#favorite thing i've wrote

[solarmorrigan]

I love when people label different members of The Party as Steve’s favorite in fics. There is no wrong answer, they’re all good. Like,

Dustin: The obvious choice. He was Steve’s first duckling, they spend the most time together, they have that dorky/adorable secret handshake routine. Dustin will always be Steve’s favorite, even when he’s going through moody know-it-all teen phases

Max: He threw himself in front of a monster to save her before he even knew her. She saved him from being murdered by Billy. Big brother-sister vibes in s4. She gave him a goodbye letter!

Erica: SCOOPS TROOP. It’s probably hard not to feel extra attached to her after being responsible for her for however long they were trapped in the Russian elevator. Trauma bonds, man. Plus, she’s littler than the others, even if she doesn’t act like it; Steve’s maternal instinct snaps her up

Lucas: Look me in the eye and tell me that Steve didn’t practice basketball with Lucas to help him get ready for tryouts. Tell me he didn’t hype the shit out of Lucas. Tell me he didn’t take Lucas out to celebrate when he made the team. Tell me he wasn’t at every single one of Lucas’ games. You can’t do it

El: Obviously Hopper adopts both Steve and El, and obviously El is Steve’s little sister and he loves her. Next question

Will: Actually says please and thank you. The patience of a saint. Has been possessed by a demon but is the only one who doesn’t act like a demon. Steve’s calmest child. His favorite. (Also: queer kid solidarity)

Mike: It’s never Mike

[chibikyo]

War Prize

Baraka x Reader

(can be read as male or female; no gendered terms used)

TW for non-con, biting, mild belly bulge/cum inflation

Description; You are defeated and taken prisoner during Shao Kahn's invasion of earthrealm. As the one to defeat you, Baraka is given you as a prize by the great Kahn. What does the tarkatan leader have planned for you?

*First time posting something I wrote to Tumblr. First time posting smut. No idea where this came from or why. I just got this idea in my head and decided to roll with it. I hope someone enjoys it.

During The first days of Shao Kahn's invasion of outworld, you had been captured by a horde of tarkatans, lead by Baraka. As one of earthrealms champions, you had been presented to the Kahn as a prisoner of war.

"Their yours, Baraka, a reward for your impressive victory." The Kahn had chortled and you were dragged through the koliseum and out into the wastes of Outworld. The Tarkatan war camp was a nightmare to behold. There were corpses, some whole, some dismembered, most in various states of being skinned, hung up outside of nearly every tent. You closed your eyes aganist the horrific sight, but couldn't block that sweet, putrid stench of decay from invading your senses.

When the tarkatans pulled you up a short set of stairs and threw you down on to a tacky wooden floor, you chanced opening your eyes. The sun blurred your vision as one tarkatan yanked you to your feet. You wanted to resist, to try and make your escape but your arms were bound tightly to your sides and your wrists tied together behind your back with thick, coarse ropes.

It was Baraka who lifted you by the waist and looped your bindings over a hook suspended from what might be a gallows. The hook was sharp and left a shallow cut along your back as Baraka let gravity settle you onto the massive hook. You could just barely touch the wood below with your toes. Enough to take away some of the burden of your weight and lessen the pressure of the ropes digging into your guts. Your arms ached being so tightly bound against you and any struggle would just exhaust you more.

A crowd of Tarkatans were gathering around the stage, more pouring in from the outskirts of the camp. Baraka was speaking harshly to the horde in his native tongue and you had no idea what was being said, but shame burned on your cheeks as the crowd cheered. Fear curled hot and heavy in your guts, flooded your senses with the weight of your panic as it slowly crawled its way up your throat. Would Baraka make it quick, or did Tarkatans like to play with their food first? The thought of this monster flensing you alive, stripping the skin from your bones without giving you a swift death first? It took everything in you not to give in and sob.

Baraka turned toward you and you could swear there was triumph on that twisted face. He leaned in close and you could see his nostrils flare as he scented you. His breath was hot against your cheek as he drew closer. You shut your eyes and jerked back, though that only succeeded in rattling the chains suspending you. You felt harsh fingers dig into your soft flesh as Baraka grabbed your chin to hold you still. A tear finally broke free to trail softly down your cheek and just as softly you felt what must have been Baraka's tongue tracing the path of it. Like the rest of him, his tongue was coarse, rougher than a human's. It scraped under your eye, lapping up the gathering pool of tears threatening to spill before Baraka pulled away.

He shouted once more at the crowd, their cheers drowning out the foreign words and deafening you. You took a deep breath, waiting to feel the sharp sting of teeth or the edge of Baraka's arm blade. You were stunned when you felt two massive hands digging into the fabric of your pants followed by a loud tearing sound that reverberated in your ear drums. You froze, mind unable to fully process what was happening as Baraka moved up, ripping away your top to expose your chest to the ever growing crowd. Strips of ruined fabric were all that was left of your clothes, except what could not be reached beneath the ropes.

A sudden dread swept over you as you felt Baraka's hands trail back to your hips, the rough pads of his fingers scraping against the delicate skin, diggng into the soft flesh. His breath was hot on the back of your neck as he pressed his teeth against your shoulder, inhaling deep to scent the skin where your neck and shoulder met. This, more than anything, finally snapped you out of the fugue that had settled over your mind.

You struggled against the tight bonds, thrashing and twisting to get away from the monster holding you captive. Baraka merely chuffed, his hands digging harder into the delicate curve of you just below the edges of the rope. He yanked you backward against him harshly, your feet slipping away from the wood even as you scrambled to find some purchase. What little comfort that had been afforded to you before was gone as you felt the ropes bite into you deeper.

