#yikes writes

[yikesharringrove]

He doesn't talk anymore.

It was a jarring switch, and everyone still isn't used to Steve's persistent silence.

Because before, he was nearly as chatty as Dustin. Always trying to make the kids laugh, yelling at them and calling them shitheads (albeit lovingly).

He doesn't even laugh anymore.

His windpipe had been badly crushed by the demobat's tail wrapped snugly around his neck.

He had needed surgery.

Surgery that had only added to the lacerations and the keloid scars around on his neck.

And really, it's not that he can't talk.

He couldn't for awhile, and it still hurts sometimes.

But he doesn't fucking want to.

He has nothing left to say.

Because he had made peace with death.

Several times, actually. Throwing the burning bottles, being choked in a dried-out lake by a creature straight from his nightmares.

In fact, he had been mostly ready to venture into the sweet beyond since last summer.

His leg shook under the table, and he was staring at the silver ring on his thumb, spinning it around, and around.

He didn't really like when Robin left him alone at their donation table, she was much better at talking to the people that stopped by, bringing more clothes they didn't need, or coming to pick up something to replace what's been lost.

But Robin was doing her best to move on. Chatting up Vickie in some corner, somewhere.

A small cough got Steve's attention.

It was Susan. Hargrove. Mayfield? Did she go back to her previous name after her abusive husband left her with the corpse of his son?

"I found another box. I guess Maxine had been-" her eyes welled up, and Steve's hands stopped spinning the ring around his thumb. "Well, I think she kept some things of his."

Steve's hands shook as he stood up.

He knew Billy and Max had been much closer than they let on.

He knew Max missed Billy more than she could really express.

He opened the box.

Right on top.

It was that fucking jacket.

The brown leather one. The one that was older and softer, more worn than anything else Billy owned.

Because he loved it. Because he took care of it. Because it was his favorite.

And something in Steve broke a little, and he raised the jacket to his face, and he breathed in deeply. He didn't care who saw. He didn't care that Susan's face had gone pale and her tears had started falling for real.

"Oh."

He barely heard her voice over the blood rushing in his ears, the smell and the memories and don't fucking cry, Steven!

Susan closed the box up carefully. Steve finally lowered the jacket.

"I can put this in your car. So you can keep them. You deserve to-" she glanced down at his hands, and the silver ring, tarnished and glinting on his thumb. "keep them."

Steve brought his hand up to his wobbling chin, touching his fingertips gently under his lip, bringing his hand back down, palm up.

Thank you.

He hoped she got it. Understood the way she understood his tears.

She took his hand briefly.

"I wish we had met differently. I wish-well. I'm sure you wish the same thing."

Steve nodded. His leg had started shaking again, making his whole body tremble. He felt unsteady on his feet.

He fished his keys out of his pocket, handing them to Susan so she could take the box and tuck it in his trunk.

"You take care, then. You, you remember him well."

Steve nodded again, hot tears dripping off his chin.

Yes, ma'am. He wanted to say. I'll never forget him.

But,

he doesn't talk anymore.

[space-mouse]

seeing people consider their own critical thinking skills in response to Plagiarism and You(tube), i'd like to share the SOAPSTone analysis framework i learned in AP lang & comp.

Speaker: who is this person? what are their credentials? any obvious motivations, personal or financial?

Occasion: when did the speaker say/write this thing? yesterday? a decade ago? was it for a specific event, or perhaps part of a larger series?

Audience: who did the speaker expect their message to reach? a certain age group? a specific fanbase? people with certain political opinions?

Purpose: why did the speaker say/write what they did on this occasion? what did they want the audience to think or do in response to their message?

Subject: what is the speaker talking about? is there a reason to take them seriously on this topic? why did they bring it up on this occasion?

Tone: how did the speaker choose to address their target audience? as a friend? a supplicant? an authority? why did the speaker choose this tone?

[starrystevie]

eddie figures out that he likes steve all because of nancy fucking wheeler.

it isn't often that they find themselves hanging out just the two of them, quite the opposite. this is the first time they've ever done it and the only reason nancy is even stepping foot inside the munson's new government-provided trailer is because she's having a crisis.

"but what does it mean," she asks, voice muffled as her lips wrap around the opening of her beer bottle before taking a swig. her cheeks hollow and her eyes shut against the feeling of the carbonation bubbling up before she fixes eddie with a glare that he doesn't think is for him. "it didn't... feel this way with barb."

and eddie's just sitting there on the couch, rolling a much needed joint for both of them, trying to follow along with what nancy is saying. she's pacing a hole in the carpet and her hands are flying around in a way that eddie himself does when the wheels in his brain are spinning too fast.

"... what didn't feel what way?"

nancy glares at him again and he gets the feeling that it's directed at him this time. he feels himself shrink under her eyes and wants to raise his hands up in surrender (he gives in and does indeed raise his hands in surrender).

"i think i'm in love with robin, please try and keep up."

eddie stills, his hands in the air and mouth open in shock. nancy's still muttering about something but his brain is stuck on the being-in-love-with-robin part of her tirade. it's not an issue, not in the slightest, and sure he's heard of people who... but he's never met someone who actually-

"are you even listening?" nancy asks, her tone firm. she has a hand on her hip while the other is clenched tightly around the neck of her beer. "what am i supposed to do?! am i just supposed to kiss her and tell her that her eyes are my favorite color and that i miss her when she leaves a room even for just a minute?"

"how should i know?! i'm not in love with robin!" eddie responds and he knows it's the wrong answer by how nancy's whole face falls in the span of .02 seconds. she looks like she's on the brink of tears, frustrated or hopeless or sad, and eddie doesn't know what to do with that either.

"but... you know. what about steve?" nancy's voice is soft now, and paired with her puppy dog eyes, eddie almost doesn't process what she says. "how'd you know with him?"

and if eddie thought he was stunned before, this takes the cake. a nervous laugh bubbles out of him, his face hot and heart pounding. his arms feel a bit like liquid and he doesn't know if he's even breathing anymore.

"nancy, i'm sorry but i think we're on two different wave lengths here." he needs to do something with his hands so he starts to fiddle with his lighter, flicking the zippo open and shut until the clink of the metal sounds too loud in the quiet room. "i don't.... love steve."

tears start to roll down her cheeks and yeah, eddie definitely messed up somewhere. she's wiping the drops away furiously like she's surprised they even dared to show up and she's biting her lip in a way that looks like it hurts.

"what are you talking about? of course you do." her eyebrows furrow which makes her look even angrier or disgusted and eddie feels like they're on a tightrope in his living room that's about to snap away from underneath them.

