#what is the trigger warning tag for that?

[fictober-event]

The Prompts for Fictober 2024

Fictober Event, The prompts for 2024 Here is the list for October this year. Write something short (or long) and tag it with #fictober24 in the first five tags. Let’s see your creativity!

"that was good work"

"it's been a long time"

"I know you better"

"no, we're not doing that"

"it's a new day, let's go"

"I'm not giving up"

"follow me if you want to live"

"are we happy?"

"don't listen to me, listen to them"

"is this normal?"

"well, that worked out great"

"did you hear that?"

"that's not the point"

"did you stick to the plan?"

"let's try this"

"no, I'm not okay"

"strangest thing I ever heard"

"you always have a plan"

"this is getting ridiculous"

"I saw your eyes light up"

"we've done worse"

"why are we doing this again?"

"we can fix this, I know we can"

"you didn't do anything wrong"

"it consumes me"

"you were the first"

"let me remind you"

"just say what you want"

"how did this happen?"

"I won't let you down"

"it's always been you"

This event is open to fanfiction and original fiction. Start the first of October. You do not have to do the prompts in order. Tag your posts with #fictober24.

Please state at the top if your entry is original fiction or fanfiction and what fandom. State common warnings and triggers at the top and tag accordingly. No AI generated text or art.

I reserve the right to not reblog fics that I find inappropriate. I will reblog things here on @fictober-event, follow this blog to see all the entries. Go forth and write!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mission Control 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Captain Hydra

Summary: a man marches into your life on a mission

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“Height?” The officer taps the nib on his notepad. 

“Ugh, tall. Er,” you keep your hand on your head. It still throbs. “Um, six foot something? He had to be bigger.” 

“Right,” he squints. “Blond, blue eyes, and a scar. Dressed in all black...” he reads it over. “And he didn’t say anything?” 

“No, sir, I told you. Did you check with security? There's cameras--” 

“Nothing there. Checked all the footage. Some glitch. Guy’s not sure. Not his problem, I guess. Paid minimum wage to sit in a room,” he scoffs. “We can file the report but we can’t do much else. No footage, no proof--” 

“No proof? Look at my head. He ripped my hair out!” You whine. 

“Yeah, well, I’ve seen worse. Should count yourself lucky he left you alive,” he says. 

You shake your head and drop your arm, “uh... thanks, I guess.” 

“Look,” he exhales. “I really don’t have much to go on but this guy sniffs around again, call. File another report.” 

“Right,” you agree glumly. “Thank you, officer.” 

He shrugs, “have a good night. You want me to stick around while you lock up.” 

“It’s fine, I wouldn’t want to waste any more of your time.” 

You sniff and turn around. You’re not surprised by his indifference or his answers. You have friends who had men pounding on their doors and the same reaction. You saw police arresting drunk girls instead of the guys who cornered them in the bathroom. There isn’t much anyone can do, it seems. Especially not you. 

You go through the closing list. You know it by rote but that night, you’re uncertain. You check the clipboard that hangs behind the counter. You’re fractured. The whole world feels like it’s strewn before you. Nothing fits together. You feel like you’re disconnected from your own body. 

God, your head hurts. 

You stop and open up the front camera on your phone. You look at the bald patch again. Near the back. You can’t really see it head on but it’s there. Or not. He just... did that? He took a part of you. 

You close your phone and put it in your pocket. You pull on your jacket and hike your bag onto your shoulders. As you do, the Pom Pom falls onto the floor. You tossed it on top but didn’t hook it on. You pick it up, quivering. That man... did he find it or take it? 

You squeeze it and grab the keys from the hook. You pull the gate across the store front and lock it. You turn to face the empty mall. 

The idea of going out into the dark and waiting for the bus is the same as scaling a mountain with your bare hands. You make yourself move. The longer you wait, the more likely you’ll miss it.  

Your steps echo around you. You flinch and glance over your shoulders, back and forth, even spinning to make sure you’re alone. 

How are you supposed to do this? After what he did to you. Did he just see you on the bus and decide to mess with you? How did he track you to the store? You had your jacket on, he couldn’t see your name tag or uniform. You didn’t have your badge out. 

You can’t figure any of it out. Would it matter if you could. 

You slow down as you approach the doors. You look out and see the bright signs for the businesses housed in the mall and the other plazas close by, headlights shining along the street. You push through the first door and stand in the vestibule. 

You still have the fluffy pom pom in your hand. You unhook your bag from one shoulder and hook it on. You trade the store keys for your house keys and poke one out between your fingers. You’re on your own. 

You walk out into the night. You don’t stop. You almost jog across the lot out to the bus stop by the road. You duck into the shelter, the lights keeping you safe in their glow. Or so you hope. 

The bus pulls up only a few minutes after. Your relief flows out of your chest as you scan your pass. You find a seat at the back and sit. You want to see everyone else. 

The tires grind the gravel and veer back onto the road. They slow again at the next stop around the corner. You watch the passenger turn and you know him in an instant. He stalks down the center of the bus and climbs the steps up to the back level. He does just as he did that morning. 

He sits beside you. You can’t move or speak. You can’t believe it. 

He must know that no one else cares. He’s counting on it. You’re breathless as you shake, your ribs wracked as adrenaline burns through you. 

“Why?” You quaver weakly. He doesn’t answer. You lean away from him and touch your head, grazing your tender scalp. “Please, why me?”  

Still nothing. 

“Why are you doing this?” You whimper. 

He closes his eyes and lifts his chin. His hand moves from his leg onto yours and he squeezes. You tremble as his fingertips dig into your flesh. 