Baraka wrapped one arm around your waist as the other moved up to close around your throat. His fingers gripped firmly around your neck, the hollow of your throat pressed against the hollow between his thumb and forefinger. He squeezed only once, coupled with a low growl, which you knew was the only warning you would get about acting up. You felt a chill travel down your spine as Baraka pressed himself against you. You could feel the hard length of him pressing insistently against your ass and the thought of what came next made you feel sick.

The crowd was jeering, shouting harsh words that you could not interpret and hissing encouragingly at their leader. Baraka settled you back in position before pulling his hands away to fumble behind you. You couldn't see what the Tarkatan was doing, but the soft 'schck' of fabric hitting the floor left little to the imagination. You closed your eyes as Baraka's hands found purchase on your thighs again. You didn't fight as your legs were spread enough for Baraka to press in behind you.

"Please don't fo this." You pleaded, desperate to put a stop to this even knowing you were helpless to stop him.

"Quiet," Baraka growled softly from behind you and you choked back a sob.

You braced yourself for pain, but once again was startled as Baraka soothed the skin beneath his hands.Trembling, you couldn't begin to fathom what the Tarkatan meant by the gesture before you felt that rough, almost sandpaper-esque tongue lick a stripe across your entrance. You gasped, the pain-pleasure combo making you dizzy as Baraka lapped at your hole again and again. Your thighs quivered as Baraka plunged his tongue inside you, fucking you with it, forcing pleasure to pool in your gut even as you weakly tried to protest. You could feel yourself reaching that crescendo as your aborted pleas slowly became little more than moans. As your "no" and "stop" became "yes" and "more" and "please".

Baraka's hands dug harder into your thighs, spreading your legs further so he could fuck his tongue even deeper into you. He lapped up the taste of you with abandon, savoring that salty, musky taste as he pushed deeper still, until you could feel the press of his teeth against your entrance. The thrill of those ivory daggers nestled against your most intimate place drove you over the edge and you screamed as you came, thrashing as the most intense orgasm of your life was wrung out of you, Baraka happily lapping up the mess you left as you quivered from overstimulation.

As you slowly came down from your high, the pain from the ropes digging into you was sharper and you felt your face burning in shame as the crowd cheered louder. You almost thought that was it, until Baraka pressed in behind you, his cock impossibly large and pressing into the crack of your ass. You whimpered as Baraka pressed two fingers into your quivering entrance, lubricating the way with the remnants of your orgasm. He pulled them away with a satisfied growl before manipulating you until your entrance was hovering just above his cock. You had never felt so empty before, never been so achingly hollow, and your body clenched with the need to be full. Knowing it would only hurt to fight what came next, you forced yourself to relax as Baraka began to push into you. He went slower than you expected, but unrelenting as his cock speared you open. You had never imagined something so huge could even fit, but your body opened up around him as he just kept pressing deeper and deeper. Not just big, but impossibly hard with deep ridges on the underside that pressed deliciously against your plush insides.

He seemed determined to make you take all of him, growling as he was met with tighter and tighter resistance. You could swear you felt him in your throat, choking as your breath was punched out of you. You felt Baraka wrap his arms tight around you, pressing so tightly against you that the protrusions of bone on his chest and atms dug into your skin. You could feel the growl make its way through him, your only warning as he thrust up into you. You screamed as his monstrous length bottomed out within you, followed by his teeth digging into the soft flesh of your shoulder. The pain was so all-encompassing as you sobbed and thrashed against him.

Baraka stayed nestled inside you, content to wait until your screams subsided into shuddered sobs. He brushed his hand soothinlgly against your collar bones, tracing the hollow of your throat softly and felt your breath hitch and you lurch with pleasure as his arm brushed against a sensitive nipple. His teeth slowly pulled out of your shoulder as he felt you settle again and he lapped at the blood spilling from the needle like punctures. The roughness of his tongue sent spikes of white hot pain through the torn muscle, mixed with the zing of pleasure as Baraka explored your chest, pinching and plucking at your nipples to feel you squirm against his cock nestled so deep inside you. You were panting, your breath hitching on little moans as you adjusted to the intrusion. Baraka pulled away from the wound on your back, twisting the hook and you with it so he could turn you to face him.

The drag of his cock inside you as he manipulated your body with ease had you choking. Once you were facing him, Baraka leaned down, his tongue laving at one of sensitive nubs eagerly. You could see his face twist with ecstasy as he toyed with each nipple in turn. That rough appendage dragging acrosd the delicate skin and over stimulated nerves beneath, coupled with the constant pressure of his thick length inside was too much. He gave a single. shallow thrust, more to readjust your weight against him than anything, and you moaned, gasping, as a second orgasm tore through you. Baraka pulled back, his hands at your waist as he slowly lifted you. The sensation of the hook dragging against your back was dwarfed by the drag of his cock as he lift you almost completely off of it. Your hole fluttered and clenched at the ache of being empty, though that only lasted a few seconds before Baraka was lowering you back down. You choked as that massive length filled you yet again. You barely registered the ropes falling away before Baraka wrapped his hands around your thighs, jerking your legs up and you had to fling your arms around his neck to stay balanced, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist.

His cock rubbed your sensitive walls, drawing out soft moans as you lay your head bonelessly against his shoulder. He barked out what may have been an order to the crowd and you were reminded that this whole ordeal had been in front of an audience. You were too tired to care at that point, burying your head into the crook of his neck as your arms tightened around the Tarkatan leader's neck. The press of his sharp protrusions barely noticeable compared to the shallow thrusts of his cock within you as he carried you down the stairs and away from the ever dissipating crowd.

