#this might be one of my favorite things i've written

[necrotic-nephilim]

Sorry if this might be a rude question but why don’t you just make a seperate account for your nsfw fics?

not rude, it's a valid question! tbh it's a combination of a couple reasons.

i started posting anonymous dead dove batcest fics long before i had the balls to make a tumblr. at first i was content to just leave them unassociated with each other because i didn't really care about them being tied to me. i made this blog to actually show solidarity to my partner who wanted to make a sideblog for Sandman comic stuff so we could cheerlead each other and be brave together, since i've wanted to make a batcest sideblog but i've been nervous about actually having to get it going. (mal ik you're reading this go be brave and actually make your blog so i can cheerlead you damnit-) only did it dawn on me then that i should probably mention the fics i've written on the blog after like, three of them were posted anonymously. and it would've annoyed me to have half of them anonymous and half of them not, because notifications for them would've gone in different places. i could go back and take my fics off anon if i wanted to, but i can't switch the account they're on without taking them down entirely and that'd fuck over people who have them bookmarked already.

which, ties into my second reason, if i made an entire second ao3 account it'd be harder for me to see notifications, reply to stuff, and post things for both accounts because i'd have to constantly switch. and honestly i'd be terrified of accidentally posting on the wrong one on a brain fog day. posting fics is always the most tedious part of writing them for me lol. it's easier for me to stay logged into one account and have all of my stuff in one place for me and just use the anonymous collection when i feel like it. if ao3 pseuds worked like tumblr blogs, where you can't see all my side blogs but i can, i would've used pseuds, but since you can see all pseuds on an ao3, i felt it was a moot point.

and the last reason is i just feel more comfortable being anonymous on ao3 because of the rise in anti culture. on tumblr it's very easy for me to just filter that out and find the people i want to follow and block the people i don't. i don't mind getting hate, on tumblr or on ao3. but i think, for whatever reason you want to blame it on, there's been a massive boom of antis on ao3 who are very entitled about how they read on ao3. i tag extensively, but i just feel safer from getting targeted attacks if everything i write on ao3 isn't attached to one profile. if people like a fic i wrote, want to find more i always link my tumblr in the notes, but if an anti wants to get huffy with me, they can't easily track down my other things. they definitely could if they wanted to, but being anonymous on ao3 just makes me feel more secluded, in a weird way. it's like saying "if you want you can come find me but on here i'm just a weird faceless guy throwing stuff in the void". i've used ao3's anon feature a lot, actually, i used to be a hydra trash party dumpster kid back when that was in it's prime.

i also used to be vaguely popular on a different tumblr blog and my main ao3 and while i think it'd definitely be cool if i got a decent chunk of followers on this blog too, i don't really miss having fanfiction do so well i got targetted hate on all of my fics from the same people, i had my fics stolen, etc. it was really exhausting for me. i have 120+ works on ao3, not counting what's anonymous, and that level of exposure tires me, even when i use my main ao3 to post things that aren't trashy. it's just a weird feeling knowing so many people are subscribed to you on ao3 and what if you post something they won't like because you jumped fandoms again, or you're posting something niche, or you don't think it fills enough fandom tropes to be well-liked. i used to obsessively think like that, and it made me not write the things i wanted to because i cared about numbers. and i don't want to slide back into that hole. writing on anonymous is mostly to remind myself i wrote this for me, and if other people like it, they can come find me, but i don't have to perform like that anymore. if i get a really weird fucked up idea, i can write the really weird fucked up idea. at the end of the day, just makes me more comfortable! but i get it's a super confusing set up from an outsider perspective so, i really don't mind the question, thank you for asking!!

[hellfirenacht]

Upside Down to Inside Out Part 1

Summary: It has been four months since anyone has heard from Eddie 'The Freak' Munson. After the Events of the Upside Down, he skips town, leaving you to reflect on the fallout and how your relationship changed during the battle for Hawkins.

Tags: Eddie Munson x Reader, angst, drug use, sfw, friends to lovers

No one had seen Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson for months. 

After the events in the Upside Down, where he, Dustin, and yourself had created a distraction for the Demobats to allow the rest of the team to do what was needed to kill Vecna/Henry/One, everything had happened in a blur. No one talked about that night, how everyone almost died, how the world almost ended, how Eddie had cleared his name but still was seen as a murderer. 

The official story was that Eddie had been kidnapped by whoever had actually killed Chrissy and the others. The official story made Chrissy out to be some sort of druggie, which pissed everyone off, not least of all Eddie. The official story had Eddie locked up and tortured by some boogie man who had sacrificed others. 

If the whole thing hadn’t been so traumatizing, it would almost be funny how close the papers got it right. 

It was September now, and you hadn’t heard a word from Eddie in months. You’d called him so many times, even showing up at his home to try and find him. Eventually, Wayne Munson had to tell you that he wasn’t there, and that he’d packed up his guitar, his cassettes, and his clothes and left town just days after being discharged from the hospital. 

Eddie ‘the Banished’ had retreated for the last time. 

You were glad that none of the kids were there to see you completely break down over this. No, instead it was Johnathan Byers and Argyle of all people who had been witness to your downfall. You barely knew them, had never talked to Johnathan much in school and Argyle... never went back to California. You never did ask about what his parents must have thought. 

They had been the one to drive you to Forest Hills Trailer Park when your car broke down. They had been the ones to hear Wayne explain that Eddie had skipped town. It was Johnathan’s idea to take you out to an old dump with a shitty golf club from the local thrift store to help you take your anger and frustration out on a broken washing machine. 

You swung the golf club with all your might at the poor appliance. Screaming profanities, yelling at Eddie, and cursing this town that never gave him a chance. 

“FUCK!” you screamed as the golf club swung down with a clang. “Stupid- He fucking LEFT!” Another swing. “He said... he wouldn’t run away again!” Another swing as hot tears stung your eyes. “Stupid shithead- stupid FUCK.”

You had long since stopped making sense of your yelling as Johnathan and Argyle just watched you. Everything was just wrong. How the hell did you save the world and still feel like you lost everything?! It wasn’t fair, you were supposed to have cleared his name, the town was supposed to love him now the same way that you-

Another feral scream ripped through your throat as you slammed the golf club down for a final time, snapping the cheap metal and denting the appliance. You fell to your knees in a heap, sobbing uncontrollably into the dirt. 

Argyle was the one to step in, sitting you up and sticking something in your mouth and telling you to breathe in. The joint burned your throat and only reminded you more of Eddie as you coughed out smoke. Someone was rubbing your back as you cried, you couldn’t tell who at this point. You should have been embarrassed to be having this complete breakdown in front of two people you barely knew, but you couldn’t help it. 

You weren’t sure how long you were sitting on the ground with the two men. You had mostly gotten your breathing under control, and you weren’t sure if the joint that was being passed between the three of you was doing you any good. 

“So... you were close with Eddie?” Jonathan asked, once he decided that you had calmed down enough to talk. 

“I... I thought we were.” you said. “I really thought so.”

“Come on, if anyone can get Eddie to move Hellfire it’s you!” Mike pleaded. “It’s the final session and then it’s over!”

You looked at the two freshmen before you and sighed. You agreed with them, you fully agreed with everything they were saying. You wanted Lucas there, you wanted everyone there for this. It wouldn’t feel right that the campaign would end without the whole of Hellfire Club there. 

And you had some sway over Eddie, not much but some. He was your friend, the one who had singled you out and dragged you into the club. He was the one who gave you a place to belong in Hawkins, and the only person you had opened up to about things in your past. This was the same man who when you said you had a passing interest in Metal music, he’d come to school the next day with a mix tape of his favorite songs, with a track list of why they were significant to the genre. 

Eddie was your friend, and none of the others could ever truly bring themselves to stand up to him the way you did. You weren’t afraid to poke at him when he was being stubborn, you weren’t afraid to fight with him, or call him out. That’s why he liked you, if he was honest. You were never afraid or nervous around Eddie Munson. 

Well, not to his face. 

“I won’t make any promises, but I’ll try. Maybe three people voting to postpone will make him at least think about it.” you finally agree. 

Dustin and Mike were satisfied with that as you all looked over at the normal Hellfire Club table. 

“Shit, he seems really revved up today.” Dustin said, watching as Eddie laughed about something in the magazine he was holding. 

“He’s always revved up.” said Mike, who looked just as nervous. 

“Welp, time to go ruin his day.” You said with a deep breath and a laugh. “Business as usual.”

That at least made the freshmen laugh a little bit as you led the way towards the club, dropping your lunchbox on the table next to Eddie. You were creating a barrier between him and Dustin and Mike, just in case. Not that Eddie would ever actually hurt anyone. Okay, yeah he wasn’t afraid to get handsy and grab onto club members and push them around a little but there was never any true malicious intent. 

But if you were going to be the one with any actual sway over his decision, then you had to be the one sitting closest to him. 

“‘Sup, Freaks.” you said dropping down in the chair, forcing Zack to scoot over. Gareth rolled his eyes at you, as usual. He never did seem to care for you, but it didn’t matter to you that much. 

Eddie barely acknowledged you until you opened your lunch box and tossed him an extra sandwich. It stressed you out how little he always brought, and you made sure to never make a big deal about it, and he didn’t question. Eddie grabbed the bag and took a bite out of the sandwich, and you could almost laugh at his expression. He was frowning so hard, and he was clearly in some sort of mood. 

“Exactly.” Eddie said, looking at you as he swallowed. “We’re the freaks here right? Just because we like to play a fantasy game.”

Oh no, he was in one of those moods. You immediately grabbed your lunch and scooted it back; you’d already lost more than one sandwich to Eddie’s speeches in the few months that you’d been here. Oh, this was going to be much harder than you thought it’d be. 

“BUT” Eddie slammed the table with his hand and started to stand up. You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing as he climbed up on the table- how many times had he managed to stand on these tables without getting in trouble? How many teachers had just given up at this point and let him go for it knowing it would only take a moment of everyone’s time? 

