#I hope this is an answer that is helpful to you anon

[monotonesmile]

Can you do a Damian Wayne x Reader, where everything takes a turn for the wrong with Talia brainwashing Damian back to his old assassin ways and the reader stumbles upon him while he's fighting Jon/Super boy who's injuried from a sword made from kryptonite ( Damian doesnt have a scratch on him because Jon refused to hurt him). She trys to snap him out of his brainwashed mindset as it's clear her being there has an effect on him and she succeeds....after he stabs her with said kryptonite while Jon screams in the background, reader watches the instant regret in Damians face as she begans to subcomb to the darkness ( Happy or sad ending is up to you)

Don’t Leave Me

[Damian Wayne X Fem!Reader]

[Word Count: 2138]

[Warnings: Blood, Fighting, Injuries, Near death experiences, mentions of a dead body]

[Fic Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Happy Ending!]

[Notes: Anon, I cannot tell you the sheer amount of joy I experienced when I saw a request for Damian, thank you so much, I hope to do your request justice. Btw, if you want the sad ending you can ask!]

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It’d been over a month since she last saw Damian at school or outside of it, he hadn’t even picked up her calls or texts, she was getting worried, but she’d get her answer soon enough…

She was sat down by one of Damian’s brothers, Dick Grayson, and he had told her of Damian’s missing status, learning he’d been kidnapped by his mother, who had apparently did it so he could take his rightful place as the Demons Head, unfortunately Damian had not agreed so rather than forcing it upon him, she brainwashed him into accepting the role. Now, she was even more worried, immediately demanding to help search for Damian, and Dick couldn’t find a reason to tell her no, she was as stubborn as Damian was.

It took even longer to actually find Damian, the League of Assassins were truly trying to keep him from them, but they found him finally after two weeks of searching, although…it may have been too late.

Jon was already confronting Damian when she arrived, pushing through the foliage of the forest and into the clearing the two are fighting in, it was a horrifying sight, witnessing Damian striking Jon with the intent to kill him, wielding a sword that glowed green, kryptonite. She looked around, surveying the landscape, knowing better than to get in the middle of a fight between Damian and Jon, even without brainwashing. That’s when she’d notice the tall woman watching from above, Damian’s mother is watching with a calculating gaze, no hint of parental emotion on her face, just watching her son battle with his best friend.

“Damian! Please, snap out of it! You don’t want to do this!” Jon’s voice brought her attention back to the fight in front of her, her breathing halted as she noticed how injured Jon had become while Damian had almost no serious injuries, likely due to the fact that Jon refuses to hurt him, he can’t bring himself to hurt his best friend.

Unfortunately, Damian didn’t even flinch at Jon’s plea, his mind encased by a thick fog, blocking out the desperate pleas of his family and friends as they attempted to reach out to him, the only thing in his mind is ridding the world of his enemy, striking Jon again, which he’d attempted to block with his arm, slicing through his durable skin as blood streams down his arm, staining his torn suit and skin.

Her eyes widen as she watches in horror as Jon stumbles back and to the ground, weakening due to the close proximity to the kryptonite sword, his head felt dizzy, his eyes threatening to shut as Damian lifts the sword above his head, preparing to send it down upon Jon’s head, the killing blow.

In her fear and panic, her body moves on its own, her legs pushing her forward, crashing into Damian and knocking him away from Jon, her breathing became quicker and more ragged, but she knew she had to at least keep Damian’s attention off Jon until he could properly recover and get up.

Damian grunts as he’s knocked off to the side, finding his footing quickly, turning his attention to the new enemy that came onto the field, scowling at her as he stands up straight, his body turning towards her and he lifts the sword, pointing it at her before dropping into a fighting stance and then charging at her.

“Damian…please, I know you can’t hear me but you have to fight it!” She moves out of the way quickly, barely dodging the sword as she keeps a distance from him, keeping a wide range of safety between them, she doesn’t want to fight him, hell, she knows she can’t fight him, he’d overpower her in any situation, but she counts herself lucky that Damian taught her self defense and how to dodge enemy attacks before he was ever brainwashed.

“Y/N! Get out of here! Please!” Jon winced as he tried to get up, collapsing back to the ground as he desperately begs her to retreat, knowing that if something were to happen, he’d never forgive himself.

“I can’t! I don’t want him to hurt anyone else, he’ll never forgive himself if he does!” She blocks a swing of the sword with her arms, wincing as it sliced through her skin, but she’ll take cuts and scrapes over being stabbed, knocking Damian back with a kick to the gut, watching him double over for a second with a pained wheeze.

For a split second, when he looked back up at her, she saw a flash of recognition in his eyes before it changed back to rage as he stood back up and charged again, but that doesn’t matter to her, she got through to him even if it was for a second, the Damian she knows is still in there, he’s just trapped, and she needs to free him from the claws of his mother.

“Damian! You can fight this, you’ve never backed down from a fight, don’t you dare give up on me now! I’m not losing you!” She had to jump back when he swung his sword again, stumbling over her feet, she’s losing stamina, but she can’t stop now, she knows he can fight it, she has to believe in him.

She knows Damian is strong enough to break the chains holding him down in his own mind, he’s always been stubborn and spiteful from the day they met, but he was always the more experienced fighter, he was trained to be perfect, she was just born in a normal family with a normal life, she is in no way able to win a fight against him. Jon knew this, Damian knew this, she knew this, but that won’t stop her from trying, she’s not willing to lose Damian to something he was so desperate to avoid his entire life.

But for a moment, the world around them froze as searing pain shot through her entire body, her eyes widening as she looked down to the sword embedded in her stomach, her breathing shaky as her ears ring, the sound of Jon’s scream broke her out of the agony for a split second as she looked up at Damian, his face had fallen from a scowl to a horrified look, in that moment as the sword is ripped from her body, the fog cleared in his mind, now the image of his girlfriend bleeding in front of him due to an injury he caused was burned into his mind.

Damian watched in horror as she stumbled back, scarlet blood seeping into her shirt, staining the original color with an ugly red he never wanted to see on her, tossing the sword away as he rushed forward when her legs gave out beneath her, grabbing her before she hit the ground, falling to his knees.

“No no no!” He placed his hand on the stab wound, trying to put pressure on it, desperately trying to stop the bleeding as he breathed quickly, starting to hyperventilate with his panic and fear.

Damian was so focused on her that when Jon limped over to him, he had jumped in surprise, Jon still felt weak but tried to keep her sitting upright, talking to her to try and keep her conscious despite his own anxiety plastered on his face. Neither noticed Talia leaving with a disapproving scowl on her face, clearly not happy with the fact her son broke out of her brainwashing,

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please don’t close your eyes…!” Damian was begging and pleading with her, tears falling from his eyes as they stream down his face, his hands coated in her blood as he keeps pressure on her stomach, he could faintly hear Jon calling for help, but his focus was entirely on her in the moment, terrified of losing the one person who truly understood him, who truly loved him with all her heart.

Her breathing was getting slow but ragged, it hurt a lot, breathing and staying awake, her body practically begging to fall asleep to escape the pain she felt, shadows closing in around the corners of her eyes, the pain was getting too much to bear, and she’s likely losing a lot of blood, but she mustered up enough energy to speak and give a small smile.

“I love you, Damian Wayne…” Her voice was weak and tired, eyes falling shut as the pain slowly eases with how far in sleep she goes, but before she fully succumbed to the darkness that’s fading in, she heard Damian’s voice, heartfelt and laden with tears and regret.

“I love you too…”

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Her eyes fluttered open, only to be met with stark white surroundings, for a moment her eyes hurt, closing them again before her eyes properly adjusted to the bright surroundings, and for a split second, she thought she had truly died back in that clearing and she’d made it to the afterlife, but when she opened her eyes again she could recognize that her surroundings were in fact a hospital room, the beeping of medical machines nearby and the quiet sound of others outside the room only confirmed it for her.

She shifted slowly to try and get more comfortable, wincing as dull pain shot through her abdomen, looking down to find it wrapped in bandages and likely stitched up underneath, she could tell as the area felt sore and slightly uncomfortable, sighing before noticing a grip on her hand, looking over in confusion to find Damian asleep, holding her hand as his head resting on the medical cot she was laying in, she could she the exhaustion in his face, there were bags under his eyes and the area aro his eyes were slightly tinged red, like he was crying not too long before she woke up.

She frowns softly, a look of worry on her face as she realized that he had been waiting by her side the entire time, he probably hadn’t had proper rest for a long while, she knew he was going to be scared and worried, and his appearance only confirms it. She gently squeezed his hand with a bittersweet smile, she had been terrified for him while he was brainwashed, which nearly landed her on death’s door, but now he’s here, worried for her in return, worried that he could’ve killed her.