“Please, stop!” You cry out and slap his hand. 

No reaction. What is wrong with him? You wriggle and look at your other hand; the key poking out from your fist. You bring it down towards his hand but he’s fast. He retracts his touch and the key sinks into your thigh muscle. You screech, and he reaches across to tug the cord. 

“What’s going on back there?” The driver hollers back as he stops. 

The man stands and marches away. He doesn’t answer the driver or look back. He steps off the bus and you watch him through the window. He almost fades into the dark as he delves into the shadows of the buildings.  

“Knock it off,” the driver warns as he puts his foot on the pedal. 

You puff between your teeth and look around at the other passengers; deafened by headphones and ear buds, engrossed in their screens and pages. There’s at least ten other riders yet you’re all alone. 

You look down. You quaking as you let go of the key and it sticks out of your leg. You cringe and grasp it as tight as you can. You hold your breath as you rip it out. Argh.  

That officer was right. You’re lucky he didn’t do worse. 

[seiya-starsniper]

WIP Tag Game

tagged by @tj-dragonblade, thanks for the tag friend! <3

Rules: Share 100 words or so of a WIP, and then add an extra line

I'm writing a little thing for @amielot's horse girl AU, and since it's the most recent thing I've worked on, and what I felt like working on tonight, here's a sneak peek, that is definitely more than a hundred or so words 😅

Content warnings: Gun violence, somewhat graphic depiction of a man with his face blown off

Dream turns, aiming now to rush to Hob's aid, but just as he gets close to where they're fighting, the man with the gun ends up behind Hob and then wraps an arm around Hob’s neck. He grins cruelly at Dream as Hob struggles beneath his hold. Dream whinnies angrily, but he can’t move any further. He's furiously close, and yet not close enough to reach Hob in time, even if he gallops, even if he runs. Then the man points the gun directly at Hob's head. Hob doesn’t let him get any further with the threat. He lurches his entire body backwards, the force of the movement knocking them both off balance. While the man is distracted and trying to rebalance himself, Hob frees one of his hands and repositions the barrel directly underneath the man’s chin. He pulls the trigger before the man can react.  The resulting bang! rings loudly in the other quiet forest, and Dream winces as the sound thunders through his sensitive ears. There’s a high pitched whine that follows soon after, and Dream staggers, his entire equilibrium now thrown off balance. He can smell blood and smoke and death. Everything is suddenly too loud; the rustling of the leaves, the screech of the birds as they flee from nearby branches, the sound of his own heartbeat.  Dream shuts his eyes, trying to will the nausea that overtakes him to go away. He barely registers the remaining two men from Burgess’s group running off in the opposite direction, leaving him and Hob alone. Hob. Dream can’t hear Hob, not over the loud, pulsing, ringing in his ears. While he was certain Hob wasn’t dead, Dream still had to see proof of life with his own eyes. Groaning in pain, Dream forces himself to take a few steadying breaths to calm himself, his entire body shaking uncontrollably. Breathing feels like he's swallowing glass, but it gets easier with each slow inhale and exhale. His heart eventually calms, and Dream feels somewhat proud that he's been able to remain upright the entire time. When he’s able to open his eyes again, the first thing he sees is the man with the gun lying dead just inches away from Hob, his entire face blown clean off. Blood and viscera, and what Dream assumes are bits of the man’s brain, are scattered on the forest floor. When Dream lifts his gaze to finally look up at Hob, his eyes widen and he feels his pulse jump as the sight. The majority of Hob’s face and upper body is covered in blood and bits of flesh that slowly drip down the man’s clothes, bathing him in a sea of red. Dream notices that some small fragments of bone have stuck to Hob’s hair, likely parts of the other man’s skull. Hob is panting heavily, but then he suddenly collapses next to the disfigured remains of his assailant, as if whatever invisible force holding him upright had suddenly cut loose its strings. He groans, burying his face in bloodied hands, smearing it across the rest of his face. Hob doesn’t even seem to notice the state he’s in, he’s likely too preoccupied with the same kind of nausea Dream had been feeling just moments ago. Dream imagines whatever ringing Hob must hear in his head is likely even worse than what Dream experienced, due to the man’s proximity to the weapon when it fired. 

tagging with no pressure @bazzybelle @five-and-dimes @kydrogendragon @valiantstarlights @blueberrymffn @gabessquishytum @apocraphelion

[veronicaphoenix]

all that's left | noah sebastian

noah sebastian x reader | tags & triggers warnings: pure angst and pain, mentioned car crash, mentioned coma, implied death | words: 900ish

͢ all that's left

Jolly sat in the hard plastic chair, staring at the floor, tracing the same crack in the linoleum with his eyes for what felt like the thousandth time. His fingers twitched in his lap, restless with the things he still couldn’t make sense of, the things he didn’t know how to say to her.

It had been two weeks since the accident. Two weeks of waiting for her to wake up, to open her eyes and remember. Two weeks of trying to accept reality and trying to find the right way to tell her the truth—truth that he still couldn’t accept himself. 

A deep, hollow ache tugged at him as he glanced toward her motionless form in the bed. Machines hummed softly around her, cables trailing from her body like vines trying to hold her down to this world. Her face was pale beneath the harsh hospital lighting. It was hard to reconcile the vibrant girl he remembered with the frail figure lying in front of him now.

He hadn’t left the hospital much since the crash. Couldn’t. Her uncle hadn’t come, as expected, but there had been friends and other relatives that had come to check on her, that had cried when they’d seen her, that had cried even before stepping into the room, once the news had reached them. 

None of it changed a thing. 