Still, you never got tired of it. You never got tired of his energy and passion, how he meant every single word he said, even if it pissed everyone else off or annoyed them. The whole school thought that he would snap one day, and you assumed that’s why most people stayed away from Hellfire. This club came with a certain level of protection against bullies, no doubt thanks to Eddie’s antics. 

“As long as you're into band!” Eddie yelled out, walking along the table. You had heard him say this exact thing hundreds of times before in private that you could almost say it word for word; wait, had that been him rehearsing for this? “Or science, or paaarrrtieeess-” 

He was gaining attention now, a few people looking up and flipping him off or muttering about the freak standing and yelling on the lunchroom table again. 

“Or a GAME where you toss BALLS into LAUNDRY BASKETS!” He yelled even louder. 

Shit. You looked over at Dustin and Mike with a sigh. Oh, he was NOT going to be happy about your proposal. You were now also glad that you had bought your supply off of him a few days ago so that he couldn’t hold that over your head. He has absolutely refused to sell you weed before, or at least delayed it by a few days because you two had gotten into some spat but he always ended up selling to you when you made up. 

A few people were yelling at Eddie now, and he threw up his hands and hissed at someone. You shook your head, God he was dramatic. But you loved that about him, if you were honest. Eddie was refreshing in a sea of normalcy. It was part of the reason you felt-

“It’s forced conforming.” Eddie declared as he walked back down the table and jumped off, getting into some poor girl's face who stumbled back into a pillar. “That’s what's killing the kids!” He took a seat again. “That’s the real monster.”

You readjusted your lunch and gave him a polite round of applause, with Mike and Dustin also following when they saw your face. Flattery worked on Eddie, of course it did. Eddie was a DM, so that meant he had some form of God-Complex and any form of stroking his dumb ego could only help. 

“So, uh, speaking of monsters...” Dustin started. Eddie was eating his sandwich again and his eyes had narrowed. Eddie always had a sixth sense when some form of bullshit was about to happen, and he could already tell that he wasn’t going to like whatever it was that this kid was going to say. 

“Lucas has to do his, uh, balls-in-laundry-baskets game.” Dustin laughed nervously, trying so hard to remain calm and casual. “So... He’s not gonna make it to Hellfire tonight. And I know there’s no way we can beat your sadistic campaign without him. So, me and Mike, we were talking, shooting the shit. And we were thinking that maybe we might...”

“Postpone!” Mike said, not letting Dustin get to the point. That’s probably not how you would have handled this situation, but it was out there. 

The table immediately delved into chaos as your friends immediately started fighting with the freshmen. 

“Postpone?!”

“You can’t just drop this on us!”

“Over my dead body!”

“SHUT UP!” Everything came to a halt with the club and you all looked at Eddie. He leaned over and looked at Dustin. “Are you saying that Sinclair’s been taken in by the dark side?”

In the off season, it had been easy for Lucas to ‘play the field’ between Basketball and Hellfire. With Hellfire on Fridays and practice on Tuesdays and Thursdays, the kid had been able to mostly get by playing both games. He never talked about one extra-curricular with the other, knowing that neither group of friends would care about the other. 

Then Spring semester started, and Basketball season started ramping up as the Hawkins Tigers started winning games. Lucas was still benched, but he couldn’t skip games, not without losing the chance to actually play. This had been causing friction for a few months now, with Lucas skipping Hellfire and everyone needing to find a sub for the game instead of, maybe, Eddie adjusting the dungeons and encounters accordingly. But Eddie would always be Eddie, and he was a stubborn, sadistic DM. 

“Uh, something like that?” Mike mumbled. 

“Something like that?” Eddie threw a piece of crushed pretzel that he had been eating at the freshman, which you barely dodged by leaning back. 

“Jesus, Eds.” you mumbled. 

He waved you off. “And rather than find a sub for him, you want... you want to postpone ‘The Cult of Vecna’?” You could practically hear Eddie grinding his teeth, and his shoulders were shaking. 

“I... I don’t want to postpone it.-” Mike started and you had to step in. This was not getting anywhere. 

“Yes, Eddie, we want to postpone the game” you said firmly, sitting up straighter. He looked at you, jaw agape and eyes wide as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

“Are you serious?” he asked. “This is the final session of the campaign-”

“And this is the Championship game!” you shot back. 

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” Jeff said. 

“So we’re supposed to just postpone because Lucas has to go play with his balls?” Gareth added. 

“ENOUGH” Eddie said, his eyes were now trained on you. You did your best to stand your ground. “So it’s the championship game?” 

“Most of the subs will be there-” Mike started, but a sharp look from Eddie had him shrink back before wide brown eyes turned back to you. Freshmen he could handle, but you could be just as stubborn as him when it mattered. You and Eddie always challenged each other, and most times it was fun to get under each other's skin, but this wasn’t playful banter about a dice roll this time. 

“Can I level with you three?” Eddie asked, his eyes sweeping over you, Dustin, and Mike. He stood up and you wondered if he was capable of sitting down when he had something to say. Even during Hellfire he’d be more than happy to hop up and lean over the table, walk around and get in everyone’s faces. 

You’d called him a theater kid once and that had almost caused a fist fight between you two. It was totally worth it. 

He pointed at the members across from you.  "Jeff graduates this year. Gareth’s got, what? A year and a half? Me, I am army-crawling my way toward a D in Ms. O’Donnell’s.” There was a fire in his eyes now, and he was practically vibrating as he walked around the table. “If I don’t blow her final, I’m gonna walk that stage next month, I’m gonna look Principal Higgins dead in the eye, I’m gonna flip him the bird, I’m gonna snatch that diploma, and I’m gonna run like hell outta here!”

If you heard this speech once, you heard it a million times, and it still got to you each time. This wasn’t exactly your first senior year either. You and Eddie had tried several times to study together, to try and get your shit together enough to graduate, but it didn’t work. You both were far too easily distracted when around each other and it ended up doing more harm than good. Both of you were right at the finish line now, him needing three more credits and you needing two now. 

“Didn’t you say that last year?” asked Gareth. 

“And the year before that?” Jeff added. 

“Yeah, yeah and I was full of shit. This year’s different. This year is my year. I can feel it. ‘86, baby!” His smile could light up this whole town, and you felt yourself falter for just a moment as he made his way behind you three. “And with us finally getting out of this hellhole,” his hand fell heavy on your shoulder and gave it a squeeze before he looked at Mike and Dustin. “It means you boys are the future of Hellfire. I knew it the moment I saw you. You sat on that table right over there, looking like... looking like two little lost sheep. You were wearing a Weird Al t-shirt, which I thought was brave.” 

You had thought it was cool. 

“Thank you.” Dustin said, unsure how to take that. 

“Mike, you were wearing whatever shit your mommy bought you from the goddamn Gap.” Eddie continued. Okay so this was Eddie’s plan, ignore your protests to focus on the freshmen. Everyone at the table was laughing now, and you were losing this argument. 

That’s when you stood up, now standing above him as he was squatting by Mike and Dustin. For just a second you had the high ground. 

“Actually Munson, can I level with you?” you asked, looking down at him. He raised and eyebrow and slowly stood up as you crossed your arms. He had a few inches on you and he stepped just a bit closer. 

“Mom and dad are fighting again.” you heard Zach mutter under his breath. 

“Speak.” Eddie’s voice was low and dangerous and you had to smother the small insistent voice in your head that it was, perhaps, a little bit attractive when he was like this. 

This was not the fucking time.

“We’ve all been working our ass off with this campaign.” you said. “You’ve put us through hell and back and we’ve all fought to get to this point. You want to split the party Eddie? You want to do this during the final battle? Shit, Eds, it’s the last session! What happens after this? A few one shots until the semester is over-”

“There’s no guarantee that you’ll all fight and win. You might have to retreat.” Eddie interrupted. 

“If that’s the case then we retreat as a team!” you shot back. “Lucas is our friend, and yeah he hasn’t been around much this semester. But are you really about to throw that away just because you’re so stubborn that you won’t postpone this one time?!”

Eddie stared down at you as the rest of Hellfire held their breath. 

“I have poured my blood, swear, and tears into this campaign.” he said. 

“I know, and it shows! This is probably the best table I’ve ever played at but if we can’t end this together then what’s the point?” You straightened up. “We should go to the game.”

“Are you joking?!” Jeff asked. 

“Why would we do that?!”

“Because Lucas is our friend, Dipshits!” you turned to the club. “After he basically carried your sorry ass last semester, I would have thought better of all of you.”

“Okay mom.” Zack grumbled. 

“You’re grounded.” you snapped and turned to Eddie. “Eddie. You’re not unreasonable. Postpone the game, even by a single day. We have all of spring break to get together and finish this. You worked so hard on this campaign and we all worked hard to play it with the respect it deserves-”

“Didn’t you interrupt a villain monologue three weeks ago to talk shit about the wine at the cult gathering?” Gareth asked. 

“Okay, so that’s- shut up, Gareth.” And you’d do it again just to make Eddie roll for stupid details like that. “The point is, we should want everyone there. This is your year, yeah? You’re gonna throw away a player because you can’t wait to have everyone together?”

Eddie’s shoulders slumped and he rubbed down his face. There was a look of defeat that you held your breath for. He turned to the rest of club. 

“And what say the rest of you?” he asked, looking around the table. 

“At this point I don’t care when we play as long as we play.” Jeff said. “Sinclair’s tried to be around as much as he can for us and yeah, last year he was a big help.” 

“I’ll concede if it means they stop fighting.” Zack said. “Just get a divorce already.” 

“We can’t, we’re staying together for the kids.” you nudged Eddie, who looked like he couldn’t tell if he wanted to be annoyed or amused. He just shook his head. 

“Gareth?” he asked. 

Everyone stared at the drummer and his face was contorted into a pissed look. “I guess I can’t say no without being the bad guy. Fine, but you really owe us.”

This was good enough for you as Dustin and Mike visibly relaxed. Mike was looking as if he couldn’t believe that this actually worked. 

“I’ll cook for all of you, I promise.” you said instantly. “Next session I’ll bring food and everything!”