The squeeze on his hand woke him from his light sleep, sitting up with a groggy grumble as he rubs the sleep from his eyes, blinking began he glances at her, they stared at each other in silence as his eyes began to widening, it took his sleepy mind a minty to process that she was awake and smiling at him! In a fraction of a second m he launched at her, wrapping his arms around her as he buried his face in her shoulder, tears pricking his eyes as he apologized repeatedly into her shoulder, trembling as she returned his hug, arms gently wrapping around his torso.

“I know…it’s okay, Dami…” She whispers softly to him, reassuring his worries that she knows won’t fully leave him forever, wincing as his hug is rather tight around her injured body. “But…ya could be a bit more gentle…” She chuckles quietly, resting her head on his shoulder with a soft smile.

“Sorry…” Damian mutters quietly, loosening his grip on her but he refuses to release her, he couldn’t let her go, he was terrified that if he did, they’d be back in that field and he’d instead be hugging her dead body, he didn’t want to open his eyes, he needed to know she was still here.

She smiles tearfully, her hand’s gripping onto his shirt as she buried her face into his neck, they both needed to feel their warmth, they needed to hear their hearts beating together, both of them afraid that this was just a dream, but they knew…they knew they were both still here, both still alive and together again.

“…I love you, Y/N…don’t scare me like that again…please…” Damian’s voice was abnormally soft as he leaned up, looking at her with a teary eyed expression, but a trembling smile on his face made her smile up at him before pressing a soft kiss against his cheek.

“I promise…just don’t go getting yourself kidnapped again, I don’t know how many times I can get stabbed.” She chuckles softly, joking in an attempt to lighten the mood, which worked, hearing him laugh made her chest warmer.

“Okay, maybe just don’t get stabbed next time.” Damian shook his head as he sat back down in his chair, pressing the call button to alert the doctors and nurses that she woke up.

“Hey Damian.”

“Yeah?”

“I love you too.”

“…Good.”

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[Requests are open!]

[the-universal-sun]

in NEED of some sad little stan with ford comforting him.. maybe him telling ford about his past being homeless and regressing from talking about the memories

Thank you for the request and very sorry it took so long to get to it, I hope you're still here to read it! I enjoyed writing it very much, even if Stan doesn't regress until about halfway down. I do have some drabbles in the works that are lil' stan all the way through though...Enough about that, thank you again for the request, I hope it lives up to your expectations! I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! It was a good prompt and I thank you again, Anon, for the ask! Sorry if the tone seems to flip flop around, I took a long break to finish up some chores when writing this.

As always, I'm open to helpful comments and advice, please enjoy!

TW: Stan talks a little about his time in the back of a trunk, but it's essentially just Stan describing his feelings and dropping when telling Ford. If you want to void that paragraph, it starts at "It was about the time I spent in Mexico" and ends at "get his words out without blubbering. "

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It was a rough night for Stan. There was a storm going on out on the water and the violent rocking of the Stan O' War made him stumble and burn his tongue on the still hot stew was made, then he just couldn't find the right position to sleep in, his back hurting on his side, his front, when he was laying back on his orthopedic pillow, nothing was right. And when he did finally manage to get to sleep, nightmares and memories he wishes stayed forgotten clawed at his mind all night, finally jerking him awake too early in the morning for anyone to function. Anyone but Ford, that is, who seemed well rested and eager to start the day. Stan swears his brother was whistling a tune while he made coffee he was just that damn chipper. Stan wasn't. He wanted to sleep, but he knows even if he could, nightmares would find their way back in, and he cannot deal with those right now, not with how close he was to dropping and regressing-which he honestly wasn't in the mood for right now, his body and mind to anxious and exhausted to focus on that allure. Instead, he just grunted when Ford asked him about how he slept. And he only gave short one word answers throughout the day, his mood souring further and further as the humid sun beat down on them. He thought he was doing well in hiding it from Ford until, around late afternoon, his brother turns to him, arms crossed and an expression that was identical to their mother's when she got annoyed with their attitudes, and demanded an explanation.

"Stanley, what is the matter with you today? You've been crochety and grumpy all day, and it's starting to get on my nerves." He stands there, waiting for Stan to respond. Jesus, can't Stan have a bad day without it being turned into a big deal? He heaves a sigh after a few moments, not wanting to get into an argument with the way he's feeling.

" 'S nothing, Stanford, just had a rough time getting to sleep, s'all. Nothing for you to worry about." He shrugs, trying to keep it casual and not alert his brother to just why he had a hard time sleeping. Stan hopes he'll drop and they can go back to setting up fishing lines. Stan doesn't think he can keep a good grip on his pole today, so he's got the rail grip out for it. He just wants to sit back and relax and not think about bad dreams and phantom body aches.

"Hard time sleeping? Was it the storm, Stanley? It was pretty rough last night, but it ended around 2 am and I've seen you sleep through rougher. Though I do recall hearing you complain and grumble about your back periodically throughout the night..." Stan, knowing his brother will reach some sort of conclusion on his own, whether accurate or not, just sighs again and starts putting up their fishing gear. Once Stanford got started, it took a while for him to finish, and once he comes to his conclusion, whatever it is, he's going to insist Stan go and get some rest or, god forbid, talk about it. Yeesh, just thinking about it made his whole body cringe. He's finished packing everything up and is halfway to the door back inside before Ford pipes up with his conclusion as to what Stan's problem was.

"You had a nightmare! Probably of a memory that just came back to you! Why didn't I see it before! You're always in a dour mood when you have a memory come to you in this form, it should've been my first thought, really! I was too absorbed in writing down my latest findings...that...I..." Ford stops, wincing at the sight of Stanley's blank stare from the doorway, eyebrow raised. Stan only rolls his eyes up, earning another wince, before he gestures to the open door. If they're going to have an emotional talk, Stan would rather do it in air conditioning. He leaves the box of fishing gear by the door and heads to their room, he'll need the comfort of his teddy bear if Ford's going to make him talk about his nightmare. And trust him, Ford will make him talk, probably by sheer annoyance and pestering. He grabs his Teddy and heads to the kitchen, bypassing Ford loitering in the door way and ignoring the stare aimed at him. He doesn't need to feel like he's going to regress to have Poindexter, the stuffed toy has been a comfort for him since he was 19, and it's still one now, no matter his headspace. He settles in the kitchen, grabbing a diet Pitt Cola, more for something to do with his hands and mouth than desire to drink it. He adverts his eyes when Stanford settles down in front of him, staring silently.

"Stanley, you know we need to talk about this, if it was a memory, it needs to go in one of your memory books, just in case you have a lapse. You also need to talk about it for your own mental health, you know what Mabel says, bottling your emotions will only lead to explosions." Stan loves his great-niece, he truly does, but she was all on abord with his brother when he got into his "caring about peoples (Stanley's) emotions and helping them with their mental health." phase, which is seeming less like a phase every day.

"Yeah I had a nightmare, it was about an incident during a drifter days. It was sucky and I hated it, and I'll write it down in the Bad Memory journal later. There, we talked about it, I'll go rest now. We done?" Stan starts to get up from the small table.

"No we are not done! You actually have to talk about it, Stanley, share the details of your nightmare with me. And I know you won't write it down! So we are going to sit here and you are going to talk. And trust me, I can play the waiting game. I can play it all day." Dang it, Ford's stern about this, and Stan knows he means it, waiting for him to talk. He's done it before, they sat there from sun rise to almost sun set before Stan gave in and talked. He sighs, cracking open the soda and setting his bear next to him at the table, talking more to it than to Ford, not wanting to see the disappointment in his eyes. He takes a while to gather his thoughts, to think about the best way to get through this. He grabs his teddy with his free hand, just to hold and pet so his nerves can calm down.

"It was about the time I spent in Mexico, there was an-uh-incident and," Stan blows some air out of his mouth, wondering why it was so hard to talk about this particular memory with Ford. "I had to chew my way out of a trunk." He still refuses to look at him, staring down at Poindexter, his worn but well loved Teddy who's been with him through everything. Stan's amazed he's never lost the poor thing, with how many times he's been on the run and in jail-thankfully they keep the stuff you had when you went in and kept your car impounded if you were in for less than 3 years, so no one was able to throw him away. He keeps his grip on Poindexter tight as he talks about his nightmare, how terrified he felt and how he truly believed, for the first time in his life, he was going to die. He recounts the experience, and not without a few barbs and poor tasting jokes, going from holding Poindexter to hugging him tightly, needing his comfort. Stan can feel his headspace creeping up on him, already so close to dropping and getting even closer to it the more he talks. He doesn't even realize he's started rocking until he knocks into the table, startling him into silence until Stanford quietly urges for him to continue talking about his nightmare, his brother writing down his words in a memory journal. Stan starts slipping further and further as he gets to the part where had to chew through the harsh metal of a car trunk, he can feel the tears sting his eyes, but he can't worry about them, too focused on being able to get his words out without blubbering.

