#*crickets*

[eightyonefour]

"oscar's still the new kid on the block but he drives like he's been in it for 20 years already. i know he's gonna be thinking of a lot of things right now and i know at some point i'm gonna be in his position in the future and he's gonna be here talking to you."

[occasionalauthoring]

Occa I'm upset >:c give me something nice. I need something nice.

I won't ask fluff out of you. I'm not that evil.

Redemption.

I want Jason missing his dad. Bruce missing his Jaylad. You can make them both suffer I DON'T CARE OCCA IM IN PAIN WHY DOES THAT PAGE STILL EXISTS AAAAAAAH WHY DO PEOPLE STILL LIKE THEIR SHIT AAAAAAAH maybe make them cry. But give me redemption.

Do you want a context? I can make up something quick uuuuh...

Bruce goes missing (again) but this time is neither Tim nor Dick who find him, but Jason, in a warehouse, barely breathing. Maybe there's a bomb involved. Wouldn't that be cute?

O7

Please?

I love you btw.

"Leave me, Hood."

"Dammit, Bruce, no!"

Jason sees Bruce look towards the timer, and as he desperately works his pick into the lock, Bruce reaches out to weakly grasp his forearm, only for Jason to tear it away.

"Hood. Jay." Jason glances up, and Bruce smiles at him weakly. "Sixty seconds, Jaylad. Please don't make me watch you die twice."

"W-what? I died in the—"

"You died of smoke inhalation. I got there too late to save you, but not too late to hold you. Please, chum. Don't... don't make me see that twice."

"No, B." Jason shakes off his shock, and his second pick in. The lock finally releases, and Jason tears at the chains holding Bruce's still form. "Come on. Come on, we can make it."

He makes to pick Bruce up, but a trembling hand on his chest plate stops him. "Bruce—"

"Only if you run. Not carrying me, but you can make it if you go now."

Jason shakes his head, tears filling the lenses of his domino, and he clutches at Bruce. "No. No, no—"

"Jason, please. You have rightfully hated me for years, please don't let obligation get in the way now, run."

Hands claw at Bruce's shoulders and he surges up, grabbing the offending limbs and twisting them behind his assaulter's back as he pins them on their front.

He opens his eyes, and lets his eyes adjust to the darkness, squinting at the figure...familiar figure—

"Jason?!"

"Bruce," he chokes, and he scrambles off his estranged son. "Please, please, I— I need you to—"

"What were you doing?" he yells, stepping back from the bed. Jason's clearly in distress, he needs to shut up, what is he doing? All he ever does is screw up.

Jason stills, halfway to sitting up, and shakes his head, smacking the heel of his palm into it. "Stupid... shouldn't have come here, subconscious said that shit for a reason."

Bruce processes the nonsensical string of words, then rubs his face and walks to the door, smacking his fist onto the light switch.

Then he pauses, staring.

"Did you come here in a storm?"

"Maybe!"

Bruce takes a deep breath, settling himself. "Jason. What is going on?"

His second son slumps on the bed, and Bruce aches to go to him when he sees the tears, but that isn't his place anymore, and he plasters his back to the door so he doesn't move to him.

"I...had a dream. And it was like Ethiopia."

Jason pauses when Bruce's breath hitches, but continues when he waves him on.

"You were the one trapped with the bomb. And I was trying to rescue you, but there was only sixty seconds left, and you were trying to make me leave."

Please tell me I succeeded. Please tell me I didn't get you killed again.

"Oh? Did you?"

Jason stares at him, and a broken sound escapes his mouth as he curls up on the bed.

"I was right, he was right, fuck fuck fuck..."

"Jason." Bruce's firm voice cuts through the room. "Talk to me."

The sadness in his eyes tugs at Bruce's heart, and it takes everything in him not to give in and wrap the boy man in his arms like he used to. Back when he would still fit in Bruce's lap. Back when he was willing to try.

"You told me to forget about my obligation and run. That I shouldn't die for a man I hate." Jason trembles as he lifts his head, bearing tear-stained cheeks. "Tell me my subconscious was wrong, B. Tell me you don't really think that."

[khaotunq]

BarthTanrak + their colourful kisses → Gemini Norawit as Barth; Fourth Nattawat as Tanrak (Ticket to Heaven, 2026)

[randompajamaalt]

i need more stories where the friends kiss and have sex because one of them is really really desperate and the other one loves them(platonically) and wants them to feel better so they kiss and have sex. as friends.

[friskydabunny]

What do you mean I still havent drawn the classic “hyde with potion” pose already? I must rectify this immediately!

[kittycatpaw11]

I have a silly idea — Reader asking Classic or Killer “Would you still love me if i was a worm?? 🥺🥺🥺”

Not so silly alternative idea — Reader asking “Would you still love me if i was a rock? 🥺🥺” and we timeskip to Sans sitting beside Reader’s grave.

chose to write 'bout classic loving you as a worm, and its safe to say he would. more love than what you were mentally prepared for.

"Ah, Yes. Worm Time."

'Ask a man a dumb question, and you'll get.. apparently a more thought-out answer than you were expecting?'

Word Count: 1,100

Pairing: Sans x Reader

The living room is the absolute perfect temperature.

A slow day meant to be spent indoors with a loved one, doing.. pretty much not a damn thing in the company of each other.

It's comfortable. A preferred pace of literally nothing as you faintly register the fact a calm rain has started. The short-term and brain-deteriorating content on your phone all you were really caring about—without actually caring much about it.

