#i know i sound silly when i say this. but Tumblr feels like a home. i feel good and safe here. i feel happy. I don't fight people.

[wolfram-petanu]

god I'm genuinely so scared of people migrating to tumblr

because we've got Phil Tommy and Sneeg already, and probably many ccs will follow, along with the fanbase

and like don't get me wrong, i love that for them

like yeah let twitter crash and burn but im so scared of Tumblr turning into Twitter v2.0

like this is the only website i actually use that's not toxic and i actively enjoy being on

i don't want this to get ruined, there's a reason why i don't have a twitter/instagram/facebook

[waldau-archived]

flustered — jeon wonwoo | 1.7k | fluff

first ever work on tumblr for any fandom! yikes. gender neutral reader. no warnings.

people often think wonwoo isn't the kind of person to express himself freely. you know how untrue that accusation is. wonwoo is far from emotionless. only his close friends know what actually makes him crack up, and you're one of the very few who knows what makes him cry.

but you have no idea what makes him blush.

ever since you've been in a relationship, you've never once seen him blush at anything you've said. compliments don't work, not when he accepts them gracefully and carries on like nothing's happened. he doesn't shy away when the band makes him perform silly antics for the fans, opting to do them with the small, ever-present smile on his face.

even mingyu is clueless when you ask him what it is that could possibly make wonwoo blush. teasing him about you never works because it just makes him smile even more.

so you decide to give it a go and try everything you can to make his cheeks turn red. it's silly, but it should be worth the efforts.

wonwoo doesn't like waking up early when he doesn't have to, but when you wake up today morning, his side of the bed is empty. you get up and walk to the living room, careful not to make any noise.

sure enough, wonwoo's sitting on the sofa with his laptop on the coffee table and a notepad and a pen on his lap, occasionally jotting down something here and there. you watch him for a minute or two before you walk up to him and put your arms around his neck, bending down so your lips are right next to his ear. "good morning," you whisper in the most morning-y voice you can muster. you don't think your voice has ever been this low before.

wonwoo doesn't even flinch. he grips your hands with one of his and turns around to press a kiss to your cheek. "good morning, darling," he says, turning to the laptop to pause the video on his screen before he looks at you again. "did you sleep well?"

"till i realized you weren't sleeping beside me, yes."

he chuckles and takes his hand off yours, laying down before raising his arms to you. you've done this a hundred times before — tumbling over the sofa and onto his chest and into his arms, secure.

he presses a kiss to your head. "do you have any plans for today?"

"none, unless you count me wanting to spend the rest of the day with you." you can't see his reaction, but his heartbeat is steady as it always is. you can feel his smile against your head.

"that's what i wanted to do, too, but do you want to go to the museum today? i know you've been wanting to for a while. maybe we could catch a movie after that."

you don't have the heart to say anything but yes. it sounds like the perfect day, even if you didn't achieve your goal.

the next time you try is when you get into an argument.

it's not an argument, not really. just a minor disagreement.

about a certain cat you want as a pet, and it reaches its final stage with wonwoo on his gaming chair and you standing in front of him, hands on your hips. "are you saying you're so heartless that you can't adopt the poor cat?"

"don't twist my words! it's not like i don't want to adopt it."

"that's the impression you're giving right now."

wonwoo sighs, running a hand through his hair. "i want a cat. and i want it with you. but don't you think it's not fair when i'm not home for a lot of time? i don't want you to raise it all by yourself. what if it doesn't know who i am?"

you stifle a snort. "that's your main concern?"

wonwoo tilts his head. "what else would it be?"

"you're afraid you're going to be an absent dad?"

"is that so bad?"

you let out a laugh. "no. not at all. but does that mean we can get a cat when we move in together?"

wonwoo hesitates. "yes, but i'd rather get it when i don't tour as much, you know?"

you sigh. "you just don't think it's cute enough, do you?"

"what? no! of course not! i was the one who showed it to you, not the other way round."

wonwoo looks cute like this, you think, arguing with you about the tiniest things ever. you hope you'll always argue about stuff like this. without a second thought, you move into his lap and hold his face in your hands, pressing kisses all over it. he lets out a confused noise before holding your waist and letting you do what you want.

"i love you, you know that?" you say earnestly, looking into his eyes.

"i love you too?" he says, frowning slightly.

"you look cute when you're serious. like you're trying to be angry with me, but you're not actually angry. and you also look a bit hot."

he blinks. "are you trying to seduce me into getting you a cat?"

you gasp dramatically. "why would you think that? i mean, what if i was?"

he looks at you for a moment before he chuckles and presses a kiss to your neck. "do you really want it that bad? i'll look into it, i promise."

the third time you try is when you're at the supermarket a few weeks later. wonwoo prefers shopping late at night, especially on friday nights, because there's not many people around.

you don't mind. you like spending late nights out with wonwoo, letting time pass while the night bleeds into day. especially because the day in question is saturday.

you're currently in the dairy products aisle, wonwoo looking at two different brands of tofu and comparing their expiration dates when you suddenly wrap your hands around his waist, pressing yourself to his back. there's no one else around you, and you really hope there's no camera capturing your antics.

wonwoo doesn't budge, simply putting one of the packets back. "i think we'll take this," he says, dropping the remaining one into your basket. "you're going to have to teach me how to make that soup."

you don't respond, still pressed to his back.

wonwoo sets down the basket and tugs you off him, pulling you around so you're facing him.

then he tips your chin up, leans down, and places a gentle kiss on your lips.

you don't know what to say when he pulls away. you can't even tell if it lasted for a few seconds or some minutes. he's worn his nighttime pajamas to the supermarket and he still looks amazing. you know you look like an idiot when he smiles at you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

"you could have just asked for a kiss, you know." then he turns back to look at the other products like he didn't just steal your breath away in the middle of a supermarket close to midnight.

you were trying to get him flustered, but it's not like you're complaining.

it finally happens, but when you're expecting it the least. you and wonwoo have just gotten back from the fair that's been open near your place for the past week, somehow having time off from work on the same day.

you've enjoyed yourself for the first time in weeks, strolling through the place with your hand in wonwoo's, sipping on hot chocolate, letting him win you a mario figurine (he'd wanted to try again to get you a plushie, but you found the figurine infinitely funnier), and just taking a ton of pictures with and of him.

you've also bought a lot of little stuff which has amounted to the two bags currently occupying your hands, which is why you sheepishly ask wonwoo if he can unlock the door.

he takes your keys from your jacket without question and opens the door, letting you in first. you're thinking about whether you should set the bags aside and untie your shoes or risk a little damage by just kicking them off, when wonwoo slides past you in your stupidly little hallway and switches on the lights.

his foot catches with yours and he ends up with his back to the wall, while you trip and turn in a desperate attempt not to fall on your face and break the little jars of various jams you've bought.

you get a little more than what you've bargained for when you stumble forward and land your hands on the wall, one on either side of his chest. you're just thankful neither of you is hurt, but when you look up, wonwoo's face is slowly turning red.

for the first time in the two years you've been together, wonwoo's flustered. you're glad he flipped the lights on, because seeing him with a blush on his face seems almost alien. his vision constantly flits between your face and the spot over your shoulder, unwilling to meet your eyes.

you don't know what to say. "wonwoo. i'll fall if i keep holding on any longer."

"oh," he breathes, "yes. right." he looks at you for a moment, unsure how to maneuver you to stand without making you lose your balance, and settles for his hands around your waist. you manage to stand with his help, putting the bags on the floor carefully before a grin makes its way across your face.

"of all the things i've been trying to do to get you to blush, that's what did it?"

he looks at your eyes and then at the floor. "why would you even try to do that?"

"i've never seen you blush! i had to."

"did you get what you wanted?"

he still isn't meeting your eyes. his glasses are halfway across his nose because of the angle you're at, so you push them up for him. "i didn't even plan for this to happen, you know. but it's definitely what i wanted. and you're pretty," you add, revelling in the redness of his ears.

he shakes his head and lets out a small chuckle. "is there any chance you'll let me off the hook anytime soon?"

"as if."

[luveline]

hi hi honey! so i sent this request before but tumblrs been eating my asks so i’m gonna send it again,

i’m the person who asked about the kisses before dinner universe and so since u said u hadn’t gotten any requests for it i wanted to send u one! u mentioned that it was quite nerve wracking the first time reader got pregnant so maybe u could do a blurb where steve’s just comforting her and reassuring her during that time? if u want something more simple, it could just be a small blurb of how their night goes when reader comes home from work or something? ty and i hope tumblr actually ate my request and i’m not bombarding u with this again :(have a good day lovely ❤️

i love kisses before dinner i wanna write a thousand blurbs for them, thank you for requesting! here's steve and u when ur pregnant the first time with avery <3 fem!pregnant!reader

You're more young than you'd planned to be, the first time. Young and terrified.

Steve knows how scared you are, and though he hasn't suggested anything again since the first time you'd made up your mind, you know that any path you take is the one he wants to take with you. Having his support makes it easier, but it certainly doesn't make it easy.