He finishes telling Stanford about his nightmare, was it really a nightmare if it was a memory of his, with a joke about his dentures. Stan doesn't know if it didn't land because of the situation or because it was actually bad, he's still refusing to look at Ford, burying his face in Poindexter's fur, feeling so close to dropping, he's teetering over the edge, and so upset about his nightmare. He wishes he never remembered that situation, he could've gone the rest of his life clueless and he would have preferred that. He flinches when he hears Ford get up and sit next to him, is he going to tell Stan what a disappointment he was for getting mixed up in such a bad crowd? Will he sigh and say he should've taken better care of himself? Stan doesn't know, and he's scared to find out.

"Oh, Lee," Ford sighs next to him, a six-fingered hand curling through the strands at the back of Stan's neck, his gentle touches breaking away the last of the dam holding back his tears and pushing him over that edge. He curls into Sixer, clutching his sweater and sobbing, sobbing over how scared he was, how scared he still is, the nightmare's affects lingering throughout the day. He never wants to think about that moment ever again. Stan's finding it hard to breathe his how hard he's crying, coughing harshly every couple of minutes. His brother slaps his back to dislodge his coughs, rocking Stan's body with his own. He sniffles, wiping his face on Sixer's chest, and wraps his arms around him, making their rocking go faster. Stan likes it when his brother rocks him, it's better than his rocking, it calms him down way faster, too. They just rock together for what feels like eternity, he's stopped crying at some point, but he still clutches Sixer, enjoying the touch and the sensations, the nice a comfy warmth he brings. His brother always knows how to chase away his scary feelings and thoughts, he really loves Ford.

Stan panics when he feels Ford pull away, clutching at his sweater and whining, he's so scared he's going to leave him again, Stan doesn't want to be alone, he wants his big brother to hold him and rock him!

"Lee, it's alright, I'm just getting a warm cloth to wipe your face, alright?" Stan just blinks at Ford, not really understanding what he said. He just stands when his twin stands, he doesn't want to be alone, he has to follow Sixer. Stan holds his hand as tight as he can and follows Ford to the bathroom, he cries when the lights get turned on, they hurt his eyes, they're too bright! He flicks them off, rubbing his eyes, they sting and burn even more now. Stan just wants to go and get out of these itchy clothes and cuddle Poindexter, but Ford's got to be in the bathroom for some reason, which means Stan does too, even though he doesn't have to go potty now. He flinches when the cloth touches his face, it's got but it does feel good, Stan hums and lets his brother pat his face with it, lightly rocking on his feet and clutching his stuffy to his chest.

"There we are, the hot water might help soothe some of the irritation in your eyes from crying, but if your eyes start to swell, I've got an ice pack in the freezer if you're amenable to that." Stan doesn't know what Sixer's talking about, his head's too fuzzy to pay attention to all the details and the big words his brother's using. He hums again as Ford smooths his hair back, he loves it when his hair's played with, it makes his body feel just like jelly-or is it jam that jiggles and falls down? Stan doesn't know, but he smiles at Sixer, he's still rocking away, but it feels nice to do, it's a nice rocking, a happy rocking, not a bad and tight tummy rocking. His brother looks, now that his glasses are back on, sad and all frowny, and Stan doesn't like that, so he lets Poindexter hug him, that's sure to cheer him up. Poindexter's hugs always cheer Stan up, why wouldn't they work on Ford.

"A-ah, thank you, Lee and Poindexter, for the hug. I appreciate it very-um very much." Ford rubs the back on his neck, giving the toy a hand armed hug and hesitant tap on it's "back", still unsure about hugging a stuffed animal.

His brother always looks so awkward when he hugs his stuffies, but, and Stan gives him a big hug, too, he looks happier than before, so Stan was right, as always, his friends hugs cheered up Sixer! His brother is the one grabbing his hand this time, walking them to the bedroom, Stan swinging their joined hands together between them for the short walk. "Lee, how about you go pick out some comfortable clothes while I fix the bed up. I'll help you get dressed when you've got them picked out, yes?" Stan understood enough of that to know that Sixer wants him to get some jammies out, he already knows which ones he's going to pick, his absolute favorite pair. He nods and gives a little salute, giggling when Ford tickles his chin, moving his face to escape the tickling but the hand keeps following him until he pushes it away, wanting to get changed. He watched his brother go to his bed, staring at it for some reason, before he goes to his dresser and pulls out his Special Jammy Drawer, the words capitalized to show how special and important this drawer is; it had all his fun and comfy pajamas and socks. Stan doesn't even need to look for his jammies, his favorite pair is right on top. It's a pair of fuzzy brown footies and it has a hood, but even better than the hood is the ears and tail on it, they look like a bears! Now he matches with Poindexter when he's got them on, that's why they're his favorite! Sixer always gets a kick out of it when he roars and rolls around on these, too.

"Have you got your clothes out yet, Lee? I've got the bed all fixed up with your special blankets and special pillows on it. I've even laid out a heating pad, it should be warm enough to feel once you've gotten dressed." Oh boy, Stan's special blankies are his favorites, and he gets a heating pad! He's got an achy back, so he sometimes needs a heating pad if it gets real bad, his special pillows are for his back and neck, too-Sixer likes to say something about "proper support" but Stan just likes how it makes his body feel like he's a giant laying on hills. But his blankets he can't rest without. One is a giant and heavy blankie with dinos on it, but the other is his tip top absolute favorite. It's a big and warm quilt with so many different patches and patterns-Stan added some teddy bears to it himself and they only made it look better-and some nice old lady gave it to him when he was really cold at a shelter once, it was just before he got Poindexter, which means it's also been with him forever and ever and he doesn't know what he'd do without it.

Stan's snapped out of his thought when his brother takes Poindexter out of his arms, Stan cries out and tries to follow him but calms down when Sixer puts him on the bed, right, he needs to get dressed and can't hold his friend to do that. "Steady now, Lee. Hold on to me." Ford always helps him get dressed, scared he'll fall and hurt himself, it's only ever happened one (or thrice or five times), but Stan likes it, it gives him a warm gooey feeling in his chest and tummy, he likes that his big brother wants to take care of him and soothe his ouchies when he gets hurt from falling. "Step in one leg at a time, Lee, we don't want to fall. Left leg in, perfect. Right leg now." Ford's voice is soft, so are his movements, he gently holds and guides Stan, helping him step in the legs of his jammies and threading his hand through the sleeves, zipping him up almost all the way but not to the top, Stan doesn't like things zipped up or buttoned up all the way, it makes it hard to swallow. "There we go," His hood is flipped up, the bear ears sticking out, "one Big Bear ready to lay down and rest easy." Stan does a little "roar" and makes claws with his hands, but he doesn't think it scares Sixer, his brother just laughs and rubs his head, which makes him pout before a tummy poke brings out his ticklish giggles.

"Alright, lets get tucked in to bed now. Ah-" Ford tuts at Stans returning pout, tapping his lips to usher it away, "You don't have to sleep, Lee, but I just want you to lay down in the quiet, okay?" Stan can do laying down, maybe not quiet, but he can 100% lay down in a comfy bed surrounded by Sixer and Poindexter and his blankies. "Perfect, let's get your glasses...alright, let's get you settled, Lee." As Ford tucks him and Poindexter in, Stan wonders if Ford will get in with him if he asked. Is Ford going to stay with Stan? The thought of Ford leaving makes him whimper, clutching his brother's sleeve. He can't leave, Stan needs him here with him! To protect him from any scary dreams or memories or monsters!

"Lee!? What is it what's wrong?" Ford panics, thinking something, another memory perhaps, caused Stanley's panic. His face crumples when all he gets his a whispered and broken "stay" and teary whines, did Stanley think he would leave? After what his memory was about? He gets on his knees, the joints cracking, before he speaks:

"Oh, Lee, I'm not going to leave you. I'm going to stay right here by your side, I always will be by your side, for the rest of our lives. So please, don't cry, I'm not going anywhere." He rests his forehead against Stanley's, one hand holding his, the other grabbing the pacifier he laid on the side table, bringing it up to his brother's mouth-which immediately latched on and began to chew, the repetitive movement obviously soothing, his body goes lax soon after.

Sixer said he'd stay, he always says that and he always stays, so Stan settles back down, chewing on his pacifier and hugging Poindexter, and lets his brother finish tucking him in, the blankets tights around him, the pressure is soothing. He keeps his head turned to face his brother, needing to see him, to make sure he's really going to stay, snuffling when his hair gets soothed back, the hand resting on the top on his head. Stan doesn't feel tired, not sleepy tired at least, but it feels nice to let his body relax against his bed and brother, just letting himself float in his fuzzy headed feelings, not really thinking of anything, just existing.

It felt nice.