Something you do to shut your mind off and pass a bit of time, really. A popular activity when you're sitting with Sans in the living room, butts imprinted on the cushions that sink.

In your typical position of you sat upright and flush to the backrest, while Sans… He takes a much more cuddly approach. Something you would have taken for your own, but he long established you as his teddy bear before you could protest.

..Not that you would have objected.

His legs slung over the arm of the couch, head tucked into your lap, and a little on his side facing away from you so he can read his Kindle.

The situation perfect for mindlessly scritching his skull as you just as mindlessly watch video shorts. The two of you parallel playing in content silence, snug as a bug.

…

Up until the random and unfiltered stories turned to something that actually sparked a coherent thought and an interest.

Super cute and various trends girlfriends record and do with their boyfriends. 'Would You Rathers', something where they try to finish each others' sentences, a.. 'Blindfold Kiss Challenge'? And…

The worm thing.

You forgot all about the fabled worm thing…

Would Sans do that with you?—Why was that even a question, of course he would. In a soulbeat. Dumbass cutesy shit is what he lives for. Y'all have even baked a cake with you blindfolded and him muted, so.. Like…

Movement from your lap draws you out of the one train of thought you had, though you quickly find a new one upon looking down to see what it is he's doing.

Getting impossibly more comfortable on you. Like he belongs there, on you, in your care and against your warmth.

You're struck with cuteness aggression, but you keep your hands to yourself for now.

During his adjustments, he caught your soft gaze in his peripheral, and he stops to more properly turn his head and look up at you.

His smile shifts lopsided upon 'catching you' looking at him all sweetly, and his smirk opens to prompt, "yess..?" Hoping to get something out of engaging you. Maybe a little compliment about how cute he is, because why else would you be gazing down at him like this?

But.. all he gets is a stupid and horrendously blunt question, with a tone of voice as neutral as possible, "Would you love me if I were a worm?"

…

…

He quirks a brow, though there's no other change in expression the way he's staring at you.

You push, not any deterred, "Serious inquiry."

Sans' smile very quickly changes to something bordering on insanity, his eyesockets squinting in absolute mirth—the change so fast you get a little whiplash of surprise—the type of face you've come to recognize as 'you hit his autism jackpot with this one.'

What has he done?

"i just gotta show ya somethin'."

He's already standing up, Kindle long-gone to his Inventory, and your hand is taken to pull you up to your feet with him.

You're.. being dragged to his room?

The smile he's sporting is audible, "been waiting for this question."

"Literally what? What does that mean?"

His door is slammed open, and he drops your hand to jog in.

"Sans."

You know he is absolutely vibrating with excitement when he puts in the physical effort to get on his stomach(?) and reach far beneath his bed.

Sans slings out a few sweaters that were folded, a box of Jordan's with.. you ignore the price tag you caught a glimpse of. Some heavy textbooks you could squash a horde of roaches with in one blow, more clothes (?).

Three over-flowing folders. Unnecessarily fancy ones made of brown leather, corners decorated in gold trim, and is the type with the three rings that hold papers in place.

He sits up onto his knees with them in hand. And while kicking his things back under, catches you staring weird. "what?"

Pointing at his alpha-wolf-CEO-ass folders, "How much did you spend on those?"

"garage sale. 5 gold each."

Huh.

The used-to-be-expensive folders get thrown onto his mattress, where—with excessive and giddy flare, paired with a wink at you—he swings the first one open.

Front page is labeled "The Varieties of Glass Enclosures: The Pros and Cons to Each Kind".

…Ain't no way.

He begins his presentation, "so," flipping through to pictures of different glass jars and bottles, "starting off small, we got these. cutesy and portable, sure—something i think you'd like to live in if you were a worm, but the lack of space would make it difficult to spoil you rotten. and also, a lot of these have such narrow openings, so you wouldn't even get to have a cool rock."

You're given a very pointed and serious look, "you need a cool rock." Turning back to his folder, "so these are a no-go."

He skips about twelve pages to get to aquariums that could take up an entire garage, "you'd be a worm, so i imagine it'll be okay for me to commit federal fraud under your credit lender to buy you the best of the best."

"while we're here, could you please pick out an enclosure for yourself? it would really save me the stress on my heart organ if you did it yourself. i'd hate to inconvenience you with any poor choices i make."

"…" Safe to say you're blanked the hell out.

He playfully pushes, "…well?"

You pinch your brow and shut your eyes, trying to figure out if this is real or not. "Can I decide later?"

A shrug of bony shoulders tells you that's not a problem at all, "yep!—ah, while we're also here, and something i think you'd have a far easier time deciding on than your permanent place of stay…"

Another folder is taken from the pile, and opened up to a random page somewhere in the middle.

Clothes he's drawn pictures of. And as he goes through the papers, you see he's made dozens. "how about we pick out some wormy clothes for you? something nice and presentable!"

…These are all tube tops.

[songbird-au]

DRUM ROLL…(🥁)MEET OUR PROTAGONIST!!

MUGMAN KETTLE!!! 🌀🎧🎶

Our little, awkward fella in the flesh! Living it up, as “SONGBIRD’S” main protagonist of the story! Don’t let his appearance trick you, he’s a highly talented nerd- I mean, individual! Shy? Sure. Sort of a clutz, at times? Yes.. well- we can look past that! He’s trying, and that’s all that matters! Not much of talker, but if you even HUM a note within a 5 mile radius of this guy, he’ll probably yap yer ear right off!

(Honestly I don’t know what to put lowkirkuenly✌️)