This seemed to satisfy even Eddie, who could never turn down free food. He still looked annoyed, and disappointed, but he had accepted the fate of tonight’s game. 

“If you don’t make those cookies, I’m sacrificing you to Vecna myself.” he said. 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Eds.” you smirked. 

Someone at the table muttered ‘Jesus Christ’ but you took your seat again. Mike and Dustin were staring at you as if you’d achieved the impossible. To be fair, you probably did. 

“I guess we’re going to watch Sinclair play with his balls.” Gareth said, which broke the tension and everyone laughed. 

“Man, that guy sounds like a tough cookie.” Argyle nodded as you handed the joint back to him. It had been weeks since your episode, the three of you were now laying on top of the large Surfer Boy van that you were starting to suspect wasn’t legally his.

The three of you did this a lot. When things got to be too much, when the nightmares were too stressful to deal with, the three of you would meet up and just... talk. It was cheaper and easier than therapy and you doubted any therapist was equipped to deal with teens who fought monsters and saved the world. 

“I can’t believe that Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson wouldn’t move it.” Jonathan said. It had only been within the last week that you had started telling them about your relationship with him. They knew that you two had helped cause the distraction to blow up the Demobats, but you hadn’t talked more than that. 

“He gets wrapped up in himself.” you said quietly. “Told me once that he’d move Hellfire all the time but he had to put his foot down because nothing would get done.” 

“When Will was younger he was always at the Wheeler place playing.” Jonathan said. “They’d be playing all day until we had to put on a stricter curfew.” 

“It’s easier when you’re kids. Less shit to do.”

“Did you ever finish that campaign?” asked Argyle. “With the food and everything?”

You took the joint back and took a deep breath, holding it until your lungs and eyes burned before exhaling slowly and handing the joint to Jonathan. A tear slid down your cheek and you wiped it with the back of your hand. 

“No.” you said, your voice sounding raw. “They... after everything that happened, they don’t talk to me anymore.”

The only Hellfire members who acknowledged your presence now were those who fought Vecna. Zack, Jeff, Gareth- they had made it very clear that you weren’t welcome anymore around them. They blamed you for Eddie’s disappearance, they blamed you for pushing to move Hellfire, they blamed you for Gareth’s broken fingers where Jason Carver had stomped him for information. 

They blamed you for the breaking of Corroded Coffin.

You never had the strength to try and explain what happened. And what did it matter anyway? Without Eddie around, Hellfire was broken. A cult without a leader. The whole town would probably lynch you all if you ever donned your Hellfire shirts again. You all already had a lifetime ban from The Hideout and none of you were even 21 yet. 

“Bummer.” Argyle said sympathetically, and you just shrugged.

“I can live without them I guess.” you sighed. “Living without Eddie sucks but...”

You couldn’t keep going. You already talked about him too much today and that wound in your heart that refused to scab over just continued to slowly bleed. You wondered how much longer before there was nothing left of you. Your strange new friendship between Johnathan and Argyle had kept you afloat for now, but how long could it last? Jonathan would have to go to college and you think Argyle would have to return to California at some point. Maybe. 

“Were you two..?” Jonathan started but even Argyle shook his head.

“I just wish I knew where he was, you know? To know that he’s not mauled in a ditch somewhere.” you said. 

“Yeah man, like if there was just something we had that could just tell us where he is.” Argyle nodded. “That’d be crazy! Just push a button and we know where he is.”

“I should have had him microchipped” you laughed as another tear slid down your cheek. 

Jonathan sat up suddenly. “What if we didn’t need something?” he asked, brows furrowed as if he was trying to clear a path through the fog of his mind to a dimly lit idea that was just out of reach. “What if we needed someone?”

“What like some psychic girl who can transport through people's minds to fight off monsters and locate people just by thinking about them?” Argyle laughed, and there was a moment of silence before you and Argyle shot up to look at Johnathan. 

“EL!” 

----

Next

a/n: comments and tags make my ADHD write more, just sayin'

[serpercival]

whatever insane cowboy episode I've been having lately continues. More Stagecoach West fic (smut flavored) be upon ye

Mr. Murchison was happy to put Davey up in a room at the inn for free, but that courtesy hadn’t been extended to Luke or Simon. Meant they were sleeping in a tent on the land they’d bought together, or sometimes under the stars if the wind wasn’t too harsh. Trouble was, they only had the one tent. And for all that Luke could put on a show about appreciating women when the time came to press it, sleeping only a few feet away from a man who was kind and good with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen wasn’t doing him any favors in the lack of privacy situation.

Rating: E Fandom: Stagecoach West Word Count: 2.5k Relationship(s): Simon Kane/Luke Perry Characters: Luke Perry, Simon Kane Additional Tags: First Time, Frottage

[fieryphrazes]

in honor of the fourth annual fieryphrazes valentine's day fic, let's look back at past entries, unrelated except for the fact that all my sappy urges were indulged, and of course that beejhawk unites all things under the sun (amen)

2024: 3 a.m.

2023: they say it's spring...

2022: what couples do

2021 (inaugural): makeout creek

[television-overload]

beautiful (X-Files fanfic)

Rating: G

Word Count: 4,985

Summary: Weakened by her latest round of chemotherapy, Scully doesn't feel much like herself. Mulder helps her find the strength to keep fighting.

Read on AO3

“I wish you weren’t seeing me like this, Mulder,” she says out of the blue, drawing his attention away from the magazine he was idly flipping through at her bedside. Immediately, he sets it aside, dropping his feet to the ground from where they were perched up on the hospital bed.

“What do you mean?” he asks, grabbing her closest hand and running his thumb over her knuckles.

Scully sighs. “Don’t make me say it,” she responds. The answer looms over them both, and she’s right. He doesn’t like hearing it spoken aloud.

Dana Scully is wasting away, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

This latest round of chemotherapy has hit her harder than the first, and he’s starting to see the physical changes. She’s thinner, paler. There are dark circles under her eyes. The doctors have noticed it too, recommending that she stay in the hospital for a few days or even a week rather than recover at home.

Of course, she had refused on principle until Mulder told her he was being forced to take a few days’ leave anyway to use up some vacation time, which wasn’t exactly true, and she probably knew it.

But either way, she had let him accompany her to her appointment, which was more than he could say for her previous round of treatment.

“I look like the night of the living dead,” Scully mumbles, fiddling with the scratchy blankets on her lap.

Mulder tries not to show a physical reaction to her choice of wording. “Don’t say that,” he pleads, shaking his head. “Please don’t say that.”

Scully smiles wryly. He’s as predictable as ever.

“I just mean, I don’t look like myself. I don’t feel like myself.” She says this with such an unaffected voice, that anyone less familiar with her tells would think this was just some passing annoyance, but Mulder knows. He can see the way this has grated at her, and he just wishes he could take this all pain away from her. “I can’t even do my makeup,” she adds, throwing a breathy laugh in for good measure at the end of her sentence, as if to say, ‘but why should I care about that?’

Mulder tugs on her hand, and she follows his unspoken cue and meets his gaze. “I like you just fine without makeup,” he says, his eyes communicating the sincerity of his words. “Besides, who is there to impress anyway?” he asks, gesturing at the empty room over his shoulder to emphasize his point.

Scully gives a tired smile. “You’re a guy, Mulder, you wouldn’t understand.” Squeezing his hand once, she adds, “But thank you,” and he gives her a smile back. He wishes he could do something to help her.

She hasn’t had the strength for much, ever since they began the treatment two days ago. She’s having a better reaction to it than she could be, but he knows the fatigue is frustrating her. She’s told him a thousand times that he doesn’t have to stay here with her, but he does anyway, even when she’s sleeping for hours on end. When she’s awake, he reads to her, or they watch something on TV, whatever she’s feeling up to. If it weren’t for the harrowing circumstances, he might even be really enjoying this time spent together outside work.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Scully speaks, drawing his attention back to her. “But you’re not looking so great yourself.” Her teasing tone is softened by her genuine concern for him, but he can’t help but play along.

His eyes narrow at her in mock offense. “Just what every man likes to hear,” he says sarcastically. “Scully, you wound me.”

This earns a patented Scully Eye Roll.

“Go home and take a shower at least,” she amends, looking at him fondly. “You could use one.”

He simply stares at her, challenging her to more of this banter.

“Are you gonna just keep insulting me until I finally leave?” he asks.

“If that’s what it takes,” she answers. “I could touch on your poor posture next, if you want.”

Mulder laughs, waving a hand dismissively as he stands. “Alright, alright, I’m going.” He looks back at her, pauses, and pointedly straightens his posture before grabbing his bag and taking a step toward the door. “You’ll be okay while I’m gone?” he asks, unable to help himself.

Her gaze softens, her playfulness turning back to seriousness. “Yes, Mulder, I’ll be fine. I probably won’t stay awake for much longer anyway.”

He nods, shifting to take another step, but on looking at her again, changes his mind. He turns back, crossing the floor to her bed and leaning down to press a quick kiss to her cheek. The hand that isn’t busy holding his briefcase gives her left shoulder a squeeze before he pulls away.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promises, tucking her blankets back up to her chin.

She smiles, her eyelids already growing heavy. “I know you will.”

-.-.-

True to his word, Mulder makes a stop at his apartment to shower and change, trading out the books they’d already finished with new ones that she will probably roll her eyes at. He has to admit, he feels like a new person as he steps out of the shower. He needed that more than he thought he did. There was something to what Scully had said earlier, about feeling like yourself. It gave him an idea.

As much as he wants to get back to her, Mulder knows she’ll be out like a light for at least a few hours. He decides to make another stop before heading back to the hospital.

It’s still fairly early in the day when he knocks on the door and waits for a minute. He hears the shuffling sound of someone approaching on the other side before the door creaks open.

“Fox?”

“Hi Mrs. Scully,” he says, giving her an awkward half smile, his hands jammed deep into his front pockets.

“What are you doing here? Is it Dana?” The woman is understandably worried; it’s not like Mulder to show up out of the blue like this unless there’s some kind of terrible news to convey.

He is quick to reassure her. “No, no, nothing like that. I just had something I—I wanted to ask you, if it’s no trouble.”