[tehrevving]

Hii♡ so we got bj for Vince on his bday but what about him on reader's bday, does he do something special?🙈

Hi Anon! You asked this just after I wrote that one shot for Vinny’s birthday and I really wanted to use this ask to follow up on that. I tried and tried but I just couldn’t make it work. 

But then, somehow I blinked and it was almost my actual birthday, so I sat down and thought, well, what do I want most??? To the surprise of no one, it’s to be fucked over the coffin, so Happy (almost) Birthday to me! 

This is filth. Warnings for coffin fucking, spanking, rough sex, ass play. 

Also on Ao3

Vincent had noticed the change in your behaviour after a sudden, impromptu trip to Nibelheim. He hadn’t liked being there, the place was full of too many bad memories and broken promises. He had tried but hadn’t been able to completely control his mood while he’d been there, and you’d noticed. You’d asked him carefully if going back and visiting his room in the mansion might help him feel better. He hadn’t been entirely sure, but he’d felt somewhat confident with your hand grasped tightly in his. 

You’d inspected every single nook and cranny in the room, searching for any information about him that you could find. He’d allowed it, having already hidden everything important away before he’d left, just in case. His coffin in particular had piqued your curiosity, and you hadn’t stopped asking him questions. Was it comfortable? Cold? Warm? Claustrophobic? He hadn’t really known how to answer, he’d just chosen it because it had seemed an appropriate place for him to sleep and atone for his sins. He’d left the mansion feeling slightly better, more positive after you’d wrapped your arms around him, cuddling up to him in the room where he’d wasted the years away. 

It was pretty soon after that though that he’d noticed the change in your behaviour. It was subtle, barely a pattern until suddenly it was undeniably one. It had started innocently enough, with you rolling over onto your front when things had started getting hot and heavy. You’d crumpled a pillow up underneath your waist and wiggled your hips while begging for his cock. He’d spanked your ass, watched your skin jiggle and shake under the force of his touch. He’d scratched the claws of his monstrous hand down your back, leaving raised, reddened marks, claiming you as his own. He’d bitten at the back of your neck, stretching his entire body out over you as he fucked you roughly from behind, revelling in the plush press of your ass against his hips with each thrust. 

He’d enjoyed himself immensely of course. It was a good position and one that he didn’t have much experience with. He preferred seeing your face and being able to kiss you, but he’d been able to have his fill of that while cuddling afterwards, so he hadn’t minded that much. 

The next time you’d been tipsy, giggling against his side and way too invested in some movie that he couldn’t hope to comprehend, filled with too much modern slang and references that went straight over his head. You’d been enjoying yourself though, so he hadn’t minded. Afterwards, when you’d dragged him into the bedroom, pulling your clothes off as you went, you’d immediately leant over the side of the bed. Your hips had been pressed to the corner of the mattress, with the entirety of your sweet, wet, little cunt completely exposed to him. He’d had to lift your hips to get your heights to line up and the angle right. He’d held you suspended, claws digging into your hip while your upper body rested heavily on your forearms against the sheets. 

He had fucked you hard, the mattress shaking and bed frame creaking with each of his thrusts. He’d been rough but you’d begged for it, begged him for more. He had raked his nails down your back and pressed his palm down against your cheek, squishing your face into the mattress. You’d cried out for him and he had been completely powerless to resist.

He’d enjoyed that position too. It was tighter, your inner walls angling his cock differently from behind. He’d enjoyed the feel of skin on skin and the sound of your ass smacking against his hips with each thrust. He thought you were just exploring with him, testing the boundaries. He was willing to explore too, you felt good and he always enjoyed himself. It had been maybe a week or so after and he’d walked into the kitchen to find you bent over the wooden table, completely on display for him. There had been a tiny scrap of fabric attempting to cover your modesty, but he’d still been able to see everything. 

You had been so loud, screaming and clawing at the wood underneath your fingers while you took his cock. It was then that he’d realised there was a kink here, something you were into that he couldn’t quite place his finger on. He’d wanted to know what it was. He’d fucked you into the table, wood creaking desperately under the force of his thrusts. He’d reached out and carefully grabbed a handful of your hair, pulling back on it and lifting your upper body off the table while pressing your hips harder down into the corner of it. You’d screamed, cunt tightening almost unbearably around him as it pulsed with a desperate, mostly untouched orgasm. He’d struggled to hold himself back while you completely lost it. There was definitely a kink there. 

He’d slowed his pace even though his entire body was screaming at him not to. He’d rocked his hips carefully to work you through your pleasure, instead of filling you up and claiming you like he desperately wanted to. You were begging for more the second your orgasm subsided and he’d struggled not to give in. 

He’d tugged on your hair, pulling your face to the side so you were looking at him, well the best that you could anyway. “What is it about the table?” he’d asked, almost completely out of breath. 

Your eyes had slid closed and you had exhaled deeply, but said nothing. 

“What has you this worked up? Is it the table? Something else?”

You’d blinked and pushed against him, trying to turn your head away with shame. 

“Tell me,” he’d ordered, each word punctuated with a rough slap to the meat of your ass. He’d had to drag his eyes away from your face to watch the reddened imprint of his hand bloom across your skin. 

“I want,” you’d started, eyes glassy and desperate. Even just thinking about it apparently was enough to have you unfocused. He’d been so damn intrigued. “I want it bent over your coffin,” you said finally, spitting the words out quickly, slurring them together. 

Vincent had been stunned, hand gently lowering your head back to the table. You’d whined and immediately started pushing back against him, trying to use some non-existant leverage to get him to fuck you. Your feet barely touched the ground, he was tall and so was the table, so your attempts were fruitless. He wasn’t sure what to think, not sure why you’d want that. He had resolved to ask you more about it later, because he hadn’t been able to elaborate any more at that moment, not with the way your body had been begging for him. 

So, he can’t quite believe that he’s here right now, questioning his sanity as he checks into a themed room at the Gold Saucer. You thought that he was just bringing you away for a romantic evening for your birthday. You had no idea what was waiting for you. 

Your arm is wrapped around his, excitement clear in each of your steps as he leads you up to the room you’ve both just been assigned. It’s just an overnight trip so you have basically no luggage, just a small duffel bag that he has slung over his shoulder. You look up at him as the elevator slowly rises, eyes open wide and looking so very sweet and innocent. He tries to keep his face even, not wanting to give away the surprise. 

He opens the door and gestures for you to enter first. Your excitement is infectious and he can’t help but smile. He watches you walk through the small hallway with the door to the bathroom before stepping into the main part of the room. Your head swivels as you take in all of the gaudy, over the top halloween themed decor, practically bouncing on your feet. Vincent stifles a laugh as your entire body suddenly freezes while you stare wide eyed at the large bed in the centre of the room. The frame of it is boxed in on all sides with dark wood carved with religious symbols, while a panel hangs suspended over the top of it. It’s crude and unrealistic, but for all intents and purposes, it’s a coffin. 

You gasp and turn to face him, staring up at him with your eyes wide. “You’re joking?” you whisper, voice is too quiet for him to pick up the emotion in it. He nods and walks over to the bed, studying the mechanism for a moment. He presses a small button and the top panel starts to lower, clicking into place above half of the bed. It doesn’t really look like a coffin, or his coffin for that matter, but he hopes that it will do. He turns back to you, planning to study your expression. Instead he has to step back as you jump on him, practically trying to climb up his body. He catches you, hooking your legs around his hips and holding you up as you kiss him. 

You’re wearing his cloak and nothing else. The red colour of it contrasting beautifully with the sweat-slick pallor of your skin. You’re bent over the edge of the coffin-bed, clit pressed against the side of the wood while an excessive amount of your slick drips down the side of it. Vincent is naked as he fucks you, his legs braced to keep up with the rough pace. You’d kept begging for him, begging for him to be harder, rougher. He’d never refuse you. His hand is between your shoulder blades, pushing you down to the wood and smashing your breasts roughly against the metallic patterns etched in it. 

He’s not quite sure how many times you’ve come. You’re so damn sensitive and overeager that your body is reacting excessively no matter what he does. He’d fingered you to start with, drawing gush after gush of slick from your sweet, swollen pussy. He’d wanted to get his mouth involved but he hadn’t been able to resist after you’d started begging almost incoherently for his cock. 

Your nails dig roughly into the wood on either side of you, cheek pressed down against the smoothness of it. Your legs are shaking as he fucks you, your ass jiggling with the force of his thrusts. His nails dig roughly into your hips, holding you steady and forcing you back against him with each buck of his hips. You’re crying out for him, broken cries of his name echoing through the room. He hopes that the neighbours don’t complain. He’s struggling to keep his own voice down, you’re so damn tight and your body won’t stop tightening around him. He can’t believe how into this you are. 

He reaches over you, leaning heavily over your body. He grabs you by the hair, pulling your upper body off the coffin and into what must be an aching arch. His cape flutters around you, simultaneously covering you while somehow showing everything off. “Is this what you wanted?”

