents don’t allow them to, maybe they’re in a bad situation where someone is monitoring their activity, maybe they can only access the internet from public computer terminals. Heck, I’ve never even logged into AO3 on my phone--if I’m away from my computer I just read what’s publicly available. 

I know I have people lurking on my fics. I know my fics probably mean a lot to someone I don’t even know exists. I know this because there are plenty of fics I love whose writers don’t know I exist.

I love my commenters personally; I love my lurkers as an abstract concept. I know they’re there and I wish them well, and if they ever de-lurk I love them all the more.

So up until last year I never considered archive-locking my fic, because I get it. The AI scraping was upsetting, but I still hesitated because I was thinking of lurkers and guests and remembering what it felt like to be 15 and wondering if it’d be worth letting a stranger on the internet know I existed and asking to be added to their friends list just so I could reread a funny post they made once.

But the internet has changed a lot since the 00s, and fandom has changed with it. I’ve read some things and been doing some thinking about fandom-as-community over the last few years, and reading through the lore.fm drama made me decide that it’s time for me to set some boundaries.

I still love my lurkers, and I feel bad about leaving any guest commenters behind, especially if they’re in a situation where they can’t make an account for some reason. But from here on out, even my lurkers are going to have to do the bare minimum to read my fics--make an AO3 account.

Should we gatekeep fandom?

I’ve seen a few people ask this question, usually rhetorically, sometimes as a joke, always with a bit of seriousness. And I think…yeah, maybe we should. Except wait, no, not like that--

A decade ago, when people talked about fandom gatekeeping and why it was bad to do, it intersected with a lot of other things, mainly feminism and classism. The prevalent image of fandom gatekeeping was, like, a man learning that a woman likes Star Wars and haughtily demanding, “Oh, yeah? Well if you’re REALLY a fan, name ten EU novels” to belittle and dismiss her, expecting that a “real fan” would have the money and time to be familiar with the EU, and ignoring the fact that male movie-only fans were still considered fans. The thing being gatekept was the very definition of “being a fan” and people’s right to describe themselves as one.

That’s not what I mean when I say maybe fandom should gatekeep more. Anyone can call themselves a fan if they like something, that’s fine. But when it comes to the ability to enjoy the fanworks produced by the fandom community…that might be something worth gatekeeping.

See, back in the 00s, it was perfectly common for people to just…not go on the internet. Surfing the web was a thing, but it was just, like, a fun pastime. Not everyone did it. It wasn’t until the rise of social media that going online became a thing everyone and their grandmother did every day. Back then, going on the internet was just…a hobby.

So one of the first gates online fandom ever had was the simple fact that the entire world wasn’t here yet.

The entire world is here now. That gate has been demolished.

And it’s a lot easier to find us now. Even scattered across platforms, fandom is so centralized these days. It isn’t a network of dedicated webshrines and forums that you can only find via webrings anymore, it’s right there on all the big social media sites. AO3 didn’t set out to be the main fanfic website, but that’s definitely what it’s become. It’s easy for people to find us--and that includes people who don’t care about the community, and just want “content.”

Transformative fandom doesn’t like it when people see our fanworks as “content”. “Content” is a pretty broad term, but when fandom uses it we’re usually referring to creative works that are churned out by content creators to be consumed by an audience as quickly as possible as often as possible so that the content creator can generate revenue. This not-so-new normal has caused a massive shift in how people who are new to fandom view fanworks--instead of seeing fic or art as something a fellow fan made and shared with you, they see fanworks as products to be consumed.

Transformative fandom has, in general, always been a gift economy. We put time and effort into creating fanworks that we share with our fellow fans for free. We do this so we don’t get sued, but fandom as a whole actually gets a lot out of the gift economy. Offer your community a story, and in return you can get comments, build friendships, or inspire other people to write things that you might want to read. Readers are given the gift of free stories to read and enjoy, and while lurking is fine, they have the choice to engage with the writer and other readers by leaving comments or making reclists to help build the community.

And look, don’t get me wrong. People have never engaged with fanfic as much as fan writers wish they would. There has always been “no one comments anymore” wank. There have always been people who only comment to say “MORE!” or otherwise demand or guilt trip writers into posting the next chapter. But fandom has always agreed that those commenters are rude and annoying, and as those commenters navigate fandom they have the chance to learn proper community etiquette.

However, now it seems that a lot of the people who are consuming fanworks aren’t actually in the community. 

I won’t say “they aren’t real fans” because that’s silly; there’s lots of ways to be a fan. But there seem to be a lot of fans now who have no interest in fandom as a community, or in adhering to community etiquette, or in respecting the gift economy. They consume our fics, but they don’t appreciate fan labor. They want our “content”, but they don’t respect our control over our creations.