You finally snapped back to reality as Baraka pressed you down into a nest of furs and blankets. You hissed as the soft fabric brushed against the bite on your shoulder, the skin raw and aching. The sun no longer burned your eyes and you blinked, taking in the walls of Baraka's tent. Compared to the macabre sight outside the tent, inside was quite clean and almost cozy. Baraka noticed your hiss of pain and encouraged you to roll over, only pulling out of you long enough for you to untangle your legs from his before thrusting back into you with a satisfied growl. This time the slide into you was nothing but pleasure and you shuddered with anticipation. A part of you, buried deep since this ordeal began, knew that you didn't want this, that this was an assault by the enemy. Despite this, your body had already begun to crave the heavy weight of Baraka pressed inside you; the tight, almost suffocating feeling of his cock buried in your deepest, most intimate parts.

Baraka caged your body between his arms as he leaned down to delicately lap up the few rivulets of blood that had seeped from his bite mark. He inhaled the scent of blood, coupled with the sharp tang of your phermones, and his tongue poked out to taste it. You whined, rocking your body back against his, desperate for him to move as you felt the deep aching need pooling in your guts again. His growl, as he pulled out until only the tip of his meaty cock rested within you, made you gasp, before his hips snapped forward, driving his cock inside you and punching the air out of your lungs. He began to thrust, hard, fast, dragging harshly against your inner walls as you struggled to catch your breath. You could feel the slide in your guts and when you looked down you could see the top of his cock pushing out from the lowest edge of your belly. You moaned, your hand trailing down to press against that bump, feeling that hard length as it rearranged your guts to carve out space for itself.

Baraka hissed and let out a loud groan as he felt your palm press against his cock from the outside. His thrusts became feral as he rutted inside you, making you choke and slide forward from the force. Your orgasm that had been slowly building crashed over you wave after wave as Baraka continued to batter your insides. You were still shaking, riding out the aftershocks as you felt Baraka's arms around your waist, yanking you back and against his chest as he buried himself as deep as he could and painted your insides with his thick seed. You felt pulse after pulse of hot cum shooting from his cock, filling you to the brim. Your hand went to your stomach, brushing against the head of his cock as he shook through his orgasm. It took a full minute for him to finally stop cumming and you could feel that thick seed leaking out from where the two of you were joined. Could feel his cock twitching inside you. Baraka's cock was still impossibly hard and he seemed content to stay buried within you. He lapped at the blood that had seeped out of your wound as you slowly caught your breath.

"Beautiful." Baraka hissed. "I am so glad the emperor let me keep you. I would have been more gentle, but a public claim is required to ensure the clan knows you are off limits."

"You were…claiming me?" Your voice was rough from screaming and disuse. Your throat ached as you spoke.

"Yes. I've been dying to mate with you since our first fight." Baraka growled. His hands worked there way down your body as he spoke, removing the last remnants of your clothes until you were fully naked against him. "At the tournament." He clarified, nuzzling against your neck so he could drink in the sweet smell of arousal within your phermones. "You smelled so sweet, so delicious, I could barely resist claiming you right then." He gave a shallow thrust making you moan. "You are even sweeter than I could have hoped for."

Your breath hitched at the confession as Baraka slowly arranged the two of you on the nest. He kept his thrusts going, shallow and soft, content to feel you squeezing around him and you could feel exhaustion threatening to swallow you. Although you had not consented, you had to admit that Baraka had been much more careful with you than you'd expected. It didn't help that his arms were huge and warm and you felt safe even with those imposing teeth nestled against the hollow of your throat. You should be finding a way to escape. Instead you moaned his name as he snapped for hips forward, his one hand finding its way between your legs to coax one last orgasm out of you. You clenched around him, your body trembling as you felt him coat your insides with another flood of cum before he finally slid out of you.

You whimpered at ache of being empty as you could feel his spend starting to leak out of you. Baraka's hand brushed against your hole, feeling the mess slowly oozing out of you and twisted away for a moment. You could feel him fumbling behind himself for something, then gasped as his hand found your entrance again. Two of his meaty fingers swirled through the mess collecting outside your hole before he slowly eased those digits, cum and all, back into you. He spent a few minutes pumping those digits into you, working his cum as deep as possible. You choked, cumming again even though you hardly thought it possible. He kept softly pumping his fingers, enjoying the way his cum sloshed around inside you as you whined at the overstimulation. Baraka's other hand gently stroked your soft belly, feeling the way the skin was stretched taught over the small pooch that had formed from how well he'd filled you up.

Finally, as tears threatened to spill from your eyes, he removed his fingers and replaced them with something cold and hard. It slipped inside you easily,the bulbous shape and its flared base plugging your hole and preventing any cum from sliding out. You shuddered as it pressed against your sensitive walls. It wasn't as big as Baraka's cock, nothing was, but it helped ease the ache of the emptiness you felt. You clenched around it as Baraka pressed firmly against your back. He kept a tight hold of you, his tongue leaving little trails over your skin. You were too sore to push him off. There was a bone deep exhaustion settling over you from the fighting followed by the most mind blowing, toe curling sex you'd ever experienced. You drifted off to the sound of Baraka growling softly to you in a mix of yours and his native tongue. You only caught a few of the words as the world faded to black.

"My mate."

[god-of-fandoms]

Here it is - a scene from my familiar faces au! I hope you enjoy it!

Tw: cursing, eye trauma, mentions of arranged marriage

---

Nya grunts in pain as she's thrown to the floor for what seems like the fiftieth time tonight. Scrap N' Tap is always rough - she has her growing collection of scars to account for that - but tonight seems different. Colder, somehow, and so much harsher than ever before. Her ribs are bruised to hell and the blood filling her mouth indicates that she's lost a tooth. The chuckling of the crew slowly falls silent, and her blood begins to run cold as a shadow looms in front of her.