Maggie’s brows pinch together in that distinctly Scully way as she pulls him into her home, shutting the door behind him.

“What is it?”

Sheepishly, Mulder rubs a hand over the back of his neck, feeling less and less certain of what he came here to ask.

“Well, it’s just—Dana mentioned something earlier about wishing she had her makeup on, and I wondered… You know, her strength isn’t what it usually is, so I thought maybe I could—”

Maggie’s hands wrap around his forearm, halting his rambling speech. He looks up to see tears glistening in her eyes, and she nods in understanding.

“That’s very sweet, Fox.”

He nods, hoping his cheeks aren’t turning pink. He doesn’t do well with motherly praise.

“So, are you wanting me to show you how?”

He lets out a breath, relieved that he doesn’t have to find the words himself. “That would be great, actually.”

Mrs. Scully smiles, jerking her head toward the stairs so that he would follow her. “Come with me, I’ve got some stuff we can use.”

He dutifully follows after her as she leads him up the stairs. This is the furthest he’s been inside Maggie Scully’s house. He wonders how much of her belongings are mementos from Scully’s childhood, whether a certain painting hanging on the wall appears in her family Christmas photos or if it was bought recently.

In his perusal of the house itself, he nearly collides with someone he knows by name only. “Mom, who was that at the door?” the man is asking, and the moment their eyes meet, the air in the room thickens. “What’s he doing here?” he demands, looking to Maggie for answers.

Maggie is quick to come to Mulder’s aid. “It’s none of your business, young man,” she says, shooing him toward the stairs they had just come up. Despite his protestations, she continues, “Why don’t you go to the drugstore and pick up some eyelash straightening cream for Dana, we can bring it to her when we go visit later this afternoon.”

“But—”

She swats him on the arm. “No buts. Dana would really appreciate it if we brought it.”

He grumbles all the way down the stairs, but does as she told him. As soon as he’s grabbed his jacket from the coat closet, he’s out the door and starting up the car.

“What was that for?” Mulder asks, breaking the silence that had settled after the front door shut.

Maggie gives a pleased little smile. “There’s no such thing as eyelash straightening cream. Bill will be there for thirty minutes at least. As I’m sure you can imagine, knowing my daughter as you do, he doesn’t like asking for assistance if he can help it.”

Mulder lets out a surprised laugh. This woman runs a tight ship, and he has to respect her for it.

“Alright, now sit right here, Fox,” Mrs. Scully orders, pulling out a small stool from the vanity in her bathroom. She quickly leaves and returns with another chair from the bedroom, placing it across from him. She hums quietly as she rummages through her drawers, extracting several mystifying objects and setting them on the counter. “Now, let’s start with the foundation. I’ll show you how, and then you can do the other side of my face, sound good?”

Mulder nods, sitting up straighter to watch as she blends the creamy substance onto her skin. She’s narrating as she goes, and Mulder commits her words to memory, hoping his ability to replicate them will be as good as his ability to remember her instructions.

“Here, now you try,” Mrs. Scully says next, handing the brush to Mulder. He pushes aside any lingering feelings of awkwardness or embarrassment and sets in on applying the makeup. Maggie’s lips curl in a smile as she watches him, tapping ever so gently on her face as if he might break her. She wonders if he’s done this before. “You’re a natural,” she praises, “Are you sure this is your first time?”

He lets out a breath of laughter, shaking his head. “I’m no expert,” he answers. He’s silent for a moment, not breaking concentration, and then adds in a quiet voice, “My sister had this play makeup set, real cheap quality stuff. She’d sometimes force me to be her test subject.” His eyes grow distant as he remembers.

It wasn’t all that long before her abduction, he thinks, the last time they did this. It always went the same way. He’d sit patiently—or as patiently as an eleven- or twelve-year-old boy could—while she clumsily dabbed colorful eyeshadow onto his eyelids. He’d learned early on that it was better to just go along with it, having suffered the wrath of Samantha Mulder once before for refusing to be her dress-up doll. The makeup rarely stayed on for more than a minute after she declared him done, scrubbed off like some kind of deadly germ in the sink, but it was enough to appease her.

When she was finished, she’d beg him to help her with her makeup, putting that pouty lip out that she knew he couldn’t say no to.

“Stop blinking, Sam,” he’d say, focusing intently on brushing on the mascara she’d stolen from her mom’s makeup bag. “You’re gonna mess it up.”

He remembers these times fondly, of rare moments where he managed to be a good big brother, instead of pretending to be annoyed by her like he often did. He’d give anything to be teased by his peers for spending time with his kid sister, if it meant having her back.

With the utmost care, Mrs. Scully walks him through the remaining steps, patting him gently on the cheek once he’s put on the finishing touches.

“You’re a good man, Fox,” she says, her fondness for him evident in her smile. “Dana is lucky to have you.”

Once again, Mulder shrugs, uncomfortable with the compliments, no matter how sincere they are. “I’m the lucky one, Mrs. Scully.” He thinks he’s never meant something more in his life. “But I appreciate you saying so. Thanks again for showing me everything.”

She pulls him into a hug. “Of course, you call me if you ever need anything. We’ll be by sometime this afternoon.”

He nods, and is thankfully out the door with time to spare before Bill can get home.

After a brief visit to Scully’s apartment to grab some of her things, he drives back to the hospital. When he arrives, Scully is awake in her bed, her upper body elevated so she can look out the window. She greets him with a warm smile, and he can’t help but grin back.

“Sorry I took so long,” he says in apology, “Had to make a quick pit stop.”

This catches Scully’s attention, and she watches as he produces a bag from behind his back, setting it on the tray table in front of her and starting to take items out. She recognizes it immediately, and looks up at him in wonder.

“Mulder,” she says, her tone jokingly admonishing. “You didn’t have to bring me this.” She’s smiling still as she starts to sit up, reaching out to grab a tube of lipstick, but he stops her.

“No, no,” he says, gently lowering her hand back down to the table and urging her to sit back and relax. “You take it easy, I’ll take care of this.”

She gives him a look with a furrowed brow, but eases back, watching him suspiciously as he selects a bottle of liquid foundation and a brush.

He sits sideways on her hospital bed so that he is facing her. With the limited space, his thigh brushes up against her blanket-covered one, but it barely even registers. This kind of closeness is nothing particularly unusual for them. If nothing else, it is an added comfort to them both.

“You ready?” he asks, makeup brush poised to start.

Scully searches his eyes for a moment and, deciding she trusts him, gives a nod. “Okay.”

With a pleased little smile, Mulder begins applying a light layer of foundation, leaning in closer to reach as he gently blends it into her skin.

Scully can only watch him, his brows drawn together in focus as he works to meticulously apply the makeup. Her eyes wander over his face, over the sharp lines of his nose and the roundness of his lips. Occasionally his tongue peeks out in concentration, and she can’t help but fall a little more in love with him.

She didn’t ask him to do this. If he thought her needless grousing earlier was a request, she felt terrible. He isn’t her servant. He doesn’t exist to make sure she has all the niceties of her normal life in this cold, sterile place. The last thing she wants is to be a burden, especially to him. He’s had enough to deal with in his life without having to look after his terminally ill coworker.

But that isn’t all they are, is it? They’re friends—the closest of friends. This isn’t the first time he’s gone out of his way to do something nice for her, and she suspects it won’t be the last, no matter how little time she has left. For some reason, he’s taken it upon himself to be with her throughout this whole ordeal, even when it means holding back her hair as she heaves into a trash can or when she can’t adjust the covers over her cold feet.

The words jump into her mind unbidden: “In sickness and in health.”

It’s funny, in a distinctly unfunny way. She supposes she should be thankful that someone cares enough for her in that way, even if they are nothing more than friends and coworkers. In some ways, their partnership is more of a marriage than many people will experience in their lifetimes, and for that she is exceedingly glad. She couldn’t have asked for a better person to have in her life than Mulder.

He’s moved on now to powdering her skin with translucent powder, beginning with her forehead. As he brings the soft brush down between her eyebrows, she scrunches her nose up, hiding a smirk from him. His sloping green eyes soften from their earlier focus and he lets out a chuckle, playfully tickling her nose with the brush.

“You’re not gonna sneeze on me, are ya?” he asks, getting back to work on her cheeks and chin.

Her only answer is a quiet, affectionate smile.

After a careful application of blush on the apples of her cheeks, it’s time for her eyes. She watches him open her eyeshadow palette and rub a brush over one of the colors, and she quirks an eyebrow in concern. As he brings the small brush closer to her face, she draws back and looks at him doubtfully.

“Don’t put too much on,” she says, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

Mulder rolls his eyes. “Relax, Scully, I got you.” He starts in again, shifting a few times to find the best angle before gently brushing over her eyelids in an arc.

“I like the brown color,” Scully informs him, her eyes fluttering in an effort to stay closed.

“I know,” Mulder answers. He pulls back just long enough to show her the tip of the brush, which is covered in a tasteful brown, exactly the right shade.

Before she has time to process that he knows what color eyeshadow she likes, she’s being told to close her eyes again and she complies, soaking in the feeling of being taken care of in such an intimate way.

“How did you know what eyeshadow I wear, Mulder?” she asks during a moment’s respite, while he returns the brush to the palette to pick up more of the colorful powder.

Now it’s his turn to glance at her disbelievingly. “I look at you every day,” he answers, as if it were obvious.

She takes in a breath, willing her heart to start beating normally again. The look on his face makes it clear that he’s laughing at her, amused by her lack of self-awareness in this respect.

“And…” he adds amusedly, “this one has clearly been used more than the others.”

Of course, she laughs to herself. There’s no way he was looking at her close enough to guess what shade of eyeshadow she wears. Although his perception of the finer details is greater than that of the average man. He has his Oxford education and eidetic memory to thank for that.

“Who knew a background in profiling could come in handy as a makeup artist?” she says as he finishes blending out the color.

“It was actually one of the main selling points when the FBI recruited me,” he deadpans, enjoying the banter. He could almost forget why she wasn’t able to do her own makeup.