“Yes!” you cry out, shuddering in his hold. Your hands hang limply by your sides, body lax. He can see the imprints of the coffin’s metallic embossing etched on your skin and breasts. That is hotter than he expected it to be. 

“What can I do to make this better? Right now?” he growls, suddenly finding himself wound up unbelievably tight. 

He watches you take a deep breath. “P-play with my ass,” you beg.

He drops you back down to the coffin, controlling your descent but being rougher than he usually would be. He draws his hand back and spanks your ass again, adding new marks to your already irritated skin. 

“Yes!” you cry out, voice muffled as your face is pressed against the wood. You turn your head to the side. “But no. I mean. Vincent. I mean…”

He doesn’t immediately understand what you mean as he spanks you again. He runs his hands over your bruised, reddened flesh, pulling roughly backwards to tug you back onto his cock as he thrusts forwards. It takes a moment and then he realises, spreading your cheeks as your answering cry proves that he’s on the right track. He watches his cock enter and exit you, watches the way you’re stretched so damn tight around him. His entire shaft is wet, covered with countless waves of your release that smears up his hips. He shifts his eyes slightly, focusing on your other hole, something that he generally tends to avoid, but isn’t adverse to exploring. 

He runs his hand around the base of his cock, pressing against the swollen stretch of your walls. You moan, struggling to rut back against him. He coats his fingers in your slick, dragging his fingers downwards for a moment to play with your clit. You scream his name so loudly that he thinks the walls might actually shake. He can’t help but chuckle, but it comes out choked, he’s too out of breath for humour. He drags his fingers back up, covering the short strip of skin between your holes with wetness before pressing his finger against your ass, coating it with your release. 

You whimper into the wood, hips bucking into his touch. He figures that’s encouragement enough to keep going. He makes sure there’s enough wetness before he starts to slide a single finger inside of you, having to slow the pace of his hips in order to keep his focus. 

You keen, body lifting up off the wood of the coffin before settling back down. You say his name, whispering pleading begs as he tries to get into a rhythm. Your back hole is tighter, squeezing incredibly tight around his finger. It moves differently, tensing like it’s trying to draw him in deeper and feels almost impossibly warm. He can feel the bulge of his cock through your passage on his finger and also the drag of his finger somewhat muted on his cock. Your hips start bucking for him, so he carefully starts fucking you again, thrusting his hips and having to adjust his angle slightly so ensure there’s room for everything. 

You’re going insane, he’s not quite sure how it would feel for you, but it must be good. You’re whining for him, hips bucking up and matching each of his thrusts. “Full, so full,” you keep muttering into the wood of the coffin, nails scratching at its surface. He keeps fucking you, setting a rough pace of hard, deep thrusts while shifting his finger and teasing at the rim of your ass. 

You tilt your head to the side, trying to look back at him but failing. “Vincent. Please” you gasp, words practically incoherent. “Fill me up. I need it.”

He can’t resist you, couldn’t resist you even if he wanted to. So he picks up his pace, slamming in deep and rough, dragging your body back and forth over the coffin. He can hear your sweat slick skin sliding across the wood and feel the friction of it as he grips your hips. He presses bruises into your skin, playing with your ass while trying to press his cock as deep as he can inside of you. He moves up on his toes, adjusting his weight, testing the angle until you’re screaming breathlessly. Your mouth is open and you’re drooling out against lacquered wood, but no sounds are able to leave your throat. He pounds against you, using your body’s reaction to guide his movements, he pounds against your g spot and loses himself inside of your gripping walls while you gush your release all down the lacquered edge of the coffin bed. 

Vincent can’t help but swear, can’t help but lean over you, pushing as far inside as he can as he spills inside of you and marks you as his. His weight presses you down against the coffin, the soft feel of his cape brushing against his chest. One hand pulls your hips to his, sliding out of you with a whine, stopping you from moving, keeping him buried deep inside while his other hand splays beside you, scrabbling for purchase on the slippery wooden surface. He leans over you, wild hair falling over you as he pants by your neck, desperate to bite you but unable to with how the high neck of his cloak covers you. 

You reach back, scrabbling blindly as your hand finds the back of his head. You stroke comfortingly over his scalp and he leans into the touch, enjoying the closeness as he basks in the afterglow, body feeling relaxed and boneless, until you tug at his hair. He moans by your ear, hips giving a short stutter as pricks of pain and pleasure surge down his spine. He struggles to stand back up and right himself on shaking legs, pulling up against your tugging hand until he’s out of reach. He’s breathing heavily, practically panting over your prone form. He pulls out of you with a groan and your hips push back, trying to keep him inside. 

He flips you over as carefully as he can, watching as you settle on your back against the wood. There are red friction marks across your body, skin stamped with the etched markings from the coffin. The top of his cloak barely conceals your breasts, pointed nipples clearly visible through the fabric. You look completely fucked, blissed out and writhing gently through aftershocks. Your eyes open slowly and blink up at him. You reach out to him, so he lifts you up gently and pulls you against his chest. 

“I’m not done,” you mumble, pressing your face into his shoulder. 

Vincent can’t help but laugh lowly. “I think you are,” he murmurs, words trailing off into a groan as you sink your teeth into his neck. He extracts your face from his shoulder, settling you sideways into his arms. “You are done for now,” he says softly, carefully brushing away the overstimulated tears that stain your cheeks.

“But we can go again later?”

“If you wish,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Was it,” he pauses, “how you had imagined?”

“Better,” you say, head pressed to his shoulder, burying your face into it with embarrassment. 

He puts his finger underneath your jaw, tilting up your face so you’re looking at him. “I do not understand, but I do not need to. You can tell me anything that you want, and I will try to make it happen.”

“I know.” You gaze up at him, eyes wide and filled with an adoration that almost makes him flinch, almost makes him look away. “Thank you.”

He smiles and leans down to kiss your forehead, tightening his arms around you and feeling your warmth bleed through his chest. “Happy birthday.”

[spiderb00]

hiii! sorry to bother u im a new follower of u i just wanted to know if u can explain to me like the "universe" of ur characters and like there stories, if u don't mind ofc thank u!

-🐺

WELCOME 🐺 ANON! I hope you enjoy reading the stories

Well, the universe works like this, each Kat has a specific girlfriend from some fic;

Sophia e famout!yn - It's specific to the Fam out/kids out series, they have a very solid story, so if you want to understand more about their universe, you can read the chapters of Fam out/kids out and read some things in #famout.

(the other girls don't have as many fics as Sophia and Famout!yn, but that's just bc I wasn't thinking about making a universe for each kat, but I'm already working on it)

Manon and Drummer!yn - are specifically from the universe of the fic "losing all my innocence in the backseat", So far, this is the only story they appear in.

Daniela e Shameless!yn - they can only be seen in "shameless" but that's temporary, i'm working on their story.

Lara and producer!yn - They started because of Crazy girls, which will have a part two soon.

Megan and actress!yn - Megan and yn came out of "meet the girls", "nonsense" and I can candles in "sleepy head" too

That's basically it, baby. Send me another ask if you're still confused about anything, I'll answer it :)

I will leave here some links that help to better understand the universe

fam out headcanons

kats girlfriend profile

how they met

You can also find more stuff at #katseyethought💭

[laura1633]

I don't normally answer asks like this because I feel that it is unnecessarily rude. I normally just block. I have taken a screen shot and answered like this as it still gives me the option to block.

I can't really work out what you are going on about anon. I am assuming it relates to the poll I put up to decide which of the prompts I am going to write next. However, I quite clearly stated on that post that the prompts I am writing are not limited to those five and that I am going to get around to as many as possible. I also quite clearly stated on the request for prompts that they were going to be written between December and March, we are still in December!! I also clearly stated that I can't promise I will get around to all of them but I will get through as many as possible in that time. I am not going to rush them out and not be happy with the result, what would be the point of that?! I would prefer to get through 10 and give them the time they deserve rather than rush through 20 of them!. Also, ideas are never wasted, people can send them to other authors who are requesting prompts or write them themselves if they think I am taking too long, I am not gatekeeping people's ideas!

I'm not sure if you are aware but I write for fun. I have a full time job and a life away from this. I opened prompts because I thought it would be nice to write a handful of them for people. I didn't do it 'to get people's attention' or to 'get compliments'.

I can't work out if this is related to one of the other asks I have received questioning why there is no bottom Charles in that poll. Maybe that is what you are getting at as it sounds like this is a follow up to another ask?

The poll specifically did not have any obvious bottom Charles in it because I thought it would turn into a bottom Charles v bottom Max vote. This was just one poll to help me choose the next one to finish!

Anyway, thanks for making sure that this was the first message I woke up to this morning! I am going to continue writing the prompts over winter break as promised because people have sent in some lovely prompts that I can tell they have taken time over but things like this only make me want to delete my ao3 and Tumblr and never write another word again. Although maybe I am just saying that for 'attention' and 'compliments.'

