#this took way longer than i thought it might

[fairestwriting]

Hello 👋 could I please request headcanons for leona's fem s/o defending him everytime one of the other characters start making backhanded comments to his face (if you've seen some of the vignettes you'll know what I mean) she doesn't reveal things like he's depressed or anything (tho he is) she just tells them it's shitty of them calling him lazy/selfish constantly without even knowing him personally

[Everyone treats leona like crap and I take personal offense to it >:( ]

You know i make fun of him on a regular basis. but theres a line thats gotta be drawn when it comes to leona bullying. cause damn this guy needs a real Break he cant even have issues in peace

𐙚 Leona Kingscholar

Before you got closer to him, there’s a fair chance the comments didn’t even stand out to you at all. It always felt a little unfair, yes, but not in a way that was particularly shocking, they were all just rude comments like any other. Back when you weren’t quite friends yet, and maybe even at the start of your friendship, you might have interjected with a simple ”hey, he’s not that bad” or "you don’t need to be rude about it”. It was just a gesture of basic politeness then, something the people around you seemed to lack.

But obviously, your perception of those interactions, and the way you see Leona’s situation itself, soon went through a rather radical change. Possibly even before you two started dating, or even before he “told you too much” — His own words, mumbled dismissively but bitterly, the day he came back after spending a weekend with his family and then proceeded to complain for a little longer than usual — As he warmed up to you, you started to notice things about him more. You started to see the spark of actual passion he has in his eyes during his club activities, the level of detail he gets into when analyzing things, the precise way he moved his chess pieces when you two played...

Above all, though, you started to notice how he often looked actually tired when he took part in any of the “slacking” he’s so infamous for. Learning the littlest bit more about his family life just worked as the final piece of the puzzle you’d been putting together without even noticing — And then, other people’s “rudeness” started to sound like something much more cruel. It didn’t help that he never seemed to react to it whenever he overheard others gossiping, or whenever you told him about the things you heard. “Why doesn’t he care?” The thought would echo in your mind for ages, trying to understand him through the tiny slivers of vulnerability he didn’t mean to show.

Now, as his girlfriend, you feel you just can’t let people say whatever they want, and you feel it more strongly than you ever have. ”Why don’t you mind your own business instead of talking about someone you don’t really know?” You snap back on instinct when one of your classmates, who was in Savanaclaw, comments on how lazy their dorm leader is. Their mouth closes instantly, regardless if you’ve made your relationship public or not — You realize that, on top of all the negative treatment Leona got, it was also extremely rare for others to defend him in any way at all. Enough that even a response that simple elicits shock from others.

”You know, it’s crazy to see you hanging out with Leona like that. I never thought I'd see anyone get so excited to spend time with him.” You hear some other day, while spending time in Savanaclaw’s common area, sat right next to Leona, and it just makes your blood boil. He’s just half-glaring at your particularly cocky acquaintance, sighing like he’s heard it a million times before, which you know he probably has. ”Hey, make sure you don’t get too influenced, we don’t need another person who just sleeps all day—”

”Yeah, you’re right. This type of person can be such a pain. I’m so glad I don’t know anyone who’s, you know, actually like that.” You say through grit teeth, just barely holding back aggression, and in the corner of your vision, the subtle flash of surprise in Leona’s face only encourages you to continue. ”Imagine if like, the Magift team had this sort of player in it… the club would be done for.”

They stare at you with wide eyes, having very much picked up on the aggression. The entire room is silent, you refuse to break eye contact, arms firmly crossed. ”Well, I mean…” The student stammers, but then, Leona himself speaks up for once. ”Did you not get her message? You need me to tell you to shut up instead?” He snaps, and they frantically shake their head, eyes fixed on the ground. You feel pride swelling in your chest, almost unable to hold back your smile.

”You know, Herbivore, if I needed a bodyguard I’d already have one.” He tells you later, in that same day. His tone has that snarky edge that feels like his default, but it’s much less pronounced than usual. You can even see a sort of softness in his eyes while he tries to play it cool. But needing and deserving are two different things, you think. As interactions like these repeat, with you defending him every time, you hope your message fully gets through to him, one day.

if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦

[deesseshesca]

PAC: What vibes does your future relationship give off ? (18+)

Yankee Doddle went to town riding on pony.

LOVE READING FLASH SALE (LINK)

ALL READING REGARDING SEX AND LOVE IS 75 % MAKING IT ONLY 20$

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PILE 1

SONG : TAKE YOU DOWN - SZA

SORRY BABE BUT YOUR READING IS LONGER 😭

PILE 2 

SONG : BABY - REMA

6 swords (reverse), judgement (reverse) 8 wands, King pentacles (reverse) 

This is the friend of your older brother. He’s writing a paragraph as a text while he's drunk… which he will never send. He may engage in dangerous behavior because he's behind the wheel texting it but he's not driving … just sitting there. Like he took a moment away from the party to catch some fresh air.  

There's so much sexual frustration and tension in his body is incredible. 

There's a clicking of keys… which is important. Is like his pondering if he should leave or spend the night over like it was planned. I don't think he will actually drive … should he leave, he would tag along with other boys to an actual party. Is like your brother has a lot on his mind regarding another girl from uni … you will not know. You will just be shocked he came back from campus earlier. Even your mom, like her heart might stop. Lol she is so sure for a moment that your brother got kicked out, your brother may have problems accepting answering to more important people ever since he’s a child. Like he’s not annoying or rude, he may come like that but he actually has good reasons to act up. He may be a crash out, but it's always been justified. Lol the bffs are going through it with women … they both seem to deal with it the same way … running away. They may actually act like fucking twin brothers at times. 

What the actually fuck ? I though I actually dealt with my fucking heart. I aint even lie, this past years I try to take my fucking distance with you. I mean I am trying to stay alive and keep my balls. Do you know what would happen to me if your brother could read my brain ? Especially with the past I have, fuck what past … I am too emotionally available with females … he’s not wrong keeping me away from you . I mean … I may not be worth you but can your homeboy dream ? I did not know you have to ask permission to think ? Why do I have to ask permission to use my own brain while you take possession of my thoughts 24/7 like you are paying the bills in this bitch. Your brother told me, we were going to surprise you today. I know he’s was running away, I am always going to have bro back but fuck why do I have to fucked in the process ? You were in your bed, your long hair braided, legs hanging, wearing your short booty shorts, white tee dancing to some pop girl music (his snorting). Dancing like a maniac (explosion of laughter). The scream that came out of you is deserving of an Oscar but the way I had to keep my composure  when you jumped in my arms after hugging your bro was something. Fuck I miss having my hands around you, I miss caring for you, I miss your face, your scent and even your weird habits. Than you came downstair cooking something for me and the bros because your mom was caught up in a meeting and we can’t fucking cook to safe ourselves. Again I had to keep my composure, while your body was moving lazily to the music in your headphones. Keep my eyes on the game, keep my focus on the conversation, keep my attention on the character on the screen. When all I wanted to do was peeking at you. Than like you wanted to torture me … you put the plates a front of us with smile before running back upstairs to your bedroom. All I could think about for the rest of the evening, while drinking was do I claim a need to the bathroom so I can stare at you through the door … FUCK when did I become a such creep ? 

That man grew up in a house where spanking, physical abuse was the way to discipline. 

You often grow up, watching him with purple eyes, you thought maybe he had a temper he was hiding you because he's always calm whenever he deals with you, your family, fuck almost everybody, yet…

For some y’all actually know him since childhood and he always had bruises on him, so you never question it. When  you were younger you even though he had a purple birth scar. This shows the frequency and the normality of the assault he endured for your kid brain to normalize it. 