"well yeah, i... love him," he stutters over the words, "like i love you and rob and everyone. but not like... love love."

nancy's laugh sounds way too harsh for it to have come out of her. "are you sure? you stare at his ass more than i stare at robin's." she takes a deep breath, ignores the gasp of indignation that her statement gets out of eddie, and tilts her chin up like she's taking the high ground.

"i do not!"

"do too! and you're always looking for him when you walk into a room, like it doesn't matter if we're there, you only look for him. and you sit right next to him even if there's an open seat that's more comfortable. and you have this little, i don't know, tic when he smiles that makes you wiggle your fingers and you-"

"wheeler, you gotta stop."

"-always listen to him and he does all of that back for you and it's so obvious. i can't believe you didn't know you were in love with steve! you do everything that i do for robin and i'm in love with her so it must mean you're in love with steve and- holy shit i'm in love with robin."

the silence after nancy stops rings loud in his ears. honestly, he hadn't really given it any thought before but it makes sense.

the very idea of steve has his heart feeling a way it hasn't since he was nine and tracy nichols gave him a shiny rock on valentine's day. he does always look for steve when he enters a room, his very presence calming and dependable. he does sit next to him no matter what, their sides pressed together, heat radiating between them like a blanket. and god, when steve smiles, he does have to move his fingers, something to get out these jolts of energy that he feels licking through his veins.

steve is good and steve is a bit of an asshole but eddie likes that and suddenly the line between platonic and romantic seems to have vanished because holy shit, how did he live for the past year without spending every day loving steve harrington?

eddie reaches for the half rolled joint, licks at the paper to close it and lights up quickly. he holds the smoke in his lungs for probably too long but couldn't care less because he's now having a crisis of his own thanks to nancy.

"goddamnit," eddie hisses out as he exhales. "i'm in love with steve."

nancy looks smug, her arm extended as she waits for eddie to pass the joint to her before taking a hit. "that's what i'm saying."

"but i'm not... you know."

nancy rolls her eyes. "it's not going to bite you if you say it, eddie."

"i'm not gay."

the silence seems louder now as the paper on the joint sizzles. there's a dog somewhere in the park barking and he can hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

"neither am i." nancy responds quietly with a shrug of her shoulders. "but i am for robin. and you are for steve."

she passes the joint back over to eddie and stands up from the couch, wipes off imaginary crumbs from her pants like she didn't just turn eddie's world upside down.

"i think i'm gonna go. i have a lady to woo." nancy looks happy. it's a good look on her, one he doesn't see all that often what with everything that's happened to them in the past year. she deserves it, he thinks, happiness.

"let me know how it goes," he calls to her as she stops at the trailer door.

"i will." with a tilt of her head and a with a gleam in her eye, she gives eddie yet another look that he doesn't know if he wants to try and decipher. "you should call him."

eddie snorts and takes a hit, rolling his eyes as he stares up at the ceiling so he doesn't have to look at nancy's all knowing eyes. it isn't that he's scared to call steve, it's that he's terrified. petrified. what would he say? what would steve say? he just figured out that he loves him, he hasn't had time to prepare a whole speech to declare it and-

"eddie." nancy's voice is sharp but certain and part of him thinks that robin is a lucky woman to have nancy wheeler falling in love with her. "trust me. call him."

after she's gone, he finishes the joint. he sits in the silence of his trailer and pulls hit after hit of sticky smoke until it's down the end and burning his fingertips. he stares at the ceiling some more, contemplates what to say, how to say it, how to do anything without throwing up.

he wonders if wayne knows, if he saw what nancy saw, what he thinks of eddie falling in with a guy. he wonders if this will change everything. wonders if it'll change for better or worse. wonders if he'll have to skip town and change his name like he imagined doing after he was cleared of murder.

picking up the phone is easy, dialing is easier when he has steve's number memorized like the back of his hand.

"hello?" steve mutters like he's been roused out of sleep. his voice is scruffy and somehow soft and eddie knows he's going to throw up.

"steve."

"hey, man. is everything okay?"

and it makes eddie's heart flutter in a way that a generic question shouldn't but damn it, he's in love. he's allowed.

"yeah, yeah. everything's good i just-" eddie sighs, scrubs a hand down his face to stop from twirling the phone cord in his fingers. "do you wanna maybe come over? watch a movie or something?"

eddie can almost hear the smile in his voice when he breathes out a yes, thanking whatever higher powers there may be for nancy wheeler.

[foolishlovers]

going to university/having a job really interferes with my good omens fanfic author career

[defectivehero]

Please write about a nb hero who is big on "not owing anyone money" and "its my problem and weight, let me carry it" and "please let me pay u back" and "its your money even if you spend it on me"

And a nb snarky millionaire (by evil methods) villain who is obsessed with their hero and is like "let me spoil u bbg" and *casually throws money around for hero* and very big on "I WOULD DO ANYTHING FOR U" but hero is too fucking dense to actually believe rhe villain.

this snippet completely spiraled out of my control (as most things do).

It all started with that damned news article. In hindsight, perhaps the hero shouldn't have been as forthcoming as they were. But, they wanted the world to know that the life of a hero wasn't always glamorous. They just... didn't expect for the journalist to capitalize on the single remark they made, the single huff of laughter they let out when asked about the wages. Days later, when the article released, the hero was stunned.

Heroism: A Thankless Job

The hero remembers the dread coiling in their chest as they opened the newspaper to find the article, apprehension increasing as they digested the information. That picture of their apartment complex... they don't remember consenting to release that information. Granted, the journalist kept them as a nameless, anonymous hero. But, it wouldn't take a huge leap in logic to connect the dots—to find the building's tenants and cross-reference those names with the hero agencies nearby. The hero just hoped an average reader wouldn't take the incentive to do something like that. They spent the rest of that day struggling to keep their paranoia at bay. It took them a while to fall asleep that night.

Fortunately, they slept well and their anxieties seemed to fade. The hero stumbled through their morning routine and opened their front door an hour later, ready to greet the day, only to nearly trip on a package. They had frowned and taken the package inside, unable to shake the recognition that they hadn't ordered anything to be delivered. Upon opening the package, they found a single unmarked envelope. Their jaw had dropped to the floor once they found the bills inside—an amount more than their typical paychecks.

Little did the hero know, this would be far from the last time they received an unmarked package with a far too generous, entirely unexplained gift inside. At first, the gifts were just small things: a collection of medical grade bandages and antiseptic, a new sweater after they spilled coffee on theirs at work, a care package with things like cough medicine and tissues that appeared the day they got sick. The hero was still profoundly uncomfortable with the idea of some mysterious benefactor providing them with these things, but at least the packages were small. The magnitude of the first gift hadn't been matched since, and the hero couldn't help but feel grateful.