Of fucking course. Why else would the pirates stop holding back unless he wanted something?

"Oh, my dear," and FSM the way Nadakhan calls her that in his sickly sweet tone just makes her want to throw up, "I can tell you're tiring of all of this. Why don't you just give in and stop all this pain?"

Nya spits out a mouthful of blood (and what she's almost certain is one of her incisors) at the djinn. "For the last time, dickbag," she hisses at his disapproving glare, "I'm not wishing for shit."

Nadakhan sighs as he floats closer, ignoring her attempts to flinch back. One thing she’s learned since being stuck on the misfortune? The captain has no fucking sense of personal space. It’s a trait that makes her shiver with disgust, especially when conversation circles back to the reason theyre stuck in this tango.

Speaking of which…

“My crew have been searching day and night, and your friends are still nowhere to be found.” Nadakhan’s golden eyes steadily burn a hole into her soul. She looks away, favoring the sight of her blood dripping onto the deck over that of the djinn’s face. “It seems that they are particularly good at hiding where I cannot see. But, my dear, you’ll come to find-” he grabs Nya’s throat in a bruising grip, ripping a strangled gasp from between her teeth as she's choking again, she can't breathe she can't breathe she can't breathe - "I always find what I'm looking for eventually. The other ninja will be in my grasp within the month, and once I have them? They will know pain like nothing they have known before, I swear to you."

He throws her to the floor once again. Her bruised ribs cry out in agony, but the feeling of air entering her lungs again drowns out the now familiar pain. A calloused hand finds its way to her hair, twisting a loose strand, and once again Nya has to fight back the urge to vomit.

"It doesn't have to be that way if you could just tell me where to find them. I can be merciful, and while it cannot be denied that I used to despise you for destroying Djinjago, it was not your intention to do so. Ever since you joined us-" ha, joined as if my only other choice wasn't to let you have him - "I have found it harder to argue against your usefulness. You would make a brilliant pirate, my dear."

Nya gives the djinn no response other than a scoff. She would rather die a million times than to see the day she'd willingly take orders from this son of a bitch. He sighs and turns his back on her, floating towards the center of the Scrap N' Tap arena. She wishes she had a knife to plunge into his spine.

"Your friends would not need to suffer, either, as long as they agreed to cooperate as well. I could let you all help me in my rule over Ninjago. It is... unfortunate that your brother and the nindroid were too late for this deal, but once I have my Delara back and receive infinite wishes I could be persuaded to bring them back-"

"HIS NAME IS JAY, YOU BASTARD!"

Nadakhan freezes. The rest of the crew falls eerily silent as well. Nya has been in control of water long enough to know that this is what it feels like in the calm before a raging storm.

"What did you just say to me?" The djinn asks, his words knife sharp. He turns to face her once again, and shit he's fucking enraged. It takes everything in Nya to glare back at him when her brain is telling her it's not safe run away DANGER RUN-

"His name is Jay, not Delara. I don't give a shit that he looks like your dead fucking fiancee - they could be twins for all I care - that doesn't change the fact that he's his own person. Delara is dead, Captain, and I'd rather gouge out my own eye than let you marry him because you think it will bring her back."

Nadakhan's nostrils flare as he flies towards her, arm outstretched as if to hit her. Nya can't help it - she flinches away, squeezing her eyes shut as she waits for the blow to come.

It doesn't.

After a few tense seconds, she looks up again. Nadakhan floats there, a peaceful look across his face as if he hadn't appeared ready to end her fucking life a moment before. Has he somehow managed to calm himself down

"Let me get this straight, my dear," and nope, he's even more angry than he was before, if the way his words drip with icy venom are a hint of his current emotional state, "Despite what you say about your precious Jay, I'd know my beloved anywhere. He may go on believing that he is not her, but once I have him in my grasp - and I will have him - he'll be whoever I say he is. And once I wed him and gain infinite wishes, I will be able to bring back the soul of my beloved Delara from the departed realm. With her spirit in his body, we will be reunited at last!"

Nya has to actively fight her nausea as she looks at the djinn's dreamy expression. Pure unadulterated horror courses through her. She knew that the djinn wanted to marry Jay under the delusion that he was a reincarnation of his bitchass fiancee, but for him to blatantly admit that he didn't give a single shit about Jay's thoughts and feelings on the matter - to admit to his plan of letting Delara permanently possess his body??? - makes her actively sick.

"You're a monster," she gasps, and it only makes him grin sadistically. "Jay will never marry you! He'll fight back every step of the way, and so will I!"

"My dear, Jay doesn't get a choice. No matter what, I will wed him and we will rule Ninjago together. And as for you..." His grin only grows wider as he looks away from her to admire the gleaming metal of his hook. He gestures to Dogshank and before she knows it the beast of a woman is restraining her, and despite her struggling she won't budge. "You're very against this wedding, aren't you? In fact, if my memory hasn't betrayed me, I recall you saying you'd 'rather gouge out your own eye than let me marry him'.

Nya freezes. The djinn is getting closer, too close, and the way he's gazing at his hook sends a bolt of terror through her. "I - I didn't actually mean that!" she stutters as her efforts in struggling against Dogshank double in intensity. She's completely unable to move, however, and her breathing gets harder and faster as Nadakhan raises the curved blade to just above her left eye. He wouldn't really, would he?

