Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
hi!! i hope you are doing well! i would LOVE to hear about your wip Metal Detector :) have a great day!!
Hiii!! Sorry for the delay!!
So, Metal Detector is a wip that I think is not gonna be finished, since a few people already took a stab at it and knocked it out of the fucking park. So I'll share what I have so far, but please check out @lostsprit 's fic, "Running from the past, dreading the future" !
[Context for the WIP]
Ford doesn’t wake up this morning. There’s no waking up when you spend the night awake, staring at the ceiling through blurred lenses.
Your usual help when being unable to sleep is no longer here.
He groans when the alarm clock rings. It’s too soon. He just wants to stay on the floor, laying uncomfortably until his back hurts more than his head. He doesn’t want to go to school today and face his daily dose of bullying. He doesn’t want to sit next to Stan for six classes straight.
But he has to. He won’t give Stan the satisfaction of giving up even further. So he eventually stands up.
He goes to the bathroom to wash his face, the cold water helping somewhat with his headache. He goes to the empty kitchen, pours himself some milk and cereal and just stares at them. Not hungry. He looks sideways to the coffee pot. Maybe some caffeine will help.
After a quick coffee, he goes back upstairs. Brush your teeth. Brush your hair. Put on some clothes. Make your bed. Gather all the school stuff. Check you have your keys. Without the usual sounds from his mother and Stan, everything seems more paused, slower. Completely mechanical, like a to-do list.
His mother is nowhere to be seen. She doesn’t open her psychic call service until later, so she’s either in his office or running some errands. Judging by the silence, it’s anyone’s guess. He thinks he hears some soft noises coming from her office, but maybe he’s just tired.
He goes downstairs towards the door, saying good morning to his father on the way. As usual, he doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even grunt today.
< < < < > > > >
When he arrives at school, Stan is not there. The seat next to him is empty, and when the teachers ask he has to reply that he’s sick. Whatever. Stan can answer to his own problems. That’s not Ford’s job.
The rest of the classes go by as usual, if not less loud and slower. No stupid quips when the teacher messes up, no doodles in a notebook next to his, no questions about what the teacher just said. Just a simple, plain and boring class.
How do people endure this every day?
When the bell rings and the recess begins, Ford realizes he’s forgotten to pack some lunch. Whatever. Not like he’s hungry. He goes to his usual spot at the janitor’s closet before Crampelter and his minions can find him.
There’s more space here today. The janitor finally cleaned this place up, I suppose.
When the last bell rings, Ford quickly picks his things up and leaves without making eye contact with anyone. That doesn’t keep the usual suspects from chasing him through the streets. It doesn’t matter how fast he runs; it’s never enough. He manages to land a punch to a couple of them, but it’s a losing battle. They leave after checking his bag and finding nothing there.
Does a black eye always hurt this much?
The rest of the way home is as silent as the home itself. There’s food in the kitchen, but he barely registers it. He just goes upstairs to his room and sits in his chair, ready to go through some of his homework.
He falls asleep 15 minutes in.
< < < < > > > >
The following days just repeat themselves. Wake up, get ready, go to school, go back home, repeat. There’s nothing new, nothing interesting. His mum is finally visible, but she moves like a ghost around the house. Silent, slow, out of reach. His dad is, too, but in different ways.
Two, three, four more days go by. Stanford has something nasty growing deep in his chest, and he tries his best to ignore it. But with no distractions, no noises, no laughs next to him, there’s nothing to grasp. So he just moves along hoping it will go away. It doesn’t.
The fifth day rolls around and he goes to bed exhausted. He slept for ten hours at least last night, but he can’t move. He’s tired, physically and mentally, even though he hasn’t done anything strenuous. He hates it, wants to punch this feeling out of him. So he punches the mattress. One, twice, a dozen times. He punches miserably, just like he does in boxing class, and cries even more miserably. He feels pathetic, crying like he just got beaten up, when he doesn’t even have a good reason too. He’s on his own. He’s… alone.
He punches again, harder this time, because what’s a man gonna do about rage. He learned that lesson early in life. He punches, and cries, because why the hell won’t this feeling go already.