Amidst their hero work and their daily life, the hero found their mind quickly returning to the question of their gift-giver's identity. It had to be someone they interacted with fairly often, considering the far too accurate timing of several of the gifts. One time could be dismissed as a mere coincidence; a box of cough medicine a mere hour after they found themself bedridden, however... That is an entirely different story.

The gifts continue, but, thankfully, they are small in scale. The hero still feels horribly guilty about being entirely unable to pay this person back, but there's almost nothing they can do. Their benefactor clearly doesn't want to make themself known, and that's fine. Really, it is.

Until there is another envelope. This time, their mystery patron doesn't bother concealing their gift within a package. Instead, the hero opens their mailbox to find an unmarked burgundy envelope. Dread coiling in their chest, they look around—foolishly hoping that their gift giver would somehow have a change of heart and decide to show themself—before heading back inside. The hero sits on their sofa and takes a deep breath, before opening the envelope with care.

What they see is enough to make their hands tremble and their grip falter, allowing the envelope to slip down to the floor. They hold their present in disbelief.

It's a check—for more money than they could possibly fathom having. This sum is so large that the hero wouldn't have to work another day in their life. They would be able to live comfortably without earning so much as a single penny on their own.

The thought sickens them. "I can't accept this," the hero breathes aloud. They look down at their apartment's hardwood flooring as if it will give them the answers they're looking for.

"I don't recall asking you to." The hero jumps, looking up to find the villain standing before them. How they got there, the hero doesn't have the faintest idea. They blink at them for a moment, wondering how they didn't connect the mysterious gifts to the villain sooner. Their enemy has always had access to extremely high-tech weaponry and state of the art medicine (judging from their utter lack of scars despite their numerous fights); not to mention, they've had an inexplicable disregard for finances for as long as the hero can remember. It's all beginning to make sense now.

The villain takes a step closer and the hero remembers their remark. "I'm serious," they say with a frown. "Why are you doing this? Do you want me to owe you? ...Is that what this is? Want to, I don't know, kick me while I'm down? You're such a good person, helping the needy." The latter statement is spoken with venom.

"No, of course not," The villain argues.

"Then why?" The hero repeats, the volume of their voice rising as they get more frustrated. They take a deep breath and clench their fist at their side. They're still holding the check in their other hand, and despite the fact that it's nearly weightless, they can feel a pressure pushing their hand down. "And, more importantly, how in the hell did you get this much money?" The hero hears themself ask.

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to," the villain says lightly. There's a darkness to their eyes that suggests the hero should cease this line of questioning. They take another deep breath.

"You're assuming I'll just... accept this," the hero realizes aloud. That familiar itching feeling is rising to meet their skin, and they're becoming less convinced that they should stop it.

"Perhaps."

The hero blinks at them once, twice. The villain refuses to break eye contact; their gaze almost urging them to do it—to use their powers to turn the check to ash. The hero gives into the flames prickling along their skin and summons their fire in the palm of their hand. It will only take a moment, maybe two, for the bottom of the paper to char. From there, it will only be a matter of time. The hero watches in anticipation.

...But nothing happens.

"Did you really think I'd be foolish enough to give you a check you could just burst into flame?"

The hero stares ahead blankly, their ears ringing. The villain's expression blurs into a twisted smile. A figment of their imagination or reality? The hero hears their breaths, ragged and half-panicked in their ears.

"I don't understand," the hero repeats hollowly. They don't understand anything that's happening—anything that happened that led them to this very moment, standing before the villain and holding a check that their enemy gave them.

"You don't have to understand," the villain says, crossing their arms over their chest. "I'm not asking you to understand. Hell, I'm not asking you to do anything. I'm ordering you to cash this check."

The hero's tongue is ironed to the roof of their mouth. Even if they desired to speak, they don't think they'd be able to.

The villain notices their speechlessness and sighs. "I didn't want things to come to this, but..." They break off. "As I predicted, you're stubborn as hell, and self-sacrificing to a fault." The hero doesn't have the energy to be offended or outraged.

"So," the villain drawls, their arm falling to their side quickly. The hero blinks and they're suddenly being held at gunpoint. "Go to your bank. Now." The hero suspects the weapon is more than a gun—and they don't care to find out just what it can do. It appears they really have no choice. The villain is forcing their hand.

An hour later, the hero is walking out of the bank with sunken shoulders. "There," the villain says, clapping a hand on their shoulder and leading them out of the building. "That wasn't so hard, now, was it?" Upon closer examination, the villain's weapon is nowhere in sight—as if it simply vanished in thin air. The unlikely pair walks down the street and heads back to the hero's car. The hero ignores the domesticity of it all, securing their seatbelt over themself. The villain doesn't seem keen to wear their seatbelt, so the hero reaches across and buckles their rival's seatbelt for them before they can object.

"I'll transfer the money back to you tomorrow," the hero announces as they're driving down the street, back towards their apartment. Their eyes are locked on the road, yet they somehow know that the villain's gaze is fixated on them with frightening focus.

"We both know you won't," the villain hums with certainty. The hero hates that they're right, hates that their rival can read them so damn easily. Their hands tighten around the steering wheel and the rest of the ride is suffocated with a horrible silence.

When the hero arrives back home, they can't shake the realization that the villain seems deeply pleased. They say as much to their enemy, who hums.

"Of course I'm pleased," the villain says, "If I knew this was all it would take to get you to accept a much-needed gift, I would've done it eons ago."

The hero takes a deep breath, struggling not to cry. It's been a long day, and they're reaching their limit. "I think you've humiliated me enough today," they announce. "Can you leave?" Please, the hero thinks to themself.

"I suppose," the villain sighs dramatically. They take one step to the door, then another. Just before their hand can clasp the doorknob, the hero feels one last objection fall from their lips.

"That money could go to far more deserving people and causes," the hero chokes out. They're choking on their own pride, choking on the simultaneous acknowledgment that they need money and the horrible knowledge that almost no one in their situation has an out like the one they were just presented with.

The villain turns around to face them, clearly moments away from rolling their eyes. "Do I look like a philanthropist to you?" The hero shakes their head, their throat burning. Their enemy nods in confirmation and turns back around. They twist the doorknob and tug the door open.

"You deserve nice things, you know." The villain's parting remark is murmured so quietly that the hero convinces themself they imagine it. The hero watches their front door close and waits a few moments before locking it. They turn around, their back to the door, and slide down to the ground with their head in their hands.