A faint groan, barely audible, broke the silence in the room. Jolly’s heart leapt into his throat as he snapped his head up.

Her eyelids fluttered.

For a moment, he froze, unsure if he had imagined it. But then her fingers twitched, her lips parted in a faint gasp, and her eyes—those eyes—opened, unfocused and wide with confusion.

He pronounced her name in a questioning tone. Jolly leaned forward, his voice shaky but hopeful, like it might shatter at any moment.

She blinked slowly, trying to focus, her gaze darting around the room in a frantic haze. Her breaths came in short, shallow bursts. Her body seemed stiff, uncooperative, like it wasn’t hers anymore. She stared down at herself, at the tubes snaking into her arms, the bandages, the bruises, the weight of her broken body sinking in.

“Wh–where…?” Her voice was raspy, as if it had been buried somewhere deep, far away. Panic flickered in her eyes as her hands instinctively pulled at the wires tethering her to the machines.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Jolly said quickly, standing now, reaching out but not touching her. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re fine.”

She flinched at the sound of his voice, her gaze finally locking onto him. But there was no recognition there, only fear.

“J-Jolly?” she whispered, her lips barely moving.

He nodded, forcing himself to breathe, to stay calm. “Yeah, it’s me. Hold on, I’ll get the doctors.”

He stumbled to the door, calling for a nurse, for anyone. It wasn’t long before they flooded the room—nurses, doctors, people in scrubs with voices too loud and movements too fast. They surrounded her, checking vitals, speaking in hushed tones meant to reassure, but her confusion and panic only deepened.

Jolly stood back, hands shoved into his sweats’ pockets, watching helplessly as they worked. This was it. This was the moment he had dreaded, and it was happening too fast. He wasn’t ready. But it wasn’t about him—it was about her. And Noah.

After what felt like forever, the doctors finished their examination. One of them—a tall man with kind eyes—placed a hand on Jolly’s shoulder as they left.

“She’s stable. It’s good that she’s awake. Take it easy, okay? She’s going to be confused and disoriented. We’ll be back in a while to check on her again. ”

Jolly nodded mutely. Easy? There was nothing easy about this.

The room was quieter now, just the two of them again. She lay back against the pillows, her brow furrowed in confusion, but calmer. She turned her head—even that simple movement hurt like hell—. Her eyes landed on Jolly.

“What… happened to me? Why… why am I here?”

Jolly took a slow breath, pulling up the chair beside her bed. His hands were trembling slightly, but he tried to steady them as he clasped them together. “You were in an accident,” he said softly. “Two weeks ago. A car crash.”

She blinked, processing. Her gaze dropped to the cast encasing her leg, the bruises staining her skin, and the machines still connected to her. She swallowed hard, a flicker of understanding crossing her face. It made sense, even if it didn’t feel real. 

“Two… weeks?” she whispered, almost to herself.

Jolly nodded. “Yeah. You’ve been in a coma. But you’re awake now. You’re going to be okay.”

She didn’t respond right away, staring down at her hands. Her face twisted as if she was trying to pull memories from the darkness, but it was like sifting through fog. Then, slowly, she looked back at him.

“Jolly…” Her voice broke a little. “Noah… He was with me. He was in the car too.”

Jolly’s heart clenched, and he felt the blood drain from his face. 

He opened his mouth, but no words came. Just the crushing weight of what had to be said, pressing down on him as he tried to gather the courage to speak.

Her eyes widened as the silence stretched on, and the air between them growing impossibly heavy as her heart succumbed to the most horrifying panic she would ever experience; her eyes, unblinking, filling with tears. 

“Jolly… where’s Noah?” 

[steddiebang2024]

STEVE AND EDDIE MAKE A PORNO  |  Explicit  |  55k

Author: @hitlikehammers

Artist: @hagnoart

Beta Reader: @dontwasteyourchances

[Link to fic]  |  [Link to art]

Pairings: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, (background Robin Buckley/Chrissy Cunningham, Nancy Wheeler/Barbara Holland, Jonathan Byers/Argyle; porn film scene pairings indicated in the relevant chapters)

Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley, Nancy Wheeler, Chrissy Cunningham, Jonathan Byers, Barbara Holland, Argyle

Tags: Friends to Lovers, Nay: oblivious!BEST friends to lovers, Romcom, Porn, Y’know because shooting a porno is the orienting plot device, Humor, General Shenanigans, Coffee-related Innuendos Abound, Platonic Stobin, Happy Ending (not THAT kind), (…okay also a lot of that kind because again: THEY ARE SHOOTING A PORNO)

Trigger Warnings: This fic is inspired by a film where the filming of a porno is a central plot device; sex positivity, orientation positivity, sex-and-pairings-for-aesthetic-appeal-NOT-for-endgame-purposes are the name of the game.

↳ Keep reading below for a summary!

Unlikely but inseparable best-friends-since-middle-school Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson move in together after graduation and, honestly? Lead a semi-stable if generally-uneventful life (or not-entirely uneventful, fine, because Eddie takes personal offense to that characterization of anything involving himself): but they make a decent living as minimum wage grunts and they never starve, which of course counts as a win in late-stage capitalism. So what if it’s always been paycheck to paycheck and they’ve only just made it outside their hometown: they still do earn their paychecks, Eddie’s booking more weekend shows to pad his kinda-pitiful record store wages, the cafe Steve works at is expanding and a promotion to senior manager isn’t wholly out of the question, and they did make it out of their back-assward hometown, no matter how far they got. Most of all, through better or worse, bound thicker than blood: they’ve got each other. It’s not the life Steve was raised to expect, but it’s not one he’s trade for anything in the world. 