Nadakhan pauses, golden eyes roaming over her terrified face with amusement. "You didn't?" He asks, faux disappointment drowning his voice. He begins to pull away his hook, and the sigh of relief she lets out is embarrassingly audible.

"I guess I'll just have to do it myself, then!"

The hook pierces her eye.

The pain is instant and blinding. it's so much worse than every other injury she's faced as a ninja. It courses through her veins, hot and heavy, with no sign of stopping.

The hook digs deeper and though she can't hear anything she knows she lets out a scream as she feels it tear through her eye, ripping through nerves and tissue. The pain whites out her brain, she can't think of anything else, she can't breathe, she can't see-

It feels like minutes of agony as the blade twists and digs through her eye socket, hell bent on causing as much pain as possible. It's working. She simultaneously can't feel anything but her eye and feels every inch of her body as all of her nerves echo with pure blinding excruciation.

Then the hook freezes, and she's only given a brief reprieve from the pain before it yanks out of her socket, taking her eye with it.

The blinding pain overwhelms her again as nerves are ripped from the space her eyeball occupied moments before. Through her ringing ears, she can hear someone screaming. A minute later, she realizes that those are her cries.

She's dropped unceremoniously to the floor by Dogshank, where she lies in a growing pool of her own blood. The pain is still coursing though her, but it slowly ebbs... along with her consciousness.

Through rapidly closing eyes - eye, she only has one now - she can see Nadakhan as he floats towards her crumpled form. He lifts her chin gently, seemingly admiring his handiwork. Not has never been this tired. At this point, the pain is set aside as her body shuts down. Nadakhan tuts at her visible exhaustion and wipes away her tears (when did she start crying? She can't bring herself to care).

"Poor girl," he mumbles, his mournful tone a sharp contrast to the (rapidly blurring) smirk on his face. "This wouldn't have had to happen if you had just told me what I wanted to know."

Fuck that. She gathers the last of her strength as she glares at him and rasps, "'m not tellin' you shit".

Nadakhan scowls, but it quickly turns into a self satisfied smile. "Even in a time like this, you still have your fire. Good. And as for you 'not telling me shit', I believe you now. But mark my words, my dear..."

Nya is drifting off; Nadakhan's voice is getting more and more muffled as she sinks into her exhaustion. The last thing she hears are the djinn's parting words to her.

"Jay and the rest of your friends will be mine eventually. In fact, I doubt I'll have to look much longer. I guarantee you that they'll come to me themselves."

---

SO DO WE LIKE IT

this took me a crazy short amount of time compared to most of my writing. I'll have to thank @tornoleander for that because I listened to the girl with one eye (Florence + the machine) like you mentioned when talking abt my au and DAMN it got me in the mindset for this like nothing else lemme tell you. If there were to be a ff!au playlist at some point that would definitely be on it (along with nothing by Emily autumn because that gives me serious jay and nadakhan vibes lol)

Im probably gonna edit this soon because I'm so tired and this is probably shit rn. Bear with me though the typos fam.

anyway I really hope you all like this! Your feedback is always important to me so tell me what you think.

as always, feel free to ask me anything about this fic! I'm always happy to answer your questions :D

Thanks for reading this! I hope it makes you more excited about this au.

Have a lovely day!

-Lee :)

[steddie-island]

Don't go where I can't follow

Rating: E | WC: 992 | CW: Choking, angst with a happy ending, under-negotiated kink, some blood/gore (this takes place after Watergate so Steve is hurt) Written for Kinktober last year, for the prompt 'choking'. See full list of tags on ao3.

They were alive. 

They almost weren’t, but then they were, and Steve needed… something. “Fuck.”  

It was easier than it should have been to get away from the others. It was easy to lie and say they needed to look at the extent of their wounds, that they could take care of each other, and yeah, Nancy and Robin should go check the kids. 

“Fuck, Steve. Are you sure?”Eddie had never done this. He’d never done anything beyond an awkward handjob with someone who didn’t have enough money for their weed. This wasn’t that. This was Steve Harrington, King of Hawkins High, looking desperate and wrecked as Eddie worked a hand over their cocks. Steve’s eyes were wide and wet. There was dried blood on his face, his neck, blood seeped through his bandages and into Eddie's vest. He fucking hurt, ached everywhere, but they could worry about that later. 

A pink tongue darted out to wet dry lips and then Steve was nodding. They both smelled like lake water and mud and sulfur and none of that mattered because goddammit they were alive.

“Please.”

Even being alone the way they were, it was better, safer, to whisper. Moans were hidden with teeth in swollen lips and behind hands that still had mud in the lines of their knuckles. Steve wanted– needed– more than that, though. 

He could still feel the tail of the goddamn demobat, digging in, cutting him, pressing rough against his throat. The skin was still angry and red and raw but still he pulled Eddie’s hand up to cover the red line. In another life they could talk safewords and technique and Steve would worry more about kissing the terror out of Eddie’s eyes. He couldn’t quite do it when he knew Eddie’s terror was just being reflected back at him. "Do it. Please.”

So Eddie did. He slotted their legs together more firmly to help hold Steve’s weight against the rock, then his thumb and fingers were squeezing. It was gentle at first, too fucking gentle. Steve covered Eddie’s fingers and squeezed tighter. The cut against his throat ached and stung where Eddie touched it but that just added to the sensation. “Harder. Please– ” Eddie obliged again, tightened both the hand around their dicks and the fingers around Steve’s throat. He’d read about this at least, knew the basics before Steve had asked for this. Still, seeing Steve’s eyes rolling back into his head, hearing his breathing slow, slow, before he wasn’t making any sounds at all. 