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[bakubunny]

kaoru can be so mean.

he huffed quietly behind you, his breath hitting the shell of your ear. “dumb bunny. is this what you needed, darling? your embarrassing display stupidity only further proves that you’re incapable of understanding something as simple as a consequence.”

your wrists were gripped tightly in his hand as he leaned back to watch your ass ripple with every sharp thrust of his hips. each one had your eyes rolling from how well he split you open, his thickness pressing and dragging against your sweet spot, his length - fuck, he was so deep you were sure he was in your guts - ramming that deep, tender spot near your cervix over and over with precision. he ran his free hand from your hip to the small of your back and gently pressed, a reminder to, “keep your fucking back arched when i fuck you,” the memory kaoru’s low, seething tone burned into your mind. you nearly shuddered as you did.

“carla, analyze.”

“okay, master. ineffective angle identified by 3.2°.”

heat flooded to your cheeks. kaoru adjusted his thrust ever so slightly and you could have sworn your head went numb. you keened as more pleasure shot to every centimeter of your body.

“maximum efficacy achieved.”

kaoru grinned as your legs shook. “see? even she knows how perfectly i use and cherish what belongs to me.”

@neon-gothicc @thenamesmiz @dcsiremc

[shattersstar]

jealousy.

pairing: bodyguard!jason todd x reader

prompt: you’re mine by phantogram

a/n: 2/3 <33 enjoy

—

The hum of the bathroom fan seemed to echo in your ears as you watched Jason behind you in the mirror. His fingers toyed gently with the fabric of your dress, trying to free your long sweeping necklace from the fabric. It had gotten caught, pulling tight on your throat until Jason unclasped it. It left no mark, but it seemed Jason couldn’t help himself when his thumb smoothed over the side of your neck before taking you by the elbow to the secluded washroom. The stalls were empty, but he still locked the door. Perhaps embarrassed by his display of affection, his lack of professionalism partially exposed to the bustling room. You twisted around to look at the chain now dangling from the back of your dress, huffing at the sight. Jason didn’t say anything as he shuffled you to the sinks, the lights around the stretching mirror were much brighter.

“This is probably the most aggravating thing I’ve ever done.” He mumbled, quickly meeting your gaze in the mirror with a warm grin. You returned it with an airy laugh.

“On the job or in life?”

He paused for a moment, “Maybe both.” You laughed again.

The sounds of the party livened up at that moment, a flurries of claps as the band swung into a faster paced song. You turned your head to the door, but did not miss the excitement. You were content with your quiet moment, Jason’s hands toying and tugging on you with care. He let out another huff before squatting beside you, you looked down at him, wondering how the chains looped themselves into the fabric like so, but appreciating the care he took in not to ruin the dress nor the necklace.

“You can just break it y’know.” You decided suddenly, watching him peer up at you with a confused expression.

“Okay, I’m not that aggravated.” He reasoned before standing back at his full height. You hummed, looking back to the mirror and taking in your appearance. You were tired, legs aching from standing around all night talking with people you only half cared for. The small group of friends you had come with vanished an hour earlier, and while you were content in Jason’s company, the night itself was dragging on. You were ready to head home, but appearances had you here for another two hours at least. And Jason might have been hired as your body guard, but he was also getting paid to make sure you attended events on top of keeping you safe. Normally it was easy to bear the smiles and mindless chitchat, but Jason had been so bold tonight, you knew it the moment his grin turned wolfish at the sight of you dressed for the casino event.

While he often lurked in corners, against walls and surveying the crowd while you mingled, he had no issue keeping himself close by tonight. Always in distance to reach over and graze the curve of your elbow to get your attention, or send you glances when someone said something of note. You were sure Jason’s close proximity was partially because on top of the fundraiser, the casino floor was open to their usual patrons. Slots singing and voices calling cards turned to dull chatter, as drunk bodies flowed through the sprawling space. He was on edge, but you knew it wasn’t just the event. From the moment he picked you up from your apartment and ogled at you without a care, to his brave touches, thumb brushing against the overheated skin of your neck and all, but dragging you to the bathroom to fix something so minute—Jason wanted a moment alone with you as badly as you wanted one with him. It made you smile, wishing the ache in your legs or the pounding starting to grow in your head would vanish.

It was a hectic space that had drained your social battery like no other. You huffed, bending at the hips to rest your elbows on the counter while Jason let out a low sigh that almost sounded like a whistle. “Hey, watch it.” He muttered, hands noticeable not tugging at your dress any longer. You dipped your head forward, nose almost pressing to the cool marble before you tried to sneak a glance at Jason in the mirror. You locked eyes immediately and a small smile pulled at the corners of your mouth. You were never one to challenge his professionalism so boldly, but you two were locked away from prying eyes, and you both couldn’t deny his composure was faltering earlier.

“My feet hurt.” You reasoned, earning a quick dry laugh. Did it really call for you to be bent over in front him when you could just take off your shoes or sit on the counter, no of course not, but Jason didn’t seem to be in an arguing mood with your flimsy logical as he shifted to your side. One of his hands smoothing over the curve of your hip before the other roamed over your partially bare back, flattening his palm against the skin. He pressed his thumb to the centre of your spine, glancing sideways at you in the mirror with a glint in his eyes that was anything, but angry. It was teasing and warm because while you both knew he did enjoy his job, Jason loved breaking rules more than anything. At his heart, core level—whatever—Jason loved forgetting his role as solely a protector, and being something more when no one was around. He wanted to indulge in a life he didn’t have access to for so long, as well you. Indulge in your beautiful body and dangerous scheming eyes. You felt so real and good under his fingertips, even if his touches remained innocent.

He squeezed your waist before his fingers brushed over the chain, “This goddamn necklace,” He grumbled, yanking on it lightly before you leaned into the movement. “Fuck.” He breathed even quieter and you grinned a little wildly against your forearm before pushing yourself back up. You stood at your full height and shook out each of your ankles before Jason managed to unloop the last link.

“Thank you.” You said as he placed it in your hand. Jason only leaned his forehead into your shoulderblade, lips pressing a kiss to the bare skin as a response. You were about to lean your head against his when Jason bit down on your shoulder for a quick second. You yelped and slapped his arm while he mended the bite with another kiss. You only waved him off with an amused grin, tossing your bothersome necklace into your bag before letting Jason lead you out of the bathroom.

Your quiet moment was over, senses overwhelmed once you stepped back onto the casino floor. Your friends were finally in sight, calling you over with laughter bubbling from their mouths already. You turned around to let Jason know where you were headed when you realized he wasn’t behind you. You felt lost for a minute, struck with a minor sense of panic before your eyes fell on him. A few paces behind and arm being held by an older woman who seemed rather friendly. Any thought of reuniting with your friends vanished as you found yourself being compelled towards the duo. Jason caught sight of you in his peripheral, sending you an unreadable expression that had you stop a few feet away. The woman seemed to notice your presence only then, glancing over at you which seemed to snap Jason out of whatever revere she had put him in.