Which is still true when, due to a very unfortunate lack of communication—with good intentions! It honestly was all above-board and stupidly well-intentioned—they may have entirely unwittingly paved their way into bills-so-overdue-the-utilities-are-canceled. Like: bye-bye-water-mid-shower-canceled. 

Which: fucking late-stage capitalism. Ruining everything. 

And it is ruined: it’s the holidays, which means there are extra hours but they’re being vied for Hunger Games style, and the lack-of-heating thing’s going to be a real problem with the Midwest winter that’s creeping up quick. Basically: ‘up shit creek without a paddle’ is an understatement. 

But then, opportunity presents itself in the most time-honored of professions when they run into the shocker (or: not-really-a-shocker, dude was hella repressed) partner of a straight-laced douchebag classmate at their ten-year-reunion: an adult film star who reveals $100k could be within their grasps—bills paid, debt cleared, money to spare for the first time in forever—if the form of...well.

Shooting their own porno. 

So umm...fucking late stage capitalism? 

And honestly it’s a solid plan, despite being absolute insanity (though that’s honestly unsurprising because, again: nothing’s uneventful when Eddie Munson’s your best friend), but the question that rears its head ultimately isn’t one of revenue, but one they probably should have thought through a little harder from the get-go: when budget’s tight, cast is limited, and promotional value is crucial—alongside everyone banging everyone? 

You’re also probably gonna have to fuck your best friend on camera for cash in the process.

(Goddamn previously unrealized and unacknowledged feelings late stage capitalism, man. Fucks up everything.)

[metalfreaks86]

Senior Year | Rating: Mature | 50,728 [30 Chapters]

Author: Skepsiss / Skepsis_Ree

Artist: metalfreaks86

Beta Reader: QoS1312 / midsummer-semantics

[Link to the Fic] | [Link to art]

Pairings: Eddie Munson/Steve Harrington

Characters: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, Nancy Wheeler, Billy Hargrove

Tags: Slow Burn, steddie, high school romance, after season 2, During Season 3, Post Season 4, Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sharing a Bed, Steve Harrington Queer awakening, Bisexual Eddie Munson, Demisexual Steve Harrington, Biromantic Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort Emotional, Hurt/Comfort Angst and Hurt/Comfort

Trigger Warnings: Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, Depression, Anxiety, Eddie flags and has hook ups, Heartbroken, Bullying, use of slurs, Injury, Permanent Disability, recovering from injury in the hospital, fade to black sex scene, briefly described blow jobs

↳ Keep reading below for a summary!

Summary: What happened in Steve’s senior year of high school? We know that he almost failed grade 12, and we know he had ‘lost his groove’ by mid-summer of 1985, but what happened between November 1984 and July 1985? And what if Steve actually made friends with Eddie Munson during that time instead of being alone? Senior Year is a fic about Steve struggling with PTSD and depression through his final months of high school, and how he slowly spiralled downward, making it impossible for him to get into college, and damaging his confidence so badly he couldn’t get a date if he begged. During senior year, Steve does make a connection with Eddie though, and their odd on-again, off-again ‘friendship’ becomes a staple in both their lives. This is a story about coping, the struggles of a broken heart, and making connections. There are genuine, raw moments, but in the end, the connection these two boys have is strong enough to see them through it all—even if it takes them both a long time to realize that they have feelings for one another.

[dekarios]

book recommendation tag game!

rules: recommend as many books as you like. please include genre and some basic information on it (either your words or a copy+paste synopsis). feel free to include cover art, a personal review, trigger warnings, and anything else! just don’t spoil the book!

you don’t have to copy how i’ve done it; but feel free to!

Annihilation by Jeff VanderMeer

Genre: Science (Weird) Fiction & Horror.

Four armed and unnamed women—a biologist, an anthropologist, a psychologist, and a military-trained surveyor—cross the border into Area X, an unspecified coastal location that has been closed to the public for three decades.

literally caused mental illness within me. i think i developed a new disorder. this book made me more trans and more autistic. this book made my desire to be non-human even stronger. i want to go to area X

This Is How You Lose the Time War el by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone

Genre: Science Fiction & (Sapphic) Romance.

As agents Red and Blue travel back and forth through time, altering the history of multiple universes on behalf of their warring empires, they leave each other secret messages—at first taunting, but gradually developing into flirtation then love.

they invented love. this is what love is. this is soulmates, this is made for each other, this is every single action i have made in my life was to bring me to you, it’s me and you against the world. it’s completely ruined me. i think it’s probably going to be unbeatable for best book ever made. also made my desire to be non-human even stronger

@magmethius @fagmage @hatsune @alistairstheirins

@gurathins @magicmissiled @heavenfelll @tiefbard

@azatas @arborstone @fields-of-rye @talizoraa

@kadefox @demonia @carlosoliveiraa @tunarath

@lusus--naturae @theoldwest @timothylawrence @vieille-femme-moisie

@full---ofstarlight @ottobooty @left4dead @covenscribe

@lovedu @astarionsdarling @wormskul @ratscrap @darkwehl

@andrwminward @ch3rrybomb @vanoefucks @charico

@prettyjellyfish @cavesallegory @rosenfey @velnat004

@panicbroadcast @jerichoes @mt07131 @censorship

[artificialbreezy]

A first look the new and improved Finding Her

AN: Thank you for all your patience while i rework this story! To those who are new; please note, this series contents dark content. Some that may be unsettling to some readers. Read with caution. Each chapter will have the below trigger warning. If while reading, you find something to be tagged, please let me know! To block this series, each chapter will be tagged with "Finding Her".