For some of you, that are fucking shock about that text … to confirm is him … go ask him about his family, childhood or parents, that will be your confirmation that's the pile for you. 

For the one too shocked to believe it, remember that energy is ever changing but if you keep up living the way you do, you will in fact finish your life with  the bff of your older brother. To unclaimed, change something … To claim … no need is already yours (I just saw someone giggling … LOL) 

This collective y’all are really shocked he will actually be interested in you because he treats you like a little sis… from my humble tarot reader opinion … he is too protective and soft for it not to be romance. The intensity in which he holds your gaze is too much to just be platonic 

I just heard : ‘’But nah girl…’’. BABE IF YOU DON'T WANT IT, CHOOSE SOMETHING ELSE. 

The card also shows that he is terrified to show care, empathy and love. You guys have no idea how stoic he is whenever he is interacting with his environment. The fact that he he check on you, the fact that you can call him when you need help (availability), the fact that he reply quickly (you don't how many people he leaves on deliver … ), the fact that he goes out of his way to always bring your fav snack, the fact that he always make sure nobody is annoying you at work, school or even calm your brother down when his become too smart with you . Or the FUCKING fact that he actually smile at (even though is fucking small), the fact that he don't mind hugging you. He's only that soft for you, there's not a single girl he fuck, been a relationship with or even flirt with in which he was this attentive and kind. 

He’s a lightweight when it comes to alcohol. 

VIBES: Crush, brother bff, secrecy, secret admire and one sided romance 

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PILE 3

SONG: JONI - SZA FT Don Toliver

POV is your past self and future self. Is like a small note. Maybe you guys use the note in your phone like a diary. 

The Chérie D’Amour coming from PILE 2, this is your POV from the situation in PILE 2. Also your brother doesn't know you are out there living an all year hot girl summer and have a whole roster. They only see you as your innocent self. Funny enough (my own  observation), now I understand how hard it is for you to believe what I wrote because you are the same. The dude plays mister nonchalant, while you play Miss Innocent. Both of you have a facade that does not exist with each other. Like you guys actually have an intimate bond with each other. You allow yourself to be soft with him and he allows himself to accept it.

PAST: 9swords, 9 wands (reverse) 

 You are on the bus. A week after a crazy night where u spend the night at your one night or maybe sneaky link. You just have an epiphany 

Honestly … I want more. Is it crazy to say. I want someone to hold me close while playing in my hair. I want someone to look at me like I am the star of their life, like maybe if they look away I may vanish. I want to be the banter of their existence. I want to be the reason for their every breath. I want to go on vacation with the one that loves me. The one that will spend hours, hours and his money just to see a smile on my face. Someone ready to die to hear me laugh. Someone who is just like Jack, will let me, Rose stay on the door  because he prefers a cold death than letting me feel the pain of Atlantic water. Someone will pick me up bridal style after I call him because I am too drunk with my homegirl and can't make my way home. I want someone to comfort me when the tears are rolling down  my cheeks, I want someone to drop anything when my voice has a subtle shake and I want someone to be my safe haven. I want someone who will enjoy spending time with me even when all we do is sit in silence in a quiet room. I want to slow dance in the living room while the dinner is cooking. (Bitter laugh) What the fuck for ? Even if the one came I will destroy it the same way I destroy the marriage of my parents. Maybe all I actually need is a break from having sex. I am tired of getting disappointed , I am tired of sexting, I am tired of the 2 am booty call, I am tired of being easy, I am tired of hair pulling, the spitting, the fucking, the aftercare, the uber, the walk of shame and the fucking hole that's keep growing deeper every time I come home to an empty house after giving my all to another looser because I can’t seem to attract he right one and I am too lonely to refuse anyone.

I am tired of feeling lonely . 

Future : Knight swords, Hermit 

I am hearing : ‘’ Omg he hears me ! Omg he knows my name’’ 

This one is a note but the intention behind it is almost like a prayer.

Please don't take him. Let him love me. Let him stay in my life. (Your eyes are burning with tears, none fell, you are holding on for dear life. You are sitting in your bedroom). I will do anything you ask. Don't let him resent. Let him love me forever. Don't let life take his warmth away from  me. I love every part of him, I love his tattoo, I love his grumpy attitude, I love the way he holds on to my hand. The way he always longs for some physical contact with me otherwise he loses his mind (bitter laugh, oh no… babe you broke … the tears are flowing slowly). I love the way he trust me with his Lego collection, with his car tools and on his bike. I love the way he let me in, my pretty boy, my very pretty boy, he don't deserve all that (Fuck … I finally got the vibe … he may have been in altercation or just an argument with his family which trigger him extremely which made him take its distance. Like you know he's in a dark place but he refuses to let you see him like that (aww now my heart is breaking … y’all going to make a cold ass bitch emotional, now he’s asking me if you are crying. He hates when you cry and it would put him in so much pain to know he is the reason for it). Usually he is transparent and you have amazing communication. That why you are ugly sobbing because it must be very bad, if he is taking his distance). He always comfort me when my periods hurt, when my mom say mean things to me, when school is too hard or life become to overwhelming. Even when I am trying to ignore him, he drop everything for me. I don't know what else to say … you must let him love me. Who else is going to look at me with so much love, caress me with so much passion, make love to me, worship my body with kisses, tell me how much he loves me and how hard is going to work so I never regret choosing him. 

Technically it's stop here …because you are sending him a voice note but since I love y’all let me add it here. I apologize because it might be too messy to read. 

Hiccup, hiccup, (his name), breathing trying to keep it in, breaking down in  tears, talking while having hiccups :  just so you know I love you. Please don't leave me behind, pretty boy. You remember what I told you … you ain't have to feel ashamed for what you did. Baby please come to me, we can work it all. Let me comfort you. 

Breakdown again:  Fuck I am stress. You better comeback (weak attempt to a bossy tone). Please (pleading tone). 

VIBES : Forbidden romance, one bed proximity, touch her and I will kill you, I want and see only her, I don't deserve her, she's too good for me, he's the only one that truly loves me and know me, we should not be doing this but can't seem to stay away from each other.

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PAC AUDIO : WHAT KIND OF LOVER ARE U BECOMING ?

PILE 4 

SONG : STAY - Adanna Duru FT Leven Kali

POV YOUR FS. 

I actually shuffled some cards but y’all nasty step dad came through. He's a fucking pervert Chérie d’Amour and I am so sorry you had to deal with this looser in your childhood. I am fucking sorry your mama did not protect you more. 

Your husband DONT PLAY WHEN  IT COMES TO YOU. 

Is a text after the first night spent together. 

Hey beautiful,

I know we just hang up and you probably sleeping rn. Fuck sure is 3 am in the morning but I cant get enough of you. I hate the fact that I can't dream because sleep is keeping me away from you. I want to spend every one of my seconds on earth dedicated to you. Texting you, calling you and hearing you. I am so obsessed with you girl … so you know we are lock in, lock in. There's nobody but us. I don't care if you're mad or tired of me, we are going to work this out. I see the bigger picture with you baby. That not the only picture I have of you… I love kissing you. When your lips lay on top of  mine, my eyes I can't help but close, pushing into a transit state of pure bliss. I love having sex with you, your moans are like  music to me. You have such a beautiful voice, I know I always compliment you about it. I guess you awakened a new kink in me babygirl.I  can recognize your voice, touch and scent in a room full of strangers because my soul knows you. My fav habits of yours when it comes to loving me … is the way you kiss my forehead, my eyes, my cheek and my lips in one setting just to make me smile. I love staring into your pretty face. That’s probably why I stare that much at my phone when u aint around. And she gets even prettier when I am thrusting in and out of your tight pussy. I love when you baby me, even though I am 6’4 (maybe taller) and 3x your weight. I love being the small spoon. I love being your good boy. I love finding safety in your arms. I aint joking girl … I am going nowhere. I LOVE IT HERE. 