“This is an old client—“

“Don’t call me old!” She teased, slapping the arm she held playfully and making something in your mouth go sour. “Jason was just telling me about his work since coming back to Gotham, you don’t mind if I steal him for a few minutes more? Old friends catching up and all that?”

You blinked between the two of them, half waiting to Jason to interject or someone to shoot you dead, “Uh—no, its no problem.”

“I’ll walk you to your car, you said you were heading out right?” Jason urged, any boyish charm from your private moment gone as he spoke in that calculated voice you had grown used to.

You stood there for a moment, nodding to yourself before boycotting a formal goodbye and heading back towards your friends. You did glance back over your shoulder, expecting to find Jason watching you, but he was leaned in close, speaking into her ear as they headed towards the exit. It made your jaw click, something inside of you turning icy cold. You didn’t know why that made you feel so strange, so possessive and annoyed. She was just someone he used to work for, and you were bound to run into an old employer of his. It all made logical sense and yet you were so undeniably jealous, your friends could read something was wrong clearly on your face.

“Hey, is everything okay? You look pissed.” One of them asked, you couldn’t even tell who in the sea of voices and thoughts rushing your head.

“Yeah, some old client was just all over my bodyguard it was weird.” You explained, trying to sound more confused than hurt.

“Oh we saw that, are you like gonna be okay? Safe I mean?” You only nodded, it was too much to explain all the levels of protocol and security Jason established for moments he couldn’t be near by.

“Well at least its out in the open now.”

“What is?” You asked, still reeling when their next words broke something inside of you.

“I mean c’mon, your bodyguard is so fine, like holy hell he’s unreal.” They all erupted with laughter, agreeing with the statement while you were surprised this had never come up before. Though, stating the obvious—that you were now accompanied by a gorgeous man—would bring up questions, raise things you weren’t ready to lie about. You didn’t even know if you could, let alone wanted to lie to your loved ones. And for how long? Your throat felt thick, too many variables swirled around your head to think straight. You needed air, water, your bed—anything.

“Yeah, I get that a lot—I’ll uh be right back I need a drink—“ You left without another word, leaving a piece of honesty with your friends before the conversation could devolve into anything more. It was true that so many middled aged women fawned over how handsome Jason was, how lucky you were too. Your parent’s friends were particularly insufferable in that regard, but it had always been innocent. Funny even, but knowing your friends had an eye on him, and old clients jumped at the chance to touch and talk to him made it harder to hide your jealousy. The possessive side of you that wanted to scream that no one would ever get to see the side of Jason you did, no one brought that out of him like you did because he told you so. You were the only one Jason’s ever been more than just a bodyguard for, and you know if you stopped paying him, he wouldn’t only stay with you romantically, but he’d still protect you.

You wanted to throw that in everyone’s face, but as you weaved through the crowd towards the second floor bar, you wondered if Jason felt any of this too. You knew what he had told you, and what you felt, but did anger and jealousy toil in him at the secret you two were bound to keep. Was it hard for him to see you dressed up and flirted with, to always be kept at a distance. You were always able to give more of yourself to him, the job demanded that, but did it bother him that boundaries he had to keep? You felt so incredibly selfish and blind for being so upset with him, for being so enraptured in your own feelings you felt wildly inconsiderate of Jason’s. You were beyond distracted, unaware of Jason’s presence catching sight of your figure at the top of the steps, or the fact you were stepping on the hem of your dress. You didn’t fall, but stumbled forward, one of your knees hitting the carpeted floor with enough force it could bruise.

You cursed, hands pressing into the ground as you tried to push yourself up before you even really finished tripping. One of the bartenders had made their way over, but you didn’t even acknowledge the hand extended out to you before another grasped your elbow. You nearly jumped at the touch of their cold hands on your bare skin, but when Jason’s concerned expression fell into view, your angry crumpled almost entirely. He helped you stand to your full height, keeping his hand on you while you kicked the fabric from underneath your feet. His free hand gathered the excess fabric of your skirt, lifting the hem to your ankles while linking your arms. He sent a nod and thanks to the bartender before turning to you.

He led you towards the bar, nose brushing your hairline, “Are you okay?” You pulled away, only minimally to take in his expression, find what you had refused to see before. Jason’s brows furrowed at your action, “What?” He asked, stern, but earnestly confused.

Nervous even.

You looked away, unable to find your voice as he let go of you. He pulled out one of the bar stools for you before taking a seat in the one next to you. He sat facing you, long legs brushing the fabric billowing down the side of your chair.

“Did something ha—“

“No, nothing like that. Nothing to worry about.” You found yourself speaking, hand darting out to rest on his knee as you did. You didn’t want him to be focused on work right now, and you knew you couldn’t ask that of Jason, not here, but making him worry pointlessly was just cruel. “Who was that woman?” You asked instead, testing the waters. You didn’t want your jealousy to bleed into your voice for the sake of your embarrassment and Jason’s emotional burden. He didn’t need to grapple with your somewhat unbridled anger at a person you had met once and one he seemed to have a good relationship with no less.

“An old client, like I said.” He huffed, the irritation lacing Jason’s tone didn’t help quell the anger he had nearly extinguished with his mere presence earlier.

“Oh…kay.” You responded tentatively, letting your hand slip from his leg as you turned your attention to the bar top.

He huffed again, “What?”

“I dunno know, thought you would have more to say. Explain.” You shrugged, trying to keep Jason out of your periphery, but he beckoned you with his intense gaze alone. The quick look you sent him made your heart rate pick up, anger rolled off of him in waves as your approach suddenly blew up in your face.

“Explain? Explain what? Myself? Did I do something where I have to explain myself to—“

“No, no, no thats not what I meant Jay.”

“Then what did you mean? Hmm?” You groaned in the back of your throat before turning to face him properly, your legs pressed into his as you looked at him straight on.

“She seemed really possessive over you and it bothered me. I wanted to know if you had anything to say about that and I’m sorry I asked like an ass. It was just…weird for me.” You explained, doing your best to hold his gaze and honour his anger. “I’m not saying I’m justified in how I feel, but its just how I feel.”

“What do you mean?” He asked quieter, leaning forward. Your brows twitched at the question before Jason specified, “How do you feel?”

“Oh, yeah, well, y’know…” You gestured vaguely, making him breathe out a laugh that brought a smile to your face before embarrassment started to settle in. “Sort of, equally or more so possessive of you.”