divider by @saradika-graphics

you can join the tag list here

Trigger Warnings: Consensual non-consent, mentions of drugs (drugging a person and medical drugs), mentions of addiction, knife play, blood, branding, stockholm syndrome, kidnapping, stalking, dacryphilia, possessive Noah, slapping, mentions of abuse, Noah has a monster cock in this story, asphyxiation, blind folds and bondage (sexually and not), branding, impact play, cock worship, collaring, degradation, d/s, face fucking, gags, orgasm denial, pet play (if you squint), toys, if you find any throughout this series that i have missed please let me know!

teaser below the cut ◡̈

“She doesn’t know what she needs,” he spoke to the man sitting next to him. “I've watched her solemn eyes get more and more sunken! I need to bring her home, man. I need to take care of her! The world just isn’t a safe place, especially for my pretty little Dollie.”

Every day feels more and more like an endless cycle. Wake up, eat breakfast, run, sit at my desk and stare at my screen until my brain no longer can handle it, shower, go to bed, and repeat.

Ever since that night in the bar i’ve been longing to feel his eyes again. Hoping for the day I run into him at the grocery store, yet every time i’m out in the world it’s almost as if he wasn’t real. No one seems to remember that night either.

[jolapeno]

I’m embarrassed to ask but so many fav’s are going there so how do you use ao3?

hello hello!

do not be embarrassed at all! and hopefully, i can try and help.

now, i wish to preface this by saying there's likely guides already on tumblr and i don't mean to be rehashings what they might already say/have shared, but I'm going to try and give a run down of things that might help. now, I've done this as if you're a reader, but if you're a writer and want help, pop back in!

I asked my good friend @toomanytookas for help with this one so I knew we was covering off a lot and she lovingly helped me with finding some additional resources to support my bits!

searching for your people

there are a few different search options available on AO3 to find the things you want. if you know the name of the user, you can use the search bar (as seen below).

or if you're after a certain pairing, you can use the search option.

you can then search from: works, bookmarks, tags or people.

i tend to use "works" but, others may have their own preferences. but i find this is the easiest way for me to find the things i'm after.

i don't tend to fill in every bit of info, but the ones i do are in 'work tags':

fandoms

relationships

additional tags

i might check 'single chapter' (in work info) if i just want to read a one shot, but most of the time i just see what spits up. for me, additional tags is what makes navigating AO3 so much easier because I can filter by a trope (friends to lovers, colleagues, second chances) or i can filter by a "mood" (smut, fluff etc.). when you've filled in your desired bits you can click search and then your results will show.

ANOTHER great way to search is if you already know the pairing you're after. so say you're reading a Francisco morales x reader and you want MORE of that, click that tag on a piece of work and a new search will show up of all the works with that pairing.

you then have a new filter choice on the right where you can 'exclude' tags or characters too.

there's also this guide i found from 2020!

there’s also this way of searching too! with an addition from @burntheedges

another cool resource on excluding too

-

2. supporting your people

so, you've found yourself a writer you adore, and you've read a piece of their work. if this is a one shot, you can:

drop a kudos (like a like, but you can only ever give it once)

leave a comment (even writing "love it" or an emoji makes a day)

bookmark (this is more for you if you loved it, you can bookmark things and they save to YOUR bookmarks and you can read again without searching for it - like a lil library)

now, say that piece is a multi-chap/collection, and you want to subscribe and be notified, you can 'subscribe' at the top of the fic

bookmarks do not notify you of a new chapter, but a subscribe will.

if you love the writer and want to know as soon as they drop anything, you can click their name, go to their profile and click 'subscribe' just under their name in the top right.

here’s a resource too!!

here’s a resource on why bookmarks/comments are cool

-

3. going back in time... the AO3 way

okay, we've all been there when you're engrossed in something and then life happens and you close a tab or your phone crashes (tumblr app, grr) and then the work is lost. on AO3, if you're logged in, you have a thing called 'my history' and in this is every work you've clicked on. wahay! this has saved me so often because i flick between phone and laptop a lot.

-

4. a final thing to be aware of...

warnings - a writer can choose to give a warning to the piece. many will use 'creator chose not to use archive warnings' or 'no archive warnings apply', but there are a few to keep an eye out for, such as:

graphics depiction of violence

major character death

rape/non-con

underage

'choose not to use warnings' is a read at your own risk, and i always recommend checking out the additional tags for the piece just so you know if there's any trigger warnings.

a resource on excluding (mentioned above too)

-

this is just a top level thought process of what i thought might help, but if there's any specific questions i will deffo try to help. this resource has a ton of helpful things too. there's also AO3 FAQs which might be able to help if i didn't actually help. and this absolutely brilliant guide created too!

thank you for the ask, and happy AO3'ing 🧡

[macabr3-barbi3]

God, That's Good

Chapter 7: Wait

Alastor tries to ease Lucifer's impatience, and Vaggie comes by for a favor.

Tags: more brooding, banter, A PROPER KISS

Before I rant about my writing wife some more, I do want to advise that once we get past this chapter, things will be getting quite a bit darker and more explicit. There's murder; there's blood; there's cannibalism; there's a little sex (not dark, but still warranting a warning I think LOL). If you know the musical/movie I'm sure you have a vague idea of what's coming. Be mindful of these things from chapter 8 onwards- I'll make sure to put specifics in the tags for each chapter but PLEASE don't read if you think these things might be triggering or upsetting to you.