His fault, my fault, fuck it! His fault for ruining my life, for being so selfish and not care about my future. And my fault, because I want him here, why won’t he come back already and apologize, just apologize, you coward! Tell me the truth, that you couldn’t handle being left here and decided to make it my problem as well!
And look at that. Now that he’s gone, it’s Ford who feels like shit.
This is so unfair. So fucking unfair! Why do I get to feel like this while you’re out there living your life free of expectations and homework and chores? Why do I miss you when you didn’t care about me enough to let me be free too?
He stops punching the mattress, but the tears keep running down his face.
Blaming the father for the sons actions is always an interesting puzzle to tackle.
On one hand you could argue that they created them and didn't do a good job teaching them morals and other stuff.
And on the other hand they might have done everything right that they possibly coukd and their kid still turned out the way they did and their actions are purely their fault.
All this to say you might be right. I personally think Jax is going to blow up at Pomni about taking what little they had with the 'adventures' but I could definitely see him being mad at Kinger for this being all his fault. Being angry doesn't mean be rational after all.
Obviously its all a little more complicated than that since Caine isn't exactly his Son nor did Kinger raise him but it still brings up the old Sins of the Father pass to the Son.
Two months is too long and to think i have to worry about spoilers now.
All this to say...cool theory guess we'll have to wait and see. Good luck making it through this wait period.
HI THANK YOU FOR THIS ASK BECAUSE I LOVE IT!!!!
[Context for this ask]
Here's the thing about Jax: he's a player. He's playing the game way better that anyone else. He knows the rules, he knows the limits, he knows what the circus and Caine have to offer, and he's done the best out of the situation. He's figured out that the way to live is to play the game exactly as it is expected of him.
But then everything changes. Because this is real. Because everything he did, even if it was his reality, was still coated in a dream-like haze, something blurry enough to easily block the thought that this is his actual, only life.
(I'm not saying he didn't know. I'm saying he was aware of it, but dissociation and denial are very powerful forces, and Kinger's lore drop about C&A was the last straw.)
He's human. Everyone else is human, too, except for Caine. He was something else, something that he didn't need to care for, because he was just a machine. A machine that tortured them on the daily, so, you know. Wasn't hard to hate him.
But sometimes Caine's mannerisms and speech were... so human. The whole scene of them having lunch right before stealing Caine's key, I bet that was the most human (or, at least, approachable) that Jax had ever seen him. Talking about his love for humans, how hard he was trying to make them happy... I'm not saying Jax bought it, but I'm sure it put so much into perspective. Caine was a thing created with a purpose.
I think Jax's perception of Caine changed the moment he realized his creator had been next to him for years. Because now everything was much more real, to the point where it became unavoidable.
It was easy hating Caine, because he was the direct enemy and he wasn't even human. But turns out Caine was just a puppet, a program designed by someone. And Jax realizes that those last few years of his life, he's blamed the wrong person.
All of that rage and hurt and fear come back full force as he becomes fully aware, for the first time in a long time, that not only is this hellscape worse than he could have ever imagined, but also that fucking Kinger is responsible for it.
The feeling of betrayal is unimaginable, and Jax lets him know just that. And somehow, somehow, everyone else seems happy to act like nothing has changed, like Caine was the bad guy all this time, like Kinger didn't just admit that not only did he create hell, but also that he killed someone who was in fact just doing what he was programmed to do.
He can't even begin to understand how everyone is able to look into Kinger's eyes and not see the blood in his hands.
So right as you sent this I had to work for a full week non-stop, so apologies for the delay lol please take these as compensation!
From "Beyond The Horizon" (continuation of "Where The Sky Meets The Ocean")
Stan feels his eyes warm up against the sea breeze. He can't say he doesn't deserve it but holy shit does it hurt. The whole point of what he was trying to do was to avoid any more pain. He almost opens his mouth to apologize again, but he shuts it again as his mind replays Ford’s words.
2. From chapter 2 of "Pedacitos de ti"
"What do you mean 'what happened'? I think you got a first row ticket to it, what're you askin' me for?"
3. From an unnamed wip based on this post by miss E
Stan rolls his eyes, sighing heavily. He can tell what's about to go down, and he'd rather not be driving while it happens.