VIBES: Commitment, marriage, long lasting romance, wedding day, husband and wife and growing old together 

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PAC AUDIO : WHAT KIND OF LOVER ARE U BECOMING ?

[bettystonewell]

So I woke up to 100 followers this morning, and I was really surprised.

THANK YOU!

I’m still learning my way here, but hopefully I’m getting better.

I know people on all different platforms do celebrations like writing prompts and stuff, but a) I’m a slow writer and b) I’m lazy. So I thought, now might be a good time to release this:

TO YOU I BELONG

SNEAK PEAK

Chapter 1 coming 21/02 🇦🇺⏱️

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

From Chapter 7: Honeydaying

Sitting on the edge of his bed, hunched over, arms leaning on his thighs, Dean twisted the small pill bottle in his hands, listening as each tablet fell to the bottom. There weren’t many, six at most, and they rattled around in there, waiting for him to open the lid and take one out.

Or man up and throw them in the trash like he’d planned.

The problem was, he knew how his body would react to not taking the daily suppressant. He’d experienced it before. And if his inner alpha was overprotective of you now, it was about to turn into a possessive dick the second the drug’s effects wore off in T minus twenty-four hours, if he…

No.

Not if.

He was doing this. He was gonna claim you and make you his.

Which is why even though the trashcan was only three feet in front of him, he still sat there unmoving from the memory-foam cushioning his ass…

Fuck. Why was this so hard?

He put the pills down on his bedside table and leant back into the mattress, fishing his phone out from his jean pocket. The denim hugging his hips was too tight, and he had to lift himself up a few inches to yank the device free, unlocking it with a couple of taps and a swipe up.

His fingers continued to work the touch screen, locating contacts, flicking down to the letter J, and hitting the green call button. At least there was one thing he wasn’t hesitating over.

He heard the click and a familiar voice fondly speak his name before he’d even brought it up to his ear.

“Dean Winchester.”

“Hey, Jody. How’s it going?” Dean stood up off the bed and moved to the closet.

“Good. Although I’m a little surprised to hear you ask me that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The door creaked in protest, as did his back, though it cracked more than creaked when he arched over to reach his green duffle he’d thrown on the floor after the hunt in Iowa. The couple of weapons he hadn’t bothered to put away hit against each other as the bag swayed and gravity played with their weight.

“Just that you don’t call me unless you need something or someone’s dead. Oh god. Is Sam okay? What have you boys gotten into now?”

“Alright, first off, that’s insulting.” He emptied the contents onto the bed, pulling out a shirt that had wound its way around his shotgun. “And second.” He brought the fabric up to his nose for a sniff test. It needed washing, or burning with added salt. The remnants of nameless monster guts clung to the collar, and he didn’t hesitate to throw it out. Those pills though... “Everything’s fine. Sammy’s alive last time I checked.

“I wanted to know how you were. What’s wrong with that?” He caught the phone between his neck and shoulder, freeing his hands up to open the chamber of his prized weapon. The racking was rather loud when he closed it back again, and he grimaced. Jody was going to notice that.

“Nothing,” she said. “But that’s not why you’re calling.”

Why did he attract people who could see right through him? “Well, ah, to be honest, I need a favour.” He took a long breath in, preparing himself to deliver his news. “I met my soulmate and—”

“What?” Her high-pitched squeal had him dropping his shoulder and her. “Are you sure?”

Seriously! It’s like she was trying to cut him deep. “What do you mean, am I sure? I know my own damn initials,” he shouted down at his phone. Luckily, it had only landed on the bed. He did not have the patience or time to get a new one.

He ditched the shotgun and picked up Jody, bringing her back to his ear.

“So you’re no longer running solo, huh? Finally claimed someone! What are they? An omega, a beta? Or another alpha like you?” She chuckled. “I’d love to see that.”

‘Bitch.’

‘Dude. This is Jody.’

‘She’s insulting our mate.’

‘No, she’s insulting you, you dick.’

“Ah, an omega, and I haven’t claimed her yet,” Dean said, cringing when his inner alpha interrupted him again. His eyes searched for the pill bottle and gave it a once over. No, no. This was gonna be hell, but he’d grin and bear it. “That’s why I was calling—”

Main Masterlist

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[bitethedevil]

A House of Hope (Modern!AU Raphael x Tav): Chapter 3

Read this fic on AO3

Last Chapter

Fic summary: Tav lives at her mom's place after a tough break-up with her former boyfriend. Rent isn't cheap anywhere, but one day her mom finds her someone online who presents a tempting new living situation that won't break her bank account.

Tav moves into the Haven estate and becomes a part of Raphael's House of Hope project: a project that helps unfortunate souls to get back on their feet. Although, something is not quite right about the house and her fellow tenants. That's not to mention her odd landlord who seems to be hiding something...

AN: There's smuuuut.

WARNING: NSFT Content, Somnophilia, Non-Con, Oral

Tav felt hands move slowly up her legs and then settle on her hips. She was still half asleep.

The hands moved up under her shirt. They were delightfully warm, making her utter a content moan. The fabric of her shirt was pushed upwards, and she felt equally warm lips press against the skin of her stomach. Her breath hitched ever so slightly.

Kisses trailed up to one of her breasts. A hot tongue licked at her nipple, making her shiver and arch her back. The owner of the tongue took the hint and lowered their mouth over her breast, sucking and nibbling at her skin. It felt amazing.

Tav’s eyes only fluttered open when her nipple was released with a wet pop. They quickly fluttered shut again when she suddenly felt lips against hers.

Whoever it was, they smelled better than anything she had ever smelled before.

Almost instinctively, she parted her lips for them, eager to taste them too. Their tongue invaded her mouth. The taste was sugary sweet.

When they broke the kiss, she almost whined at the loss and her eyes finally opened to see who this mystery person was.

It was Raha, the beautiful woman she had briefly met the day before.

Tav’s mind was too hazy now to think it was odd. Raha gave her a toothy grin, flashing her sharp canines. Tav couldn’t pry her eyes away from her sharp teeth.

“I thought you might appreciate a warm welcome,” Raha purred.

“Hmhm…” Tav responded with something between a drunken moan and a hum, still mesmerized by the young woman’s sharp teeth.

Raha spoke again, but this time an entirely different voice came out of her mouth when she spoke.

“Shhh-shh-shh. Just relax, darling,” they said in a voice that sounded exactly like Raphael’s, though the tone was all wrong. “You’re home~”

She looked up at Raha’s face and found that it was no longer a young woman hovering over her. It was a devil with orange, glowing eyes and huge horns. The features were Raphael’s. Tav began to squirm, a sense of panic pushing its way through the haze of her mind.

Raha-Raphael shushed her once again and lowered themself between her legs. The second their tongue found the wetness between her thighs, her panic faded into the background of her mind as pleasure took over instead.

Her eyes fluttered shut once more and her breath grew shallower as they hungrily ate her out. The hungry groans of the devil between her legs mixed with the sound of their tongue exploring her dripping wetness were downright sinful.

Tav felt a strand of hair tickle her now sweaty brow. She absentmindedly moved her hand up to brush it out of the way.

Although…her hand got stuck on something foreign. Something hard and almost bone-like was protruding from her head. She grasped at it, yanked at it and found that it was a part of her.

Her breathing got quicker as the panic started pressing its way to the forefront again.

“No, hey…mm…stop, what—” she mumbled. “What’s happening?”