The mascara comes out next, and it requires Mulder to encroach on her personal space even further, to the point where she can feel his breath on her face. He smells of peppermint toothpaste and hazelnut coffee, and she even catches the scent of his shower gel, like fresh rain water. All of this she counts as a marked improvement to the antiseptic smell of the hospital. It smells like their office. It smells like home.

When he’s done all he can to her eyelashes with her eyes closed, he asks her to open them so he can give them the finishing touches. Her eyes flutter open, and she is mildly startled to find him hovering only inches away.

“Do you have to be that close to my face, Mulder?” she asks, carefully hiding her nervousness behind a laugh.

Mulder chuckles and goes back to work, gingerly running the brush over her lashes. “That depends, do you want to be poked in the eye, Scully?”

Resigned to their positioning, she fights the urge cup his elbow with her hand, steadying him as he completes arguably the most delicate part of this routine.

“There,” he says, leaning back at last. “I think that about does it. Except—”

He pauses, reaching onto the tray table to grab the lipstick she’d picked up earlier.

“I knew I was forgetting something.” Before she can prepare herself, he’s removing the lid from the tube and drawing closer again, his hand finding its way to the back of her head to hold her still. She hardly dares to breathe, feeling his fingers threading through her hair as he carefully runs the tip of the lipstick over her lips, depositing the bright color on their surface.

She looks more alive than she has in a while, even if it is a false image.

She wants to avoid eye contact, being this close, with him doing this thing for her, but she can’t. Her eyes are locked on his as they focus intently on keeping the color within the lines of her plump lips. A few times, his eyes flick up to hers, and she catches the way the corners of his mouth quirk up when they do. She wonders what he’s thinking.

In no time at all, it’s done. Every last detail has been tended to, and he pulls back to survey his work. The hand that was resting on the back of her head drags forward along her jawline, and ever so lightly, his thumb comes to rest over her newly-painted bottom lip.

“There’s my Scully,” he says quietly. Proudly.

She feels the tears pooling in her eyes, but there’s nothing she can do about it. He, thankfully, doesn’t mention it.

“Can I see?” she asks, her voice managing not to waver too badly.

He smiles and nods, reaching for a handheld mirror and holding it out to her.

She’s not sure what she was expecting—clown makeup, maybe—but that’s not what she sees at all.

“Oh, Mulder…” She’s finding it very difficult to withhold the tears that are trying to escape. “You—you did a great job.”

Aside from perhaps just a little too much blush, everything is as it should be. She looks healthier, more confident. Her makeup is a mask. It is comforting to her, makes her feel like she can face whatever it is that lies before her. Mulder has always been able to see past that mask, and if it were anyone else, it might bother her. But not him.

“You didn’t cover my mole,” she says, reaching up to touch the offending spot beneath her nose.

Mulder takes her hand and pulls it away from her face. “Cause it’s cute,” he answers simply, smiling at her almost reverently.

She’s surely blushing now.

“How do you feel?” he asks. What a loaded question that is.

She tilts her head, surveying the surface of her face from every angle in an effort to stall long enough to regain her composure. It’s a placebo, she knows, but she feels reinvigorated. Ready to fight another day.

“It’s been a while since I’ve felt like myself,” she answers, her voice thick with emotion. “I… I look beautiful.”

He nods, an unnamable look in his eye, and she swears she hears a mumbled, “You’re always…” before he trails off, dropping his gaze to his lap. He subconsciously squeezes her hand once before letting it go, instead occupying his hands with putting everything away.

“You really did do a good job, Mulder,” Scully speaks after the somewhat awkward silence had persisted long enough. “Have you done this before?”

With a zip of her makeup bag, Mulder looks up at her with squinted, suspicious eyes and jokes back, “What me and the Lone Gunmen do on our boy’s nights is none of your business.”

Scully laughs, amused by the imagery that conjures. Never one to be thrown off, however, she persists. “Well, someone must have taught you,” she declares, raising an eyebrow in his direction. “Who was it?”

She gets a devious look in return. “I’ll never tell.”

-.-.-

As Bill pulls into the driveway after his wild-goose-chase trip to the drugstore (“You made me look like a fool, Mom!”), Margaret Scully greets him, sliding into the passenger seat with a bag full of goodies for her daughter.

He seems to finally be getting over his mother’s betrayal by the time they arrive at the hospital. They walk in, accepting visitor’s badges which they stick on their shirts before taking the elevator up to the oncology ward.

Bill’s admonishing tirade, which had persisted throughout most of the car ride, lingers on between intervening silences as they make their way down the hall. Once they approach Dana’s room, however, Maggie shushes him, holding out an arm to stop him.

Through the window, she sees Mulder setting a tube of mascara aside and exchanging it for lipstick. Bill’s curiosity gets the best of him, and he leans over his mother’s head to see for himself what it was that made his mother pause.

“Let’s give them some privacy,” she says, putting a guiding hand on her oldest son’s arm.

Inside the room, Mulder pulls back, and Bill can see even from this angle how his cheeks widen in a smile. His sister looks like herself again, and he doesn’t miss the shine of tears in her eyes, or the wobbling smile on her lips. Since they were children, he has kept a careful eye on her, monitoring her emotions, the protective big brother that he is.

And that’s why now, he understands. He hadn’t realized before, his own fault for not wanting to believe it.

His sister isn’t being dragged through hell by a sadistic partner, bent on destroying her life and everything she holds dear in one fell swoop. No. The truth is that she does it willingly, walks by his side through even the darkest shadows.

Because Dana is in love with her partner.

And he is undeniably in love with her.

The pieces slowly come together in his mind, everything he knows about Fox Mulder. His mother must have seen it long ago, hence her willingness to help him this morning. And he would have stood in the way.

The thought fills him with shame.

Mulder’s love for Dana goes so far beyond what Bill himself knows about love, that he had almost missed it entirely. What a blessing it is for his sister to experience it, for however brief a time.

With one final glance into the hospital room, Bill allows himself to be pulled away and toward the cafeteria.

“You see now, don’t you, Bill?” his mother asks as they walk, her eyes looking to him hopefully.

He nods, feeling his throat close up with unexpected emotion.

“Yes,” he answers. “I do.”

-.-.-

An hour into Mulder’s in-depth explanation (and diagramming) of the anatomy of dinanthropoides magnipus, otherwise known as “sasquatch” or Bigfoot, someone gently taps on the door.

“Come in!” Scully calls out, thankful for the reprieve.

“I hope we’re not interrupting…” Margaret Scully says as she enters, followed closely behind by Scully’s brother.

Mulder scoots back in his chair, shuffling the papers he’d strewn about and trying his best to fade into the background to provide them some privacy.

“Not at all,” Scully says, and she’s sounding better already than she has since they’d gotten here. “I’m glad you came by. Bill, I didn’t know you were in town.”

Bill clears his throat and steps forward, looking a little uncomfortable but otherwise happy to see his sister.

“I had a few days’ leave. Tara and I decided to make a weekend of it.”

Scully nods and looks between her brother and Mulder, realizing they’d never actually been properly introduced. She hopes they’ll both behave. Lord knows she’s told Mulder enough about Bill over the years, and she’s very familiar with her brother’s opinions about her partner.

She coughs. “Oh, uh, Mulder, this is my brother, Bill. Bill, this is Mulder.”

The two exchange an odd look before Mulder stands, and Bill meets him in the middle with a firm yet friendly handshake.

“Nice to meet you, Mulder,” Bill says with a pointed look, not at all unfriendly.

Mulder nods with a funny half smile. “Likewise.”

There’s another look exchanged briefly before they let go, returning to their respective awkward stances.

“We wanted to bring you some new magazines,” Maggie speaks, carrying a tote bag over to Scully’s bedside. “And Tara sent us with some crayons and coloring pages, in case either of you gets bored.”

Scully smiles, her fingers dragging the corner of Mulder’s silly sasquatch diagram out from its hiding place under a stack of other papers.

“I’m sure Mulder will appreciate being able to enlighten me on the specific coloring of Bigfoot’s spleen,” she says teasingly, and Mulder briefly wishes he could disappear, fearing the look on Bill’s face.

When he looks up though, both son and mother are smiling in amusement, not a hint of malice on Bill’s face.

Maggie leans in to place a kiss on Scully’s cheek, holding her daughter’s hand in hers.

“You’re looking like you feel a bit better,” she says as she pulls away, brushing her fingers over her brow and pushing back a lock of hair. “Lovely makeup, too.”

 With these last words, she looks to Mulder and—discretely—winks.

“Doesn’t she look beautiful, Fox?” Maggie asks, goading him knowingly.

He rises to the challenge, his eyes finding Scully’s and holding.

“Beautiful as always.”

-.-.-

The TikTok video that inspired this made me sob uncontrollably, so I hope I captured some of those same emotions here. I beg you to go watch the video too, but have tissues at the ready. It seriously hasn't left my mind since I saw it the other day. I hope we all have the chance to find a love like that in this lifetime.

Tagging some people: @today-in-fic @teenie-xf @cutemothman @queenlovett @tygertygerfoggybright @baronessblixen

If you ever don't want to be tagged by me, just let me know! You won't hurt my feelings. Alternatively, if you want to be tagged if/when I write more X-Files fics, let me know and I'll make a list!

[anotherghoul666]

Oh no :( sleep token seems to have awoken something else in me. What is it about watching masked, menacing figures appreciate each other on stage that’s so addictive? Gahhh

So I'm pretty sure this was a thirst ask which, so valid anon, my own thirst for Vessel has hit me like a truck, and I could leave it at that or answer with a joke, but! I am me, I over-analyze and over-intellectualize shit, and you asked what it was about him that's addictive, so here we are. On today's episode of "AnotherGhoul takes a simple asks and turns it into a whole damn essay": masks, monsterfucking and stage personas, or why Vessel from Sleep Token is hot (with a nod to Ghost). For me*. I'll add, why he captivates me*, because everyone's thought process and erotic sources are different, but maybe you'll recognize yourself in something I describe here! Under a read more because I went WAY OVERBOARD WITH THIS XD

Option 1: the mask kink So, I've had a mask kink for a long time. I've had a name for it for maybe a decade. I got to wear my first full masks in an arousal context maybe around 2014-2015. I acquired my first mask in 2019 for play. I jumped in the puddle with both feet within the past two years or so in terms of wearing masks and making people wear masks. But I can also remember early memories when I was a kid of being very very very drawn to masked characters in cartoons or video games, so I'd say my propensity for them has been there for the vast majority of my life.