And even worse--they see us as a resource. We share our work for free, as a gift, but all they see is an open-source content farm waiting to be tapped into. We shared it for free, so clearly they can do whatever they want with it. Why should we care if they feed our work into AI training datasets, or copy/paste our unfinished stories into ChatGPT to get an ending, or charge people for an unnecessary third-party AO3 app, or sell fanbindings on etsy for a profit without the author’s permission, or turn our stories into poor imitations of podfics to be posted on other platforms without giving us credit or asking our consent, while also using it to lure in people they can datascrape for their Forbes 30 Under 30 company? 

And sure, people have been doing shady things with other people’s fanworks since forever. Art theft and reposting has always been a big problem. Fanfic is harder to flat-out repost, but I’ve heard of unauthorized fic translations getting posted without crediting the original author. Once in…I think the 2010s? I read a post by a woman who had gone to some sort of local bookselling event, only to find that the man selling “his” novel had actually self-published her fanfic. (Wish I could find that one again, I don’t even remember where I read it.)

But aside from that third example, the thing is…as awful as fanart/writing theft is, back in the day, the main thing a thief would gain from it was clout. Clout that should rightfully go to the creators who gifted their work in the first place, yeah, but still. Just clout. People will do a lot of hurtful things for clout, but fandom clout means nothing outside of fandom. Fandom clout is not enough to incentivize the sort of wide-scale pillaging we’re seeing from community outsiders today.

Money, on the other hand… Well, fandom’s just a giant, untapped content farm, isn’t it? Think of how much revenue all that content could generate.

Lurkers are a normal and even beneficial part of any online community. Maybe one day they’ll de-lurk and easily slide into place beside their fellow fans because they already know the etiquette. Maybe they’re active in another community, and they can spread information from the community they lurk in to the community they’re active in. At the very least, they silently observe, and even if they’re not active community members, they understand the community.

Fans who see fanworks as “content” don’t belong in the same category as lurkers. They’re tourists. 

While reading through the initial Reddit thread on the lore.fm situation, I found this comment:

[ID: Reddit User Cabbitowo says: ... So in anime fandoms we have a word called tourist and essentially it means a fan of a few anime and doesn't care about anime tropes and actively criticizes them. This is kind of how fandoms on tiktok feel. They're touring fanfics and fanart and actively criticizes tropes that have been in the fandom since the 60s. They want to be in a fandom but they don't want to engage in fandom 

OP totallymandy responds: Just entered back into Reddit after a long day to see this most recent reply. And as a fellow anime fan this making me laugh so much since it’s true! But it sorta hurts too when the reality sets in. Modern fandom is so entitled and bratty and you’d think it’s the minors only but that’s not even true, my age-mates and older seem to be like that. They want to eat their cake and complain all whilst bringing nothing to the potluck… :/ END ID]

-

“Tourist” is an apt name for this sort of fan. They don’t want to be part of our community, and they don’t have to be in order to come into our spaces and consume our work. Even if they don’t steal our work themselves, they feel so entitled to it that they’re fine with ignoring our wishes and letting other people take it to make AI “podfics” for them to listen to (there are a lot of comments on lore.fm’s shutdown announcement video from people telling them to just ignore the writers and do it anyway). They’ll use AI to generate an ending to an unfinished fic because they don’t care about seeing “the ending this writer would have given to the story they were telling”, they just want “an ending”. For these tourist fans, the ends justify the means, and their end goal is content for them to consume, with no care for the community that created it for them in the first place.

I don’t think this is confined to a specific age group. This isn’t “13-year-olds on Wattpad” or “Zoomers on TikTok” or whatever pointless generation war we’re in now. This is coming from people who are new to fandom, whose main experience with creative works on the internet is this new content culture and who don’t understand fandom as a community. That description can be true of someone from any age group.

It’s so easy to find fandom these days. It is, in fact, too easy. Newcomers face no hurdles or challenges that would encourage them to lurk and observe a bit before engaging, and it’s easy for people who would otherwise move on and leave us alone to start making trouble. From tourist fans to content entrepreneurs to random people who just want to gawk, it’s so easy for people who don’t care about the fandom community to reap all of its fruits. 

So when I say maybe fandom should start gatekeeping a bit, I’m referring to the fact that we barely even have a gate anymore. Everyone is on the internet now; the entire world can find us, and they don’t need to bother learning community etiquette when they do. Before, we were protected by the fact that fandom was considered weird and most people didn’t look at it twice. Now, fandom is pretty mainstream. People who never would’ve bothered with it before are now comfortable strolling in like they own the place. They have no regard for the fandom community, they don’t understand it, and they don’t want to. They want to treat it just like the rest of the content they consume online.

