#i know im late to this BUT WHATEVER I DO WHAT I WANT

[darlingdaisyfarm]

Hey love! I've been in a bit of a depressive slump recently, it's just been hard to feel motivated to do things like get ready for work, or even to just feel joy some days. Would you be open to writing some hc's for the Stan twins comforting/taking care of their SO going through a depression slump?

I like to think that Stan would completely empathize with his SO, so to make sure you'd get out of bed and actually eat something he'd make a great smelling breakfast filled with your favorite foods. He sits next to you at the breakfast table instead of across from you so you can lean on him if sitting upright is too tiring. He's creative in his comfort, basically finding ways to trick you into doing things so they don't feel like Work on the days where just existing takes twice the amount of energy it normally does.

Ford would probably be more of a "problem solving" kind of partner. While he's had rough days, he's never really had an issue with motivation, but while he doesn't exactly understand what you're going through he'd still do anything to help. Making sure you're taking your meds, drinking enough water, opening the windows in the house if it's nice out enough so you get some natural sunlight and fresh air, etc. He'd track your bad days, keeping note of how long these periods last and how bad they get. He keeps a list of anything and everything that brings a smile to your face and will use it as a reference for when you feel like this and are in dire need of a pick-me-up!

STAN & FORD TAKING CARE OF YOU DURING A SLUMP

tags: hurt/comfort, depression mentioned, sfw

hi angel, im so sorry it’s taken me this long to answer your ask. i really hope you’ve been feeling a bit better lately. if you see this, please feel free to send me another ask just letting me know how you’re doing, no pressure at all but i hope you're alright there

STAN

you’ve gone quiet in the way that scares him most. Stan remembers it from his worst years, that ugly feeling made him start sleeping with the TV on just to hear a heartbeat that wasn’t his own. and now you’re here, looking like a hollowed-out version of the person he adores, and he’d do anything just to bring you back into yourself.

he knows what it’s like to disappear into a place so deep and gray inside yourself that you forget what your own voice sounds like. and it kills him to see you there, honestly. he’d rather take a punch to the gut than hear you say “i don’t know why i feel this way” with that sad look in your eyes which used to be so bright and alive before

he starts sleeping lighter, checking if you're still beside him, brushing his hand over your back, making sure you're close. you catch him sometimes in the middle of the night when he's sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, lit cigarette dangling from his lips. Stan looks guilty. and you hate it because it's not even his fault. “you’re scaring me, baby,” he'd say with a sigh

and he touches you because he wants to let you know he's near. tugs your legs over his lap while you’re curled on the armchair, tucks his big calloused hand beneath your jaw. Stan kisses you to show his presence, not lust

if you’re shaking and can’t explain why, he’ll crawl into the bathtub with you fully clothed, he’ll cradle your head to his chest and just rock you, kiss your temple again and again, tell you about some dumb scam he pulled when he was twenty, whatever, just something to make you at least chuckle. anything to hear your laugh again. even a tiny one.

and when you finally sleep, soft hiccups fading against his chest, he doesn’t dare move. not even to wipe the tears that rolled down his face while you weren’t looking.

Stan doesn’t knock anymore. when your bad days stretch into bad weeks and the shower hasn’t been touched and your clothes are the same ones from thursday, he just pushes the door open and sits down with you on the floor, doesn’t say anything, there are no questions too. Stanley just lowers himself beside you, groaning because he's an old man with bad knees, and leans his weight against yours. “you don’t have to talk, but if you do, i’ll listen. if you don’t, i’ll still listen.”

he becomes a little sneaky in his love. that’s how he helps. you can’t get out of bed? fine. he doesn’t say “get up” he says “i need you to taste-test something” and appears five minutes later with a plate he’s poured his whole soul into, eggs and bacon just the way you like them, toast cut into triangles, sausage shaped into a smiley face. “don’t look at me like that, it’s just leftovers” although it's obvious that he tried too hard. if you sit up even a little to take a bite, that’s a win in his eyes. next thing you feel is him tucking his arm around your back and pulling you against his chest

when showering feels like climbing a mountain, it's never “go wash up” because Stan knows it doesn't work like that. but i think he might suggest taking a bath together, he will warm the water, light a candle if you’re into that kind of thing, and get in first so you don’t feel like you're doing it alone. he’ll wash your back with those huge hands, humming some old song under his breath. if he catches you crying into the crook of his neck, he’ll kiss the top of your head and say, “yeah. i know. me too sometimes.”