Masks do it for me because I highly eroticize the removal of human features or aspects. I find the consensual removal, or giving up, of humanity extremely exciting. Think, removal of speech through a gag or a simple rule, so that one of the main things that make us human, language, cannot be used during play. Or objectification, where a human would be made into an object consensually, or treated like one, be it playing a chair, a foot rest, a table, a decoration, a sex toy, etc. I enjoy the idea of a human, with its dignity and morals, consenting to being used like a mere disposable piece of plastic. The removal, blurring or limitation of core human features turns me on.

So it's easy to see why masks in general do it for me. It erases the human facial features, or replaces them with artificial features, to different degrees depending on which mask is chosen. It makes someone look less human. It separates the human from the object. Inside a mask, any micro-expressions you make don't matter. You may make a face or try to signal an emotion but that's not gonna translate. You cannot appeal to anyone's empathy from within a mask. From the outside, all the other person sees is the flat planes of the mask that don't move or change or adjust with the wearer's emotions. There is no expectation of being able to "read" a face when it's masked. No pressure to figure out the right expression and meaning. Which is probably comforting for me in terms of my neurodivergence and my difficulty with reading facial expressions in the first place. The mask doesn't move. There's nothing to read.

Now, I also know, for neurotypical people specifically, apparently masks are super hot because of the accent on the eyes. Your typical mask will have lessened facial features but slits or openings for the eyes, so the person inside can see. Naturally your gaze will glide on the featureless face and find the eyes. For NTs, whose brains are made to read people's eyes, "the eyes are the window to the soul" and all that jazz, eyes are often a person's most attractive feature. A mask accentuates someone's strongest and most unique trait. I don't subscribe to that. I prefer masks to dehumanize, not draw attention to the humanity under. The masks I find the hottest will have very little sight possible inside (added sensory play aspect here) and from the outside, covered eyes or weird eyes, as long as I don't get to see much of the wearer's eyes, it gets bonus points.

Which leads me to Vessel's mask. Inhuman face shape, check. No mouth (assumed no speech), check. No nose, check. In this case there are eyes, but there are six, not two, which I find very hot because of the monster aspect I'll speak about later, but also, they're covered inside. There's a mesh inside that allows him to see out, but we can't see in. So, no eyes, check. There is nothing for me to grasp there, nothing for me to read. My eyes glide and slide over the smooth surface of the mask with nowhere to grab onto. It's an endless search, so my brain can stop searching for clues, and that's relaxing. He could smile, he could be furious, he could cry, he could be uninterested, I'd never know. All I see is a mysterious face, the erotic appeal of anonymity on full display, the lack of humanity, the removed features. It's a 10/10 mask for me. (I like his stage mask less because of the cut out mouth, but I understand 100% the need for his mouth to be uncovered and unrestrained because the man has PIPES and he couldn't sing to the full extend of his abilities while hindered.)

(All of this applies to the Ghost masks too. Imma dip into Ghost because this remains a Ghost-centric blog. But like, the masks are a huge part of why I write what I write, and why I find the ghouls so hot. The shiny, smooth surface of the masks. The replacement of all the musician's unique features for an ensemble of pre-determined uniform fake features. The lack of individuality. The lack of names. The dehumanization. Some masks show more eyes than others, some masks have more mouth space or show nose more than others, but all the eras still appeals to a degree.)

Option 2: teratophilia Another thing I eroticize a lot is monsters / inhuman monstrous creatures. That would be known as teratophilia, the sexual attraction to monsters, or monsterfucking as it's been popularized online. It can also cross over with exophilia, the sexual attraction to alien or extraterrestrial creatures, for some people. Basically, non-human weird creatures are hot. This is not a new concept at all, look at any historical mythology, people were down to fuck monsters thousands of years ago. It exploded in popularity on the internet within the last decade or so (tho it's been around since the creation of the web), with big movies like The Shape of Water or Marvel's Venom that spawned basically a tsunami of terato online, and the internet was never the same, for the viewing pleasure of us monsterfuckers. (*important note to please Harkness Test all your monsters before moving forward with the monsterfucking. If that test is news to you, please research it first.)

Monstrous, inhuman creatures are hot to me, similarly to masks, because of the removal of the human experience and aspects. Monsters, weirdly enough, are safer than humans. Monsters tend to be direct and instinctual creatures. A monster's level of danger or threat is readily visible and apparant. They may have fangs or claws or be huge or more powerful than a human, that shit tends to be obvious. I can deal with obvious danger. I may even eroticize said obvious danger. A human's level of danger is very difficult to determine. Humans know how to lie, they can manipulate and deceit, they can hide, their form doesn't betray immediate threat like a monster's form does, and so, humans feel unsafe. I'll take a direct, transparent danger over a hidden threat I might never notice any day.

Monsters also tend to not understand or value human concepts. They exist outside of human constructs and that has immense appeal to me. I can't imagine a monster giving much of a fuck about social constructs like gender or the binary; a monster's not gonna assume things about you and force you into boxes based on how you look; a monster's most likely not gonna give a fuck about neurodivergences or about your mental health status, positive or negative; a monster's not gonna give a fuck about physical health or disability. That's the core appeal, for example, of The Shape Of Water and why it made such a big splash in the terato community and converted lots of people over: the human lead character is mute, and a core part of her romance with the amphibian monster in the film is that it loves her for her. It doesn't know she's even disabled, because how would he know that humans talk and "need" a voice to be socially accepted. We shouldn't need a voice, or any other "default" capability to fit in. Everyone should be valued equally, yet in human society we are not, abelism is an unfortunately reality, but in the eyes of a non-human creature, all these social standards are meaningless. Monsters are a door to radical acceptance.

Which, once again, leads me back to Vessel. So, in the lore of the band, and I quote, "Sleep Token are a masked, anonymous collective of musicians united by their worship of an ancient deity crudely dubbed 'Sleep', since no modern tongue can properly express its name. This being once held great power, bestowing ancient civilizations with the gift of dreams, and the curse of nightmares." Now, immediately that makes my brain jump to Lovecraftian horror, the Chtulu mythos, eldritch horror, etc. It conjures images of an immemorial creature with powers far beyond the human brain's conceptualization capabilities, a deity of a thousand eyes and mouths and pure darkness and tentacles, a creature that would corrupt the feeble human mind on first sight and break our psyche to fragments with a blink. This? This is the shit for me. That's my kryptonite. I adore eldritch horror (while being conscious of the extreme ethical and moral problems in the source material, yes I know Lovecraft was a racist piece of shit, I hate it too). Tentacles are deeply, deeply ingrained in my brain and DNA as pure arousal triggers (thank you, random hentai videos from the early 2000s). So like. What more do I need. I'm already in love. Vessel. He's a vessel. He channels this Sleep deity. He receives. He takes in this deity, its unconceivable power. A vessel, the term by itself, the concept by itself, is erotic. A vessel is useless unless filled. It's made to be filled. To receive. To carry. To hold. A vessel can only take. A vessel is always open and ready. A vessel may overflow and make a mess. A vessel is an object. A vessel is intrinsically feminine. So what can Sleep's Vessel do. What power would he hold within, what has he received. With his faceless face and his blackened body, remains of a human, overtaken by a cosmic monster of Sleep and dreams. Made to worship. He dedicates his life to worship. Active worship of ink and voice and energy on stage. Vessel receives and holds. What could be give. Of course I'm gonna think of tentacles and monstrous, unavoidable, mind corrupting sex. It's like, right there. It's in the name. It's in the deep marine biology theme of This Place Will Become Your Tomb. Fall For Me? Please, you give me this visual and this command? I'll fall.

(This also applies to Ghost. The entire "the ghouls are demons" vibe the fandom has given them is in huge part why I'm so attracted to them and write them in erotic scenarios. They are not human. They're demons. They're creatures from hell. I love to play with their lack of understanding of the human form and human social norms in my fics. They don't understand rejection, so they may not reject based on human constructs. They have powers tied to the elements and the void and hell mythology that makes them strong and scary. They have the fangs and claws and horns and devil tails; they can shift their shape and look more demonic with crazy tongues and wings and hands and feet. Nothing about the ghouls is human beyond the general shape of their flesh and that's pure seduction for me.)

Option 3: stage presence Anonymity is a weird beast that radically changes how a person acts and feels. Anonymity allows for a process called disinhibition, where a human's natural behavior inhibitors (eye contact, to read someone's expression, fear of being judged, fear of being seen, fear of getting caught, discomfort with pain, etc.) are diminished or nullified. We all knows disinhibition very well, because we experience it online every day. It's what allows us on tumblr to be thirsty motherfuckers this openly, while we likely wouldn't be as horny on main in person with other people. It's what allows trolls to thrive and cause harm; allows people to send mean asks or comments without feeling bad about it. Through anonymity online, we're allowed to post whatever we want, and not face the consequences of having someone's eyes directly on us, of being observed, of seeing the hurt we may cause on someone's face. If we make someone cry online, we likely will never know and we'll never see the tears, for example, and tears are an evolutionary tool to show emotion and discourage an attacker from causing further harm through a presumed level of empathy. When anonymous, you are invulnerable. Unreachable. You are the ether. You are the void. You are formless. You have no weakness. Nothing can get to you. Anonymity is power. You cannot be judged, for who can prove that it was you. To be anonymous is to be free.