And then they’re surprised when those of us who understand fandom culture get upset. Fanworks have existed far longer than the algorithmic internet’s content. Fanworks existed long before the internet. We’ve lived like this for ages and we like it.

So if someone can’t be bothered to respect fandom as a community, I don’t see why I should give them easy access to my fics.

Think of it like a garden gate

When I interact with commenters on my fic, I have this sense of hospitality.

The comment section is my front porch. The fic is my garden. I created my garden because I really wanted to, and I’m proud of it, and I’m happy to share it with other people. 

Lots of people enjoy looking at my garden. Many walk through without saying anything. Some stop to leave kudos. Some recommend my garden to their friends. And some people take the time to stop by my front porch and let me know what a beautiful garden it is and how much they’ve enjoyed it. 

Any fic writer can tell you that getting comments is an incredible feeling. I always try to answer all my comments. I don’t always manage it, but my fics’ comment sections are the one place that I manage to consistently socialize in fandom. When I respond to a comment, it feels like I’m pouring out a glass of lemonade to share with this lovely commenter on my front porch, a thank you for their thank you. We take a moment to admire my garden together, and then I see them out. The next time they drop by, I recognize them and am happy to pour another glass of lemonade.

My garden has always been open and easy to access. No fences, no walls. You just have to know where to find it. Fandom in general was once protected by its own obscurity, an out-of-the-way town that showed up on maps but was usually ignored.

But now there’s a highway that makes it easy to get to, and we have all these out-of-towner tourists coming in to gawk and steal our lawn ornaments and wonder if they can use the place to make themselves some money.

I don’t care to have those types trampling over my garden and eating all my vegetables and digging up my flowers to repot and sell, so I’ve put up a wall. It has a gate that visitors can get through if they just take the time to open it.

Admittedly, it’s a small obstacle. But when I share my fics, I share them as a gift with my fellow fans, the ones who understand that fandom is a community, even if they’re lurkers. As for tourist fans and entrepreneurs who see fic as content, who have no qualms ignoring the writer’s wishes, who refuse to respect or understand the fandom community…well, they’re not the people I mean to share my fic with, so I have no issues locking them out. If they want access to my stories, they’ll have to do the bare minimum to become a community member and join the AO3 invite queue.

And y’know, I’ve said a lot about fandom and community here, and I just want to say, I hope it’s not intimidating. When I was younger, talk about The Fandom Community made me feel insecure, and I didn’t think I’d ever manage to be active enough in fandom spaces to be counted as A Member Of The Community. But you don’t have to be a social butterfly to participate in fandom. I’ll always and forever be a chronic lurker, I reblog more than I post, I rarely manage to comment on fic, and I go radio silent for months at a time--but I write and post fanfiction. That’s my contribution.

Do you write, draw, vid, gif, or otherwise create? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you leave comments? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you curate reclists? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you maintain a fandom blog or fuckyeah blog? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you provide a space for other fans to convene in? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you regularly send asks (off anon so people know who you are)? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you have fandom friends who you interact with? Congrats, you're a community member.

There’s lots of ways to be a fan. Just make sure to respect and appreciate your fellow fans and the work they put in for you to enjoy and the gift economy fandom culture that keeps this community going.

[k9wa]

𑣲 RILE HIM UP ! ft BOOTHILL.

⠀ — your least favourite cyborg is brought back to you a mangled mess.

⠀ OR

⠀ — being boothill’s mechanic when you lowkey can’t stand each other.

⚠︎ sweet sweet tension, a little suggestive towards the end, gn reader (no referring pronouns), can they fuck already, this was ib by his lightcone, wc 1.9k

boothill's eyes flickered to life, emitting a faint glow of red as his systems began to reboot.

a pair of familiar red pupils met yours, two crosshairs fading into sight as boothill regained his sight and— to your dismay— consciousness.

as the cyborg regained his motion he attempted a step forward, only to realise he didn’t have the feet or legs to do so. the only thing keeping him powered on were some metal claws screwed into his back and a few loose cables connecting to your terminals.

“sugar plum,” boothill's scruffy voice cut through the silence. “do y'care to explain where my legs might’a run off to?”

you actually cocked an eyebrow. how the hell were you supposed to know? boothill was brought back to you in a mess of scraps and wiring— the damn hunk of metal was lucky you made him as blast proof as possible and he was left salvageable. 