Pregnancy is terrifying. It can make you so sick. It can kill you. So while it's beautiful, and Steve insists it's doing numbers for your complexion, it's gruelling.

You're not even that pregnant yet and still you're fucking tired.

"Stevie?" you call, or try to, voice hoarse with fatigue.

He emerges rather than answer, arms open wide and waiting. "Hey, sweetheart."

And that's new. Steve has always been a "babe" or "baby" kind of guy. Your pregnancy has made him soft.

He's careful not to press against your stomach though it doesn't hurt even slightly when he does, abdomen held away from the small swell of your bump as he gets his arms under your armpits, hands rubbing over your shoulder blades. "Hello," he says sweetly, kissing your cheeks, your chin. "I missed you so much." He hesitates for a second, and then he lets a hand slide between your bodies.

You lean back to let him know it's okay.

"And you," he adds, palm flat over your stomach, "I missed you, too."

"I don't feel very well."

He nods. "Alright. Come and sit down."

That's another one of his insistences. Total, awful honesty. Pregnancy is full of problems, like morning sickness and heartburn and back ache and nausea and headaches. It leaves you stressed and exhausted, and Steve had made it very clear that any complaining was welcomed.

You know, in your heart of hearts, that he's more excited for this baby than you are. He's terrified, too, but he's brimming with joy half the time, so eager to meet whoever it is that comes out on the other side. And you know he feels indebted to you, though he shouldn't. You want this baby a lot.

But Steve aches for them. He's gonna be a great dad.

Right now, he needs to be an amazing boyfriend almost husband.

I don't want a pregnancy proposal, you'd said.

His guilty smile had given him away fast. I want to marry you.

And I want to marry you, Stevie, I do. But not because we're having a baby.

In your mind, he's not your husband or your boyfriend, he's your Steve, as silly as it sounds. He's your everything. He's the only thing getting you through this.

Steve sits you down on a cushion in the kitchen and plants another kiss on top of your head. You haven't lost any mobility yet, but the pleasure of being cared for so deeply makes it hard to turn him down when he guides you around like this. Though, sometimes, when you're cranky, you complain about being babied. He takes it all in stride.

He cracks open a cold bottle of water and gives it to you. Then he turns back to the chopping board next to the stove and finishes what he'd been doing before you arrived, funnelling slices fruit into the colander. He rinses it, and then he pours it into a bowl and puts it in front of you.

"You want peanut butter?" he asks, wrapping his arms slowly and carefully across your shoulders, chin hooked over your shoulder. "Honey? I could melt down some chocolate?"

You pick up a shimmering slice of watermelon and tip your head back to feed him.

"Salted caramel?" he asks as he chews.

You smile softly at him and lift your chin until he gets the memo, leaning down enough for you to kiss the side of his mouth.

"Stevie," you say, because he's so fucking lovely and you love him and not everything hurts when he's around, "I love you. I hope you know how much."

He blinks at you, swallowing hurriedly. "I know," he says.

"Okay, good."

"You think I don't know? Sweetheart, you're carying our kid."

"But if I weren't, I'd still love you this much."

He softens like taffy in the sun, rubbing the tip of his nose into your cheek adoringly. "If you weren't, I'd still love this much, too."

You breathe him in, the wet crush of watermelon between you and his lingering aftershave.

"But you are," he says eventually, kissing your cheek again and then pulling back. "So you better tell me if you want peanut butter of chocolate."

You choose. Steve is delighted, spoiling you with fruits and toppings and asking about work as he starts to make dinner instead. That's another conversation you've already had — he's still working now, but when the baby comes, he's gonna stay home even after maternity leave ends. And if you change your mind and want to stay home instead, that'll be okay too. He's a dream like that. Accommodating your every want and wish.

And so, he's teaching himself how to cook. It's more hit than miss, shockingly, and almost always nutritionally golden.

"Broccoli again?" you ask, trying to hide your amusement.

"Our munchkin's gonna be the healthiest kid ever. TV dinners are for schmucks."

You aren't sure he'll be saying that when he actually has a kid. "She won't be able to eat broccoli for the first six months."

"She wont," he agrees, clearly overjoyed at the idea of a little girl, "but when she can, she's gonna love it."

The fruit is nice and then not. You might've overindulged, or maybe your stomach's being sensitive, but suddenly it smells very strong and you have to push it away, keeling in on yourself with a sigh.

Steve doesn't fuss dramatically, but he does fuss, hand hesitant behind your shoulders.

"You need a bucket, baby?"

"No, I-" Saliva pools in your mouth. "Maybe."

He's swift, kneeling in front of you with the bucket positioned at your feet, hand sliding between your legs to find your hand where it's kneeding your aching stomach.

"She's bullying you, huh?" he asks sympathetically.

"She's barely the size of an apple," you moan, sweat prickling across your brow. "How can she do this to me?"

He strokes the inside of your hand with both thumbs. "She doesn't mean to."

You know that.

Eventually the sickness subsides. You don't throw up. Steve seems as happy as you do about this, kissing your hand with a very apologetic expression.

"I'm sorry," he says.

You lean back in your chair, back already aching, and pull him up onto his feet. If he's surprised at your strength he doesn't say anything, only closes you in again with his arms over your shoulders and his cheek pressed to your warm forehead.

"Don't be. We knew-" You laugh. "I knew this would be hard. I knew it would suck. But I want to do this with you."

"Even though you're scared," he murmurs.

"Even though I'm scared."

His hugs are a balm, always. You melt with relief the longer he holds you, listening to the pot simmering on the stove, lid rattling, steam whistling out of the gap. There's a fondness in his hands you find difficult to describe, devotion or something similar, big palms roving the lengths and slopes of your arms and back like you're made of the most precious thing on earth.

"I won't let anything happen to you."

That's sobering. You suppose you can fall into dramatics about it. Pregnancy is solemn, but it's also completely normal. Millions of people are pregnant right this second. You smile into his jaw, breath hot as you laugh.

"I know, baby," you say, more cheerful than you've sounded all night. "Promise."

He laughs too.

"My girl," he says, too much like the song. You're worried he's gonna start singing. Actually, you might like it.

"Can we listen to the radio?"

"Depends. Will you dance with me?"

You dance with him. You suppose it's a good idea to get all your dancing out now while you can, because in a month or two you'll have cankles, and not long after that you'll have your arms full. He pulls you in and spins you out, brown eyes dancing with a brand new happiness, silky hair falling in perfect layers either side.

"I hope she has your eyes," you say. The shape of them.

"I hope she's your carbon copy," he says, twirling you around, radio hiding the clumsy patter of your socked feet. "A mini you. God, what will I do then? I can barely say no to you."

"You never say no to me."

"Exactly."

He smiles so hard his lashes kiss in the corners, a pleased squinting grin. He can say what he likes. If she doesn't get his smile you'll riot.

[flower-yi]

(just sending the ask again bc tumblr crashed when I send it orz, so I'm sorry if it shows up double!)

hii, its octopus/viioletnoir from ao3 :> just read your new chapters, and for the prompt thingy, may I request nr. 36 with Bladie please? ♡♡

I hope you have a wonderful day!!

36. Helping brushing their hair after a shower. | "One summer, I taught myself how to announce in Latin to the world that I wanted nothing at all, when, in truth, I was desperate to be heard, understood, loved; my name a warm memory; There was the wind and the ocean, and in it there were whales that lowed in the darkness like the onset of collapse; There was this dark will, and what could I say but my name and what hurt?" All I Know, Paul Guest

It is sudden, and it is new: the image of Blade sat in front of a dresser, reflection showing you behind him. His hair is wet, damp from a shower, and his normally pale skin flushes with a hint of crimson—some sort of sign that he’s alive, but barely.

You admit it’s strange. Blade is not one to be… coddled like this, but sometimes, for how predictable he is, he can be spontaneous.

“You look nice.” Blade feels nice in your embrace, arms wound gently around his shoulders; tiptoe barely helping in reaching him. He is silent, like always—only ever making a sound as a response, and this time, the noise that leaves him is warm.

When you look at the mirror, his eyes has slipped close and a pleasant air wafts around him.

Oh, you can’t help but comment on it. “A shower can get you like this, huh? Mm, well… I like it. It suits you.”

It hangs in the air, your compliment. You don’t divulge further that he looks alive like this, few minutes out of the shower, because Blade, right now, has a countenance of someone normal—someone you’d see in the streets and not regret knowing.

“Mm… thank you.”

“Oh, manners?” You press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’re being nice today. I wonder what’s happened.”

The both of you don’t have to wonder, really. It’s one of the few moments there’s no imminent scripts to play out because Elio decided to take a rest in some rare fashion. All of the hunters dispersed to places they normally reside when not called, and in Blade’s case, it is with you.

You make barely a move of your arms to put them elsewhere and a bandaged hand comes up to wrap itself around, as if to stop you. Then, something cold grazes your skin, and with a glance down, you see the tip of his nose pressing onto your arm, and— and he sighs.

Stunned, you fall silent.

Another breath. “We have all day,” his voice rumbles, as if to say do not leave.