Sorry to everyone else who had to read my rant 😂 I did the poll because I am struggling a lot with my adhd at the moment and I hoped it would give me a little direction and something to focus on to get me back on the right track with my writing! <3 <3

[laurasimonsdaughter]

Do you have any recommendations and ideas about writing around healing magic and disability?  How magical healthcare would affect disability, and more importantly allowing disability to still exist in a realm where supernatural healing exist? 

This is one of my biggest grips with healing magic across most fantasy media, that’s it’s often used in a lackluster, simplistic, and often accidentally ableist fashion. Completely invalidating disability by having it cure every ailment imaginable with just the wave of a wand. 

It's a complex concept to translate into fantasy! And a rather sensitive topic at that. As someone who suffers from chronic pain, the idea that it could be fixed with magic is sometimes a really nice fantasy. But a story with a character that lives with chronic pain the way I have to live with it, will probably resonate more strongly with me.

As to my personal opinion on writing about magical healing (and how it effects illness and disability), I think you have to weigh several factors as a writer:

What kind of world is this? In some fantasy settings death and illness are simply not relevant, so pain and disability might not feature either. But any world more resembling our own most likely would have to reckon with it. And if that world has healing magic:

Is it medical magic, based on research and knowledge? If so, it is highly unlikely that every single ailment and condition is perfectly understood and can be counteracted with magic.

Is it intentional magic, based on "restoring to health"? If so, who defines "health"? The caster of the magic, the recipient of the healing? I was born with overly flexible ligaments. They cause me pain, but I'm sure my body considers the way that they are the way that they should be. Even if I was given infinite magical energy to heal myself, my body probably wouldn't know how, while it would know how to use that energy to fix up a wound it was already working on.

Can the healing magic be used/accessed by anyone at any time? Even if there is a fantastic free magical health care system in place, unless every individual can do flawless healing magic, even on themselves, the answer is probably "no". And if so, that probably has consequences for how well something can be healed.

Personally, if you're writing in a world with loads of magical solutions, the best question to ask - after you have figured out what kind of healing magic you want - is: "what would my character want?"

Someone who has always worn glasses (like me), might feel very strange getting rid of them.

Someone who was born deaf, could have no desire whatsoever to becoming hearing.

Someone who was born with three fingers on one hand, could have no desire to change that.

And if we're getting grim: someone who lost an arm while defeating the chimera who killed their friend, might have strong emotional convictions as to why they wouldn't want that arm magically restored to them, even if it was possible.

There are plenty of reasons, either from a worldbuilding or a characterisation standpoint, for a fantasy world to include disability. And if it is not just a magical, but also a supernatural world, the concept of "disability" will likely be very different. When humans live among other species, who have entirely different bodies and abilities, it makes very little sense that the overall society's opinion on what is "normal" and "expected" from a body, wouldn't change.

But none of that means that you cannot give disabled characters cool magical solutions!

Wheelchairs could glide, hover, or fly instead of rolling.

Glasses could be enchanted to also give the wearer a different eye colour, just for fun.

Wrist braces could shift around the wearer's arm/hand depending on where they need the most support (and would never ever chafe or pinch).

Language barrier's between people who do not speak/hear the same (sign) language, could be solved with magic monocles, enchanted ear pieces, or a service creature that is able to translate perching on the person's shoulder.

Prosthetic limbs could be engraved with runes or inlaid with magical materials that make them extra effective for channeling magic or performing certain spells.

To me, those kinds of things would make a world far more fun and fantastical than a hand-waving "magic "fixes" everything."

[canon-gabriel-quotes]

i just have one simple question for you why gabriel ultrakill? what is the appeal behind this angel

aaauughhhh uhhhhhauuuuuuu uuuuuhaaaaahhhhuuuugff bhhjjhshhh i nnneeedineed

bite it Bited it

uuuuhhhahhhh WHHAHAHHHHH AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH GRAHHHHHHHHH

GRRRRRRAHHHHHHHHHGRRRRGGGRRRRRRR

[sematarygirls]

ada sonny with an age gap relationship?

i wasn't 100% sure what exactly to do, so i'm just gonna do some headcanons; i hope that's okay !!

                   ౨ৎ

is definitely very, very insecure about the age gap. he worries that he's too old for you, and one day, you're going to realize you want someone closer to your age. it does make him feel better when you reassure him (his love language) that you love him in spite of his age and aren't going anywhere.

he's also always the butt of the joke because of his age. you'll lightly poke fun and call him old when he references something that's before your time, and your friends all refer to him as "grandpa."

you two do not share the same humor. he'll make a joke and die laughing while you're sitting there completely lost (and vice versa).

he claims he's always right because he's "older and wiser" which makes you roll your eyes. he usually is always right, but that's besides the point!

date night is hard to plan because you want to do fun and exciting stuff like party, but he wants to do relaxing and romantic stuff.

you tried to do a cute cooking date once, but he got frustrated because he's such a control freak in the kitchen.

you two argue like an old married couple. looooooots of bickering because he's too mature, and you're very immature.

talks about stuff and asks you to do things that he expects you to know and gets very bitchy when you don't (he's got the sass of a teenage girl)

tries to get you to come to court to see him win at least once, but you find it boring. all the legal jargon and having to sit quietly the whole time makes you want to fall asleep.

finding a show or movie to watch is sooooo difficult because your tastes are so wildly different.

same thing with music. you'll put on a new song you like, and he'll roll his eyes and tell you to put on something actually good (even though half the time he ends up actually liking the song)

he's very worried about what other people will think of your relationship. he loves you and wants to show you off, but he worries that the age gap (completely 100% legal, of course) will rub some people the wrong way.

sometimes, he gets insecure about his grey hairs and wrinkles, but when you tell him how much you love them and how sexy they are, he immediately feels a million times better.

constantly tells you how lucky he is that someone as attractive as you loves an old man like him. he's seriously bewildered why, but he feels so grateful for you. you're everything to him

you make him feel young again, and he loves it.

[scrumptiousstuffs]

can you do a post of first getting flirted on by khaotung?

This was a challenging post 🤣 because Tumblr has limits on the no of photos, video and I am not an expert in GIFs (although I actually made a video and one GIF by myself! - omg, so proud 😂 but please excuse the poor quality).

Instead, I made a mixture of all of the media. Hopefully anon is fine with my rambling mess (if you have read through my blog, you will know by now, my answers are not 100% coherent, hehe)

So, some of my favourites Khaotung being flirty with his bestie:

1. This moment from OF Recap Twitter session

2. Khaotung giving pouty air kisses to his bestie (its his thing to do hehe) - and usually ends up with said bestie having goosebumps (but First is learning to control the reaction 🤭, as evident by the BTS footage from THK film set)

3. But by far their way of flirting is through them bantering on Twitter (where the boys just use it as their own personal Line) - and all of us thirdwheeling. They do it casually too…from exchanging love letters (my favourite is still the 2 boys expressing their love for each other post LOLFanfest2024)

Or just how nonchalantly FK drop pictures that tells us things - for example 🙂‍↕️ (from 10/10/2024)

🤭 - that’s Khaotung’s shirt (gifted by a fan)

And look 👀, throwback to Khaotung’s pointed comment even back in April 2023 (and we know they share their wardrobe - if that’s not the boys flirting, then I don’t know 🤷🏽‍♀️. Cause nothing screams possessive bffs 👯‍♀️ like watching your love ones dressed in your own clothes or favourite perfumes)

I’ll finish up with a moment from an interview the boys did earlier this year (One D Press Conference) - (this was completely unhinged - and First just looked speechless with Khaotung’s bombshell statement 🫣) 👇🏽

Anon, I will also suggest you watch every single BTS of The Eclipse, OF and MLC if you have not watch them - cause it’s really just the boys flirting with each other 😂 . Similarly, ArmShare episodes featuring the boys during their birthdays (Khaotung - 2022, First - 2023) - the episodes are available on YT with English Subtitles 🫶

And others that I found on Twitter (cause I am only allowed to put one video per post):

Khaotung casually dropping 🤟

The famous FirFir moment

Khaotung calling First his kitty cat

[stabbyfoxandrew]

i dont know if you are still doing these but!! id love a kiss on the hip for kandrew :) <3

Kevin Day is not a virgin. He understands sex and most of its mechanics. He's slept with a few people in his life, he's also sampled plenty of porn genres.

But none of that compares to this. To having Andrew's full and complete attention. To having Andrew on his back in his bedroom in Columbia. He's not quite sure how they ended up here. Of course, he understands the logistics of getting to Columbia from Palmetto State.

He knows the route they always take, he knows the right exit, he knows how to find Nicky's house.

How he got to this point he's not sure.