Back to our regularly scheduled vibes- as always, huge thanks to @fraugwinska for helping me stick to a normal schedule and being one of my absolute best friends and most enthusiastic supporters 😍 ALSO thank you to everyone that has liked/reblogged/commented- this AU has me in a chokehold and I'm stoked that others are enjoying reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it

PSSSST: Wednesdays have even more to look forward to! If you love Alastor being a questionable hottie as much as I do, check out @hazelfoureyes with A Doe in Fall that is ALSO updating on Wednesday evenings! I promise I'm very normal about this story and Hazel's writing in general (she said, lying, being very not normal about either thing)

Chapter 1 🥧 Chapter 2 🥧 Chapter 3 🥧 Chapter 4 🥧 Chapter 5 🥧 Chapter 6  🥧Chapter 7

Despite her promise to visit soon, it’s a fortnight later and the Beadle still has not come by Lucifer’s barbershop.

He would be the first to admit that he broods on it. Between customers of his now booming business, he spends hours sat in his chair staring at himself in the mirror, trying to find the remnants of the man he used to be. He watches the tendons in his hands move as he shaves the gentlemen of New Orleans, thinking that they surely were not the same hands of Damien Diggory though they remained on his body all the same. Families came and went through his door, constantly reminding him of what he had lost, what the Beadle and Adam had to pay for, making his unease at her absence grow more every day.

He sat now in his empty shop with one of his razors in hand, staring down at the blue of his eyes reflected on the blade. He felt empty, numbness creeping from the pit of his stomach to his limbs and making his whole body feel like a hollowed out shell of a person- he looked the same, sounded the same, but the substance inside him was either missing or in the process of rotting where it sat. Charlie was still out of his reach, his revenge on hiatus until the Beadle saw fit to grace his shop with her presence. Everything was at a standstill, and the lack of activity beyond shaving was making him a madman, always pacing around the upstairs, approaching the entrance to his family’s old apartment and retreating like a coward.

A creak of the floor alerts him to the door opening, three soft knocks letting him know that it’s Alastor. He can hardly look the man in the eyes these days after he had embarrassed himself that night two weeks ago, when he had tripped into Alastor’s lap and pulled him into a kiss. It was embarrassment more than anything; thinking that he had reciprocated had been nothing but a figment of Lucifer’s drunk imagination, as Alastor hadn’t mentioned it since. Sometimes his eyes will fall on the younger man while Alastor is busy doing something else, and he uses those stolen moments to learn the curves of his face, imagining the blade skimming over his cheeks if he ever gave him the chance to give him a shave. 

Alastor comes behind the chair, leaning his elbows on the back above Lucifer’s shoulders. “I thought you had no customers today,” he says softly, watching Lucifer in the mirror. “What are you doing up here, hm? Plotting?” He smiles slyly, the corners of his mouth turning up and giving him a mischievous look. “Or pouting?”

“It’s been a fortnight,” he laments, snapping the razor closed and placing it on the stand beside him. “Why has she not come?” He stands from the chair and starts to pace- surely he looks like a madman, stalking between the apartment door and the sizable chest that held his spare towels and aprons, hands taking through his hair. 

Alastor sighs, his smile still in place. “Oh dear, a tantrum. How unbecoming. And just when I’ve started to think you were respectable.���

Lucifer scoffs. “Come now, Alastor- you don’t think it strange that she’s not arrived yet? You’d think such an ‘esteemed member of society’ could keep to a date.” Perhaps his air quotes and exaggerated accent were a tad childish, but it still makes Alastor laugh through his admonishment. “I’m… antsy, sitting around and waiting for her. They have to pay for what they did to Lilith, to me-”

“And they will.” Alastor leaves the chair to approach him, the proximity when he finally stops making Lucifer’s heartbeat pound in his throat. “Patience is key, my good man.”

“I’ve waited for so long already,” he groans. “Was fifteen years not enough? Must I wait another ten before I’ve avenged the wrongs against us?”

“So she’s a few days past when she said she would come,” Alastor says flippantly. “Do you not think that your over-eager manner won’t scare her off? Cause her to alert the Judge?”

Lucifer says nothing, not wanting to concede that he’s correct. He keeps his eyes on his feet, that hollow feeling returning to his chest and muffling the sound of Alastor’s voice as he continues talking. What would he do if she never came? Then surely Adam would never have reason to set foot in his parlor; he would never have his vengeance, Charlie would be lost to him, Lilith would be dead with nothing to show for his avenging her-

“Lucifer.” His head jerks up, and Alastor is watching him with narrowed eyes. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

He’s sure his face flushes. “Of course I did,” he lies, “you were… shit-”

The smile returns to his face. “I was saying,” he says softly, “that perhaps you can use the time to update your bearings. Get some flowers, hang some decor on the wall- that will likely sway the Beadle’s mind as far as recommending your establishment to the Judge, if the walls are not bare as though you’ve just moved in.”

“I have just moved in,” Lucifer points out petulantly. “I’ve only just started taking customers this last fortnight, I’ve not had time for bearings as you well know.”

Alastor claps his hands together, the sound making Lucifer jump. “I’ll send Husker for a floral arrangement for you- I think it will really cheer the place up.” He glances at Lucifer, a slow drag of his eyes up and down the barber’s body that almost makes him feel shy with the heat it contains. “I was also thinking that the unknown waiting period we find ourselves in is not a wholly bad thing. Perhaps I’m old fashioned, but I find that half of the fun in a plot is making the plan itself! Especially when one has a partner.”

And to Lucifer’s surprise he steps closer, bridging the already short gap between their bodies and taking Lucifer’s hands in his own. “I, for one, have also been enjoying this time simply getting to know you.”