“Jealous?”

You cringed a little at the sentiment, but nodded nonetheless. “And I know I shouldn’t be, but my friends said something stupid too and its just like…your you and I’ve known that, but it was just like that reality kept slapping me in the face.“

“And then you tripped.” Jason added.

You laughed this time, “Yeah, then I nearly ate shit on the stairs.”

“Are you worried about me—us?” He mumbled after a beat of silence that felt like peace slowly returning to your chest.

“No, I honestly felt shittier for feeling jealous than actually feeling it. It doesn’t happen often and its usually not that serious, today has just been a lot, but I don’t know how you feel about all of this.” You wanted everything swirling around your mind to be aired out now.

“How I feel?” Jason echoed, something surprised hidden in his tone. It made your heart break from him just slightly, bleeding for him as it often did. “You mean jealous?”

You nodded, wanting him to have the space to say what he wanted to say. Instead Jason barked out a laugh, almost surprised you were bringing this up. Your brows twitched and you were worried he was mad again. You opened your mouth to speak, but the glint in his eyes mirrored the one he had wore all evening. Jason was pushing out of his chair and helping you out of yours before you could comprehend, letting him lead you deeper into the casino it seemed, some hallway you were sure was reserved for staff, but deserted nonetheless.

You leaned against the wall, while Jason hovered in the centre of the hall. It seemed like the distance was calculated, purposeful. You gestured for him to speak, but all Jason did was let out a low chuckle, gaze falling to the ground between your bodies while he shook his head. “Jay we don’t have to talk about this—“

“But you want too?” God—he was full of questions today. He still wouldn’t look at you and for the first time ever you couldn’t read him. It was what had drawn Jason to you, how quickly you saw through him and all his shit. It made him smile when he thought about it, but you wouldn’t be able to see that anyways.

“I wanted to be honest, it crossed my mind heavily that I was being kinda inconsiderate towards you and your feelings. Sure I hate the…distance between us sometimes, but I never thought about how it difficult it is for you.”

He was silent, the tense air swollen with your palpable anxiety as a long moment passed. Jason stood staring at the floor, while you reeled, had you pissed him off, had he never considered this, had you misread something?

And then he spoke, low and slow, like he was unsure how the words fit in his mouth. “Baby I spend every second jealous at these fucking events. Every person who gets to be around you for longer than five minutes is someone I hope tests me—and that woman? Don’t ever be jealous of her, or any client that I used to work for, their the reason I left Gotham and,” He took a breath, shifting closer while you stared at Jason with wide eyes. “And you’re the reason I stay.”

You opened your mouth once, than twice before realizing you didn’t have the words to respond. Only a saucer eyed stare, and heavy breaths were offered. Jason took that as an invitation to keep going, his dress shoes nudging yours as he moved closer. “And its sweet—so fucking sweet—you’re worried about me, about how I feel, but sweetheart, as long as I’m the person taking you home—I don’t care,” Jason crowded your space, nose brushing yours as your hands found the lapels of his suit. You smoothed over them, trying so hard not to wrinkle the fabric in yours fists as his nose brushed your bottom lip.

“No one gets to see the side of you that I do.” You murmured, urging his eyes back up to yours. They were alight with something dangerous, but his grin, crooked and conniving told you enough. You had hit the mark, had understood what he felt so clearly because you felt it too.

He breathed out a chuckle, “Exactly.”

Then Jason kissed you, and while you two had kissed before, this was something else, something words felt too simple for. It was a travesty to have to keep Jason at a distance when he felt so real under your palms and his mouth tasted so good against yours. His hand found its way to your jaw, tilting your head back as his fingers massaged the skin there. You were pressed into the wall, but didn’t mind the cold against your back as he continued to kiss you open. His teeth found your bottom lip, tugging before he mended his harshness with an opened mouth kiss. He licked his way into your mouth then, his hold on your jaw tightening ever so slightly as he let himself explore, kiss you without inhibition or care. You knew this moment wouldn’t last, that the job would come first and you’d spend another hour miserable and wanton.

The thought threatened to sour your mood, but you were to wrapped up in Jason’s mouth moving against yours to let it. You fumbled with your clutch as he continued his assault, pressing softer kisses to your lips before trailing to where his fingers held onto you. His tongue slid over your jaw, making your knees shudder before he left a wet kiss there. You managed to open your bag without sight, Jason preoccupied with his ministrations to notice you wound the long chain of your necklace around your hand a few times before yanking with the other one. The twinkling sound of gold loops raining onto the marble floor broke Jason out of his revere as your necklace seemingly shattered. He stepped back, as more fell, splayed out on the floor and individual or broken sections of the chain now caught in the skirt.

Jason’s gaze snapped from the ground to your eyes. “You didn—“

“I did, lets go tip whoever has to clean this an obscene amount of money and go home.” You stepped over the mess, trying not to laugh as more loops rolled over your dress. Jason stayed silent as he wrapped his hand around your arm before following diligently behind you as you made your last rounds of the night. Pointedly avoiding your friends who you just needed a breather from before apologizing to the casino manager for the mess. You played your part perfectly, garnering all the sympathy and sad farewells before deflating into Jason’s car. You glanced over to him as he got in the driver seat, wasting no time before his hand found your thigh and the car was cruising down the highway. You placed your hand over his and felt all the tension drift from your shoulders as Jason’s words rang through your head. This was all he needed after every night, you real underneath his palm and next to him in his car, spending the night god knows where, together.

[ickypuppi3]

me after coming up with the worst possible situation to put a character i love in

[yikesharringrove]

Nobody knows what's wrong with Steve Harrington.

He was there one day, and the next, he was a shell of himself.

It wasn't even really the mall fire that did it.

He was okay, seen around town a few times, although more withdrawn than he had been a few years ago, but that change has been slow. It's been happening for longer than just summer break.

But then the mall burned down, and Harrington could be seen applying to new jobs, tied at the hip with some weirdo incoming senior band geek.

And then, all of a sudden, nothing.

The weirdo band geek was all by herself.

The maroon BMW sat gathering dust in the driveway of the big house, the paint getting sunfaded.

The blinds on the bedroom window were drawn.

And Steve wasn't dead.

He just wasn't really alive anymore.

He sat, well, he laid, every minute of every day, in his darkened bedroom. IN his bed.

He barely moved. He barely ate.

And nobody knew why.

There were whispers around town.

He'd gotten injured in the fire. He was on house arrest. He'd skipped town.

But really, what no one knew,

was that the second Billy Hargrove's body was locked six feet under, Steve's heart was buried with him.

It had taken a long time to arrange a funeral.