Blade’s voice allows you to get your bearings, and you say, in response, “I just want to brush your hair, silly,” You press another kiss on him, this time on the back of his head. With his grip loosening, as if some form of relief has made itself clear, your arms fall back.

A hairbrush is within your hold, one that’s been barely used. It’s Blade’s, something you’ve bought him months ago, but only now has it returned to your hand since the day you brought it home.

(Blade’s reaction when you got it was a simple appreciative hum, and he returned to whatever he was working on.

You remember leaving a lipstick mark on his face before he went out on a mission. He came home with a storm in his eyes.

It was in tact. Barely been touched at all, despite how disheveled his clothes were.)

One of the things that surprised you about him was how soft his hair was. You’d gotten a touch of it before you were Blade’s partner, and it was nice. Silky, managed, and most of all, beautiful.

You expressed it to him, once, and he fixed you with a firm stare. Only then, when Kafka told you of his origins, did you understand. (It was innocent, however. Blade could not fault you once for it.)

“Did you use my shampoo?” The strands fall perfectly into place, dividing like a glimmering waterfall under the bristles. You press your nose to his shoulder, enamored, “Wow. You even used my soap, too.”

Something akin to an amused huff leaves him. “You choose your products wisely.”

“Do I?” You’re grinning. “Well, that settles it. We’ll both be smelling like each other.”

(In the mirror, there is a quirk of a smile curling his lips; so faint that even you miss it. But it does not matter. Because to him, your smiles are enough to replace his own.)

With each brush of his hair, you fill in the space of quiet Blade leaves you to occupy. You talk about everything; to how lucky he is that he’s got a partner that would brush his hair like this, to how his hand should hurry up and heal for him to play with Silver Wolf, to how he should allow you and Kafka to spend time together—to which he frowns at—to how you think you’re seeing wrinkles on your face, and a few white hairs spurting out.

“I think you should pluck them out today. What do you think?”

Blade is quiet. Too quiet, perhaps. You discard the brush on the vanity, glancing at the mirror—

"You will be the first to have hair turned white," Blade suddenly speaks. "I will follow second."

You ask, "Would you still be here by then?"

He turns, moving his hair from your hands, and fixes you with a smoldering gaze. Blade doesn't need to answer, you think. The curse will force him to live longer than you will, and that knowledge burns at the back of your mind, but you want to humor yourself despite knowing your lover will roam the earth until eternity.

"I will be," Blade's reply comes unexpected. "I expect to be the one to see you off."

Is this panic you're feeling, or comfort? Panic in him setting aside his desire to die for you, for your presence in his life, for the respite that you bring? Or comfort in knowing he'll live until then, until your body decides to become one with the soil, until you say your last I love you?

It's becoming hard to speak, pressing yourself up to his side; arms wound tight around him. "Like some pretty grim reaper,“ You force out, teeth gritted. ”That sounds so ironic.“

“It is an act of love,” Blade defends. “Don’t misunderstand.”

How could you not, when you are always faced with the fact that your lover will never meet their end?

[poraphia]

Hi there! Could you make a cc!wilbur x reader fluff story? I had this idea where the reader comforts Wilbur because maybe he saw some Wilbur slander, or a hate channel about him, or something like that, or vice versa (Wilbur comforts us). Tysm!!

"A Man Of Many Talents"

pairing • cc!wilbur soot x reader 1188 words • 9/23/23 containing • little angsty, wilbur is sad, article talking down on wilbur and reader's relationship, reader comforts wilbur my masterlist ~! ღ mrs. mania ღ on Tumblr

"even when you're traveling the world, even when you're making videos of all kind, i still love you all the same."

♡♡♡

Wilbur, as many of his fans know, is a face of many.

But sometimes, the man suffers in his own success.

We were sitting in our living room, cuddling on the couch. It had been months since we’d laid with each other like this. The A/C filled our space with white noise, and the TV was at a moderate volume with the captions on. I watched the silly cartoons playing on the screen while Wilbur buried himself in my chest. He held his phone close as he mindlessly scrolled through the media. I ran fingers through his curly hair, gently tugging out his tangled knots.

Wil hasn’t been home for more than a month since the beginning of the year. We’ve been distant but kept in contact to the best of our abilities since the launch of his new group channel and his band’s world tour. Wil was finally taking his break month to rewind from such major projects. Finally, there was no struggle to match up time zones, finding the signal to text, and not being awake to answer Facetime calls. We were next to each other, engulfed in each other's warmth.

That was until a certain article Wil saw that pierced a hole right in his heart.

I felt Wil stiffen in my embrace, which made me raise an eyebrow. My hand moved down to his cheek and I began caressing his cheek. “Hey, darling, are you alright?” I asked softly. He didn’t respond. Instead, his eyebrows furrowed as his eyes frantically read the lines of text. Abruptly, he sat up on the edge of the couch, leaving me lying down with confusion rushing through my body. Suddenly it felt cold the moment his body heat left me. I slowly sat up, now sitting next to him. I tilted my head and examined the stern look on his face. The white glow of his phone illuminated his eyes, but it was more of a strain to his eyes than a starry twinkle.

“Honey?” I called out to him again.

He whipped his head around. His eyes were wide, and it felt as if he were looking right past me. I felt like a ghost next to him. He parted his lips, almost to say something, but he stopped. Instead, he stood up and left me on the couch.

“Hey!” I exclaimed. I stood up as well and followed him to the kitchen. “Wilbur, why are you ignoring me?” I asked, my concerned tone seeping into my words. Again, he didn’t speak. He dropped his phone onto the island table, making a clattering sound against the marble. His hand wrapped around the fridge handle before swinging it open and taking a bottle of water inside. Wil nearly ripped off the cap before chugging it down. I stood a few feet from him, not sure how to proceed. My hands fidgeted with the ends of my sleeves as I nervously bit my tongue.

A moment of silence passed between us as he stared down to his feet. I shifted my weight from one foot to another, feeling my heart skip a little. Finally, he spoke up.

“You… You love me, right?” Wilbur said, barely loud enough to be considered a whisper.

I tilted my head. “What?” I said, bewildered at such a question. “Of course, I love you! Why wouldn’t I?”

His grip around the water bottle tightened, crumpling the plastic. He then turned around and handed me his phone, showing me the article he was so fixated on.

“Wilbur Gold: showering in success, suffering in his relationship?”

My eyes widened. What the fuck is this about? I quietly read to myself.

“William Gold, famously known to play in well-known Minecraft servers, lead singer of an on-tour indie band, and member of an adventurous improvisation group, is known to be a busy man. What many people don’t know is that he has been in a committed relationship for years. How does he have time to be with the love of his life knowing that he’s been away from home for so long? Matter of fact, he barely even mentions them in interviews and concerts! His partner may need to start rethinking their relationship because William Gold certainly doesn’t show us what kind of a boyfriend he can be.”

I looked at Wil, his eyes refused to meet mine.

“I… I know I haven’t been the best boyfriend lately, but I mean— You know nearly all my songs it’s inspired by you!” He ran a stressed hand through his untamed hair. “Like in Warsaw, I mentioned our first kiss, and then in It’s Golden Hour Somewhere, there were the pixels! The pixels off your lips!” He explained, near frantic. “I— I—” Wil stumbled over his words as tears threatened to spill out of his eyes. He threw his head back with his palms covering his eyes. I felt my heart drop at the sight of him as I could only imagine what doubts and stress he had running through his head.

Slowly, I approached him. My feet glided against the cold tiles before I wrapped my arms around his long torso. His frantic breathing slowed, and so did his heartbeat. As I pressed my ear against his chest I could feel it pounding against me. His shoulders started to relax, and his arms fell to either side of his torso.

“Wilbur, you are the best boyfriend I could ever ask for and more.” I mumbled. “We’ve been through thick and thin. We went through long distance, arguments, hell I’ve even seen you drunk out of your mind when you threw up everywhere. “ I chuckled. I lifted my head away and grabbed his chin to look him in the eyes. “But I promise you, nothing, and I mean nothing, about you being busy has made me question our relationship. I love cheering you on and achieve your dreams. I know you take me in your heart alongside it all, and that is truly enough to make me happy.”

Wil placed a hand on top of mine. “You… You promise, right?” He asked, his voice trembling a bit. I gently smiled, reassuring him.

“I promise.” I stood on my tippy toes and nuzzled his nose with mine, finally seeing those cute dimples of his deepen with a toothy grin. He wrapped his arms around my torso, picking me up and spinning me around. I buried myself into his shoulder while giggling, wrapping my arms tight around his neck. He placed me down on the island counter before hugging me tightly. His nose poked at my neck.

“I need to brag about you more…” He muffled into my skin. I felt his hot breath against me, making my skin tingle.

“You don’t have to!” I exclaimed.

“I doooo!” Wilbur buzzed. “In fact, I’m gonna kiss you in front of eeeeveryone one day! On the stage!”

I rolled my eyes before placing a kiss on his forehead.

“Maybe one day…” I hummed.