He thinks his brain stops working, the way his mouth stammers to get out a response to that. “Oh! Well, I- I mean, I’ve also been, you know. Enjoying you.” Alastor’s head tilts in amusement, and Lucifer realizes what he’s said. “Enjoying your company, I mean! Fuck, I’m sorry-”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Alastor murmurs, and he releases one of Lucifer’s hands to slide around his back, pulling him fully into his chest. “We did say that we would revisit the intimate portion of that night when you were no longer intoxicated. Tell me, Lucifer, are you under any influence at this time?”

He doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he shakes his head. It shakes some logic loose- that kiss had been a mistake, the door wasn’t locked if a customer approached, he was less than ten feet from the apartment he had shared with his dead wife- but doesn’t stop him from allowing Alastor to lean in and press their lips together.

It’s so much better now that he’s not drunk. The kiss is soft and gentle for a bit, simply their lips touching as they learn the ways they fit against one another. It’s not until Alastor fists a hand in his shirt to keep him close that Lucifer even considers trying to deepen it. His hands tremble from nerves instead of liquor when he reaches up to hold the back of Alastor’s head, fingers threading through his hair while a broken noise tears itself from the back of his throat. Alastor responds in kind, making a soft sound that’s lost in Lucifer’s mouth as he parts his lips, his tongue shyly seeking entrance that Lucifer is all too eager to give him.

Lightning sparks behind his eyes, heat flooding his veins to pool low in his stomach, and he knows he needs to end the kiss before he does something that both of them may regret- though he hates to break the intimacy of the moment, ravishing Alastor in his parlor was not on his agenda for the day. He would need time to plan, to properly court the baker perhaps before inviting him to his bed- not to mention the extra time he would need to whisper pleading prayers to Lilith to forgive him.

Lucifer pulls back, his resolve nearly broken when he sees the way that Alastor’s lashes flutter, a noise of confusion escaping him. “We-” He clears his throat, embarrassed at the low rasp of it. “We should stop for now. Which is not to say that I don’t want to kiss you more! I do, very much,” he rambles, and Alastor merely blinks slowly and watches his mouth move as he had that first night. “Just, we should take this a bit more slowly. I don’t want to take advantage of your kindness-”

“Rest assured, Lucifer,” he purrs, “you are not.” And that makes him lose his train of thought for a moment, with how husky and low the words come from Alastor’s mouth.

“Haah, well, still. I would like to take this a bit slower and do it right. If you would allow me to, you know, properly court you, I would very much like to do so.” He sounds stupid, he realizes, like a child with a crush asking them to check ‘yes’ or ‘no’ on a piece of paper; he just hopes Alastor isn’t put off by the formal request. Perhaps he would prefer something unspoken, more blinding, unplanned kisses that steal both of their breath and leave them panting and wanting more.

But thank God, Alastor simply smiles at him and takes his hand again. “I would like that as well,” he says, and Lucifer thinks he could just collapse from the relief he feels. “We shall go at whatever pace best suits us- though I hope you’ll forgive me if I seem a bit impatient at times.” He watches Lucifer’s neck as he says this, and the barber knows he follows the movement of his throat as he swallows. “But by that logic, if I can wait for what I want, surely you can as well.”

Lucifer opens his mouth to respond- to admonish him, or perhaps pull him in for another kiss- when he hears the creaking of the stairs. He has just enough time to step back from Alastor before the door swings open, and he manages to hide his disappointment that it is not the Beadle, like he hoped, but Vaggie.

“Mister Morningstar!” She crosses the room to greet him with an enthusiastic handshake. “It’s been ages, I haven’t had much time to make it to this side of New Orleans but I’m happy to see you’re in business. And hello to you as well, sir,” she offers to Alastor, who gives her a small smile and turns to tidy something on the shelf behind him. “Mister Morningstar, I admit I have a favor to ask of you- there’s a woman, you see-”

Alastor scoffs behind them, and Vaggie’s eyes narrow into slits before she continues. “She is kind and beautiful, and stubborn beyond belief; she’s opened my eyes to so many new ideas and theories, and- her guardian poses a problem to any intentions I may have towards her, but late last night as we talked and the Judge called her away, Charlie slipped this into my hands.” She holds up a key, dark and dangling off a red ribbon. “It must be a sign, don’t you think?”

“Charlie?” He could hardly dare hope that it was her- that the Judge Vaggie spoke of was Adam, that such an opportunity to have her back was simply being dropped into his lap like this. “Charlie. And, the Judge, you say?”

“Charlie- Charlotte, I suppose, that is her name. And the Judge Cain and his lackey, the Beadle Sera Dempsey. They patrol the alley behind Cain’s home at random hours but despite this we’ve found days that we talk for hours before they can interrupt us. She is perfection, Mister Morningstar, and even if she doesn’t return my feelings I want to see her free from these jailers she’s in the care of. If I can convince her to leave with me tonight- perhaps later in the week, depending on when that horrid Judge is home- could I bring her here for shelter for an evening? Just until I can find a coach for hire to take her North with me, or wherever she wishes to go.”

She finally stops talking, taking a deep breath while she waits for Lucifer to answer her. He finds his words stuck in his throat- yes, bring her, please, bring her to me- and is dismayed to find a lump in his esophagus, halting his words behind the threat of tears. He clears his throat, blinking his eyes a couple times to rid himself of emotion. “You may bring her here,” he says, his heartbeat rapid in his veins, and Vaggie’s face lights up with joy. 

“You’re a blessing, sir, thank you! I hope to see you again tonight, but in any case, I’ll come with Charlie soon!” She shakes his hand again, the force of it making him stumble, before she releases him and is back out the door as quick as a flash.