Billy's body was burned and broken.

(And government property).

So, no open casket at the Irish Catholic mass that served as a funeral.

His dad spoke.

His sister spoke.

A teacher spoke.

A friend spoke.

And Steve Harrington sat in the very back row, twisting a piece of loose thread around his finger, over and over again.

He left early, slipped out the back before anyone could see the imminent breakdown.

And he hasn't been seen since.

He's thin.

Much thinner than he's been in a long time.

And he's pale. Really pale. His olive skin tinged a sickly yellow.

But there's no point in any of it anymore.

Because the love of his life died, and nobody knows.

There has been activity at his house, people going in and out.

The band geek trying to lure him into the shower. The loud know-it-all kid speaking in a hushed tone and begging him to eat.

But he didn't feel anything anymore.

And he didn't feel there was a point to his existence.

He thought that maybe, wasting away into nothing was easier than the stabbing pain, the guilt and regret he felt every moment of everyday.

Because he can't even mourn him.

He couldn't speak at the funeral.

Nobody knew they were friends, let alone more than that.

He couldn't cry over the grave.

He couldn't wear black and walk around like some Victorian woman.

Life goes on.

But he doesn't know how to keep going.

Because his life was Billy.

They would see one another every day. Sometimes more than once.

They would spend their nights together, they would drive together. They would sit on the couch and make fun on the whatever was on the t.v. together.

And now, he's alone.

And doing everything they used to do, it's agony.

It's agony when for a split second, he forgets that his love is dead and buried, and he wants to turn to say something to him, and finds empty air.

He doesn't know how he could ever cope with the crushing disappointment of being alone.

The typewriter is his mom's idea.

He took a typing class in school, just a semester learning about how to actually use one of the clunky things.

(He and Tommy used to take out the springs so that theirs wouldn't work and they didn't have to actually so anything in class that day.)

He woke up one morning with it sitting on his desk. Brand new. A stack of paper on the right, one piece already loaded in.

It took him six days to type anything.

And when he did, it was garbage. Nonsensical feelings covered in correction fluid and typos and tears. Stupid ramblings about his absolute misery.

But, it did help. A tiny bit.

He's never been good at writing.

Which is why he left the finished product in Robin's mailbox and biked away as fast as he could. (He doesn't really like driving anymore.)

He didn't want to face her as she read it.

He left a note, explaining what it was.

She never made a comment that she got it, but two days later the draft was back in his mailbox, red pen corrections and comments covering the pages.

He took her suggestions. Edited out what she felt should go, added in where she needed more detail.

And it took six months.

But he has a novel.

Or, something like it.

It's a sort of memoir.

All the events are true. All the feelings are true.

But nobody would believe it was real.

Certainly not anyone on the list of independent publishers Robin had slipped into his mailbox with her final round of edits.

Steve typed each of the five copies by hand.

It took him months, somehow longer than the actual thing had taken him to write.

But he sent them off, manuscripts in sealed envelopes. A queer romantic science fiction novel. Something with a devastating ending.

Something that most certainly didn't happen to himself.

He didn't receive any notice for several weeks, and the waiting would've been the worst part, if all of this hadn't been born out of the gory death of the love of his life.

But it was.

And the waiting was the second worst part.

Until a letter.

A publisher asking for a meeting.

Robin accompanied him on the Greyhound to Chicago, but she didn't come into the meeting with him. She had done enough already, it's time for him to finish the story.

The person he met with told him she cried when she read his story. Told him if I ever lost my wife the way that the Steve in the story lost his Billy, I don't know how I could go on.

The book was published under the name S. Hargrove.

Because if he couldn't have Billy, at least he could have his name.

[vetteltea]

willing to bet my LIFE on max and lando being the best girl dads ever like are you kidding me (everyone js going to say charles because of the baby video but these guys are underrated). also LEWIS??? with a girl??? we’ve all seen him with willow like this man needs a child asap (im willing)

I should have a hatred for Max Verstappen but I've truly grown to love him over the past few months.

I'm completely with you, baby. Max as a girl dad is everything - we've seen how he is with P, could you imagine that with his own little girl? Deffo the father to be carrying around a baby bag at all time - I think Horner or GP gift him a red-bull themed one with how much he carries it around.

Baby Verstappen is at nearly every race, too. I'm thinking she's born in the winter so him and mama can spend time with her, everyone is in awe when he comes into pre-season testing with his little family.

will ALWAYS go straight to her after his podium, there will always be a photo of him carrying her out of the paddock, his little baby girl will always be his priority.

When she gets older he's such a dad to be at every dance recital, every birthday party, every show she does at school. He cries a lot, too. His baby girl grows up too fast.

I can so see Lando as a girl dad too! I feel like when she's first born he's a little nervous because he wants to be the best and she's so tiny to him; but the nerves go the moment she's in his arms.

Deffo the type of dad to let her get away with anything and then blame himself later. She once ripped apart her entire nursery and he painstakingly had to clean it before Mama got home that evening.

He so treats her as one of the boys; whenever there's a lunch or something, she's coming with. Max, Carlos, all of his mates and Quadrant, they soon learn if you're inviting Lando, you're inviting baby Norris, too.

Speaking of Quadrant, baby Norris is a guest on streams pretty frequently as she gets older? She'll sit on Lando's lap with a pair of too big headphones and be watching in awe as her dad plays some really cool games and cuddles into him whilst he does.

Lewis? With a baby girl? Man, I love LH SO much and to see him with a little girl would kill me.

We see how he Is with Roscoe and that's just his fur baby, imagine him with a real baby? How he wants her with him all the time, he's letting her crawl around the paddock, sit in his car whilst the tests are being run.

Toto is SO her unofficial grandpa, he's in awe when Lewis brings her in for the first time, she's a little unsure of his height but she grows to love Toto, but nowhere near as much as her daddy.

I feel like Lewis is just...he's such a good dad? She never has to hide anything from him, he's always there with good advice and a warm hug, he wants her to understand that just because she's a girl, doesn't mean she can't achieve whatever she sets her mind to - he's such a positive for her.