♡♡♡

a / n ~ not proofread! just wanted to get this out as fast as possible aaahhh but i hope you enjoyed! reblogs and notes of all kinds are superrr appreciated!

[stop-talking]

So I guess I should do an intro post / fanfic masterlist

Hi.

• I'm 20 yrs old, she/her, and obsessed with Josh Hutcherson. (Mike & Futturman especially have my heart)

• I'm new to writing, but I read like crazy and spend 90% of my time daydreaming up little stories about my favorite characters. Just using Tumblr as an outlet to get those little stories to the world.

• Feel free to request any fanfic related to a jhutch character. I'm most comfortable writing for Mike, Futturman, and Derek, but I'm willing to try to write for other characters. (Minus Peeta. Thinking about the Hunger Games makes me unreasonably sad & I'm not sure I know his character well enough to do him justice.)

My Works

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

✩ Mike Schmidt:

You're his ex, but he's desperate for a babysitter. (18+)

Exactly what it sounds like. His babysitter goes missing, but he can't leave Abby home alone. Unfortunately, he's broke as fuck, and can't afford to pay someone to watch her. So... he calls you. He'll endure your bitchy attitude and relentless teasing if it means his sister will be safe. Somewhere along the way, endure turns to enjoy.

Fem reader; 10k words (total)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

No Abby, we're not getting ice cream.

Silly little one-off about the average shopping trip for Mike and Abby. He's just trying to get things for dinner, but Abby has other plans. Just Mike being the single mother that he is.

Mike's POV; 1.2k words

Read here

Open wide (18+)

Mike hasn't been to the dentist since he was a kid, but with his new job, and health insurance... he really has no excuse not to. One problem, though. He doesn't remember the experience being so... erotic? Is he insane, or is the attractive, young, dental assistant... hitting on him?

Gender-neutral reader; 2.8k words

Read here

Sleepless Nights

Abby is sure something's up with her brother. He's always been tired, sure, but ever since the events at Freddy's... well, he's gotten a lot worse. The stubborn man won't let her help, so she convinces him she's the one in need of comfort.

Abby's POV; 500 words

Read here

Gender-neutral reader; 2.8k words

✩ Derek Danforth:

So I'm stuck on this shithole island, and I can't even have a smoke? (18+)

You're hired by his mother as a last resort to try and get him sober. Alone with just him for three weeks, your job is to rehabilitate him.

Unfortunately, Derek sees you as his personal chef, maid, and whore. You flat-out refuse at first, but well, after so many days of only interacting with each other... The lines are a little blurred. something-to-lovers. It's complicated.

Fem reader; 22.9k words total (so far)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 (Part 8 coming soon)

Derek sending you nudes while you're at work (blurb) (18+)

Read here

Older; not Wiser (18+)

Derek isn't the type to entertain 20-year-olds. Really, he's not. That is, until one falls right into his lap. Literally.

You're just so sweet and fun, how could he ever dream of saying no when you ask him to show you a good time?

Part 1 (Part 2 coming soon)

fem reader; 2.5k words

✩ Josh Futturman:

Win for me ♡ (18+)

You're tired of your boyfriend paying more attention to his stupid game than you. So, late one night, you take matters into your own hands. Literally. Hopefully his little gaming buddies don't mind hearing him moan into the mic...

Gender-neutral reader; 2.3k words

Read here

✩ Clapton Davis

Saturday School

(Request) "Imagine listening to music with Clapton while in detention... like sharing earbuds with him while y'all sit in silence. Then a cringe song comes on at the wrong time LMAO"

Gender-neutral reader; 2k words

Read here

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

[wing-dingy]

Remember when I said I wasn't gonna post fanfics? I lied. I'm gonna post just this one as an excuse to have some Johnshi in my life but also because its rare I write a fic that isnt a self indulgent oc fic

This is just a lil fic where Kenshi comforts Johnny after a stunt on set leaves him with an injured ankle, mostly cute banter. Also sorry if the formatting looks weird, i dont normally post fics to tumblr so idk how to space my paragraphs like I do on google docs.

Click. Step. Click. Step.

The Hollywood actor carried himself on his crutches across the room, from the door to his living room couch, where he saw Kenshi waiting in anticipation.

“Honey, I'm home,” Johnny announced in a parody of those old movies, how he loved his dumb movie references.

“Doesn't sound like good news. Are those crutches?” Kenshi asked, judging by the sound and the patterns of the sound. Though he usually relied on Sento for sight, he hardly ever felt the need to in a casual setting, so it rested in the mantle above the fireplace.

“Yeup. Doc says I'll need ‘em for a few weeks, a month at most.”

Kenshi crossed his arms and leaned back on the couch. “Was that stunt still worth it?”

Johnny snorted, “Totally, the shot came out perfect! You may not know this, but I do all of my own stunts. Impresses everybody when I tell them that!” He dropped a small paper bag of his prescribed painkillers on the coffee table and sat next to Kenshi, wincing as he lifted his ankle to rest it on the same table.

“Aren't stuntmen used so the real actors don't get hurt?”

“I mean- yeah. But don't worry, they're just gonna film everything else until I come back, which should be in no time. I'm just built different.”

Kenshi could just hear the cocky smile, causing him to shake his head in disbelief, but he couldn't hold back the small bit of laughter at Johnny’s pride and confidence. “Alright, but it looks like it's my turn to take care of you again.”

“Don't sweat it, Ken doll, I can take care of myself. You've already helped me enough, and you've got yourself to look after,” He noted all too seriously. Obviously there still rested some guilt in his heart over Mileena's rabid attack that day.

“That ankle needs to rest. That movie needs you and you need the money from it.” Undeniable. Johnny was still getting back on his feet (not literally now) after a messy and expensive divorce, he needed whatever work he could get at the moment. “You just let me know when you need something.”

Johnny sighed as he looked down at his injured ankle. These next few weeks were going to be the most boring while of his life.

Kenshi seemed to know Johnny wasn't feeling so good by the sudden quietness, not even a silly request from his offer. When Johnny of all people was quiet, there was a problem. “Johnny? You alright?”

“Yeah… I've just never been good at sitting still and doing nothing, you know? Now I can't even use my own pool in my living room,” He complained, as if having a pool in the living room was a normal thing.

“Come on, Johnny, you still have a whole mansion. Unless your attention span really is that small, you're not gonna get bored,” Kenshi lovingly poked at him. “It’s not like you're alone either.”

Johnny noded with a small smile of comfort. “That's right, I've got you, my best friend, boyfriend, and assigned FBI agent,” Johnny joked. Gods, not again with the assigned FBI agent meme. “And hey, maybe we can invite Kung Lao and Raiden over to hang out. You think Liu Kang would wanna drop by?”

Kenshi gave an amused smirk. “Probably not, but Kung Lao, might.”

Johnny looked down at the table again, spotting a marker. He groaned and wheezed as he leaned over to grab it, trying not to move his ankle off the table as his finger tips barely touched the marker.

“Johnny what are you-” Before he could finish his question, he felt a marker tapping against his hand.

“You wanna be the first to sign my cast?” Johnny offered, trying to play it off cool but his excitement was slipping past in his voice.

“You mean Hollywood’s megastar wants my autograph?” Kenshi teased. He took the marker into his hand, and Johnny guided his hand down to his cast. Confidently, Kenshi began writing his name.

“Not bad writing for someone who can't really see,” Johnny complimented, meaning it obviously and trying to make it sound like that rather than a mockery.

“I still know the motions of writing, that's enough to get by.” Of course Johnny hadn't seen Kenshi's messier writing at his job and maybe it should stay that way.

The real surprise was the small heart he drew right below his own name. Kenshi wasn't so into PDA, nor into cutesy stuff like that, so it caught Johnny off guard to see the small display. It wasn't like people didn't know they were dating, Johnny was way too into showing off their love and too loud to keep that secret, but it was rather that Kenshi was a more subtle lover when it came to their relationship, preferring to keep things behind doors. Still, it was a nice surprise, and at least now it made the cast way better to look at! Of course Johnny was already pulling out his phone to snap a photo of it to post to his socials.

“You're posting your cast, aren't you?” Kenshi reasonably accused.

“Gotta let the fans know production might be on hold.”

“Is that it? Or are you bragging about us again?”

Johnny snickered, meaning Kenshi was right. “Okay, you got me, but how can I not show you off? You're the coolest! A blind swordsman? Dating Hollywood's biggest hit? We're like a power couple!”

If Kenshi still had his eyeballs, he'd be lovingly rolling them, but admittedly it was kind of cute seeing how enthusiastic Johnny was about their relationship- and kind of funny to think about considering they were previously rivals over Sento.

Kenshi leaned in to press a kiss to Johnny's cheek, and he could feel the wrinkles of a smile under his lips. “Looks like you're feeling better about that ankle.”

“As long as I have you by my side, this injury is gonna be a breeze!” Now it was Johnny's turn to lean in, this time leaning to rest his head on Kenshi with closed eyes and a content smile. Kenshi reciprocated by wrapping an arm around Johnny to hold him. “Shit, that medicine they gave me is starting to catch up.”