Tav moved her hand to stop the devil between her legs. She froze when she saw her own hand. Her skin was scaly and red, and her nails were sharp, dark claws. Her mind became crystal clear just like that.

She was suddenly able to take in her surroundings.

The bed she was in, and all of the furniture around her, was red and gold like most of the furniture at Haven but she had never seen this room before.

Her eyes were suddenly caught by the landscape outside. She could see it over the railing of the balcony: a barren, hellish landscape.

She screamed.

Tav woke up in a pool of cold sweat, breathing hard. She quickly noticed that it was a bit too bright outside and picked up her phone.

10:26

Slight panic rose as she realized that she should have been at work over an hour ago. Her alarm should have gone off at least three hours ago so that she had time to figure out how to get into the city. She must have slept through it somehow.

She quickly pulled on her clothes and ran a brush through her hair, before running to the main house.

She knocked on the door and John opened it shortly after.

“Morning, John,” Tav said with a quick, polite smile. “I’m in a bit of a hurry. Is Raphael still here?”

John gave her a nod and opened the door for her.

“Alright, great,” she said hurriedly. “Where?”

John made a gesture for her to follow him. She held in a frustrated groan. She had hoped she could just find him herself instead of following John’s snail pace around the house.

She was led into a room that was brightly lit by the sun. It had big windows that you could see a good part of the garden from. Raphael was calmly painting something in the middle of the room.

“I thought I very specifically said that I did not want to be disturbed,” Raphael said in a tight, but still calm tone, not even moving his eyes from the canvas.

“Maria wished to speak with you,” John said in a quiet, apologetic tone.

That made Raphael turn his head. His eyes lit up when he saw her and the tightness of his features at getting disturbed vanished in a heartbeat. Tav was bouncing on her legs, eager to get a move on.

“Tav, dear. What can I do for you?”

“I’m really sorry about barging in like this, but I really need to know how to get back to the city from out here. I slept through my alarm, and my shift started at 9. I heard there was something about a bus?”

Raphael made a dismissive gesture.

“I’ll drive you,” he said. “It will get you there sooner than the bus. Give me a moment to change my clothes and I will be right with you.”

She let out a small sigh of relief.

“Thank you so much…”

She watched as he wiped his paint-stained fingers on a rag behind him and then unbuttoned the shirt he was wearing. She couldn’t pry her eyes off him as he shook it off. She got a good glimpse of his bare back.

Her thoughts involuntarily went back to the dream.

Raphael was handsome, there was no doubt about it, but he was definitely not the usual type she went for. He was too old and took himself too seriously for her tastes. Still, that odd, terrifying dream must have awakened something in her.

She adjusted her gaze when he turned to face her.

“Come,” he said with a smile.

He gently put his hand on her shoulder when he passed her, sending a slight jolt of something through her.

She watched as his long fingers moved over the screen of the GPS, typing in the location. She followed their movements as they started the car and then gripped the steering wheel. The car purred and came to life.

“A kindergarten, hm?”

She snapped back to reality. She suddenly noticed that she had been staring and looked out through the window instead.

“Yeah.”

“Surely there are no children being sent there on a Sunday,” Raphael said.

“No, but I don’t work on Fridays,” she explained. “The mess from the week luckily stays put until Sunday.”

“It seems slightly unsanitary to leave said mess over the weekend, no? Children can be…”

“Disgusting? Yeah. They are.”

Raphael chuckled.

“Good thing is that the staff who with the kids usually cleans up a bit too,” Tav explained. “In the weekends I mostly do the floors, walls, windows…Any kinds of surfaces, really. Those little buggers put their hands and faces on everything…”

“I can only imagine,” he said, his nose crinkling in slight disgust at the thought. “Will you get in trouble for being late?”

“Probably not,” she answered. “I rarely get a visit from my boss and there’s no security cameras to prove that I was there or not.”

“I see.”

The small talk came to a lull. Tav looked out the window as they drove. She could not get that damned dream out of her head. It wasn’t unusual for her to have some odd dreams every now and again, but this one had been so vivid.

“You seem tense, dear,” Raphael noted, pulling her from her thoughts. “I hope that I am not overstepping any boundaries, but is it only about the job?”

She looked at him in the rearview mirror. He looked back with a glint of something in his eyes that didn’t seem like worry, but something else entirely. She brushed it off and looked away.

“Just…some weird dream I had…”

“Ah, I see,” he said. “Those are not uncommon amongst the residents at the estate, I hear. I believe it may have something to do with the sounds the house makes. It does something to the imagination.”

“Yeah,” Tav mumbled. “Must be that.”

The car stopped outside her workplace.

“Here we are,” Raphael announced. “When are you off from work?”

“Around two.”

“I will send a car to retrieve you then,” he said with a smile. “Have fun with your cleaning.”

She gave him a bright sarcastic smile, followed by a genuine one before getting out of the car.

“Thank you for this.”

“You are very welcome,” he purred. “Any time.”

She shut the door, and he drove off. She dug out the keys to the building from her bag and unlocked the door. Just as she swung it open, her eyes met with the disgruntled face of her boss who had come to visit.

Just her luck.

She was exhausted. Not only had her boss been over her like a hawk while she worked, but when she got home her mother came with her things and hovered over her with the same intensity while she unpacked.

She had finally got rid of her and was granted a moment of solitude, when she heard a knock on her door. She made a long, frustrated whine and then opened it.

It was Linda.

“I made too much food,” Linda said. “I gathered that you might not have had the time to fill your fridge yet, so if you want some, you can join me.”

Tav smiled and rubbed her face tiredly with the palm of her hand. She hadn’t had a moment throughout the day to even think about feeding herself. She suspected that the offer might just be an excuse to have some company, but it was a really nice thought regardless.

“I’d love some,” she muttered. “Thank you.”

Linda led her into her apartment. It was surprisingly homely. All of the red and gold furniture had been replaced with Linda’s own, she noticed. The new furniture wasn’t fancy by any means, but it looked comfortable.

“Just sit wherever. I’ll bring you a bowl.”

Tav sat down on the soft, turquoise couch and melted into it immediately.

“Love what you’ve done to the place.”

Linda huffed, thinking she was being sarcastic.

“Oh, no-no, I mean it,” Tav quickly said. “It’s really nice. Homey. I haven’t bothered making my place my own yet. I just kept the furniture it came with.”

“Yes, well,” Linda said and filled a bowl with stew. “When you’ve haven’t had a home for as long as I, you learn to appreciate being able to choose your surroundings. Everything here, I’ve bought with my own hard-earned money.”

She had wondered what Linda’s deal was. Everyone she had met seemed to have something that made them end up at Haven.

“You were homeless?”

“For most of my twenties through my forties,” Linda replied and handed her the bowl. “Here.” She sat down beside her. “Raphael found me and offered me a job and a home. Who could refuse that?”

Tav smiled. The stew smelled great, despite her not really being able to discern what it was. She took a spoonful of it and blew on it before taking a bite.

“Do you like it?”

Tav nodded eagerly and her smile widened.

“Good,” Linda said. “It’s my mom’s recipe. It’s cheap to make too. I can teach you.”

“I’d like that,” Tav replied. “Cheap is good…Especially since I might soon be out of a job…”

Linda dug into the stew herself.

“John told me you were late this morning,” Linda said. “For someone who can barely remember his own name, it’s impressive how gossip sticks to that man’s brain. If all else fails, you can work with the rest of us. God knows I could use help with the cleaning of this place.”

“Yeah I’ll…think about it,” Tav mumbled.

There was a moment of silence. Tav noticed a distant sound of some kind of ruckus coming from the main building, which made her ears perk up a bit.

“What is that?”