History is chock full of the use of anonymity and masks to justify a change in behavior. Just think back to masquerades or carnivals. Events that often devolved into pure debauchery, because when masked, you could do anything you truly wanted. You could have sex and act wanton, you could drink and overindulge, you could party and be open about who you are inside, because nobody knows it's you, and nobody will know come morning. Masks were a key to freedom, a class eraser, a way for different classes to mingle without consequence. To wear a mask changes how you act. Once protected, once hidden, once safe, a person will act according to their true desires and whims. Masks allow us to be unhinged. And that's what happens on stage with masked performers.

In the mask, Vessel can act as unhinged and inhuman as he wants. He can let music consume him, make him move weirdly, erratically, dance around and contort himself like he does on stage, because it's not him doing it. Whoever is inside the mask (and no, I don't want to know. For now at least.), on stage it's not him. It's Vessel. And Vessel is a conduit for the music and the god. That's why he moves so strangely. Why he's so "creature". He doesn't have to be a human on stage, he's in the mask, in the paint, in the costume, nobody can ever hold anything he does up there against him, nobody knows who he is. The freedom he must feel. That's also why he can feel up on his band mates like he does. He touches them, encircles them, gyrates and grinds against them, appreciates them as you say, because he's not himself, and they're not themselves. This is all fine to do, because it's Vessel and the numbers, it's the characters. He feels his music, and his music is sex. It's so fucking sexy. His voice, the bass, the drones, Sleep Token is incredibly erotically charged music, like music with heavy themes of worship and power and surrender tends to be. Vessel sings lyrics of obsessive love and devotion, of violence, of consumming each other. He feels himself. His bandmates feel themselves. They feel each other. There's so much tension in their stage antics. They sing of sex: "Oh, and my love Did I mistake you for a sign from God Or are you really here to cut me off? Or maybe just to turn me on Cause these days I would be lying if I told you that I didn't wish that I could be your man Or maybe make a good girl bad" Why not act like it.

(I guarantee the anonymity disinhibition is what happens to the Ghost ghouls too. Not that they're anonymous anymore, and they know that, but on stage, in the moment, the disconnect between who they are as a person and who their stage personas are in Ghost is visible to the naked eye. Yes there are tells with how they move, but in Ghost it's like everything is turned up to 11 on the intensity dial. Because they're not *them*, they're the ghouls, so they can have more fun, be more free, more unhinged. They're more silly, they make more jokes, they fuck around with each other more than any of them does in their "real" unmasked bands. The ghoul personas allow them to be a magnified version of themselves, because it's not them, they're behind masks, they can sell the sex more, the tension, they can go theatrical with the jokes, it's characters doing it, not the musicians. I saw Per Eriksson live with Blootbath, I saw him with Ghost. Are there tells it's the same guy? Sure. Did I ever see Per lick his guitar picks and mime jacking off on his audience in Blootbath? No. Would the guy think of doing that shit in his "real" life? I'm sure. Dude's got "Sodomizer" tattooed across his stomach, I bet he goes ham on the sex jokes. But like. Unmasked in person, he's more soft spoken, he's more shy, even on stage, in the absolute blistering agfression of Blootbath's music, covered in fake blood, he still holds back the jokes and the sex. That's allowed for his Ghost character, but not for Per Eriksson the guitarist.)

Option 4: all of the above For me it's the combo. Inhuman masked face + monster undertones + anonymity disinhibition = arousal trigger / fascination for a character.

tl;dr: enjoy Vessel, enjoy the guys appreciating each other, thirst over them, it's all great, as long as you Worship and ideally support them (within your means) with streams or merch or concert tickets if they have earned it in your mind.

[meownotgood]

Do you think you’ll ever grow out of your Aki phase

never

[kaitovsheiji]

Chapters: 5/5 Fandom: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia (Anime & Manga) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic Characters: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic Additional Tags: Arranged Marriage, Historical, Pining, In Vino Veritas, Drinking Games, Love Confessions, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Friends to Lovers, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead is Shinsou Hitoshi's Uncle, Minor Character Death, Parental Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic is Eri's Parent, Single Parents, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Paranormal Liberation War Arc (My Hero Academia) Series: Part 3 of KvH's Tropetember 2023 bullshit Summaries for the new chapters:

Chapter 4: Fusion (Blended (2014)) / Single Parents AU / Blind Dates Aizawa thought that taking his kid for a short vacation before the beginning of the school year would help both of them relax and hopefully face the new year with a positive attitude. If only he weren't there too. Chapter 5: Whump / Hurt/Comfort / Canon Coda (Post Paranormal Liberation Arc) Taking this life would be so easy. Yamada wouldn’t even feel bad about it afterward…

Written for @tropetember 2023 for the correspondent tags mentioned above!

[cdreambur]

dreambur are so whipped for each other in this fic i'm writing right now

[aceredshirt13]

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: 名探偵ホームズ | Sherlock Hound, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms

Rating: General Audiences 

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply 

Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson 

Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mrs. Hudson (Sherlock Holmes), Lucy Munro (Sherlock Holmes), Polly (Sherlock Hound), James Moriarty, Smiley (Sherlock Hound), Todd | George (Sherlock Hound), Lestrade (Sherlock Holmes)

Additional Tags: very loosely inspired by, Story: The Adventure of the Yellow Face, Book: The Hound of the Baskervilles, Post-Apocalypse, but it was a massively long time ago, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Adoption, Found Family, my Sherlock Hound watch party group chat saw the episodes with the Mona Lisa and the angel statue, and we went mad from the implications, this is the result, what if you: wanted to write a short and sweet oneshot for Holmestice, but God said: sorry did you mean 8.5k of dog furries?, i think this fic legally qualifies as an isekai 

Summary:

When a client tells Hound and Watson about sightings of a frightening yellow beast dwelling amidst the rural fog, they are prepared for everything from an elaborate hoax to one of Moriarty’s nefarious schemes.

They are not prepared for the child.

----

My Holmestice Winter 2023 gift for oui_oui! Enjoy your holidays!

[kittykatkatelol]

i can't say shit bc then I'll spoil it but damn this fluff is hitting :3

[arcane-vagabond]

I'd like to apologize for this chapter now because I'm 3,000 words in and we have still yet to meet Tyler. If this were OG fiction, we'd meet him in Chapter Two, but since this is fanfic, and I know what y'all are here for, you'll meet him this chapter, don't worry.

[withleeknow]

if i go crazy enough at work today i might finish this seungmin fic

[ambrosiagourmet]

#something i've been chewing on lately#is this question of 'what did Kabru sacrifice in the end?'#'what did he let go of?'#compared to what laios and marcille lost it feels like so little but i know i'm missing something#maybe it's just the scales balancing out - why should the boy from utaya have to lose anything else?#a subversion of the tragic figure who sacrifices themself so no one else has to go thru what they did. a 'what if /they/ got to heal too?'#maybe it's this. his control of the narrative. his abnegation. his canary-style training and its rotten principles.#food for thought#(heh. food.) (via @yuri-puppies)

VERY INTERESTING THOUGHTS.

I'll say first of all that I do slightly disagree with the idea that Dungeon Meshi would have like scales/universal balance... I feel like it resists the idea of universal justice the same way that it resists the idea of anthropomorphizing animals instead of loving them as animals. I think Falin is saved not because people have sacrificed and earned a happy ending, but because people come together as a community and CHOOSE to be there for her. It's a very "If you choose to care, then the universe cares" kind of story to me (thank u Fantasy High for putting it into such good words).

Not to say that's entirely what you are saying, but I just want to establish that as the viewpoint I'm working from.

So, from there, the first thing I want to say is that I have always viewed Kabru's first fall as a very real death for him. He survives, but it's a turning point - everything after that is the afterlife of how Kabru believed his life would go. He was always willing to die for his beliefs. He's always been weighed down by the need for his survival to have a purpose, and I think in some ways probably views himself as already dead in a way - everything since Utaya exists not as a life, but as a mission.

And then he dies. Not really, but narratively. He dies, and he keeps living. The story even slows down to kind of just be about that living, in many ways, for a bit. 61 & 62 have a lot of important information, but in terms of the present tense of the story, they are about the mechanics of living. The same mechanics of living (and eating) that we've seen explored for the main party throughout the whole story, but that Kabru hasn't been willing to engage with.

He then gets to (what I view as) the climax of his arc: telling Laios he wants to he his friend. Kabru fails to articulate the big picture his life has been dedicated to, and instead reaches out with something personal, vulnerable, and selfish. It is a desire born not out of guilt, but one that arose from the life that Kabru doesn't even fully allow himself to live.

As I noted in the original post, he then lets Laios carry on the story in his place - surrendering control, this time, instead of sacrificing himself.

BUT. THE INTERESTING THING IS. HE ALSO BACKSLIDES AFTER THAT.

The most explicit Survivor's Guilt Kabru Panels happen after this personal climax and sacrifice of control.

And even after the crisis is resolved, he goes back to trying to control the narrative (and to control Laios, too), at least a little bit:

He even doubts himself and the very choices that led them to their happy ending (including his own choice to be selfish and to give up control to Laios).

This isn't to say that Kabru hasn't changed or grown at all, that's definitely not true. His speech to Mithrun is proof of that.

But this speech, importantly, isn't about things that have already changed. It's about things that can change. It is about choosing to carry on despite the sometimes imperceptibly slow progress of that change. After all, vegetable scraps can sprout again, but it won't be immediate, will it? You have to trust their potential before they show their growth, if they are ever going to get there.

This all to say... I think Kabru's story doesn't feel the same as Laios' and Marcille's because he's not at the same place as them.

After all, Marcille's growth through the story isn't just about what she gains and what she loses.

It's about what she learns to let go.

And letting go is hard for Kabru, but he's proven that he can, now. He's let go just a little bit, and he can do so again, just like Mithrun can find new desires. This growth, like hunger, is inevitable, so long as you make room for it.

I really like that his ending isn't as clean or conclusive as Laios and Marcille's. I think, much like Falin, actually, he comes out of the story not with a concluded arc, but with an opportunity - the chance to move forward and finally find himself. The chance to live.

This is just a smaller observation that will hopefully someday be part of a larger analysis on Kabru's view of Laios & how Laios impacts him...

But I think it really interesting that Kabru surrenders something for Laios twice, and that these moments are inversions of each other.