you could scream at him, go silent for hours, beg him to leave, but that won't work. he’d just shake his head, curl tighter around you, and mumble, “not leavin’. sorry, tough luck. you’re stuck with me.”

he protects you from yourself, on the days you haven’t left the house in too long, he’ll say “hey, we’re outta beer and i ain’t going alone, what if i get mugged by a bear?” and suddenly you’re walking with him to the corner store with the bright sun on your face. Stan is proud of himself he made the world a little bit less hostile just by standing next to you

if that doesn't work anymore, he won't try to cheer you up. Stan isn’t that stupid, he knows better than to try to outrun depression. “this ain’t forever, sweetie,” he whispers against your hairline, “but even if it was, i’d still stay.” but underneath all of that, he’s scared. he’s really fucking scared. because he knows what it felt like, to stare at the ceiling and wonder if anyone would notice if he didn’t wake up. and now it’s you, and he doesn’t know how to keep you above water except by climbing in with you, over and over again, until your fingers stop shaking.

and the sensuality feels different now. “still the most beautiful thing i ever laid eyes on,” he rasps, kissing your neck while you cling to him. “even when you feel like nothing.” he lays his forehead, resting against your belly like a man praying for spring.

and if you ever apologize “sorry i’m like this, sorry i’m not better, sorry i’m so much work” he really gets mad, not at you, but at the voice in your head feeding you that lie. will hold your chin so gently in his palm, look you dead in the eye and tell you that you ain’t broken, sweetheart. you’re just tired, and Stan gets that. but he got enough love for the both of you today, so don’t you worry

FORD

Ford is used to solving problems with equations but none of that works here. not when your eyes don’t meet his and Ford gets scared. so he adapts.

at first, he watches from the doorframe while you lie still in bed, not sleeping and not moving, Ford bites his nails, thinking what it can be. he writes down a dozen theories. sleep deprivation? serotonin imbalance? post-traumatic stuff?

Ford becomes gentle, so, so gentle his voice softens around you. he reads more psychology books than he ever did during his college years and. . . he tapes sticky notes around the Shack that say things like “drink water. you matter.” and “five minutes of sunlight counts. i’m proud of you.”

he learns to stop asking if you’re okay. instead, he says, “can i stay with you in this?” and he’ll lay with you all day if that’s what it takes.

Ford is more methodical in his concern, but don’t mistake that for coldness. he doesn’t pretend to understand exactly what you’re going through but he’s listening and taking notes. literally. it starts as a notebook he keeps tucked on his desk, where he logs things like “they smiled after i mentioned sea otters today” or “worse symptoms following three days without fresh air”

he builds little rituals for you, every morning, he places a glass of water by your bedside so you don’t have to ask. he opens the curtains enough so the light reaches your beautiful face and reminds your circadian rhythm that life still exists out there. he gently nudges vitamins toward your palm while rambling about something else entirely, about anomalies or some interdimensional cephalopods so you won't get suspicious and feel like he’s watching.

and when you haven’t smiled in days, oh Ford gets anxious, so damn anxious he starts pulling out old journals, flipping through dusty pages, looking for any weird magical object in gravity falls or psychological theory that might fix it, because he’s terrified of standing by and doing nothing. you might wake up one morning to a bouquet of ethereal flowers that he picked from the devil knows where, or a tiny blue creature in a jar because “oh this? i read that this species has calming bioresonances. thought it might help.”