“Raha and Raphael,” Linda explained tiredly. “They fight like cat and dog constantly. Give it half an hour though and they will be making up loud enough for the whole estate to hear.”

Another vase flew past Raphael’s head and smashed against the wall. He gritted his teeth and looked at them.

“You give me the same lousy excuses for not going home every single day,” Raha hissed and picked up another vase. “’Soon Haarlep, have patience Haarlep, I don’t like it any more than you do,’” they said, mocking Raphael’s voice. “Which we both know is a lie! You are right where you belong, aren’t you, darling? We are really indulging in that human side of you.”

“Mind your tongue, Haarlep,” Raphael said in a low, dangerous tone. “Lest I cut it out.”

Raha threw another vase in response. This one almost hit him. Their aim was getting better every day.

“Why? Isn’t that what we’re doing? You are not even playing pretend at this point! You are fully like them. Driving cars, doing taxes, checking your phone, using hours on the fucking Face-thing!”

“Facebook,” Raphael corrected tiredly, having tried for months to convince Haarlep to blend in more by using the technology available in this realm.

Another vase flew by his head.

“What are we doing? Did you forget why we’re here? We were supposed to go home ages ago!” Raha hissed at him.

Raphael walked over to them. He was towering over the form of Raha that Haarlep had taken.

The real Raha had been dead for over a year now, strangled in the dead of night when she did not prove as malleable as Raphael had thought her to be, but not before Haarlep had taken her form.

“I do not need to explain myself to you,” Raphael growled at them. “A dog does not need to understand the motives of its master, it simply needs to obey his whims, or it will be deemed useless. Useless pets get put down, my dear.”

“Oh, you are fucking one to talk, dear,” they countered in a mocking tone. “That’s why we are running from daddy, isn’t it? So, he doesn’t steal back your new toy and put you down. And here we are: two useless strays running in circ—”

Raphael’s hand shot out to close around their throat. They narrowed their eyes at him and changed into their usual shape of Raphael’s cambion form. Now they were towering over him with a challenging look in their eyes.

A flash of fire surrounded Raphael as he changed into his cambion form too. He pulled them further into the room, away from the windows. Haarlep got a lot less cocky at that. Raphael turned them around and shoved them hard against a wall, face first.

There was a low growl in his chest with every breath he took. Haarlep knew that he was pissed. He leaned in until they could feel his breath against their ear.

“We are done here, when I say we are,” he growled into their ear. “If you want to return to Avernus, that won’t be a problem, Haarlep. Just say the word, and I will happily send you home,” he said in a mocking, lighter tone. “Who knows? Perhaps the demons of the Abyss might recognize you as kin and spare you when I drop you off at the front lines. Or perhaps they won’t…”

Haarlep huffed in defeat. Raphael let them go.

“You are not to use that form here,” he reminded them. “Do not let me see you in it again unless we are in private. I will not tell you again.”

Haarlep sneered and turned around to face him. They took a couple of deep breaths, gritted their teeth, and tried to control their temper.

“What form would you prefer tonight then, master?”

Raphael gave them a satisfied smirk at their change in tone. He transformed back into his human form. He sat down on a plush chair that was facing the bed.

“The new one,” he said and made a lazy gesture to the bed behind them. “She intrigues me. Let us see her.”

Haarlep crawled onto the bed. Their orange eyes turned light brown, and their sleek dark hair turned into Tav’s thick and unruly mop of brown hair. Once they had transformed, they stripped themself of their clothing and threw it on the floor beside the bed.

Raphael was watching their every move with dark, dilated eyes.

“How was she?” he asked.

“Surprisingly eager, even before she tasted me,” Haarlep purred back in Tav’s voice. “I didn’t get to fuck her, but she tasted delicious.”

Raphael gave a hum as he was feasting on their bare form. Haarlep smiled and teasingly spread their legs a little bit, earning them a low growl from him. He got up from his seat to look down at them. They looked from the very obvious bulge in his pants to his face with a smile.

“Spread them wider,” Raphael commanded.

Haarlep laid back and spread their legs fully for him, giving him a full view of her physique. Raphael looked at them with heavy-lidded eyes. A smile tugged on his lips as his attention was caught by her piercings.

“Quite a naughty girl, isn’t she? Our dear Tav,” he muttered.

His fingers brushed over one of her pierced nipples and slowly traced them down to the piercing she had through her clitoral hood. Haarlep made a show of uttering a breathy moan at his touch.

Raphael lowered his head between their legs. He dipped his tongue into her and slowly licked upwards until he reached her clit. He closed his mouth over it and swirled his tongue around the piercing there for a moment before moving back from her form.

“Mm,” he said in a deep hum of satisfaction. “Change back. Tempting as she is, let’s not risk scaring her away. I have plans for her.”

They had just finished eating. Her and Linda had been chitchatting when she suddenly felt a shiver out of nowhere. He nipples hardened and she felt herself grow wet. She squirmed a bit in her seat and cleared her throat. Linda noticed her odd demeanor.

“Something wrong?”

Tav quickly frowned and shook her head.

“No, no,” she said. “Go on. there was a breeze or…something.”

“It’s the ghosts,” Linda said completely serious. “This place is haunted, I’m telling you. Do you know that when I got here—”

Linda kept speaking but Tav was busy trying to ignore whatever the hell her body was doing. She physically jumped from her seat and gasped when she felt something move between her legs.

“I need to go, I think,” Tav said suddenly in a high-pitched voice and shot up from her seat. “Thank you for the dinner!”

Linda looked at her with a puzzled expression as she hurried out the door.

Tav practically ran to her own apartment, almost dropping her keys in her eagerness to be in private. She unlocked it with some difficulty. She leaned her back against the door when she got inside and took a deep breath. She stood still. The feeling, whatever it had been, seemed like it had passed.

This had been such a weird day.

[wrongbodies]

A Wanted Exchange

When I first met Oren I would never have thought where I'd end up with this beautiful twink. We ran into each other at a club, a loud and hectic joint that had many sweaty, dancing bodies pressed up against one another in pinkish lights. I was there, carving out a space with my broad shoulders and muscular frame.

And there was Oren. He wasn't intimidated by me. He was bold, swooping right into my space, and then he was upon me. Grinding against me, I could feel his lithe body almost flowing around me like water. But there was an aggression there, almost like he wanted to throw his weight around, boss and bully me. All 120 pounds of his tiny body.

I was intoxicated right then and there. I wanted him. At first I thought it was just in the typical carnal fashion. But I realize now it was so much more.

I took him home of course. We tangled togther far longer than expected. He tried to push and pull me in ways his body and tiny muscles just could not handle. I was gentle. I have always been something of a gentle giant.

Growing up my father was a harsh one, and forced me to play football from 7, and all throughout the rest of my school career. Even in college, it was verboten that I quit. I remember coming out, well after finishing my degree mind you, and how he coiled back in disgust. I was his manly son, his juggernaut of an athlete. But inside I always wanted something else.

Which brings me back to Oren. Our hookup was not the end of our interaction. He found my gentle nature endearing, as I in turn found his domineering ways attractive. I so desperately wanted to submit to him, but our physical dynamic was just too skewed. I couldn't help but toss him around if I wasn't careful. And he hated being on the bottom, or receiving.

After weeks of trying, we realized we weren't truly happy. And in the breakdown of our disappointment, we both admitted what we wanted. He lamented his tiny, perfectly lithe body. I too bemoaned my broad, powerful body. It wasn't to say we weren't proud of ourselves, both being healthy young men. Rather, it was a sort of melancholy about not being able to experience what the other had, and admittedly - we were so envious of.

And so, when the advertisements for a scientific study came out, asking for willing subjects to try a new technology... we jumped at it. It seemed like something from a science fiction novel, but the way the doctors explained it we were properly convinced it was real.