The first time, Kabru gives up his life to maintain his control. He changes the course of the entire story with this action, and is willing to die to achieve that. Kabru is (supposedly) entrusting the future to Laios, but he is still very much the primary actor in the overall narrative. He is still the one choosing what the story should be.

The second time, however, Kabru gives up his control to keep hold of something personal and selfish (in the way of dungeon meshi selfishness - it is a good thing to keep this desire. It small piece of what makes him a living creature). He steps aside to let Laios choose the way forward. He surrenders narrative agency for personal agency... not changing the story, but changing himself.

[ubeb0nes]

NSFW Sevika HCs

𖢻 ~ ~ ~ 𖢻

A/n: i haven't written any smut in god knows how long so pls go easy yall 😭

𖢻 ~ ~ ~ 𖢻

This is a dom

I love indulging in the bottom!sevika content when i come across it, it's beautiful, showstopping

But bby, you only get to do what she lets you do. Even when she's on bottom, you're never really the one in charge, no matter how you might try to convince yourself

She's a terrible tease, and has an absolutely filthy mouth. Loves watching your jaw drop slightly when she whispers things in public, and how you scramble to gather yourself

Her self-control and patience is absolutely insane. She's not one to jump your pants at the first tease you give her.

She'll let you have her fun, all while running the tip of her tongue across a canine and plotting her revenge

Gets a big head/ego if you call her mommy. Nearly loses her mind and reputation for restraint if you call her daddy

A lot of her turn-ons are things that aren't inherently sexual. I like to think she's attracted to both masc and fem-presenting people, and anything leaning deeper into these characteristics will get a rise out of her.

Ex.'s -> watching you put on makeup in the mornings, specifically lipstick/gloss. Conversely, how your thighs look and your face hardens when you manspread while striking a deal. When you look up at her and rest your hands on her chest. When you lean back and rest your arm over the back of her chair

Particularly masculine and particularly feminine things. She eats up both

Absolutely a bit of a sadist/madochist. We know this from the whole cait thing

She's obsessed with your mouth in particular. The marks you leave, the shapes it makes with certain sounds she pulls from you, how your lips wrap around her fingers when she teases your mouth open with them

She rarely ever has you on your back because she wants to watch your tongue loll and your eyes roll

Goes crazy for certain things you say when you start to reach melted brain levels of fucked out; "baby, it's too much…" "Sevi, i can't keep going" "no, baby, no more…" it's like a second wave. And, (always) only with your emphatic consent, she'll proceed to push your body even more

Her favorite position is missionary i'm sorry lmfao. Vanilla in theory, but definitely doesn't feel like it when she's slinging that shimmerstrap LOL

I HC she's generally pretty gentle with you, at least lovesick!sevika is. In the sense that she's not tossing you around or slapping your ass purple.

Rather, she'll wrap her hand around your throat but not really squeeze. And she'll push her fingers down your throat until you're teary-eyed, but she won't fuck your throat until it's raw and sore.

She prefers using her hands and her mouth, but her strap game is insane. That stroke would be hypnotic to watch.

Her eyes read clearly when it comes to intimacy. The way they darken and narrow when she's about to pounce on you, and how they always get so glossy and self-satisfied (if not a bit smug) as she watches you cum.

Her crows feet crease as she smiles down at you, whispering "good job, baby" and "there's my girl, you're okay. I've got you."

Always insists on taking care of you afterwards, but won't fight you on it if you flip it on her and make her lay back so you can clean her up

In fact, please do this. She'll think about it for weeks

Cuddles you afterward like she's trying to burrow in your skin. Can't get enough of the smell of you post-sex, burying her nose in your neck and your hair

Yeah, she's never sharing you. Everything about you is too precious, too hers.

She demands hickeys/lipstick marks on her chest- over her heart- because your claim over her deepens her own.

[icemankazansky]

A Simple Guide to Not Being Afraid to Write Comments to Fic You Read

I've seen a lot of posts about the current state of fanfiction comments. Writers, especially writers who have been in fandom for a decade or more, are frustrated by the lack of comments, and have noticed a definite decline in comments (and all other forms of reader interaction) in the past ten years or so. Many readers feel daunted by the expectation of leaving comments, afraid they'll do something wrong. As a fandom old maid, the latter confused me for a while, until I realized that most of the people who feel that way probably have not been taught this form of communication.

But your loving fandom elders are here for you. Come along as your auntie tumblr user icemankazansky makes this shit easy.

The easiest way to think of fanfiction comment etiquette is to compare it to something you likely already know: Gift Receiving Etiquette.

Fanfiction began as largely a gift economy. And a lot of it still is! You'll see authors participate in exchanges like Yuletide and Id Pro Quo; those are ficswaps in which authors write for a specific person to specific prompts. And even outside that, fanfiction is not written for money; authors write and post it simply for the joy of creation and community with fellow fans. Fic is posted free for anyone to enjoy. Is that not a gift?

So. When you as a reader finish the chapter or story you're reading and you are faced with the comment box, try to follow the same etiquette you would when receiving a gift. (And even if you didn't love this gift and it's not your favorite gift ever, we already know that it's more useful than the products from your cousin's MLM that they're passing off as gifts, because you read the story. At the very least, it entertained you for the time you took to read it.)

The big rule of gift receiving etiquette is not to insult the person who gave you the gift, either directly or indirectly. That's it. Full stop.

I've been seeing a lot of comments lately that are just along the lines of, "Thank you for writing this story and sharing it with us." A+, top of the class, full marks, you're doing amazing. If you don't feel comfortable commenting on the story itself, that is perfect feedback. And that's the most basic way you respond to a gift, yes? Thank you for the gift. Thank you for thinking of me. Thank you for sharing.

Does this rule mean that you cannot say anything at all that might be negative about anything? No, absolutely not. What you want to avoid is saying something that is, at its core, a negative evaluation of the author or their work. Let's do some examples.

Character A's obliviousness about Character B's MASSIVE crush on them made me so frustrated! I was tearing my hair out internally screaming, "JUST LET HIM LOVE YOU."

✔️ Excellent comment! You're allowed to have all sorts of feelings about things that happen in the story, and in fact authors LOVE to hear about any emotions they made you feel. Yes, frustration is not a positive emotion, but the thing you are expressing frustration about is not the author themselves or their shortcomings.

Contrast that to:

I was really frustrated that it took you so long to post this chapter. The cliffhanger at the end of the previous chapter had me tearing my hair out, and then you just left us hanging FOREVER!

❌ Nope! Here what you are expressing is frustration with the author and how fast they come out with new chapters. Imagine your sister buys you a gift for your birthday, but she isn't able to give it to you until the next week, and you respond with: "What took you so long?" I think Emily Post would frown on that.

Reframing

The way you say something and the point of view from which you give feedback can have a HUGE impact on the message you're sending. Let's take the last comment (the one about wanting an update) and see what happens when we reframe the same sentiment as a positive:

I was SO EXCITED to see that you updated this story! I have really been looking forward to seeing what happened after the cliffhanger in the last chapter.

✔️ Now it's not an insult. The author will be happy to know that you are happy to see new work from them.

This idea extends beyond the story itself: to the fandom, the characters, the pairing, the tropes, etc. Let's do some examples.

I looooove reading about these sexy boys SO IN LOVE even though the movie you're writing about is SOOOOO problematic.

❌ Nope! Assume that the author enjoys the canon, characters, pairing, etc. in the stories they write. This comment is insulting to the author because it basically says, "That thing you love is not great, and you should probably feel bad for liking it." Imagine your aunt gifts you a sweater from a popular retailer, and you respond with, "This is so cute, I love it! It's a shame that it was made in a sweatshop." Do you have a valid point about the canon or the retailer's business practices? You very well might. Is this the proper time and place to talk about it? Absolutely not.

Let's do a reframing exercise. You should be very careful about how you approach commenting negatively on anything in the story that appears in the tags list, but you can make it a compliment and good feedback if you have the right perspective. See the difference with these two approaches:

I kind of think frottage is disgusting, but I liked it in this story.

❌ Nope! You just told the author you think their kink is disgusting. That's like telling your poor aunt who is just trying to keep you warm this winter that she has awful taste in knitwear. Try again.

Frottage normally isn't my kink, but I love your other stories with this pairing, so I decided to give it a try, and I'm SOOOOO GLAD that I did! This story was 🔥🔥🔥

✔️ "This normally isn't my thing, but you made me expand my horizons!" Authors love to hear that. That's like telling your aunt, "I never thought this color looked good on me, but I look so cute in this sweater! I'm so glad you helped me step outside my comfort zone, because I'm the better for it."

thank u, next

The last thing I want to address is this new trend I've seen in commenting lately: placing an order. If your mom surprises you with new headphones, you don't respond with, "I wanted the white ones 🙁," or, "You should get me a new phone, too." It's easy to see why that isn't appropriate in a gifting situation, and it's also not appropriate when commenting on fanfiction.

Let's do some examples:

This fic was soooo cute, but it would have been a million times better if Character A had been with Character C instead of Character B.

❌ There are a few things going on here. Number one, you're telling your mom you wanted the white headphones, not the ones she actually bought you. You're also disparaging the A/B pairing that the author chose to write about, and as we discussed, we can assume that the author wrote the pairing because they liked it. Even if it's not their favorite and/or they also write A/C, they made a choice for this story to be A/B, and the comments section of a fic is not the place to question choices the author made in their own work.

You should write a story where Character Z who is not even in this story does [thing that is vaguely referenced in the B plot].

❌ "You should get me a new phone, too."

I want a sequel. 😞

❌ "Thank you, next!"

You can reframe this kind of sentiment if you are careful about it, and it's not all you say.

I really loved this story. I would be so interested to see these ideas explored further if you ever decide to write more in this universe.

✔️ Not "gimme." Not "more." This is, "If you build it, I will come." It is a HUGE difference.

You already know how to do this. You know how to graciously accept a gift; just use that same etiquette, and boom! Now you know how to fearlessly write a comment to fic you read. You're doing amazing. Go forth and comment.