All he knows is Andrew and Neil were planning to come here this weekend for a bit of alone time. Just the two of them, no one else to bother them. That's what Kevin thought at least. Until Neil knocked his shoulder into Kevin's side at practice earlier and told him to pack a bag. When Kevin asked why, Neil merely shrugged. "Andrew said to."

Andrew said to. So Kevin did.

Kevin always does what Andrew says. That's how the three of them happened. Six months ago Andrew told Kevin that Neil wanted to kiss him, Kevin kissed him. Andrew watched them make out then announced that he wanted to kiss Kevin, Kevin kissed him.

And now here they all are, spread across Andrew's bed. Neil is sitting cross-legged against the headboard, wearing only his boxers and a tank top. Kevin has been stripped down to his shorts. And Andrew is fully clothed, except for the jacket he shed upon coming into the house, with his head on Neil's thigh. Kevin is hovering over Andrew, not touching him anywhere below the waist. Never touching him below the waist. Never touching him anywhere Andrew doesn't want him to.

"What am I doing now?" Kevin finally asks. Andrew had pulled Kevin over top of him like this a couple minutes ago and Kevin's been sort of frozen since. Because he's not a virgin, but Andrew makes him feel like one. A pair of hazel eyes stares up at him, seemingly bored. The flush on Andrew's cheeks is the only thing that gives him away.

"Whatever you want."

"That's not how it works—"

"It is now. You've graduated, Day. Touch me," Andrew commands. Kevin's hands twitch against the mattress, but he doesn't move them. Not yet.

"Where?"

"Anywhere." Andrew says, the want in his voice making Kevin's breathing catch. It takes a moment for him to process the word. And when he does, he throws himself off the bed. Andrew just stares after him. "Where are you going?"

Kevin sputters and puts his hands in the air. "You can't just change the rules on me like this."

"What rules?" Neil asks.

"The—" Kevin can't believe the question. "Oh, goddamn it, Neil. You know exactly what I'm talking about! I can't go from nothing to something to everything. Not like this. You have to tell me, Andrew. I don't know what—"

"I just told you what." Andrew says, sitting up a bit to look at him. "Anywhere, anything."

Kevin shakes his head. "No."

"No?"

"I don't want to fuck this up."

"You can't fuck it up."

"But—"

"No buts," Andrew interrupts. Kevin's gaze flicks from Andrew's to Neil's, back and forth. Andrew sighs. "Get the fuck over here, Kevin."

Kevin always does what Andrew says.

He moves to settle back over Andrew, propped up on his hands and knees. Andrew reaches for him and grabs the back of Kevin's neck, pulling him down into a kiss. Kevin gasps against his mouth and hears Neil make an appreciative sound, a little hum of a noise, above them. Suddenly there's a hand pushing into Kevin's hair and he knows it's Neil's. Kevin opens his eyes and looks up to meet Neil's eyes. The idiot smiles down at them and Andrew's eyes are closed, his mouth is hot, and... Kevin groans when Andrew fucks his tongue into his mouth.

Kevin moves to slip one hand under Andrew's head and lowers himself onto him, making Andrew exhale against his mouth. They're both half hard, Kevin ruts his hips against Andrew. An experiment that gets a grunt and a nip to his bottom lip.

"Good?" Kevin asks after pulling away a bit.

"Yes. Keep going."

"I want to take your shirt off." Kevin admits. Andrew's expression barely changes, but it does.

"Then do it." Andrew challenges, letting go of Kevin's neck. It takes both of them but Kevin gets the shirt off and drops it beside them. After thinking about it for half a second, he lightly skims a hand up Andrew's side making him shiver. He thinks it's a good sign, but then Neil's leaning in close to his head.

"Firmer, Kev." He whispers.

A hint. A clue from someone who's got years of experience on him. Kevin grabs it and a handful of Andrew's chest, taking Andrew by surprise.

"Really? Groping me, Day?"

"You said anything, didn't you?" Kevin squeezes Andrew's chest and thumbs at his nipple until it's peaked. Then he dips his head back down to press kisses to Andrew's neck. He knows Andrew likes that. It's safe, familiar, good for both of them. Andrew turns his head to the side, likely so he can look at Neil, but Kevin nips his pulse point and Andrew hisses a breath before grabbing him by the nape again and pulling him up like a mother cat does a kitten.

"Do you want me to stop?"

Andrew blinks at him like he's slow. "No. I want you to get on with it."

"You said anything I wanted." Kevin reminds him. "Or are you taking it back?"

"I'm not taking it back."

"Then let me take my time. Want to make you feel good." Kevin returns to Andrew's neck and Andrew's nails scrape against his back. Kevin assumes in appreciation. He nibbles at Andrew's throat until the goalie's breathing is labored, then finally comes up for air. "Can I bite you?"

There's a little spark in Andrew's eyes. Kevin wants to turn it into flame. After a moment, Andrew says 'yes, anything, do you understand the meaning of the word?' and Kevin shuts him up with teeth in the side of Andrew's neck. He sucks a mark there, one that'll bloom purple pedals, then does it again. Again.

He hears a sharp inhale to the side and glances over to see Neil palm himself through his underwear. Andrew tilts his head back to look at Neil and rolls his eyes. 

"How am I not surprised your neck fetish extends to just watching."

At this point in their relationship, or whatever the fuck this is, Kevin thinks Neil has an Andrew fetish. He doesn't say so.

"Keep going." Neil tells him, almost as affected as Andrew. Kevin obliges, kissing and sucking his way down until he's nearing the waistband of Andrew's jeans. He stops there and raises his head to find Andrew glaring at him.

"Neil," Andrew says. "I think we need to get him an English tutor."

That makes Neil laugh and Kevin rolls his eyes, pinches the inside of Neil's thigh. "You can't fault me for wanting to be sure."

"I can and I will. Keep going or get out."

"Alright then. Instead of asking I'll just tell you. I'm going to take your pants off and then I'm going to blow your mind." Kevin decides, suddenly confident despite only giving a few blowjobs in his life. His decree has Andrew's brows raising.

"That so?"

"Yes." Kevin says firmly, making Neil's lips quirk. He eyes Neil for a moment. "Questions, comments, concerns?"

"None. Go." Neil tells him. So Kevin does. He scoots back and makes quick work of Andrew's remaining clothes, save his armbands. He's never seen what lies beneath them and he doesn't want to, because he has a theory and he doesn't want to test it.

Once Andrew's laid almost bare beneath him, Kevin stares. For a lot longer than he'll ever admit. Finally he dips his head and is thrown off course when he notices a freckle he'd never seen before. He detours past Andrew's cock and presses his lips to his hipbone instead. It's a barely-there thing, just a peck. But it makes Neil inhale sharply.

Kevin looks up at him. "What?"

Andrew's eyes flick up to Neil's, then he rolls them. "He's sentimental."

Kevin isn't sure what that means and it must be obvious from the look on his face. Andrew just shakes his head. "This is not a Q&A, get back to what you were doing."

[hakusins]

If male Jordan looks female does female Jordan look like a male? … (let me fuck em both)

unfortunately anon you'll have to get in line - there's already someone by jordan's side and he ain't the sharing type

but on f!jordan design!! I actually didn't think much when making m!jordan cause i was just thinking of what my oc's type would be (pretty men) HBREHBFJHBERF but if i were to view f!jordan, it would just be m!jordan design but female? so they'd look something like this:

BUT YOU DID give me the Thought of .... short haired f!jordan so you also get a bonus brainrot doodle from yours truly <3

but same anon - same, i want to fuck em both

[novakiart]

hey! first of all, recently discovered your account and. almost binged it in one sitting. amazing quality stuff, i'm in awe! also, while i'm RAPIDLY making my way through the old content, any new recommendations on fanfiction/comics/anything at all? atp i trust you more than i trust myself. no pressure, feel free to ignore this message! tnx, byee

thank you so so much!!! also ohh wow it's like you're putting your life in my hands... a potentially catastrophic misjudgement

since you've consumed my tumblr I'm assuming you've already seen my fic recs tag, which is filled with kind strangers on the internet recommending all the good stuff, including some recs of my own! if you missed it, I also have some comic recs here

as for some recent stuff I've liked, they've all been pretty lighthearted:

another one bites by seateainthemountains is chaotic and goofy in a very comic book-y kind of way

ryanoid on the brain by firefly_ika is another goofy one but also short and sweet. peter versus bug spray

it had to be you by fancastical in which wade recognises peter every time - except when it counts. I'm just a wimp for identity fics, sorry

cross the highways of fantasy is another one by fancastical and is a special shout out because I adore the concept of peter and weasel having history (and peter and wade using that to be insufferable)

five times peter says I hate you, and one time he (finally) doesn't by bestie has a brief scene with wade wreaking havoc with photographer-on-the-job peter and that's a woefully underrepresented trope I adore

I hope you find something you like here!