He turns almost absently to Alastor, who gives him a smile. “Who could have guessed?” He says cheerfully. “You’ll have her back before the week is out- possibly even before the day is done!”

“Charlie will be coming here,” he says distantly, and then it hits him like a train. “Charlie is coming! Oh God, what will she think of me? I need to- shave, maybe, or- should I grow it out? My beard was grown out when she was young, maybe that’s why she no longer recognizes me-”

“Lucifer.” 

Alastor approached him slowly, like one might a feral animal- and that’s what he had felt like lately, some untamed beast stalking around his shop, so perhaps Alastor was right to take a cautious approach. “Perhaps we focus first on getting her here before you spiral about letting her know who you are, hm?”

“You’re right,” he says, and thank God for Alastor to help him keep a level head. “Of course, making sure she gets here safely is the most important part. But- we should clean the place up a bit! How soon do you think Husk can bring those flowers you mentioned? And I can dust the apartment, make sure that everything is tidy-”

He’s interrupted by the creaking of the stairs again, the bell at the bottom ringing loudly to signify someone coming. He expects Vaggie again, or even perhaps the Beadle at last. But to his confusion, it’s neither- Sir Edward Pentious stands in the doorway, his small assistant at his side and carrying a bag that was far too heavy for her slight frame and causing her to tilt to one side. 

“Sir Pentious,” he greets cordially, “and… young lady.”

“I’m Niffty, sir,” she giggles, reaching a hand out to vigorously shake Lucifer’s. “Nice to meet you when you aren’t beating my boss in a shaving contest- and his shop is way nicer than yours too,” she directs to her employer, and he flushes a dark shade of red. “Are you sure you want to be a barber?”

“Niffty,” he hisses, and gently shoves her behind him. “I was hoping to speak with Mister Morningstar alone,” he directs to Alastor, who shrugs with a soft hum and leaves Lucifer’s side.

He meets Niffty at the door. “Well, aren’t you just a little wisp of a thing!” He says when he sees the bag she carries. He takes it from her hands and gestures her down the stairs. “Come along, I’ll see if I have anything adequate for you to eat…”

His voice and Niffty’s enthusiastic reply fade as they descend, leaving only Lucifer and the growing grin of Sir Pentious.

Again, a secret little 'so sorry, gotta do it' for the next chapter. Pour one out for Pentious y'all

Chapter 1 🥧 Chapter 2 🥧 Chapter 3 🥧 Chapter 4 🥧 Chapter 5 🥧 Chapter 6  🥧Chapter 7

[dungeonmastersconsortium]

things are getting WILD on far-right twitter

[hanase]

I am obsessed with Atem right now. It's been going on for a few months. There's a story here but I can't write for shit. I'll upload a lot more soon!

[nebuladreamz]

[steddiebang2024]

Lust, Love, and Other Side Effects | Explicit | 38k

Author: @sevenmerrymagpies

Artist: @cuips-not-cute

Beta: @strangethetimes

[Link to fic]  |  [Link to art]

Pairings: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson 

Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley

Tags: sex work, post-concussion syndrome, emotional hurt/comfort, best friends Steve & Robin, miscommunication, post-season 3, post-season 4, canon divergence, consensual sex, sexuality crisis, power imbalance, enemies to friends to lovers, falling in love, pining, dual POV, porn with plot, light power play, dom Eddie Munson, sub Steve Harrington, bottom Steve Harrington, top Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson lives

Trigger Warnings: sex work, power imbalances created by sex work and miscommunication, period typical homophobia, internalized homophobia

↳ Keep reading below for a summary!

Steve barely survived imprisonment, torture, and the Battle of Starcourt. He was left with too many slowly healing injuries, including one to his brain. He hated having to be babied and cared for while he recovered from his concussion. It might be the brain damage speaking, but a lot of the symptoms don’t make any sense to him. What does an increased risk of impulsivity even mean? On top of all that, the more he talks to Robin, the more he starts to question his sexuality. 

He gets a crash course in the complications and side effects of a concussion when he’s down to his last hundred dollars and desperate to figure himself out. He goes to Eddie Munson’s trailer, hoping to score some weed and seduce the possibly gay drug dealer, but concussions are a real bitch, and instead, he ends up paying Eddie all of his remaining money to give the guy a blowjob. 

That one moment of misunderstanding and poor impulse control starts a year-long back-and-forth between the two men; as Steve comes to understand his sexuality, Eddie comes to realize his worth, and they learn what it means to get what they want.

[tmntkiseki]

Lesser acknowledged disturbing scenes from TMNT 2003: The fight from "Time Travails" where Raph gets swallowed by a giant cockroach and ends up having to do his best chestburster impression in order to get out of its stomach.

[hussyknee]

Tw: dog mauling an intellectually disabled Palestinian, murder, death.

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Posting this while hyperventilating because you need to start treating any and all Zionists like the Nazis they are. Idk what else you need to understand that every single person defending decades of this is a fucking Nazi. I can't transcribe the screenshot. Logging off and going to spend the rest of the day curled around my intellectually disabled baby brother. I don't give a single fuck if you're triggered in your safe little house, scared of a future that can't come close to a fraction of what you've inflicted on the rest of the world. REBLOG THIS.

Remember that this is being done with the full auspices, funding, protection and endorsement of the Biden Administration. This is happening directly because of Biden as much as his rabid Hitler dog. Your so-called salvation against fascism. The blood will stain the hands of another two hundred years of your descendants and damn them all to the deepest reaches of hell, the way your parents and grandparents have done to you.