They asked us many questions about our health, our relationship, and then what we wanted. Over the weeks we were subjected to different tests, they asked us the question we both were secretly hoping they'd put forward.

"What if this is permanent?" The nasal-voiced doctor had asked. I was alone, Oren being interviewed in a different room. I'd learn later he responded much the same as I had. But when I responded, it was an enthusiastic confirmation - that would be perfectly fine.

The day of the procedure came, and we were inserted into coffin like tubes, our heads covered in wires and such that looked like what one might use for a brain scan. I suppose that was part of the procedure, anyways. After the all clear was given, it took moments for me to black out. And in that time we were out, it was nothingness... a void.

But when I awoke, everything was ALIVE. I knew what to expect, understanding that I'd be groggy from the anesthetic. However, I pushed through the fog in my excitement. I needed to feel it all. Even before they opened the tube, I was feeling my arms, my chest, and then my face. Nothing prepares you for the sensations. There is no earthly equivalent to it... awakening in another persons body.

What followed was euphoric. Despite the initial hiccups, like learning that your brain still thinks you have limbs longer than this new body, or forgetting you are significantly lighter and weaker. Limitations that I never had before were daunting, at first. But then I came to love them. I was finally free to be the person I always felt inside. A man with a body more aptly described as pretty, and not rugged. With fingers soft and supple, unblemished by years of tackling and tossing a ball.

Oren felt the same, in reverse. We were hesitant at first to resume our relationship. It wasn't right away that we tried anything, sexually. But the first interactions were indicative of our blossoming romance. He would take my new, delicate face in his - my former - rough hands. Guiding my lips to his, where he almost hungrily kissed me. His bear hugs engulfed me, at times sweeping me off my feet. I was the willing waif, powerless to stop it, but desperately wanting it.

When we did finally return to the bed, entangled in one anothers embrace, there was a sort of epiphany. The realization that we got exactly what we wanted, and that looking back - albeit not much of an issue before - was perished. We did not need to even question it - I NEEDED to be Oren. And he needed to be me.

As for all the other details, since we began dating, we assimilated into one anothers lives. Our families and friends were never made aware of what transpired in that experiment. And save a few follow up interviews and information gathering sessions, the deal was sealed. Oren and I were never happier with our lives than now, when in truth... we weren't living our lives, but one anothers. How freeing it was for us to become the thing we always wanted. And through that, to find love. It was strange to kiss my former face, but knowing it was Oren behind those eyes, and happier for it, made it all too easy to love him.

I'm never going back.

[tiki-was-here]

Ex boyfriend Black Leg Sanji x GN Baker Reader

Word Count: 1.2k Words

Reader and Snoj used to date for a while when he was at the Baratie,i know they move around alot but lets pretend that they stayed at reader’s town for a while cus business was really good.They broke up because although Sanji is a gentleman he was definitely not mature enough for an actual relationship. Also I didn't know how to end this don't shoot me

Valentines Event

Masterlist

The smell of vanilla and sugar filled the small bakery, the air warm and quiet .You were carefully piping an intricate lace pattern onto an elaborate cake .A towering thing, layered with deep red velvet and delicate, sugar-spun roses. Romantic, ridiculously so. It had taken hours, order placed at the last possible second, and the only reason you even agreed was because the person had offered more than enough money to make up for the trouble.

It was the kind of job that would normally require at least two days of work, but here you were, staying up way past closing hours because some snotty royal had placed a last-minute order under the name "Mr. Prince."

You hadn’t recognized the voice over the transponder snail so he must have been from out of town—it had been smooth, charming, and far too smug for your liking. The kind of voice that practically oozed privilege.

You hadn’t cared. Money was money, and business had been slower than usual.

-Still, the request had been absurd.

You yawned, rubbing the back of your flour-dusted hand against your forehead. It was almost midnight, and whoever this "Mr. Prince" was, they were taking their sweet time picking up the damn thing.but hey, if some rich bastard wanted to spend a fortune on a Valentine’s cake, who were you to complain?

Money is money, you reminded yourself.

The soft chime of the bakery’s front bell made you jolt. You hadn’t even heard footsteps outside. Straightening up, you wiped your hands on your apron and stepped out from behind the counter.

"Finally," you called out, irritation seeping into your voice. "I was starting to think you’d—"

You stopped mid-sentence, the words stuck in your throat.

There, standing in the doorway, was Sanji.

Your Sanji.

His blond hair was longer,shoulders broader, but it was his eyes that made something inside you clench tight.

The same piercing blue. The same warmth.

The same regret.

“…Hey, love.” His voice was soft, like he was afraid he’d scare you off. “Did you miss me?”

Oh, you were going to kill him.

"You? Are you serious? You are Mr. Prince?"

Sanji had the audacity to grin. "Guilty."

A flood of emotions surged through you.”You absolute bastard!" you snapped, stomping over to him and shoving a finger against his chest. "You really made me stay up all night for you?! Do you have any idea—"

His hand was suddenly on yours, wrapping around your wrist in a gentle, steady hold. "I know," he murmured, voice softer now. "And I’m sorry, truly. But if I gave you time to think about it, you might’ve said no to seeing me."

You opened your mouth to argue, but he wasn’t wrong. After all these years, you’d convinced yourself that if Sanji ever returned, you’d stay strong, keep your distance. You’d made peace with the past.

"You haven’t changed," you muttered, pulling your hand away.

Sanji chuckled, but there was something heavy in his eyes. "In some ways, maybe. But I have in the ways that matter. " There was something steadier in the way he held himself, something deeper in the way he watched you.

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. "Well anyways… what are you doing here?"

His expression softened. "I told you I’d come back for you. Didn’t I?"

Your heart lurched.

"That was years ago. You left, and I—" You took a step back, shaking your head. "I moved on. I had to."

"Did you?" he asked, voice low. "Because I never did."

Sanji took a step closer, slow, careful, as if you might bolt. "Every single day since I left, you were on my mind. When I fought, when I cooked, when I thought I was going to die—" He laughed, breathless, like he couldn’t believe it himself. "You have no idea how many times I almost turned back. How many times I imagined us standing here, just like this."

Your throat tightened. "Sanji…"

"—I know I don’t deserve to waltz back into your life expecting anything. But I had to try."

You stared at him, heart caught between anger and something dangerously close to longing.

"Sanji," you said carefully, "I told you before—"

"I remember." His gaze darkened slightly. "You told me you’d give me another chance when I was ready. When I could prove to you that I wasn’t just some flirt who couldn’t take us seriously."

You swallowed hard. You had said that. But after so many years, after seeing him on wanted posters, hearing whispers of his deeds across the Grand Line, you’d thought he’d long forgotten about you.

"And you think you’re ready now?" you asked quietly.

"I know I am," he said firmly. "I won’t lie to you, love. I still want all your attention on me. That much hasn’t changed. But everything else? I’ve grown. I’ve seen the world. And I’ve planned for this—for us."

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was thick, every unspoken word, every lingering feeling pressing in from all sides.

Finally, you whispered, "I was always scared."

"Scared that I’d love you too much. That you’d leave, and I’d be stuck waiting." Your voice cracked. "And you did."

His fingers brushed against your cheek, featherlight. "I know. And I’m so fucking sorry love."

You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch before you could stop yourself. You hated how easily you melted under his warmth, how his presence felt like home after all these years.

"I want to believe you," you admitted. "But I don’t know if I can."

Sanji exhaled slowly, thumb tracing the curve of your cheek. "Then let me prove it to you. One step at a time.I’ll keep you safe. I swear it on my life," he said, voice fierce with conviction. "I won’t lose you again."