[seeminglydark]

I'm in love with Caro's style! It's a super cool mix of masc, fem, and vaporwave kind of look. As an enby who, at first, thought I had to look a certain way after coming out as non binary, I was wondering how Caro found their style after they started transitioning and figuring out who they were as a person.

Hello! So I did draw an entire four page little comic thingy to answer this, but I'm going to post it tomorrow cuz I wanted to draw a cute little cover for it ha. Figured I would answer you in text today though, and then you can have the visual tomorrow <3 First thing I'm going to say is that there is no 'certain way to look' for any gender identity or sexuality, cuz thats important, for those who dont wanna read through this text dump. Dress how you want forever.

SO! *rubs hands together* how Caro found their style! Background to those who havent read my comics, Caro grew up as a super high femme kid with crazy helicopter parents who controlled every aspect of their life, including how they dressed. They participated in pageants, modeling and wore a LOT of pink. Not that Caro didn't like pink, they did, but they liked purple better.

After Sully (highschool sweetheart) left, and Caro was on their own, they cut their hair off in a fit of rage and suddenly had to grow up real quick because they were on their own. Whats that got to do with fashion, RJ? Everything, dear reader! When they left, they had a bunch of Sullys shirts and his battle jacket. All 10 sizes too big of course, so paired the oversized tops with their own jeans, workout shorts etc. They had their cheer sneakers. And that is what they wore for a few months, til they got a job at the local gas station. The gas station employees were like, what is going on here with this little girl wearing too big clothes with a fucked up haircut, so, they pitched together and got this kid a proper haircut, during which Caro tearfully explains they arent a girl at all, they dont know what they are and everything is very scary and please dont fire them. Bev, one of their older co-workers decides they need better clothes and takes them to Seattle to thrift! Caro never thrifted in their life and found themself enamored with tacky 80's clothes and patterns, bright colors, funny tee shirts, etc. They worried, because maybe that wasnt what a boy would wear. Bev tells them theres no such thing as what a boy or a girl would wear, something Caro had never heard before, and that gives them mental permission to gleefully grab all the things they never got to wear growing up. They looked like a roller rink carpet threw up on them. they loved it.

The Gas Station Adults buy them a jacket that fits as well, GasCo purple of course, with their chosen name on the name tag. a symbol of acceptance. Caro started hearing things about genderfluid and nonbinary, and looking into what that meant, and what it could mean for them. Their podcast project, Mil-Liminal goes viral. Goldie, their agent, helps them get on low t. they realize how much fun body hair is and LOOK they can wear crop tops to show off their new tummy trail while still hiding their boobs. Whats even more fun? Getting tattoos. Taking their body back. Making themself into the person THEY want to see, and whats makes them the most happy. Still looking like an arcade carpet threw up on them, still loving it. They get top-surgery. Goldie asks them if they want to do a public face reveal. They've kept themself hidden this entire time, and realize they dont want to do that anymore. They shouldnt have to. They want to show the world this person theyve become. Which also means choosing a signature look for Mil-Liminal.

A Mix of their Highschool Varisty Jacket, and their GasCo Jacket. Sneakers. A nod to the pieces of clothing they always felt comfortable in.

Shorts and crop tops or mesh tops. Show off the tattoos, and the scars they earned becoming the person theyve always been.

Wear their identity on their sleeve, because not everyone can, but they are in a position where they want to make a difference and be seen for those who cant, cuz they know how it feels to be lost and scared and not have any idea how to move forward. Let their voice BE a voice.

A SnapBack. A call back to the first date with their highschool sweetheart, who listened, and put his hat on them and took them out and let them be themself, and loved them for it.

The most important thing to take from this anon, is that there is no Look. There is no way to dress or act or look if you're non binary, its not fashion. The same way clothing has no gender, anyone can wear whatever the fuck makes them happy. Put clothes on that, when you look in the mirror, you feel comfortable and happy. Its a very personal thing, and its about YOU, and how you feel. and your gender journey. Gender and Sexuality is as vast a spectrum as the human condition.

Thank you so much for the ask and inspiring me to make a look book and fashion journey post, I'll put it up tomorrow <3

[moonchild-in-blue]

Hello! I'm sorry if this sounds weird, but, I'm new to the st community here (ran away from twt lol), and I'm wondering if there's any specific blogs that do specific things that I should catch onto? Like, blogs that do lyric analysis, lore chat, art etc?

I've been following you for a while, and I've been trying to interact with blogs that come up a lot, but admittedly I'm a bit lost lmao

Again, sorry if this is a weird ask, and doubly sorry if this is something you've already been asked before!

Hello anon!! Don't worry about the questions, I'm always happy to help, even if I have answered before!

We don't really have "specific blogs" around here as per se. There's @sleepanonymous who's the resident Librarian/Archivist/Knowledge Keeper, and then there are some blogs that do exclusively fanart and fanfiction.

Otherwise we're all a mix of everything. Most of us do a mix of lore theories / analysis / fanart / shitpost. Since the band itself doesn't have an "actual" set lore, you'll find a lot of different takes for the same songs / themes. I think we all have our own takes on the storyline, so it's really nice to read everyone's different opinions. Please feel free to join the conversation!

I have a tag specifically for ST lore on my pinned post, if you want to take a look at that!

@melit0n @undekaying @foundationsofdecay @lovingache @hookedhobbies @fivewholeminutes @thevenomousseprent are some lovely lovely people that do/have done lore / lyric analysis (and myself lol).

@leonsleftbicep @ghxstly-death do frequent headcanons if that's more your speed (and fantastic fanart as well). Not gonna be tagging all the ST artists cus I'd never shut up - everyone is so talented lmao.

Other general ST "heavy" blogs that you should follow (aka the people i interact with the most and can atest to how wonderful they are) - @murderofcrow @a-s-levynn @thejawsoffate @polteergeistt @eepymonstrr @takemetoasgard @sleeby-vessel @vesselsscarlet @tonguetyd @lifemod17 @littlequeenofthemangoes @channelsoph @foxgloveinspace and I know I'm forgetting a lot of blogs oof

If you browse through the main tags, and the lore tags, you'll find a lot more people and content to interact with! I know I'm forgetting a million different lovely individuals lmao, I'M SORRY GUYS. So if you see this, say hi and share your stuff!!

[writing-for-whoever-listens]

How to write deities that actually feel like deities. And not what worlds like PJO, Kane Chronicles, Supernatural, etc did

Hi! This is a good ask, I'll try my best!

Definitely ensure the power scaling never falls to the wayside in your creation of the world. They are the most powerful beings (usually) in the world, make sure that comes across.

A healthy dose of respect intermixed with fear should be present in the characters when they mention the deities. Even if they're angry at the deity, they would still fear the consequences of their anger if they ever directed it at the deity.

The deities are not human. They are not going to act human.

Even if they have human-like traits or features, they will not have the same feelings on mortality, relationships, or morals as humans would.

In that vein, deities wouldn't abide by human-made laws. They would have entirely different views on the same thing. A devastating war? Just an oopsie and a loss of some humans to them.

They don't age like humans, so they don't view timelines like humans do. Fifty years is nothing to them.

When interacting with humans, make sure to capture the sheer terror that would bring even the most devout followers. If a deity came down to speak to you, you would be terrified, and so would your characters.

That's all I can really think of right now, but she-who-fights-and-writes has a great post on this too!

[divorcedwife]

Please do you have any art tutorials, especially on colouring, or brushes I can buy?

i never think to take screenshots during my process so it would be easier to explain, but i do it like this : i sketch in a colored pencil, change it to black when i consider it done enough to start adding colors, and then i choose the dominant tones of the drawing. if i want the background to be colorful, i choose it now! if you choose all your colors against a white background but change it last second, it will change the balance completely. by choosing dominant tones, i mean picking either one color or two colors that contrast, and fill the whole sketch with these tones. for example, if im drawing a princess on a white background and i want the tones to be warm, i might fill her whole form with the same red. then i start picking her skin tone so that it matches that warm red, and it might end up being a tone that would look much too saturated and red on another drawing. but here, it looks harmonious. and if i started from a green base, i'd end up with a very different color. see here : a blonde lady wearing a blue dress, but starting from red & green

it's the same way when i paint with real paint ; i don't mix from scratch, i often reuse my mixes and change them just barely to get to the color i want. so if i paint orange flowers, i will add blue to that mix until it's green enough, and it's a nicer color that will match my orange flowers nicely, way more than if i started from scratch every single time

it's also largely a matter of practicing and training your eye to palettes you like, as unhelpeful as that is. i'd recommend looking at the palettes of artists and art you like, seeing how it's balanced, maybe color picking it for practice and see how that helps you think in colors

for brushes ; i do have a couple special brushes, i mostly use procreate defaults (6b pencil my most beloved) but i do have some from this pack (i think it's the right one?), i use sketchy sarmento all the time and it's really nice