“You get sleepy off of a couple Tylenols,” Kenshi playfully quipped, making Johnny laugh.

“Just saying it's a good excuse to nap on you! Unless you're gonna tele-fling me to bed again.”

Kenshi shook his head. “Maybe when your ankle isn't as broken. Right here is fine, just keep your ankle up.”

“Sweet,” Johnny happily murmured as he felt himself starting to doze off. Damn, Tylenol really did knock him out.

[circular-bircular]

“You can have DID without trauma!”

Vent art. Mod “Armageddon.” Tw for COCSA and general abuse.

You are a system. You have DID. You do not know this.

You go through 15 years, not knowing this — just existing in a haze, having such a bright childhood, one you grasp for later in the dark moments, trying desperately to hold onto it.

At 15, you realize, wait. I think something’s wrong. You realize you don’t feel like “yourself” — and even more alarming, you don’t know who “you” even are. You hear voices, suddenly, in your head. You find notes you clearly wrote, but it’s someone else’s handwriting, someone else’s words to “you.”

You just need to figure out who “you” is.

You go to your sexual abuser abusive romantic partner best friend because your abusive neglectful overbearing parents would never understand, or might be too worried about you. You ask them, “What’s wrong with me? I’m scared. I’m confused. I feel like I’m going to die.”

They smile. They want you, they need you to stay, and to stay you can’t be scared. “Don’t worry — that’s normal.”

You sigh in relief. Thank goodness. You’re fine. You’re okay. Nothing is wrong. The voices are just normal things everyone else experiences. The fun imaginative things in my head are normal. The fighting, screaming, sobbing, fear, need to run, need to love, need to help everyone while fully believing you’re about to get hit, or touched, or watched, always watched—

Don’t worry. That’s normal.

You are a system. You have DID. You do not know this.

You are 19. You’re not sure when that happened — isn’t time silly that way? You are normal. You were a bit “quirky” and “cringy” in high school, roleplaying a lot. You do not remember the voices in your head. You do not remember their names. You do not remember two entire years of high school, and you do not remember that you have forgotten.

You see a student presentation in class about a story, and how the main character could be read as having dissociative identity disorder. “The symptoms come from childhood trauma,” the student says, “but people don’t always remember their trauma.”

She describes the symptoms. You feel… weird. Why does that sound so familiar? So normal? You laugh a little and look around, expecting everyone else to be rolling their eyes at such an obvious observation. How ridiculous of psychologists to diagnose a very normal thing, right? But everyone else is nodding along, very interested, and the professor praises the student for her psychological lens, and “valuable research gathering on a rare disorder.”

You don’t remember going to your dorm, or the test you took that day online. The next thing you remember is not being “you” anymore, because “you” is locked in a room in your mind, and now you’re someone else, sobbing at the website you’ve pulled up. It’s about dissociative identity disorder.

You’re not you. You’re someone else.

You go to your best friend. You tell them everything at 4am, sobbing because you don’t know what to do anymore, and you’re scared, because you don’t know who you are.

“You’re not crazy. This isn’t normal, but you aren’t crazy. I believe you.”

You breathe for the first time in years months weeks days.

You are 19. You have DID. You think.

There’s only one problem; you don’t have trauma. You do. It’s there. They hurt you so much, you idiot, why can’t you hear the voices screaming that at you? So what on earth are you experiencing?

You try to research it. All you have is a DSM-III and resources on multiple personality disorder. And, of course, tumblr — your home away from home.

You find a war happening. People with trauma versus people who say they have none. They all seem to hear voices, and many are angry and struggling and confused, just like you. You must be like these “plurals” you’ve seen. The ones without trauma but with DID. That’s not what that was, and you know that now, but it’s was so hard to tell back then.

You join them. “I have DID,” you say, “but I don’t have trauma.”

“That’s okay!” They tell you. “You can have DID without trauma.”

What a relief. You’re normal. You’re fine. You’re not like those anti-endos, you’re told. “They medicalize their systems,” you’re told, “and their therapists are abusing them.” You feel so bad for those poor systems. They’re not like you; you’re fine. You’re normal. Unlike them.

You try to avoid the traumatized ones, but you see so many of them getting angry. They keep yelling about these people who don’t have trauma, who are “appropriating a disorder” — that same disorder you clearly have, but you don’t have trauma.

You crash your car while dissociating so hard that you hallucinate your parts headmates around you. And you are happy, because at least you have a family to take care of you. Isn't it so nice to see your parts headmates in real life?

You're normal. It's okay. You don't have trauma. You don't need trauma to be a system, and you love being a system. No you DON'T, the parts scream, you're dreaming! Wake up! Wake up, please, god, don't let that woman hug you, don't you know what she did--

You keep moving on.

Then you see the arguments that spark something in you. “You need trauma, but the age range is wider than you’d think.”

Your sexual abuser abusive romantic partner best friend from high school. There’d been that time you fell out with her. That time you blew up at her because she’d kissed you in public, blamed you for teasing her too much. You realize how little you remember.

What else have you forgotten?

“I have trauma but it’s well past the age range,” you say to an anti-endo, knowing you shouldn't have spoken to them, because everyone tells you not to -- but none of them are traumatized, and this person is. “What’s wrong with people having this disorder without trauma?”

“There’s decades of research on this,” you’re told. “It sounds like you do have trauma. Consider that you might have some you don’t remember. Otherwise, you don’t have DID.”

You are 19. You have DID, you know it. You ignore this person. “These other people told me I don’t need trauma. You’re just gatekeeping. You’re just wrong. I’m not traumatized. I’m not like you. I’m better.”

You go to the ones who comforted you, listened to you, manipulated you. "I have trauma, I think, but it's past the age those anti-endos talk about, how ridiculous are they?"

"I'm so proud of you for standing up to those sysmeds! A lot of us have been traumatized because of how people treat our system. I'm sorry those anti-endos traumatized you."

"Well, it wasn't them -- but you're right. Anti-endos are traumatizing. They've traumatized me."

You believe the lie you spread, because they spread it first, and it sounds right. You do not mention that you learned you were sexually assaulted by a peer as a child. That would just be trauma dumping, and that would make you no better than a sysmed.

You are 19. You’re “cured” of your DID, because the plurals around you say that if you like your system, you don’t have DID. They say if you can’t remember your trauma, you probably don’t have any, and “most DID is caused by trauma, you just might be a disordered plural.” They call you endogenic, or mixed-origin, or autigenic. Trying to suggest you have DID leads to them talking about those horrible traumatized systems DID systems disordered systems anti-endos.

“You can’t listen to them. You can’t reblog from them. They’re homophobic, racist, transphobic, bigoted, ableist, wrong. Any information they share is ableist.”

You listen. You always have. You roll your eyes good naturedly at them suggesting you don't have trauma -- they just meant your system isn't caused by trauma. They just misspoke. That's all.

... But what if they're right?

You are 20. You are a ????? system. You say you have DID, because you are disordered and fit all of the criteria, and you can have DID without trauma. Maybe you are just plural?

You start getting into fights with systems online. You spread misinformation your experiences. Anyone who disagrees with you is an ableist gatekeeper. You get fakeclaimed and it hurts. Now you are traumatized by anti-endos. You try to avoid them more, falling deeper into those circles that include everyone, including you. They must love you. They love everyone.

You see a post about trauma. You realize, slowly, so so slowly, your parents have hurt you. You remember everything. No??? You remember so little, the voices scream, sob, you can’t remember it because you’re not even trying to. Why bother trying when you can live in denial, and keep getting abused each time you go home, and keep getting hurt worse and worse every single weekend?

You are 20. You are a DID system. You have trauma. You know some of it.

You go to your manipulators harassers friends. “I figured it out! My system was formed my trauma!"

“Oh, you poor soul, who told you that?”

You feel cold. “What?”

“Those awful anti-endos fakeclaiming you-“

You feel isolated. “No?”

“You can’t listen to them. You’re autigenic. You’re being manipulated. You don’t have trauma.”

“My parents-“

“They love you, that’s not abuse. They were rich, that’s not abuse. They only yelled at you, that’s not abuse. You aren’t traumatized — don’t let the anti-endos convince you that you are.”

You are desperate. “But my DID!”

They frown at you. “You don’t need trauma to have DID. Saying otherwise makes you a sysmed."

You leave your friends. They weren’t friends at all.

You isolate. You have nobody. You made it clear that you would not speak to the filth anti-endos traumatized systems like yourself. You have nobody left to talk about your trauma with.

You are 21. You are a traumatized DID system. You only have your partner and in real life friends. Your abusers force you to drink on your birthday, and come into your safe space. You have nightmares for weeks.

Then you’re 22 and you are stuck with your abusers. You can see their faces now. You know the truth. You feel sick.

You are 23. 24. 25. You find new circles. You've researched trauma more, not nearly enough. You briefly become anti-endo, frustrated as you see more and more people hurt like you were, frustrated that the pro-endo spaces do not have any resources for those like you. Then you mellow, you try to divorce your trauma from your experience online. You try to find places to spread research and knowledge, to be traumatized and have people recognize what that means.