It made Eddie’s fucking chest ache, but he didn’t stop. He twisted his hand against their cocks, gathered precome against his palm to keep slicking the way for his hand. 

Just when he was ready to loosen his grip– he’d been counting, knew that he needed to be careful or there would be damage and wouldn’t that just be the fucking kicker on top of the giant shit heap, Eddie Munson surviving monsters only to have to destroy himself because he’d snuffed out this golden boy. Just as his fingers began to ease up, Steve went stiff, choked out a sound as he came hard over their hands and his own shirt and their cocks and fuck if that didn’t have Eddie coming, too. He muffled the sound in Steve’s neck and rolled towards his fist, working them both through their orgasms. 

It wasn’t until Eddie was finished coming that he realized Steve was crying.

“Hey. Hey, honey. Shhh, Stevie, did I hurt you?” Eddie’s hands were even gentler now as he tipped Steve’s face up. “Honey, did I hurt you?” His lips followed the path of Steve’s tears before kissing his mouth lightly. “Talk to me, sweetheart. Please.” “I needed you to,” Steve choked out. He brought Eddie’s fingers to the line that he figured would scar over later. “I needed this to be from you, and not– not from them.” 

Eddie got it, then. He understood why he’d been dragged out here to skull rock, why Steve had kissed him hard, why a hand had disappeared into his pants before the rest of his mind could even process the fact that his pants had been opened. He tilted Steve’s head back and trailed feather soft kisses over the demobat wound. “I’m gonna take care of you, okay?” Steve, still crying quietly, just nodded. 

So Eddie took them back to Steve’s house. He stripped them both out of their lakewater clothes, got them into the shower, whispered promises of how he was going to take care of Steve as he washed away all of the blood and grime. By the time they were clean Steve had stopped crying. The trembling calmed as he watched nimble fingers re-clean and re-bandage his wounds like Eddie had done this a million times. It started up again when those chapped lips kissed each of the new bandages. 

“I’m sorry we don’t have more time.” They had to get back to the others. They had an apocalypse to avert, after all. “If we did…” “I know.” And he did know. He could see an alternate future where they did have all the time in the world, where their first time hadn’t been against a rock in the middle of the woods but in Steve’s bed– or maybe Eddie’s bed, or on his couch. The where didn’t matter. Eddie mattered. Eddie wanting to take care of him mattered. Steve leaned in, kissed Eddie gently, just once. 

They dressed. And it was back to the fight. 

—

Later, as Steve hauled Eddie on his back out of the Upside Down, he was the one whispering promises. He didn’t stop making those promises on the ambulance ride to the hospital, or as he sat by Eddie’s bed, begging and praying for him to wake up. 

He didn’t stop making them until Eddie’s eyes were open, and Steve realized that maybe they did have more time after all. 

[edwardallenpoe]

Hey. Just wanted to put my two cents in, like everyone else on Tumblr dot com is. (It got pretty long so putting it under a cut)

I don't really care about what you think should happen to the fandom. Like. If you are going to continue to engage in the fandom without giving Neil any sort of gain is fine. I'm personally still on the fence on what the fuck to do now. But let's not make that the whole focus, yeah? What Neil allegedly did was fucking terrible. Like. Objectively worse than what JKR did when things first came out about her. Let's forget good omens and sandman and coraline for a minute (don't care if you still engage with those things or burn your copies and remove your tattoos, let's just put it down for a minute.) and try really hard to think. Because we all hated JKR. We burned her reputation to the ground. For good reason. But we can't even decide if we hate Neil Gaiman yet? Guys. Please. We have to believe all women. Plus he's a rich fucking white dude who has admitted to using his power for gain.

And if it turns out (which this is a 8% chance) that this is all not what it seems to be, or even all of it is fabricated, and Neil is innocent, we still gotta stop worshipping this dude. This has got to be a wakeup call that he's not some Messiah. He's a human dude in power who does the same shitty things human dudes in power do.

And I get it. You want to continue to like your stories that he helped create (key-word 'helped' bc he was a part of a team with a lot of these stories, including Sir Terry Pratchett) but me personally? I would be a massive hypocrite if I metaphorically burned my Harry Potter stories to the ground and put HP fans in my DNI because of JKR but said "separate the art from the artist" with Neil Gaiman.

And this is coming from any other Good Omens fan that became way too attached to the story. Like a lot of people have said that story helped in very. Very fucking trying times. It was my rock, some days the only thing keeping me going. The fandom has been an amazing place of creativity and community and love.

But so was Harry Potter. If you think about it. If any Good Omens fans were previous Harry Potter fans you'll know just how wide spread and open and creative and deep the hp fandom was. And this may just be me misremembering because it was a couple years ago at this point (plus everything with Neil Gaiman is still such news) but because JKR was spouting rhetoric that directly harmed us (us being majority queer and poc people) we drop-kicked hp pretty fast and focused on the artist and her shittiness.

Can we have the same attitude towards Neil? Can we separate the art from the artist long enough to fucking focus on Neil? When I say separate the art from the artist I don't mean "remove artist, continue to enjoy art" I mean "remove the art and focus on the artist, and study that motherfucker". How many video essays are their out about JKR? How many books referencing her terribleness? Without giving so much as a hint to Harry Potter?

Separate the art from the artist and focus on the artist and bringing him to justice. And believe the victims.

And yeah I can see your arguments against the source of the information and who the victims went to tell their stories, I can understand those arguments, but let's look at the data, okay? Let's look at what Scarlett and K actually said with their actual words and their actual messages and separate the source from the material. What Scarlett and K talked about is scary. Terrifying. I couldn't even read more than a little bit before I got triggered. I wasn't caring about how the source podcast was talking about it. What Scarlett and K said with their own words should be enough. Make your own judgements. If you can't look at a story without being influenced by the storyteller's hidden agenda and not have critical thinking skills????? I'm sorry but that's going to be your downfall.