“care to tell me how the hell you got this roughed up?”

you asked in turn, crouching down to look at the detached and ruined internals of boothill's torso where the stand-in wires were connected. you ran a finger carefully along the edge of his shredded metallic stomach.

“guess i didn't make you as smart as i thought. time for a newer model, maybe?”

boothill's eyes flickered down to his missing lower half, then to your hand that was more or less caressing him. it was amazing how much annoyance they could show in all their artificial glory.

“look who’s talkin.” the cowboy grumbled, pointy fangs poking out in an irritated grin. 

“how ‘bout, ‘gee, boothill! i’m real glad y’ain’t get blown to smithereens beyond repair!’” 

“it would've been less work for me if whoever blew you up finished the job.”

you sighed as you stood up, putting a hand lazily on your hip.

“how’d it happen?”

boothill bit back another argument with a gruff chuckle.

“some real cutie-pies i was huntin’ down had a lil’ more firepower than i expected. guess they didn’t appreciate me spoilin’ their party.”

boothill visibly cringed as his insult was substituted with some cutesy nickname mid explanation.

“and can you fix my beautiful synesthesia beacon already? this thing is drivin’ me up the wall.”

the request fell on deaf ears as your fingers typed something on your laptop, likely another string of code.

“you’re more concerned about your censor than how long it’s gonna take me to put your legs back on…” you sighed to yourself, still leaned over your workbench, eyes focused on your screen.

“i'm not touching it right now. you’re lucky i’m even letting you stay sentient after this.”

boothill snorted at the remark, brows furrowing in a steady grimace.

“well, ‘scuse me for wantin’ to speak freely–  i’m a grown man!” his pointy teeth shone as they peeked out again in a grin.

“y’know what? just leave yer lil’ tools and all the pieces there— i’ll get my legs back on myself. don’t need no charity work from the likes’a you.” he laughed. “heck, may even give myself a new pecker while i'm at it!”

the mechanic had half a mind to listen, sit back and watch boothill struggle to reassemble himself just to prove a point and simultaneously bask in his embarrassment when the former realised it wasn’t possible.

(not that he would’ve admitted defeat– you would have begrudgingly stepped in and helped before he inevitably messed up his wiring more.)

you stepped back over to boothill, hands moving to hold his cheeks so you could tilt his face side to side to check for any more damage.

“cool it, cowboy.” your eyes squinted in focus as they looked at boothill's, lightly tugging up on his eyelid to check for scratches or cracks.

“i'll get you back up and running, just lose the attitude already.”

boothill's eyes narrowed as he felt your touch on his face. the temperature difference of warm fingers on his cold, mechanical body stirring an oddity where his gut should have been. though he tried to ignore it, the sensation was there, clear as day against all his artificial nerve endings. 

“real easy for you to say,” he huffed, avoiding your eyes as he was examined like a broken toy. “let’s see how peachy you are when yer all strung up and legless, love muffin.”

that censor really was gonna drive him insane.

“just get it over with.'' boothill muttered in annoyance. “and try not t’fuss anythin’ up.”

it took quite some time, as expected, for you to successfully reattach boothill’s legs and fix his mangled midsection. when you were finally finished, you tugged out any leftover wires that connected boothill to your terminals and pushed back in your wheelie chair to beckon the cowboy forward. you pushed your glasses up to your forehead, some hair getting swept out of your eyes with them.

“feel fine?”

boothill rolled his ankles and bent his knees, giving his legs a good stretch to test their mobility.

“mighty fine,” he responded, satisfied to feel they were weighted and moved the same as before. “though i can’t say i’m lovin’ the breeze up my backside.” 

boothill glanced down at himself, steel body completely bare and lacking any of his signature clothing. 

“got my pants lyin’ around anywhere, sugar plum?”

you pointed to another table in the room, where boothills clothes— (or rather the new ones you had to go and get—) were neatly folded, his hat placed on top of them. 

boothill went to get himself dressed, hoisting up his bell bottomed pants and sliding on his jacket. he stole a glance in your direction every so often, resisting the childish urge to roll his eyes at the mere sight of you.

the artificial man hit a small bump in the road as he went to zip his jacket (could you really call it that with how little it covered?) up—  his fingers weren’t responding as well as they should have been. he could open and close his fist, but lacked the precision to pinch and hold the zipper.

“hey, honeybun,'' boothill called over to you with a furrowed brow. “didn’t i tell you not to go fudgin’ anythin’ up?”

you, in all your overtired glory groaned, turning around in your chair and waving boothill back over.

“what are you talking about?” 