Ford’s presence is consistent, he won’t overwhelm you with affection when you're not ready to accept it, but you’ll find signs of his care in every corner of the house, a heated blanket turned on before you wake, your favourite book left unfinished on the chapter you like, a softly played record from a time when things felt easier. and on nights when your brain feels loud and you can’t sleep because of these dumb thoughts, Stanford will climb into bed beside you. glasses off and hair still damp from the shower. he'll read aloud until you drift off by his side and he'll kiss your forehead whispering good night, darling

and in the weeks that follow, it’s not your smiles he celebrates but the creak of the bed when you sit up because it means you got a little bit more energy to move today. the way your fingers twitch when you reach for water. the rare days you touch him first. he treats them like astronomical events, writing them down. sweet heavens, it's the damn planets aligned today just because his darling looked him in the eyes, the stars must’ve thrown a celebration today, the whole universe tilted in his favor, Ford is happy.

he’ll play a song on the piano, pulling you toward him until you sit next to him, leaning your head on his shoulder, not having to say anything at all. the music is soft, beautiful, just like his six fingers, and Ford doesn’t ask for anything in return. he just wants you to feel safe, in whatever way you need.

when you finally kiss him again, he goes quiet because it means you're starting to feel better. your eyes soften again and you reach out for him, you know he’ll be waiting, as always. “you’re my priority, and i’ll be here. always.”

Ford pulls you into his lap, runs his fingers over your skin, and tells you about the stars, how even the coldest ones still shine. how light travels farther than sadness. how you, in this moment, exhausted and barely holding on, are still the brightest thing he’s ever seen. always ends up with you sobbing into his chest

Ford would travel to every version of this world just to find the one where you're happy

[heeseungsbabygworl]

hiii if you're comfortable with it... can we please get heeseung and reader watching porn together? 🙏🙏

hi babygirll sorry i'm responding a little late. this was.. well.. interesting?🤨

but sure whatever sails your boat I guess🤷‍♀️ (im joking I love). hope you enjoy babygirls!❤️

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"Press Play" — Lee Heeseung

[request] “press play” — lee heeseung x fem!reader

genre: kpopidol!au, smut, tension, kind of cute (?), one-shot

warnings: explicit sexual content (MDNI), porn-watching scene, mutual teasing, embarrassment, tension, oral (f receiving), protected sex, praise, slightly shy!heeseung turning into confident!heeseung

wc: ~2.9k

📝: i had fun writing this one lmao. also, just to make it 100% clear, im not assuming anything about heeseung having an entire folder of porn videos with tasteful thumbnails. (leave room for jesus)

༉‧₊˚.♡₊˚.༄

“Bet you’ve got some saved on your phone.”

It started with a dumb conversation.

The kind that only happens after midnight, after snacks, after your third can of soda, when the world feels a little off and your guard’s all the way down.

You and Heeseung were sitting on his bedroom floor, legs stretched out, backs propped against his bed. Some random horror movie was playing on low volume in the background, but neither of you were paying attention anymore.

He tossed a popcorn kernel into his mouth, chewed, then said:

“Wait, be honest. You’ve never watched it?”

You blinked. “Porn?”

“Yeah.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Obviously I’ve seen it, Heeseung. I’m not a nun.”

He snorted. “Okay, okay. But like… watched watched it? Properly? With full volume and no shame?”

You stared at him. “Why are you so specific?”

He shrugged, half-laughing. “I don’t know. I just feel like everyone either pretends they don’t or they act like they’re directing the next one.”

You rolled your eyes. “What, you want to have a deep philosophical discussion about amateur vs studio?”

“I mean, now I do,” he grinned. “Thanks.”

He caught it easily, smirking. “Bet you’ve got some saved on your phone.”

You threw a pillow at him. “You’re so annoying.”

You scoffed. “Bet you’ve got entire folders.”

“One folder. Very organized. Tasteful thumbnails.”

You laughed so hard you nearly choked on popcorn. “Heeseung, what the hell—”

“I’m just saying! You can tell a lot about a person from what they choose to watch.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So what do yours say about you?”

He hesitated. Smirked. “That I’ve got a thing for messy girls who talk back.”

Your stomach flipped. You tried to ignore it.

“…Right.”

You were both quiet for a beat.

Then he said, too casually, “You wanna watch one?”

You looked at him sharply. “What?”