Or better yet, if you can't believe victims because they have political views that differ from your own (which, they probably don't. From what I can tell nobody really fucking knows what Scarlett and K's political views are but it doesn't really matter) you need to really study and look into what you mean when you call yourself a "leftist". Because it's not very progressive or helpful to not believe or help victims because of their political views. Sorry. Is that wild for me to say? Idk

Uh anyways. I don't really care what you do in your free time when it comes to enjoying the fandoms. I don't necessarily think it makes you a terribly shitty person for still engaging in it instead of burning all your Neil Gaiman stories, and also like a lot of people have said (and since I'm on the same boat) treating fans like the scum of the earth when a lot of fans have had good omens as a way to escape and has become super dependent on good omens and are justifiably horrified by everything and trying to ignore it is shitty. But I'm personally going to continue to follow this story because I care about the victims. Not because I want to be guilt-free reading a fanfic about an angel and a demon. Because I care about real life people.

[bangtanagan]

sealstich

yoonkook selkie au selkie!yg x human!jk 5k, rated T, complete Jungkook knows what it means when they boy comes stumbling in with only an old coat. He’s not an idiot.

Jungkook isn’t an idiot. He knows what it means when the boy comes stumbling in with only an old coat, loose around his shoulders and worn at the elbows and the collar. He knows what it means when he feeds him and finds him clothes to sleep in and tucks him into the old couch, tartan fading. He knows what it means when the silent, pale stranger leaves his coat folded over the back of the rickety kitchen chair. He’s not stupid.

But Jungkook has no interest in keeping anything, nor being kept, so he leaves the coat glistening in the oil light and goes to bed in his tiny saltchill bedroom at the end of the hall.

In the porcelain glaze of pre-dawn, the weight of a body climbing into his bed wakes him. He blinks his eyes open to the boy’s face. His hair is the color of a winter shore, saltsand streaked with sunslant grey. His cheeks are sleep-soft, eyes drowsy, skin unblemished.

“Hey,” he says, the first he’s spoken. His voice rumbles like a wavecrash, and he holds his battered, fraying coat in one hand, scowl creeping across his beautiful face. “What the fuck, dude.”

read on ao3

[vulpinesaint]

nobody talks about how awesome vent fics are. you can put your character in the Situations and just keep them there and keep them there and keep them there and then you finish it and you feel better. and it's free

[livelaughtouya]

Choice // Hawks x Reader

Warnings: hurt / no comfort

Word count: 686

-

When Hawks infiltrated the League of Villains, he never expected to find a person like you. You intoxicated him. He craved you like an addict that hadn’t had their fix in hours. Your touch, your voice, your presence alone made him drunk on love. He tried pushing it down. He tried ignoring you, but like a magnet he just kept getting drawn back to you. You were no better. You would watch the news when you knew Hawks was in pursuit of villains, doing interviews and things with the press. You even had convinced (more like begged and pleaded) Dabi to let you assist in meetings with the hero. Anything to let you two be together. 

The love you had for him was so strong that you didn’t want to believe the scene in front of you.  Dabi had his knee pressed into your lover’s back as he held a strong grip on his golden locks, pinning him in place. Behind them laid your friend that you watched Hawks kill. You fought back tears of hurt and betrayal as you listened to Dabi chewing out Hawks below him. Then Dabi tightened his grip on Hawks’ hair and pulled his eyes up to meet yours. Hawks’ face twisted in horror when he saw the pain contorted look on your face. He swore that face had hurt him more than the stinging feeling coming from his scalp and his sore muscles. 

You stumbled over slowly before dropping down in front of the two men. Shaking hands reached and cupped his face gently. He wanted so badly to melt into that touch. It was at that moment the tears began to free fall from your eyes. 

“You betrayed us?” The question left your lips leaving a burning feeling in your throat. The way Hawks slowly closed his eyes without saying a word answered your question. The silence made your heart break more. 

“I loved you. That was real. I never faked anything when it came to you,” he quietly spoke. He hoped that would help ease the pain in your chest. It only made you sob harder. 

“Y/N,” it was Dabi’s voice filling your ears this time. You looked up, still leaving your hands on Hawks’s face. “What do you want me to do?”

You sucked in a shaky breath as your mind moved a million miles a minute. Your eyes fell back down to the hero in front of you. 

“The love of your life or the heroes of this country?” you asked, feeling your chest tighten at your words. He could see the pleading look in your eyes, begging him to choose you. He opened his mouth to speak, but quickly shut it to find the words he wanted to speak.

“The heroes or me?” this time you were yelling, tightening the hold on his face. Dabi’s knee dug deeper into his spine, almost as if the pain in your voice was breaking the villain’s heart as well.

“The heroes,” his voice was almost barely audible. He watched your face shape from heartbreak, to confusion, then to rage. Your hands dropped to your knees and your tears stopped falling. You were almost to the point of blind anger that you couldn’t see that not choosing you was making your lover’s chest tighten and breathing quicken. He wanted so badly to choose you, but he couldn’t. 

Only one hand was brought back to his face, but it wasn’t the same comfort from before. This time it was a strong grip that made his jaw crack from the contact. You leaned in front of his face causing your noses to graze. 

“Then you will watch me burn this city and them to the fucking ground,” you spat before getting up and telling Dabi to do whatever he pleased with Hawks. You turned on your heels to fulfill your promise. You could see the hues of blue bounce off the walls and the burning heat from Dabi’s flame. You didn’t even turn to look back to see the tears falling from Hawks’ face as he watched you walk away.