The words sent something warm and aching through you. Because the truth was, you had followed his journey. You’d worry every time you’d heard news of a battle, your heart sinking at every bounty increase, wondering if this would be the time he wouldn’t make it.

You had never stopped caring.

And fuck, looking at him now—stronger, older, still painfully beautiful—you knew you had never stopped loving him.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his coat. "You really had this all planned out, huh?"

He grinned, but there was a flicker of nervousness behind it. "Only for the past few years."

You let out a soft, incredulous laugh, shaking your head. "Damn."

Then, before you could second-guess it, you tugged him down and kissed him.

Sanji froze for half a second before melting into you with a low, satisfied groan. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and for a moment, it was like no time had passed at all.

The warmth, the taste of him, the way he kissed you like you were the most precious thing in the world—it was all still the same.

You laughed softly, still breathless from the kiss. Maybe, just maybe, everything had worked out exactly as it was meant to.

And then—

"OI, SANJI! WHERE’S MY CAKE?!"

[lsunstreakerl]

So, you made a post during the ask blackout (and as a college student I 100% understand the need to catch up) regarding max’s injury in SH ‘verse:

“they could have caught it earlier- but than Max wouldn't have any championships. he might not even have Charles. so you have to wonder a bit what the actual better outcome is, in that scenario.”

And I think it’s safe to say that the general consensus is that the way it played out was better. Because without racing and the championships, he would have had to stop in 2021 before his first title, there always would have been a “what if” feeling about that season since he was fighting for (and in reality won) the championship, he wouldn’t have Charles and their relationship, and he probably wouldn’t have the money and influence needed to have the foundation.

However. Is there a scenario in which instead of catching the issue like they did in SH, Max had a (minor or not so minor) crash after he secured the championship in 2024 that would have actually made him lose his vision wholly or partially (maybe the spin with Oscar in Abu Dhabi was something worse)? Because I think then we’d really have to consider if it would have been better. I wonder how the grid, Red Bull, GP, Christian, and more importantly Charles and Max would react to a more severe vision impairment. I’m sure he would be okay eventually (or at least I hope) but it would be tough for him to be so reliant on someone else like Charles, especially with where their relationship was before a lot of the healing took place. I also feel the team, especially GP, would have a lot of feelings about it. I can imagine GP having to be the one to take care of Max for a while when Charles and Max are getting their shit together. Sorry this is a long thought but it just got me thinking…

I wanted to respond to this with a ficlet, but I have so many thoughts on it that it's probably going to be a bit longer, and just end up being an alternative fic. a couple thousand words worth of thoughts.

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

⚠️TW Past Domestic Abuse ⚠️

Lucifer had tears in his eyes, the grip his wife had on his throat was near suffocating as she squeezed his air way.

Lucifer: L-Lily P-please I'm sor- ACK!!

Lilith growled: Don't fucking talk back to me you stupid piece of shit!! How fucking useless are you that you can't even keep the god damned house clean!?

She picked him up and Lucifer started to panic, his head was dizzy and he couldn't breathe. Lilith smashed him down onto the kitchen table pinning him there with one hand, he tried to pry it off of him but it was of no use. Lilith raised her other hand and smacked Lucifer across the face.

Lucifer: Ahhh!! Lily please!! I'm sorry!! OW!!

Lilith banged Lucifer's head and upper body into the table, pain spread in the back of his head and stars began to dance in his eyes from the pain and lack of oxygen.

Charlie: DAD!!!!

Charlie: Dad?

Lucifer looked up from his coffee and smiled at her, maybe he should get a new dining table.

Lucifer: Yeah?

Charlie: Are you doing okay?

He fiddled with the handle of his mug for a minute. He didn't want her to worry more than she does, Lucifer already feels guilty for needing her this much.

Lucifer: Today's a good day honey.

Charlie smiled: It helps that Adam is a nice guy too huh? I saw you guys talking before I came over.

Lucifer: Y-yeah, he seems nice. He brought me dinner last night, some pasta. I.... I ate it, it was good. I-I-I even put the container on his porch.

Charlie couldn't believe this, this was such good progress!

Charlie: You left the yard? Dad I'm so proud of you!

Lucifer: Hehe, I-It was nothing I went at night..... I thought I was going to pass out.

Charlie took his hand: But you did it. That's huge, Bel will be proud of you too.

Lucifer nodded and squeezed her hand: Oh, speaking of A-Adam, he might actually take you up on your offer to help with his garden. M-Maybe just to start....... Head down to the store and have the sunflowers replaced? They look a little dead.

He wanted to return Adams small act of kindness, he seemed to look a little longing at the flowers. Maybe they were his favorite.

-

When Adam came home the first thing he noticed were the sunflowers. No longer dead, shriveled and wilted they were standing up proudly.

They were beautiful.

Adam: Wow, these are lovely.

He went over and touched the flowers gently and smiled at the feel of soft petals. Adam glanced over and saw Lucifer peeking from his window.

When he caught his eye Lucifer gave him a shy smile and a little wave. Adam smiled and waved back.

Lucifer was such a sweetie.

Trapped Heart

@beef-brisket

⚠️This deals with Agoraphobia, anxiety, depression, and mentions of domestic abuse ⚠️

-

Adam: Well that's the last of them.

He looked around his new home and smiled, this place was so much better than his last home and a third of the price too.

They were practically giving it away.

There was his lawn mower that was on the truck still.

Adam went out to put it in the garage when he noticed his neighbor, a short blonde man getting his mail from his box. He was better looking than his last neighbor.

Adam waved: Hey!

Lucifer jumped as he grasped his mail, he looked over and saw a handsome brunette standing in the driveway across the road smiling and waving.

Lucifer: O-Oh, hi!

Adam: Names Adam, I just moved in.

Lucifer: N-nice to meet you! I'm Lucifer, I hope you like it here.

He wanted to be polite and welcome his new neighbor right, but he could already feel the cold tendrils of anxiety start to slowly crawl through his skin trying to wrap around him like a vice grip.

How long has he been outside? His heart started to beat a little hard with each moment he's not back in his home. He could die! He's not safe he needs to get back!

Adam: Yeah me too.

By the looks of it he already likes what he sees.

Lucifer nodded, he could feel the tremors starting in his hands the palms getting sweaty.

He needs to go.

Lucifer: I-It was nice to meet you Adam! B-But I need to get going.

Adam: Oh okay, maybe we can hang out sometime?

Lucifer gave a tight smile: Y-yeah.

He waved again to be polite and tried not to run back to his house, his therapist said it was good for him to be out as long as he could stand it.

Pushing himself a little each day. Today him reached his limit.

Once his front door was closed and locked behind relief washed over him, he's safe now nothing can hurt him. He hugged his mail to his chest, he needed to sit down.

Lucifer went over and placed everything on the coffee table. He tried to remember his breathing exercises.

Adam seemed very nice, maybe he'll send Charlie over when she comes to give him a proper greeting.

-

Adam tilted his head as he watched his new neighbor go into his home, if he didn't know any better he would say the man was panicked. Did he do something? He knows his personality can be a little brash at times but he thought he was being polite.

A man that lived beside him came out for his mail as well.

Adam: Hi! Umm, I'm new here.

Alastor: Oh hello! I'm Alastor, I guess that makes us neighbors.

Adam chuckled: Guess so. Umm, if I may ask, is the man that lives there okay? I didn't intend to upset him.

Alastor looked over at Lucifer's home and rolled his eyes.

Alastor: Getting the mail was he? Don't worry about it that man's afraid of his own shadow. I wouldn't waste my time, he never leaves his house.

Well that sounded a little dramatic.

Adam: What?