4. From an unnamed wips (pending title: "Lost Memories, New Memories")
"What did you mean," he asks slowly, "when you said my brain has always been intact?"
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
LOSTSPIRIT! Of course I remember you!! Cool new icon 👀
Yep, I used to be DEEP into sfth back in early 2024, and for a good full year after that! I started making sfth gifs when it was just a handful of people in the fandom, around july I think? (I checked, my first gifset was on July 23rd, 2024!)
I made a ton of them and then stopped bc of Life, but I still love the sfth boys a lot!! I have to get back into watching them again, I think the last longform I watched was #42 or so? So I have A LOT to catch up on lol
(I've also seen people do a bouquet for a whole stanza from one WIP so :3) : 💐
LEENE YOU GET ALL THE WIPS YOU WANT GIRL. GIMME A SECOND
Genuinely this took so long bc I wanted to find some good parts, my bad lol
🌹1. From chapter 3 of the still unnamed au (which might be titled "Waitin' On A Sunny Day" bc I'm a bitch like that lmaoo)
The familiar voice.
Stanley.
Bill.
Ford looks at his brother's figure, with its arms outstretched. He wants to run, wants to fight back, but he's shaking so fucking bad. He can feel his extremities again, but just to feel them tremble.
🌹2. From an unnamed wip from December
Stan needed to leave, immediately. He couldn't stand it anymore, the cold of the basement and the towering triangular silhouette of the portal looming over him, mocking him, a silent reminder of the biggest mistake of his life, right after being born at all. No matter what he did —or rather, tried to do—, it was downright impossible to get Ford back.
🌹3. From chapter 1 of "Backstreets" (from Act 1 of the Drafted AU, takes place after "Born To Run") which by the looks of it will be 5k long WHYYYY
Well, those are not words that usually come out of Ford. Honest ones, that is. He usually quiets down, leaves the room, leaves conversations unfinished when they hit too close to home. Stan guesses he’s trying to find a middle ground just as hard as he is.
🌹4. Yet another unnamed wip!
"That's amazing," Stan says earnestly. "This is all I wanted for you when we were kids, to be able to fight back. And I'm happy, really, it's just... it’s stupid, but I just feel useless. ‘cause you don't need me anymore."
🌹5. From chapter 2 of Reason To Believe!
“He’s… young. 26 years old. Caucasian.” Would Stan have finally gotten the pirate hair that he had always wanted? “Brown hair, somewhat curly. A little long, about shoulder-length.” Would Stan’s eyes look as sunken and baggy as his own? “Dark eyes.” Had he been exercising, just like Ford had? Had he continued taking boxing lessons? “About 5’10’’. Broad shoulders, heavy around the middle.”
💐 BONUS: As for the bouquet, you get the beginning of chapter 3 of (can't believe I'm saying this) "Unknown Scars"!!
Darkness tends to be cold. He's learned that over the years.
Darkness usually means a lack of light. Lack of light means lack of warmth. Lack of warmth means cold. Duh.
But that's usually the case when you're on Earth. Outside of that, well, things get a little more complicated.
The universe, on average, is cold. For human standards, at least. He's met all kinds of beings in the multiverse, each with unique characteristics, including temperature resistance. Hell, even Earth has animals that can withstand temperatures that humans would be instantly killed by. Cold-resistant extraterrestrial lifeforms were not a surprise. It also wasn't surprising that most of them, the most extreme ones, inhabited very dark places.
There are few instances in which he's found both darkness and warmth. The earlier ones he can remember are the school lockers he usually found himself shoved into, or the McGucket's house in August summers in the middle of nowhere. Even less pleasant were the blinding, fever-inducing venomous plants that almost killed him in Gravity Falls.
But there was a time where warmth didn't feel stifling. If he focuses hard enough, the way he's forbidden himself from doing for thirty years, he can remember comforting, warm darkness. Quiet nights turned storytelling hours in a pillow fort, pushed against another body as their fortress grew smaller over the years. The remaining heat of the sand against his back as the moon would rise over their heads. Falling into a deep slumber after a nightmare, the panic unable to stay against the weight on top of his chest.
He can't. He can't focus on that right now. Because if he's thinking about it, if he's unable to stop thinking about it, it means that things are wrong.