[rimouskis]

on the subject of museums though: I'm a FIRM believer that the smithsonians are genuinely some the greatest cultural heritage americans possess and I believe SO fervently in them being free to the public and accessible to all because they ARE our nation's history and tell (and ideally deconstruct) our national myths and help contextualize the natural world around us and show us the heights of human ingenuity and art. also my favorite of all of them is the national museum of the american indian and I personally think if you can only go to one smithsonian museum it should be that one

[eemolu]

only ever where you are

for @jiaraweek day 2: only one bed

It took everything JJ had to slow the car down and try to collect his thoughts. He’d been pushing 80—the fastest the Twinkie would go—since he got on the highway. The important stuff was taken care of already. Everything he’d planned for, at least: Kie was in the car, they were away from that stupid camp, and they were together. But where the hell was he supposed to go? or, the escape from kitty hawk goes a little differently: jj breaks kie out after several days only to realize he's brought her to his house - and there's only one bed

read on ao3

[misscrazyfangirl321]

The writer’s urge to post a one-shot that is clearly the first chapter of a longfic, even though I have no idea where I’d go with it. 

[piratefalls]

writing patterns

Tagged by @wellhalesbells! thanks friend!

Rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern! I'm going from oldest to newest.

What kind of rock is this? (Sedimentary, my dear Watson) | Hawaii Five-0 | McDanno | 3.7k

Steve is sitting in the driver’s seat of the Camaro, adjusting what has to be the single most uncomfortable seashell bra to ever be mass produced, and curses Mary’s inability to find even the most ridiculous costumes in an adult size.

2. & lift him back up again | Hawaii Five-0 | McDanno | 3.4k

“Steve,” Danny murmurs, one hand resting on Steve’s shoulder, gently nudging him to turn onto his back in their bed. “Babe, you gotta get up. You got -- you got stuff to take care of today.”

3. Got Your Body On My Mind (I Want It Bad) | Hawaii Five-0 | McDanno | 2.9k

Throughout the course of his life, Danny Williams has had to sit through a number of unpleasant experiences.

4. Always Let Your Conscience Be Your Guide | Teen Wolf | Sterek | 9k

Before he knows it, two months have gone by.

5. To Infinity and Beyond | Teen Wolf | Sterek | 1k

It’s a few weeks later, and Derek is sweating as he sits among a sea of people (but more specifically, right next to Stiles’ dad) as he listens to the Beacon Hills High School principal list off name after name as students walk across the stage to accept their diplomas.

6. this relationship we're staging | Hawaii Five-0 | McDanno | 2k

Steve generally doesn’t sleep with the fan on.

7. it's nice to say that we played in the dirt | Hawaii Five-0 | McDanno | 3.7k

She’s back on the islands for the first time in two years – at least, in the sense that she’s not there for work – and it hits her almost immediately how much she’s missed this place.

8. that's no concern when we're wounded together | Hawaii Five-0 | McDanno | 2.4k

Steve’s thrashing wakes Danny out of a deep sleep.

9. you and me get too real but all I feel is alright | Hawaii Five-0 | McDanno | 11k

Hell Week had prepared Steve for a multitude of situations, but it had nothing on two weeks of solitary confinement in Halawa Correctional Facility.

10. it's like taking a guess when the only answer is yes | Hawaii Five-0 | McDanno | 3k

It’s that weird period between Thanksgiving and Christmas where no one really knows what their plans are.

tagging: @priincebutt because you tagged me in the other thing so this is like...tradesies. and if anyone else wants to do this, that's cool too!

[slingbats]

I am going to need that rewrite on my desk by tomorrow, 12 point font, times new roman, double spaced

noOOOOOO IT'S TOO MUCH WORK!!! I DON'T HAVE TIME AND I DON'T CARE ENOUGH........ girl help!

my rewrite where uhhhhhhhhhh. everything is the same except the writers actually care about female characters. a lot of decisions were made because of actresses no longer being available so plotlines like fish's are more or less the same but like, Ivy either gets to grow up normally or is never a child at the beginning to start with (you can go the weird plant body route if you have to keep her relatively younger since this is a prequel ig), and I don't... even know what to make of KK or Isabella, and Sofia should just be fucking. dont tell me there isn't a single female italian bodybuilder who can act, I don't believe you. let her be buff. let her take up space. let her be huge and wear vintage fashion.

also Oswald is fat and trans

[elisedonut]

sudden itch to write a rare pair fic thats not Percy related

but like

the last time I did that it ended up becoming my top fic and lead to me deciding that you know... actually I hate that ship just out of spite so i'm not sure how good of an idea it is

maybe if i try like femslash or something super super rare with side characters or something

[bunnygirl678]

Chapters: 6/6 Fandom: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Ookido Green | Blue Oak/Red Characters: Ookido Green | Blue Oak, Red (Pokemon), Red's Mom (Pokemon), Ookido Nanami | Daisy Oak, Ookido Yukinari-hakase | Professor Samuel Oak, Wataru | Lance, Shirona | Cynthia, Mikuri | Wallace, Tsuwabuki Daigo | Steven Stone Additional Tags: Sick Character, Sickfic, 5 Times, 5+1, Ookido Yukinari-hakase | Professor Samuel Oak Being an Asshole Summary:

Alternate title 5 times Green tries (and fails) to take care of himself when he's sick +1 time he doesn't

A look at all the times Green has been sick in his life, and how he dealt with them.

[sunsunbauds]

i wanna get back into writing but like. that requires writing