[evidently-endless]

writing, but make it complicated

[rocksanddeadflowers]

I think there should be a violinspector coffee shop AU but it's not an AU it's just post TBI. Years and years after TBI Marius finds Lyf on a random planet laying low and under the radar working minimum wage at a cafe and he's determined to make things right (Never Ever Getting Rid Of Me from the musical Waitress style)

[elliotsgrl]

how is the cast of abbott elementary majority black yet the fanfictions in the hashtag are for the white character in the show when they're the minority in the cast. make it make sense. y'all ain't even tryna hide y'all racism anymore i'm crying

[hatkuu]

dw i AM slowly returning to my kylar roots...imagine kylar walking in on you wearing his hoodie...i think he would scream and faint and die. he would be so torn between wanting you to keep it forever bc you look so cute and wearing his clothes in public would affirm that you belong to him but also wanting it back so he can smell it and breathe in your scent (and not do nefarious things with it)

hngnnggg yeah im glad ur coming back to ur kylar roots... i missed you nica please come rave about kylar's cock with me again :'(

uuuggghhh especially if you make it out to be something innocent like you spending the night at his house (bestie kylar sleepover....) and it gets really cold!!!

gen! reader and m! kylar utc <3

Kylar hates the feeling of water against his skin. It never really sticks, or cleans anything. His skin is overly sensitive, flaring up against his will if he scrubs too hard or uses any scented soaps. He's given up on making himself attractive to others, and yet—

He's hiding in the bathroom while you're cuddled up in his bed.

He thought he'd be all over you, panting and drooling, lapping at your lips until they parted just enough that he could taste you. Maybe you'd face him, breathing in his exhales and sharing oxygen with one another until you fell asleep. Or... Maybe you'd face away from him, letting him guard you where you're most vulnerable, baring yourself in a way that you've never let anyone else see you. He'd be unable to resist you, then. He'd drool onto your hair, mindlessly grinding his cock against you until you wake. You'd help him out, as graceful and kind as you are—you'd turn to face him, burying your face in his neck and clinging so tight that his chest would burn. Not from legs wrapped so tightly around his waist. Only from the sheer love and affection you're spoiling him with—something he hasn't felt in so long.

The faucet before him groans, on the brink of filling up the sink. Kylar has the mind to turn it off before his whole body locks up.

"Ky-Ky? Are you okay...?"

He hears your sweetened tone from beyond the bathroom door, your knuckles gently rapping at the wood to gain his attention. So cute. Of course you'd check if he's okay! He stumbles to the door, fumbling with the lock as his wet hands slip against the door handle. You're probably so lonely without him! He's upset with himself for losing track of time and leaving you alone in bed when the two of you could've been snuggled up against one another. He finally unlatches the door, breathing heavy at the prospect of you being just behind the thin plywood.

The door slams open and Kylar's smile falls from his face.

You're now wearing a hoodie. He's kind of disappointed that he won't be able to touch as much of your skin. The hoodie you're wearing looks worn. It's fraying at the sleeves, stained various different colours at it's front, he's never actually seen you wear it before so it can't possibly be new—

His hoodie.

You're wearing his hoodie.

You fiddle with the sleeves as you speak, shyly looking at your feet while he gapes at you. "Sorry... It got cold while you were in the bathroom. I can take it off if you want?"

You look so cute. So very, very cute that Kylar can only stare at you, open-mouthed. He thinks about what it'd imply if you started wearing his clothes at school—no, even better if you just wore his clothes entirely—maybe he should offer you a pair of his sweatpants too, in case your legs get cold. He thinks about it, but then looks at the deliciously smooth skin of your thighs, and decides against it.

Kylar shakes his head quickly, commiting the image of you in his hoodie to memory. "N-No! It's fine, um, you can raid my whole wardrobe if you like... Haha..."

Kylar makes a note to start stealing more of your hoodies and long-sleeved shirts, just so he can see you in more of his.

You stare at him for another second, smiling at the cute expression on his face. Then your smile turns upside down into a confused pout. "Why's your face all wet?"

Kylar blushes choking on his own embarrassment, tugging you back to bed. "I brushed my teeth," He lies, tucking you in as he crawls in beside you, covering the two of you with a worn-out sheet. He purposefully hid the other thicker sheets underneath his bed so the two of you had no choice but to cuddle for warmth tonight. He smiles as you roll over, bidding him a quick goodnight before shuffling your rear painfully close to his crotch. You grab one of his arms, pulling it over you before yawning softly and closing your eyes.

"Goodnight, my love." He mumbles into your hair, voice addled with sleepiness.

He leans forward, burying his face in your hair and the soft hood of his hoodie. You smell good on your own, but you smell even better mixed with the scent of him. Like he's claimed you.

[0possil]

i have been playing mgs1 with the mentality of "fuck it, we ball" and "if i run fast enough, the bullets cant catch me"

[gamerwoman3d]

Welp. It's been fun but I gotta go to horny jail for about the next thousand years or so. Holy fuck.

[Spicy/Explicit AND gifs AND gore under the cut 🔞]

Original video:

[And not to brag but yes I did get a flawless victory over him in that ridiculous Seasonal Tower in Invasions mode. Watch the whole thing if you want to find out how.]

Okay. It is horny hours.

They objectified the fuck outta this man in this fatality and honestly? Kudos.

This hit me in all the kinks at once. No trigger warnings past this point read at your own risk

On screen, the whole thing about Shang Tsung pouring pain-inducing liquid on Sub-Zero's chest reads like hot wax. It reads like overstimulation and forced climax. Omg his hips... the way Shang Tsung watches/monitors him almost gives the viewer permission and encouragement to do the same. It's as if Shang Tsung is telling us "I'm enjoying watching this man writhe and spurt and lose his mind. I'm enjoying it immensely, actually. There's no reason not to do so."

We get so many of Sub-Zero's expressions. That's the more intimate part - the part most often censored in any kind of porn is the man's face, as if it's illegal for them to display any kind of expressions. As if they might accidentally leak proof of an actual emotion, it is too taboo even in the realm of porn to show the guy's face. That's what makes this particular piece of art-violence unique: it's usually a woman cringing in fear and pain and dread at the brink of being devoured by a monster that is simultaneously a vagina dentata and also phallic. [See: Ripley, Aliens.]

So we get to see his face in part pain, part fear, part on the brink of death, all the way through a symbolic climax, until literally he's getting his mind blown. And it's kinda amazing.

As for the other kinks this scene is reminiscent of, I'm personally not a big fan of being tied down but exceptions can be made - I'm into it if he is. There's the dom/sub[-zero hah] element of Shang Tsung having autonomy while Sub-Zero can only watch and pray [he kinda mouths 'oh my god' - right? if you read lips, lmk]. Not into the power imbalance part but Shang Tsung's enjoyment of the situation itself is also kinda arousing.

The final bit is the blood/birth stuff. Skipping the mpreg stuff [Barbara Creed has all this covered in The Monstrous Femme, check it out from a library], the blood stuff is... well its a kink for some. For me there's only one week a month where seeing blood on his nose is acceptable 😝

And yea I'd still sit there if the enthusiasm was mutual. Damn snake beat me to it this time tho.