“my cute lil’ fingers ain’t workin’ that’s what i’m talkin’ ‘bout!”

boothill's footsteps were clunky and loud as he stomped his way back over to his mechanic.

you reached for his hand, an uncharacteristic gentleness in your touch as you examined five mechanical fingers.

“make a fist,”

boothill obeyed, curling his fingers into his palm.

“open it,”

he obeyed again, letting them open and relax.

“hold up two fingers,”

boothill tried, but his fingers got stuck halfway into the motion, locking at the joints.

“son of a bitch.” you sighed, turning for one of your tools. “sit back down.”

boothill grumbled and went to hoist himself back onto the workbench.

“least one o’us can say it…” 

“do you want me to fix you or not?”

“i'm sittin’ ain’t i??”

you pulled boothill's shirt off his left shoulder and popped open a tiny panel on the curve of his neck, sliding your glasses back on to the bridge of your nose. with a lean forward you began carefully looking at a few thin wires that filled the space.

boothill tapped his fingers against the tabletop while you worked, that same oddity as before settling in his now repaired gut. he rarely got messed up enough for you and him to spend this much time together, or for you to have to really be in such close proximity.

it’s not uncomfortable, but the feeling is by no means familiar. it’s actually a little embarrassing– a galaxy ranger, a space cyborg and expert hunter, feeling almost flustered at some close contact like some kind of shy little girl.

“something the matter?”

boothill nearly jumped as you spoke up quietly to check on him, voice quiet and so close to his ear he had to refrain from leaning both closer and away.

“nah, everything’s just dandy.” boothill’s voice followed yours– quieter and a little softer as a result of the closeness.

“you’re sure?” you looked up from the small mess of wires, eyes glancing up at your cyborg over the rim of your glasses. “might as well fix anything else that’s bugging you while i’m here.”

boothill would have swallowed if he had the need to lubricate his throat. he shook his head, turning to look somewhere— anywhere else.

yours lingered on him, albeit briefly, observing the clench of his jaw and the way he tried to shift in his seat without being disruptive to your work. he didn’t see the little smirk tug at your lips as you refocused on the task at hand.

boothill’s cybernetic limbs felt almost human in their sensitivity, sending faux shivers up a spine he didn’t even have. the mechanics fingers running down his forearm are doing him no favours as they move to hold his hand again.

“close your fist…open it…two fingers up…”

each command was obeyed, ten gunmetal fingers finally holding up a little peace sign.

“that should be it, come see me if they start acting up again.”

you stood up, tentatively reaching out to fix boothill’s jacket and begin to zip it for him.

boothill didn’t protest the act, but it was…confusing, to say the least.

“reckon i’ll just start seein’ those auto bots again,” he leaned back on his palms as your fingers fixed his collar, straightening it out.  “much as i love our lil’ visits.”

you only hummed, smoothing out a few wrinkles and neatly tucking his scarf into it’s neckline, as he liked. “you could,” you mused, hooking your finger lightly into his collar and giving a gentle tug forward. “they don’t take as good care of you as i do, though.”

this time boothill caught the little smirk on your lips, clear as day and enough to make him question if short circuiting was possible.

you’re doing it on purpose, he knows. the careful touches to his hands and body against the sensors you put there, quiet voice leaving him with a frisson you made it possible for him to have.

boothill returned the smirk, albeit a little wobbly.

“you tryin’a rile me up, sugar plum?” 

he entertained you with a lean forward, two white crosshairs looking right at you while he considered if a hand on your waist was too forward or the perfect cornering move. 

“just like watching you squirm.”

you were gone as quickly as you’d arrived, finger unhooked and going to pick up his hat.

“but say i was,” you didn’t bother with a glance over as you made sure the brim was straight and unharmed. “i hardly have to try.” 

boothill hopped down from the table, following your path and offering a scruffy chuckle when you reached up to place it on his head.

“yeah? and what makes y’say that?” his hand found a place on his hip.

you didn’t respond— not verbally, anyway. a quick flick of your eyes downwards was all he received. 

so he followed, looking down as well, to the very appendage he had insisted you give him over and over again pushing against his trousers. 

his own dream, now his downfall. 

boothill pushed passed you, pushing his hat further down onto his head while he stomped away. the profanities that left his lips filled the air— or rather their replacements. something something i love you blah blah peach cobbler something cutie-pie or meow!

“remind me t’settle for them lovely auto bots next time!”

he opened the door with a firm kick of his boot, stomping out with a scowl. 

as if he wouldn’t be back. you took better care of him, after all.

⠀ 𑣲 MASTERLIST / GOT A REQUEST ?