You are attacked for being traumatized, because this space has never been safe for trauma victims. You remember how you used to think when you were 19. You remember how you felt when you were left all alone. You try to keep the doors open, but it's so so hard, and you have to take care of yourself too. But you try. God, you try to help others.

You are 26.

You are in so many circles — endogenic, plural, CDD, traumatic, traumagenic, it doesn’t matter. You have so many people.

You see people telling others, “You don’t need trauma to have DID!” You take a deep breath and follow what your disgusting medicalist inclusive and welcoming therapist has taught you about stopping spirals. You try not to say anything deep at first, because you’re clearly triggered, and recent lessons have taught you more that you need can’t be traumatized online without getting hurt badly.

But you see people denying their trauma. Saying, “I don’t remember any trauma, and even if I did have trauma, I don’t feel like I do."

You remember being that way. You remember not remembering. You remember how your parents sexually abused you, now, even after you thought you’d remembered it all. You remember how your parents hit you and neglected you alongside their overbearing lack of boundary keeping. You remember how you convinced yourself it wasn’t trauma.

You remember how you went back, for years, because of what people said.

You could have left at 19. You had the chance. The options. The doors to freedom were wide open, and you did not step out, because you thought your cage was already freedom.

How much sooner could you have been free if you had simply acknowledged you had trauma, and it had been made clear that it was okay to have trauma? That it would be safe to leave? That you deserved to be able to leave?

You do research. You've done research. You try to find proof of endogenic -- of non-trauma -- DID. You find fakeclaiming. You find people misinterpreting statistics, or even flat out lying about statistics. You find decades, even centuries of research, in the attempt to figure out what's happening. You even resort to literary analysis, because at least you might be able to find evidence of people discussing non-trauma DID as a legitimate scientific thing while psychoanalysing old texts -- just like back at 19, back in college, back when you first heard what DID was.

You find nothing.

You try to share your experiences still. You try to explain in more private spaces, spaces where there can't be anonymous hatred flung your way -- or worse, people who have determined that you are an enemy that must be defeated taking each word you say and twisting it to demonize you -- and you watch in horror as they remember.

"That's trauma?"

"That's disordered?"

"I've never heard of this before."

"I thought I was endogenic. I thought I didn't have trauma."

They're fine. They struggle -- but trauma is a struggle -- and more importantly, they now know what resources to even aim for. They know where to look. They know what can help.

You wish you'd known that.

And you will never, ever stop being bitter about the years those people took from you. You will never forgive them for their fakeclaiming. You will never forgive them for the years you spent being abused more.

But it's okay.

It's normal.

And isn't it better to be inclusive of that very slim amount of people who, despite all evidence to the contrary, and despite all of Occam's understandings, and despite the harm that inclusiveness does to those who are suffering, just have DID without any of that pesky, disgusting trauma?

What do I know? I'm just a filthy sysmed.

[avengersfantasies]

A Night With Him in Bucharest - 12

Summary: You, Bucky, and James make a big decision.

Taglist:

@pattiemac1 @justsebstan @crist1216@kandis-mom @winterslove1917  @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @vonalyn @gojoismysensei @mavrellover91  @natashasilverfox @ilovetaquitosmmmm @casa-boiardi

Bucky has a Tumblr! @bucharestbuckybarnes

Series masterlist: Here

Author's note: I'm sorry it's a short chapter. Writer's block is starting to take over, so if you have ANY ideas you'd like to see in this series, please let me know!

Also, thank you to @nicoline1998enilocin for the help! It is greatly appreciated!

James looked at the two of you in complete confusion.

            “Dere’s a baby in momma’s tummy?!” he exclaimed.

            You and Bucky chuckled at the toddler’s reaction. “Yes, buddy,” you confirmed, picking him up and placing a kiss on his cheek. “There’s a baby in here.” You touched your belly, showing the little boy where his younger sibling was growing.

“When it be here?” he asked, looking back and forth at you and Bucky.

            “About nine months,” Bucky smiled. “So, we don’t have long to get ready.”

James squirmed to get down, so you let him down. “I gots to get ready for da baby!”

Without another word, the toddler ran off to his room. You and Bucky chuckled at his excitement. “What do you think he’s doing?” Bucky asked as he pulled you into his arms and kissed the top of your head.

“Getting ready,” you laughed, looking at the young boy standing in the entrance of the living room holding out his toys.

“Da baby can have these!”

            You and Bucky sat in the living room of the apartment you shared, looking at the ultrasound that proved that there was, in fact, a little person growing inside you.

            “I can’t believe this is actually happening,” Bucky smiled and kissed your head, smiling against your hair. “We’re actually doing this.”

            You smiled and rubbed your finger over the small bean-shaped being on the paper. “You’re already an amazing dad,” you smiled up at him.

“And you’re an amazing mom,” he replied, kissing you softly. “We do need to talk about something, though.”

You exhaled. “Right. Madripoor versus New York.”

“I’ll live anywhere,” Bucky told you. “As long as I have you and our little ones, I’m happy to call anywhere home. I just need to know if we need to start moving your stuff to New York, or if I should get my stuff sent here. I can’t keep buying clothes every week.” He let out a soft chuckle.

You nodded. You understood where he was coming from, and it was something that needed to be figured out. “This is the only home that James has known,” you told Bucky. “As silly as it might sound, I’d like for him to have some sort of say.”

“That makes sense,” he agreed with a soft smile. “Might cause some sort of issue if we just uproot him from where he’s grown up.”

You lay down with your head in his lap. “Well, if we do decide to move to New York, I’d prefer to do it before I get big,” you stated, watching Bucky rub your belly with his flesh hand. “If this pregnancy is gonna be anything like the one before, I am gonna to be exhausted.”

Bucky smiled down at you. “We’ll talk to him about it while we eat dinner.”

            That night at dinner, you, Bucky, and James were eating homemade chili. Not knowing how to start the conversation, you glanced over to your lover.

            “Hey, buddy?” Bucky said to get James’ attention.

            The toddler looked up at his dad. “Yea, daddy?”

Bucky cleared his throat. “So, your momma and I were talking earlier, and we wanted to ask you something.” James nodded and Bucky continued. “How would you feel about moving to another big city?”

“Another big city?” James questioned, looking at the two of you. “What wrong with here?”

“Daddy lives in Brooklyn, in New York,” you told him. “And now that there’s a baby on the way, we need to figure out where we’re going to live.”

The toddler seemed to understand. “So we gonna have to move?”

“If you’re okay with it, buddy,” you promised. “We didn’t want to make any decision without telling you and knowing what you think about it.”

James thought for a moment, eating the peas on his plate. “Is it a real big city?”

“It is,” Bucky smiled.

“It’s where daddy’s from,” you said. “Remember how old daddy is?”

“Yeah!” James exclaimed.

“So daddy knows all the fun places to go,” you smiled. “You could have a new giant world to explore!”

“I wanna go!” James excitedly bounced. “Daddy, you show me all the fun tings?”

Bucky chuckled. “Yes, buddy…I’ll take you to all the best places that I loved going to as a child.”

[badhabitnun]

Hi, Green!!! I noticed in your bio you said you're a post-hiatus phannie and I'm curious, what got you to start watching them? Do you remember your first impressions?

(Sorry if this has been asked before! I hope you're having a wonderful day and also just wanted to add I lovedddd your phasquerade art, it's hilarious and adorable 💚)

-Ser :)

hi ser!! this is actually my first ask on this blog, so i was really excited to see something in my inbox 🥹 and thank you!! posting art is SCARY but everyone is being so nice… thank you so much for organizing the phasquerade!!!

i am incredibly sorry for the Length of what is to come now. my feelings aren’t easy to sum up + i doth yap

the main reason i started watching them is probably the dapg revival itself, since my friends started watching their new videos together in our server, and i got curious and asked to tag along. before then though i’d also heard of dnp from them, and as a long-time (12 years) tumblr user i have felt their influence without realizing they were the source? i now know where the whiskers and “protip” come from…

before starting to watch dnp myself i remember seeing my friends react to the phouse reveal (i remember i was like “huh wait at their age that might actually be gay”), basically i’m gay, why i quit youtube, and dan and phil tell the truth (i didn’t know what a girl in prague was and i WAS afraid to ask). those made me curious! but not curious enough to sit through the videos themselves. i felt really bad for dan from all that though! he really sounded like he suffered more than jesus from the contents of both BIG and WIQYT 😭 i remember feeling parasocially protective of him. this is all to say my impressions weren’t COMPLETELY fresh when i started watching and especially for dan i already had one

now back to late 2023! i’d made some really massive changes in my life, like actual leap of faith, the course of my life has been altered kinda massive, so youtube become a comfort space for me. enter these two nerds! the first impression i had of both of them together kind of related to where i was in life at the moment: the realization that you can just live with a fellow nerd who loves you and you don’t have to follow the path the adult world expects from you. seeing them act silly and embrace everything they love and be so carefree and happy to be themselves, sharing a domestic life that doesn’t follow what heteronormative society demands… i know this is all obvious to so many people, but i really needed it at the time.