“Not, like, weirdly,” he added quickly. “Just out of curiosity. I’ve never—” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve never watched one with someone else before.”

You stared.

“Unless that’s weird,” he mumbled, suddenly a little pink in the ears. “It’s probably weird.”

You paused. Thought about it.

Then, before you could second-guess yourself, you said, “Okay.”

His head snapped up. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah,” you said, trying to sound way cooler than you felt. “Why not. I’m curious now.”

Another beat of silence.

Then he grabbed his laptop from the bed, flipped it open, and cleared his throat like he was about to present a slideshow on the fall of Rome.

“This is so dumb,” he muttered, typing something in. “We’re gonna laugh and never speak again.”

“We already do that weekly.”

“Touche.”

You scooted a little closer, both of you leaning in, the laptop screen glowing between you. He scrolled.

There were thumbnails. Suggestive titles. A lot of skin.

You blinked. “Wait, you really weren’t kidding about the thumbnails being tasteful.”

“I told you. I have standards.”

You both hovered for a second. Then he clicked.

Volume low. Buffering. Your heart was already racing and nothing had even happened yet.

The video started. Breathy music. Kissing. Moaning.

And suddenly it wasn’t funny anymore.

You felt it shift—the energy in the room. You peeked at Heeseung. His jaw was tense. His eyes were on the screen, but his fingers flexed slightly over the keyboard.

He glanced at you. You glanced at him.

Neither of you said a word.

The moaning on screen got louder.

Not obscene. Just... unmistakable.

And somehow, that was worse.

You tried to look casual. Eyes glued to the laptop like you were watching a cooking tutorial instead of a very naked couple doing very not-safe-for-school things.

Heeseung didn’t say anything either. Which was wild, because he always said something.

Your knee brushed his.

Neither of you moved.

You swallowed. Loudly. “So.”

“So.”

You were hyper-aware of everything. The way your shoulders were slightly touching. The warmth of his thigh next to yours. The scent of whatever shampoo he used—something clean, boyish, irritatingly attractive.

“Do people actually do it like that?” you mumbled, gesturing vaguely to the screen.

He snorted. “No. Real people don’t arch that much. Her back’s gonna snap.”

You laughed, and it broke the tension just enough. You leaned into his shoulder instinctively.

He didn’t move.

“You’re not weirded out?” you asked.

He hesitated. “No.”

You turned your head, and that’s when you realized how close you were.

Really close.

His face was angled toward yours, barely a breath away. The glow of the laptop cast his jaw in sharp light. His eyes flicked down to your lips before he quickly looked back at the screen.

It was subtle.

But not subtle enough.

Your heart stuttered.

You should’ve backed off. You didn’t.

“…This is kinda hot,” you said, almost teasing.

His breath caught.

“Yeah,” he said, voice lower now. Rougher. “It is.”

Silence again.

The kind that buzzes.

On-screen, things were escalating. Hands. Tongues. Breath.

You felt it in your spine.

“I’m not really watching it anymore,” you said softly.

He turned to you again, slower this time.

You didn’t know what possessed you to say it, but your voice came out barely above a whisper.

“I’m watching you.”

He blinked.

“Say that again,” he said, voice wrecked.

You didn’t.

Instead, you leaned in—tiny, inch-long shift.

But it was enough.

Heeseung kissed you like he’d been holding back for months. Like he hadn’t known if he was allowed. Like he wanted to get it wrong but still try anyway.

It was warm and messy and a little breathless. Nothing like the stuff on screen. Better.

His hand found your cheek, thumb brushing your jaw, the other gently tugging you closer. Your legs shifted until you were nearly in his lap, laptop half-forgotten beside you, moans still echoing from the tinny speakers.

He pulled back slightly, forehead resting against yours. “Tell me to stop.”

You didn’t.

Instead, you kissed him again. Deeper.

Hungrier.

And this time, he made the sound.

Your breath hitched when Heeseung’s lips found your neck—soft, tentative kisses that turned bolder with every heartbeat.

“This okay?” he murmured, voice low and breathy against your skin.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

More than okay.