Alastor leaned on the fence: Oh yeah, Mr. Morgenstern over there never leaves his house. Rumor has it that his wife used to beat the fuck out of him in the home but it was worse when they were in public. Apparently she'd just humiliate him and others would join in making things worse. He was never free of her but at least in the home he could be alone.

Adam was horrified to hear that: Dude, the fuck, is that true?

Alastor shrugged: Not sure. All I know that is true is she left him nearly 8 years ago and he's become some kind of hermit that never leaves the damn house. His daughter Charlie, sweet girl you'll likely meet her, comes over from time to time.

Adam looked over at Lucifer's house, that couldn't all be true right? Maybe some was and the rest is telephone gossip extras?

Him and Alastor parted ways, he had to put everything away in his house. All the while his mind kept going back to the handsome neighbor across the way.

[ganondoodle]

rough concept for the unique boss within the deku-tree (required for the quest to repair the mastersword; boss name is a placeholder)

(totk rewritten project)

[lapdogchase]

disabled queer pride flag edits !!

gilbert baker pride + progress pride / gay + lesbian / pan + bi / trans + genderqueer / genderfluid, agender / bigender + nonbinary / aromantic + asexual / polyamorous + aroace / queer chevron + intersex

[bagelqaq]

i thought this fits them pretty well hehe

[lunarruled]

That was a good point, cars were loud and gas was something that people were literally killing each other over. That's why the group she had been with had preferred to simply walk if they had to go out for supplies. Glancing around at everyone gathered she noticed that they were all in pretty good shape physically, but she would have to see how all that would change without the safety of the walls around them and the guards with guns. Another thing she could do without. Loud as hell and ran out of bullets too quickly. The main reason why she carried so many knives on her at all times. While there were no doubts about Rosita, the more questions the other woman asked the more she was starting to wonder if it was a good idea to bring her with them. The thought of leaving her here only for her to perish without the chance of reuniting with her family caused guilt to rise in the half lycan, but it was quickly swallowed down. Such a useless emotion in a world that no longer gave a shit about any of them.

"Bikes would be a great idea. I've seen a lot of them left behind, which is pretty dumb. In a world where gas is about to not be a thing anymore, you would think people would go for the things that don't need it but we're not all that smart." She commented out loud, probably sounding like a bitch but at least she was honest.

Now solar powered items would be amazing if they could be found, so Warren better hold onto the one he had as if his life depended on it. Batteries were going to run out soon too, though Kyleigh had the secret gift of not needing those either. Still she would play along and if any happened to be found she would share them with this small group. They were her family now, the ones she was going to protect and make sure they got to where ever it might be that they needed to go.

What Irina reminded them of next was a valid point. From what Kyleigh could gather no one else around had been prepared for this kind of life, having to rely on nature to provide them with everything they needed. She however was. From an early age her Uncle had taken her out hunting in the woods, showing her what was safe and what wasn't. What could be used for medicine and what should be avoided at all costs. She was born with a system that could handle the normal things that humans couldn't, eat raw meats with a taste for the blood. Damn all of that was going to have to be hidden now, the only downside to being around normal people. And what the hell was she supposed to do when the full moon came?!

Before a full blown panic attack took her over, Warren's information about that supply truck broke through her thoughts and she sighed. For once his mouth said something useful, and while it might be hard to hide four grown ass people in the back of said truck it was a lot better than trying to go over the fence during the night.

"There is a back entrance." The half lycan spoke, hoping that she wasn't trying to put on this air as if she had a way better idea. "I found it one night when I couldn't sleep and was walking around. At the time there wasn't a guard at it, but I haven't been back since so I don't know if there is now. If we could get some bolt cutters we could break the lock on it but that still leaves the dilemma of supplies. I think the truck idea is our best one so far but if there's any other ideas, let's hear them."

Kyleigh had a point; the vehicle would have to be quiet. There was little Rosita knew about those monsters but they always seemed to go in the direction with the loudest noise. Early on, just before she had gotten to the camp with a few other people from the military, she had seen that when she saw a woman screaming and the dead ones turning to walk toward her. As cruel as it sounded; Rosita had been lucky that the woman had chosen to scream that loudly because she had diverted away some of the undead coming towards her and the small group she was with. She knew she wasn’t supposed to feel that way; she had been someone and there might be someone out there who would miss her, but there was no way she would be alive right now had it not been for that woman causing a distraction. At the same time, she somehow felt guilty even though there was no reason to, rationally speaking, as she could never have helped that woman. She just hoped no one of the group would start screaming around when they faced them.

“Maybe we should go for bikes”, Rosita suggested. “Many cars are filled with those undead things, so we’d have to get close to one of them, and we could run out of gasoline and get stuck. But bikes are quiet and don’t need any gas.”

Plus, they didn’t have alarms. Didn’t need to be hotwired because you didn’t have keys.

At the sight of the map, the corners of her lips curved upwards in relief for a moment and Rosita’s shoulders relaxed. At least they wouldn’t have to take guesses where the hell they were going like rats in a maze.

“My solar/powered flashlight will probably come in handy”, Warren mentioned, much to Rosita’s delight, as her own flashlight was powered by regular batteries and she didn’t have any spare ones with her.

“But how are we getting rations? I mean we can’t just leave this place without bringing some water and food. I was in my hometown, a small town before I got evacuated to this camp and even our stores had nothing left. And medicine. The pharmacy was full of dead ones, and the the gas station was completely empty..” Irina reminded, voice desperate.

Rosita’s experience hadn’t been any different, any store she had passed by during the time she’d been out there had been stripped clean or a chaotic mess with smashed in windows and dead inside.

Irina was right; they had nothing. It’s not like they gave you anything more than two daily rations in here.

“They ship rations to this camp using a truck”, Warren reminded, starting to pace, “I don’t know when they’ll be here, but if it helps, I’ve documented the times the truck arrived at the camp and it ranged from 3:42 pm to 6:23 pm. If we managed to sneak inside we could get out of here by the next morning and take a few supplies with us. If we’re lucky, they’ll be here when the absent-minded guard is on duty.”

Rosita pondered the suggestion. “If we manage to pull that off, we won’t have to worry about supplies at least, and it’s not as tough as climbing over the fence. Any other options?”

She wanted to know if the others had any more suggestions. It was better to go through every possible option than to decide for the first thing that came up.

[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!

[hexcitrine]

randomly looked at this account to update my age and holy shit it's been a while since i posted here..........i have a small pile of art i have yet to post but hbhbshdbshbd too lazy

[saccharine-pink-lemonade]

deleted snippet from ch5 of the last night fic

And it’s just all the more reason that Jason should have come back, should have given him relief, but-

He hadn’t.

That was never the intention. It was never supposed to go like this. He was supposed to crash on Stephanie’s couch, for a while, and then he’d--

Dick looks at him, too. Stares long and hard. Jason thinks, maybe, he looks like he doesn’t quite believe Jay is real. Regret tastes bitter in his mouth, itches against the back of his throat. Its uncomfortable, and aches something awful, like a jammed finger. 

“Morning,” Jason repeats, and hates how his voice drifts in and out on the vowels, like he almost whispered it. His palms start to itch, dully.

Crystal sighs, quietly. Jason’s lungs fill with more guilt -- that he’s put her and Steph in such an impossible situation. Because there were ten million other fucking choices he could have made, but he managed to make all the worst ones.

deleted bc i didnt like the way they sounded in this order -- i reworded & reordered them slightly so that they'd fit nicer in the chapter

[caelum-in-the-avatarverse]

Fandom can do a little gatekeeping. As a treat.

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

Lurkers really are great, tho

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Should we gatekeep fandom?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

Think of it like a garden gate

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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