they became a reminder that i could have this life, that i have something to look forward to and my life isn’t over or doomed to be what society wants it yo be. their chemistry is something very pure and very real and especially now that they’re both open about their sexualities you can really feel how connected they are and how much fun they have together. it just makes me so happy to see two people adore each other so much after all these years!! god!!!

as i’ve said before i knew about dan from his yearly videos in the hiatus era, but i knew almost nothing about phil! the first thing that stood out to me was his accent, since i am very bad at recognizing accents BUT i watch plumbella so i was like whoa is he northern!! and that was kind of an instant comfort factor.

phil is an underrated comfort video genius like seriously... i was facing the horrors of being stuck at home for christmas with a thousand thoughts on my mind and his silly videos were like a nice patch of sunshine. i absolutely agree with dan on phil’s kind energy; he is like those nice people who come talk to you and actually try to make you laugh and feel more at ease if they notice you’re feeling shy. he kept me a LOT of company and i genuinely owe him for that. i can also tell he’s incredibly smart and creative even though his videos now are more casual; he definitely does a lot behind the scenes and he’s an excellent storyteller. i’ve later come to learn that he has also repressed a lot of things for the sake of his audience and probably dan as well, he really has a good heart. also, he resonates a lot with the autistic experience, and regardless of the reason that does make me feel happy and seen

as for dan. well! once i actually started watching his videos firsthand, dan felt like looking at a mirror, which has Impacted Me psychologically. a lot. BUT let’s get the silly stuff out of the way first i immediately understood why my friend has a crush on him 😭😭😭 like i get it!!! i can never bully them for having a crush again because i fucking get it he’s hot he knows it he carries it well! fuck!

but more than that… he immediately made me reflect on myself. i can’t get into my impressions on dan from dapg without saying first that i have had a similar journey with depression and homophobia and repressing everything and he forced me to face that i still have a lot of work to do. i didn’t realize that just knowing i’m queer and acting on it doesn’t automatically mean that i accept myself being queer. that is something that only BIG and hearing dan talk about queerness and mental health made me realize. so right after the omg funny hot nun, i had to kind of reconsider my whole life for a bit… and i’m still in the process of doing that…

more than anything, i think what i’ve felt and keep feeling watching both his older and newer videos is “god i’m so glad he’s out” and “god i’m so glad he can make art”. i just feel so proud of him, so happy he can experience life as himself, so happy that he can laugh and joke about being gay so freely, so happy he can make the art he wants and feel accepted, and so happy that he can proudly smile at his audience now, after i first heard of him as someone who was isolated and scared. again, i projected on him a lot, and i knew about his struggles beforehand, so my impressions are mostly sentimental 😭

all in all they’ve helped me immensely and made my life so much better, both as themselves with their comment and through the community they created over the years. i’ve been a lurker for the past couple of months and what made me come forward and make my own blog is the way their kindness and acceptance extends to their audience and vice versa :)

hopefully that answers your questions and i hope this wasn’t too much oversharing!! i feel like my current place in life influences how i see them and relate to them, and they also influenced me a lot and that contributes to how i perceive them, and so on. putting all these thoughts into words in one place and realizing things about myself bit by bit was really interesting; hopefully the formatting won’t kill those who try to read it. i’m sorry. i wrote this in my notes app 🫡

[unknownteapot]

I didn’t like Tommy’s story either. I’m currently listening to the episode and so far I love it. You can tell they put a lot of time and effort into it, specially the background sounds. But fans can be disappointed that the format of a series was changed after months of not hearing from it. I don’t think people are ungrateful, they’re upset with how Smosh dealt with this. I think it’s unfair to completely disregard people’s concerns

hiii anon <3

i agree with you, completely honestly, i really don't want to seem ungrateful or like i'm being too negative about this whole thing, i'm going to try my best to listen to the sword af 2 episodes when i can and obviously i understand there's immense hard work and dedication that goes into making something like this, from what i've seen here on tumblr it's great so far- im not intending to disregard that!!

similar to you, though, i'm not too happy the way this was dealt with & announced - my major gripes are that their considerations for people who are deaf/hard of hearing/have auditory processing issues were only made after the backlash of the first announcement? like wdym you're making it into a whole podcast but didn't even think about people who can't listen to it? like not once in the entire process of shifting mediums? as far as i know (please correct me i'd love to be corrected, i hope i'm wrong) there haven't been any steps taken so far about that- i haven't seen any captions/transcripts posted by smosh games or any statements after the 2nd community post on yt where they addressed the backlash on what their further steps are to make this more accessible

it also feels strange to me that they were so silent about it for so long- maybe if they'd made the announcement earlier/gave at least a little info we'd already have had this conversation about inclusivity and captions would be available along with the 1st Ep so everyone can keep following the story they absolutely love as it releases

lastly (and i'm sorry this is an essay anon and anyone reading but i really need to say all this) the community of sword af fans are one of the most dedicated & talented communities i've seen tbh, they have to know the support is there right? i'm so surprised they're not posting any parts of the podcast on youtube (the literal home of smosh), it's so strange to me, it really feels like it's being pushed to the side slightly- but hey what do i know, i'm a silly gal on tumblr pls dont come for me

[mixakuu]

But You Already Knew, Cause My Six Eyes Told You.

You felt it in your heart that he was gone.

The man that you love, was no more.

I’ve already lost two of my husbands (Geto and Nanami) so now I’m writing about you losing yours. ⚠️TW! Implied death, LOTS of angst no comfort! MANGA SPOILERS!

This will be posted on both my Tumblr and AO3! Follow me on AO3 @mxxdygrizzle for more <3

You felt it in your heart that he was gone.

You were standing by the kitchen counter, cutting tomato’s for a meal you two can enjoy when he comes home, that’s when you knew.

You felt a ping in your heart that you didn’t want to let go.

Because it was the cold harsh truth. Panic fills you like a thunderstorm. The man you love ever so much is gone. “What is this feeling?!” You kept asking yourself.

But you already knew.

Because on one summer evening, when the sky was a little too beautiful, and the moment was a little too perfect, he told you;

“If I were to ever die y/n, my six eyes will let you know.”

You told him to not say stuff like that, that he wouldn’t ever die, like that wasn’t even an option for him.

Yet he had every opportunity in the world to.

And now you’re here, just shy of 5 months later of when he told you those damaging words. With your eyes stinging, ears ringing, cheeks crimson, and soaked with your solemn tears.. angry to have ever heard those egregious words.

But a part of you is oh so grateful that he did.

Because you wouldn’t want to hear it from anyone else but him, first.

But as you clench your fist, already had dropped the knife on the kitchen counter, you pace back and forth between the hallway of your shared apartment with him. It starts to feel like the whole world is spinning around you.

You hold onto your stomach for dear life, knowing something is wrong. That’s when all of your senses hit you full force like a freight train. You could smell his clothes that are hung on his side of the closet, you could taste the type of shampoo that he uses, oh god his hair. His soft, winter white hair… that you know you'll never be able to touch again. You won’t be able to feel his warmth. His touch. His soul.

The way that he laughs at you when you do something silly. Oh that stupid laugh. If only you could hear it one last time.

Or the way that he says he loves you….

Your knuckles began to turn white as you grasp onto yourself even tighter. You were just waiting for the door to open. To hear him come in and start laughing at you for getting all worked up.

That this was all a mistake, a false alarm…

That’s when you get a call. That damn. dreadful. call.

Your phone vibrates on the couch, the only sound to fill the room other than your soft cries. You walk quickly over to the phone, hoping it Satoru

your, Toru.

And to have him tell you he'll be late from work again and that he’s sorry for the millionth time. That you can get mad at him once again for being so late for dinner and all you have to think about is how to explain to him why you were crying, because when hearing your sadden voice he would know.

But no, oh no,

it wasn’t him.

And like a smooth melody playing in your ears,

the beat finally drops.

Only,

it’s your heart.

Knowing who it is however, you pick up the phone. You take a deep breath and say “Hello…”

“We’re so sorry y/n but we’re here to let you know that Sa….”

You don’t even get to hear his name before screaming at the top of your lungs.

Because you knew.

You already knew.

But you would’ve anyways.

No matter the time, day, or situation.

Because of that six eyes of his,

telling you goodbye and I love you, one last time.

[butternaife]

no time at all!-- PILOT

Welcome Home + reader

warnings: derealisation, could cause paranoia, not proofread lmao

notes: so here's the first little drabble of the story I'd mentioned earlier! I'm not new at all to writing, but please keep in mind this is the first story I've posted to Tumblr, so the formatting could suck really bad. 

I have SO many ideas for what I want to continue this with, please tell me if you want to see more. thanks for reading!!  please please please rb if you're able :3

part 2 is posted!

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The sounds of the coffee shop around you filled the room; the everyday hustle and bustle of footsteps, casual chatter, and the clinking of porcelain cups were a familiar comfort, and god knows you needed it right now.