You shifted in his lap, straddling him fully now, knees on either side of his thighs. He looked up at you, pupils blown wide, lips slightly parted like he couldn’t believe you were really doing this.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a while,” he admitted.

You smiled. “You could’ve said something before loading porn.”

“I panicked.”

You laughed—breathless, nervous—and kissed him again to shut him up.

His hands found your waist, sliding beneath your shirt, fingertips skating over bare skin. You shivered, arching into his touch.

“I didn’t think,” he said between kisses, “you’d actually say yes.”

“To watching?”

“To this.”

You leaned in, forehead to his. “Stop thinking.”

And he did.

He tugged your shirt off slowly, watching your face like he was memorizing it. Then his hands were on your hips again, squeezing gently, pulling you down to meet the growing bulge in his sweatpants.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You feel—God, you feel so good.”

You rolled your hips instinctively, both of you gasping at the friction.

“You’re hard already?” you teased.

“You’re on me.”

You giggled, and he kissed you again, deeper this time. His hands slid up your sides, fingertips brushing the edge of your bra. He hesitated.

“Can I?”

“Yes.”

He reached behind you, fumbling a bit—and you bit back a grin at how red his ears went. “I swear I’ve done this before,” he muttered.

“Totally convincing.”

But then it unclasped, and he slid it off with gentle fingers, his breath catching at the sight.

“Holy shit,” he whispered. “You’re perfect.”

He leaned down, mouth finding your chest—soft, reverent kisses that turned into warm, open-mouthed licks over sensitive skin. Your hands threaded into his hair, tugging gently as you gasped.

“Heeseung—”

He sucked a little harder, and you moaned, grinding down again. His hands gripped your waist tighter.

You could feel him straining beneath you, but he wasn’t rushing.

He pulled back just enough to look at you. “Can I touch you?”

“You’re already touching me.”

“Lower,” he said, voice hoarse.

Your stomach fluttered.

You nodded.

He slid his hand beneath the waistband of your shorts, fingers grazing heat and slick.

“Oh, fuck,” he whispered. “You’re so wet.”

You buried your face in his neck, and he laughed softly. “Shy now?”

“Shut up.”

“Mm,” he hummed, fingers sliding slowly between your folds. “You like it when I talk, though.”

You gasped as he brushed your clit.

He grinned.

“Like that?”

“Yes—fuck—Heeseung—”

He rubbed slow circles, watching every twitch of your face, like he wanted to learn every part of you. Then, gently, he slipped a finger inside. You clenched around him.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Tighter than I imagined.”

“You imagined?”

“Baby,” he said, kissing your jaw, “do you know how many times I’ve thought about this?”

You whimpered as he added another finger, pace steady and deep, the wet sound of it only drowned out by your breathing.

“I wanna taste you,” he murmured suddenly.

You blinked, dazed. “What?”

He smirked. “Lie down.”

You did.

He tugged your shorts and underwear down together, kissing down your stomach, thighs, knees, until you were bare in front of him and shaking.

He looked up. “Still okay?”

“Please.”

That was all he needed.

He dove in—slow licks at first, warm and teasing, then firmer, tongue circling your clit while his fingers stayed inside you, curling just right.

You moaned—loud, shameless.

“That’s it,” he mumbled, mouth still on you. “Let me hear it.”

Your hips bucked.

He held you down and sucked harder.

It didn’t take long—you came with a gasp, thighs trembling, fingers gripping the sheets.

He kissed your inner thigh, lips sticky, eyes glazed. “You taste unreal.”

You reached for him, tugging at his shirt. “Off. Now.”

He stripped fast, then slid out of his sweats—fully hard now, thick and flushed. Your mouth fell open.

Heeseung blushed. “Stop looking.”

“You’re hot.”

He laughed, grabbed a condom from his drawer, and rolled it on. “Come here.”

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders as he hovered over you, noses brushing.

“This is really happening,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” he said, voice soft. “It is.”

He lined himself up, eyes on you.

And then, slowly, carefully, he pushed in.

You gasped, legs wrapping around him.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “You feel like heaven.”

He moved slow at first, letting you adjust, then deeper—rocking into you with every slow, intense thrust.

You clung to him, nails dragging down his back, both of you panting.

“Faster,” you begged. “Please—”

He obeyed, pace picking up, hips slamming into yours, skin on skin loud in the quiet room.

You met every thrust, moaning his name, gasping his praises.

“Look at me,” he said, voice wrecked. “I wanna see you when you come.”

You did—trembling under him, crying out as you tightened around him and fell apart.

He followed right after, groaning your name into your neck as he spilled into the condom, body shaking.

You laid there tangled together—breathing, kissing, not saying a word.

Eventually, he pulled out, disposed of the condom, then crawled back into bed and wrapped his arms around you like it was the only thing he was sure of.

You rested your head on his chest.

“I should delete my folder,” he mumbled.

You giggled. “Keep it. We might need inspiration next time.”

He paused.

Then grinned.

“There’s gonna be a next time?”

You kissed his collarbone. “There’s gonna be a lot of next times.”

[ryoli]

mediocre disney property that had potential but was ultimately executed poorly strikes again 😔

[l-art-stuff-l]

i just feel like nobody actually gives a shit about orphans. in stories we’re always either the villains or the heroes and it’s just there to give them a tragic backstory and make them sympathetic. in real life we’re treated like poor little innocent babies who should be pitied or used as a talking point or joked about or just straight up forgotten. like can we have an orphan character who just exists and isn’t uwu so sad and tragic on account of having no parents

[thebluebygracieabrams]

I love these lines so much I can not even express it

[iknowwhereyousnoozeatnight]

this one's for all the yuri enjoyers out there — nsft under cut

meronia event prompt(s): scar

[avieaerie]

Have some sword dancing 🗡️

Description under the cut:

[ID: Mollymauk Teafleaf from Critical Role. Mollymauk is a purple skinned tiefling, wearing a heavily embroidered red and teal coat around his waist as a skirt, patterned leggings and a long teal scarf around his chest, trailing it's ends over his arms. He is facing away from the viewer, standing in a spotlight up on his toes on one foot, throwing a sword in the air while holding another behind him. End ID]

[thetriggeredhappy]

I HAVE NOW 100%’ed STARDEW VALLEY

THREE TIMES.

[cyellolemon]

What a man fr..

1st one inspired by a base and 2nd one is a redraw of the illust of the song About me (papiyon)

[ghost-bard]

Finally at the landsmeet, hope i can finally find out what makes ppl defend Loghain as a character, beyond what ive seen in cutscenes and Anora talking about him.

He’s interesting, i sort of get why he’s compelling story wise. But. Why do people defend him. I am curious.

Apologies if im just bringing up old fandom talking points im playing the game for the first time 🙏

[evanescentsun]

HAPPY BDAY SRDA…..!!!!!!!! TO THE BEST GIRL EVER!!!!!!!!!!!

collection of srda art I collected over the months under;

I was thinking of other stuff to draw for srda day instead of this one since it was going well.. and made this lil sketch idea and then went oh. cuz it reminded me of this srda bday one i did like what (apparently for last year! who knew!) and went thro memory lane… I TRULY THINK I DREW HER THE MOST……biggest sarada fan honestly<3 i love her design n her so much. shame that tumblr only allows a limited amount of art on a post.

[eightspringdays]

would you still love me if i made meronia a lil deranged but mostly disgustingly in love with each other in a way it's almost so saccharine that if you read it there's an 80% chance of your blood turning into condensed milk?

[thebluebygracieabrams]

i think growing up is just life repeatedly sucker punching you and saying bitch you thought things were gonna better lmao no you're so naive and stupid for having hope in 20 years the world will be flaming bag of garbage and no matter how hard you work you'll get eliminated at some point

[baycitystygian]

promising myself that if I send in five job applications or more in the next 24 hours I can give myself a little treat (an 8x10 of paulie I saw on eBay that made me downright critically DEHYDRATED for that man)

[tanicus-caesareth]

guarana drama, damage control