The face of the website you'd had open for several days now stared at you (through you?), the direct eye contact of the cartoon puppet mascots making you squirm in your seat.

Welcome Home! It said in bright pastel letters and a font you didn't recognize, though it sparked a deep sense of nostalgia in you; the whole concept did. In fact, that was the whole reason you’d found yourself falling down this rabbit hole of researching, trying any kind of letter combinations in the web address, scrolling through every page you could access with all the text highlighted.

You knew the secrets: the hidden messages, the png title responses in the guestbook, the audio mp4… and it thrilled you.

You hadn't grown up watching the infamous puppet show, of course, you doubt anyone has. Hell, part of you agreed with the people saying it didn't ever exist and all of this was just some online creepy pasta goosechase. Even though, it was so fun to play along, right? To be part of the community, or to be part of the joke, it didn't matter at the end of the day.

Whatever circumstances brought you to wherever you were mentally, and here to this cafe physically, this puppet show had you wrapped around its finger; you didn't really know if you loved the mascots, with their fun, bright designs and their bubbly personalities; something akin to what you'd grown up with, like you'd known them your entire life– or if they terrified you. The same traits that had made them so endearing made them so devoid of life, so lonely and cold when you’d think about it too long. Made to be loved by an audience just to be erased from history entirely- all to be excavated now, alongside these grotesque secrets and mysteries… like it was hidden for a reason. (Exciting, right?)

You scrolled absent-mindedly through the Neighborhood page, looking through all the biographies of the characters, picking apart the text in any ways you could, though you can only command-all and highlight for so long before it’s just a desperate attempt made in vain.

you already knew all the secrets

Home is where the heart is and Welcome Home's residents are the heart of the neighborhood. Even if you don't live there, you're still one of its most important denizens! But don't worry, with the help of this colorful array of neighbors, it'll feel just like home in no time at all!

Yeah, yeah, whatever, they love me.

What used to put a pit in your stomach didn't really do all too much now. The immersiveness wears off after a while. It used to fill you with questions: “am i important to them as the viewer? Are they sentient enough to understand? If they are… how do they feel about it? About me?”

Losing yourself in the story was easy initially, but the meandering possibilities became meaningless prompts. It was just a slogan now.

Your cursor hovers over the titular Home, a second delay in hesitation. Even if nothing else sent a chill down your spine, Home would never fail to unnerve you.

You click.

You're greeted by Wally, the PNG of him painting, the one you see plastered over every blog or post regarding Welcome Home. it was silly of you to expect anything else.

You felt yourself ease back into your chair; there aren't any more secrets to discover until the website is next updated.

As you half-heartedly scroll to click on the Good Bye!, a mystery in itself, you saw it.

Wally’s eyes had just followed your mouse, even by just half an inch, you Swear To God you saw them move.

An overwhelming tremor of sudden panic took over your body; you felt your heart fall deep into your stomach. With a loud thunk, you slammed your laptop closed. You felt the stares of concern burn into your back from the other patrons of the coffee shop, but you didn't care. Hoisting yourself up, laptop in tow, you hurry out through the door, only the greeting bell breaking the apprehensive silence youd left behind you.

Its nothing, you were just staring too long,

you'd thought, though partially drowned out by the sound of your footsteps and the deafening beating of your heart.

Of course you got freaked out, you were looking to be scared, so you came up with something to be scared of. That's all it is; made up.

It didn't really happen.

You had to tell yourself this several times as you walked to your car, trying to shake the image out of your head.

It's not real.

[damazcuz]

I've only had this account for about 5 years now. But I've been on tumblr for 13 years, since I was 16 and just starting to learn who I was, what transgender meant, what the world looked like at the time for a group I was swiftly realizing included me.

And for 13 years I have consistently used this site and stayed on, occasionally blog hopping when things felt stale or if things got bad. And things got bad sometimes. You'd get people calling you nasty things in your ask or replies or reblogs or tagging your username to sic their followers on you. And tumblr has always treated targeted harassment as a "Sorry you feel that way. That's not against tos though! Was this answer helpful?" issue whenever it's reported. They've never cared against abuse on their website, IN THE EXCEPTION of cases in which radfems and nazis have maliciously mass reported users for MAYBE hitting their breaking points and MAYBE snapping and saying something stupid that could be used as an excuse. Could be something today or four years ago in your archive but at some point, you had a bad day and posted something that could make tumblr say finally, we can get rid of a pest! or you were just transgender and said as much. A little too loudly in front of the wrong mod.

And this sounds so silly to say. But when you live in a website for 13 years and it's where you have your primary interactions with so many people and where you've met so many of your friends! It starts to feel like your community. Like an apartment building we all live in and visit each other's apartments and talk and decorate and laugh and play. And it's a bit of a dump and we all laugh about the crumbling peeling wallpaper and the slumlord that runs the place. We know the landlord isn't our friend, they just want us to pay rent until we're no good for it anymore. Produce the posts that make this site anything more than a hate forum, make the memes and the art and the posts that end up everywhere from your little sister's pinterest to your mom's Facebook to your uncle's meme subreddit. Keep up the garden and don't pile trash on the curb or you're out. This is "the queerest place on the net" only because queer people live here and hung on with our fingernails to stay here because if you have to leave, what's your fallback? You like your neighbors. They can't all come with you. They won't. Even the kind of crumbly parts feel like home after a while.

Like I want to clarify that Tumblr's reputation as a funny place to chill and scroll and meet people and see new things is not from the transphobes working on staff. Their job is to turn a profit or at least keep it LOOKING profitable, so the site can sell to the next moron to buy it out. The fun and joy of Tumblr is us. WE made this place. When you tear down our decorations and rip out our furnishings and toss us out on the street and look at what's left to show the next prospective tenant, it's a fucking dump. There is nothing left but the shittiest people in our neighborhood who are allowed to stay and make hate posts about us. There's the framework for "someone could make pretty posts here! It's a fixer upper!" But it's shit. It sucks.

I've been spiraling since yesterday over a couple of things I'm not taking well. One is work. "They can't fire us all!" I always joke. And people laugh. Last night my boss and I spent an hour and a half in this miserable fucking meeting, talking about the pressure pushing down on our load bearing team. We fantasized over all 8 of us being able to say "that's enough. I'm better than this. We are all walking out today and we will not come back. Don't text." And we can't. None of us can lose the stability of a full time job that pays kind of okay even though it's killing you. None of us can face that uncerainty. I left with chest pain. It was my first day back after major surgery. I went home and sat in one spot for over six hours almost unmoving, crying and just in disbelief of how unfair it is. We can't leave. But something has to give before my team dissolves and one of us puts a gun in their mouth. And then we all still have to make our shift. Who else will do all that? Who's going to cover, huh? Clock in.

And I spent the rest of my day, which ran to 4 am before I was able to sleep, wishing I could quit and hating what's happening on tumblr just as much. On a fucking blogging platform. Because this has been my fun sandbox for over a decade and it's always kind of sucked, it's full of cat shit and people throw sand at you and you're getting sunburned but it's fun here. You find your people to play with. And then it's like you remember oh yeah, other people here want me dead. The owner of this place wants me to die. He wants everyone that makes this place cool and fun to die. And he'll turn around and say "yeeeah well you shouldn't have joked about being mean to me." And it's like why am I here! Why am I making posts for YOU?

I can't leave employment. I'm only a couple of weeks, maybe a couple months away from homelessness at any given time, with how tight finances are. "Shoestring budget" would be generous. We're making it through sheer force of will. But I can't quit my job, and neither can anyone else.

But I can leave this place that I've hated and loved for so, so long. The other massive drain on my life that wants to see me shrivel and die. I can get up and go. We could all just go. Mass exodus. And I know it won't happen. Give it a week, ten days. People move along. Yeah, that sucked. Well, here we all still are. Still posting. Still tumbling. Still complaining about the landlord. But most people won't leave. How can you walk on your friends and community, knowing they won't all follow? But how do you continue to stay here watching this happen? I'm already listening to people tell me "so? that doesn't affect me. it doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things. and of course this happened, duhhhh." It's like, feel stupid for getting comfortable here. You should feel stupid for settling in and making it a home and thinking it would be fun here. If you are transgender you are not safe and you are not wanted. Not in the queerest place on the web, either.

It's not about the funny hammer car explosion """threat.""" It was never about the hammer car explosion. That was a dogwhistle through a megaphone to transphobes. Tumblr's darlings. Don't worry. I'll take care of this one that thinks she can speak up against me. And against you. And now there's a defined "REASON" for the ban. Why, Matt hardly knew he was banning a trans woman. All he knew was fear! He had no choice! And you can ignore the ACLU and the claims of systemic transphobia, that's something else. We fixed that!

I want this place to die because it is already rotting. We are scraping at the bones at this point. Walls are crumbling and there's a hole in the floor to the room below and the windows have long been knocked out and the boiler hasn't worked in years. They aren't going to fix it. It has never been the intention to fix it. They want you to leave or die. Whichever. Don't matter. Just get lost. I will find another tenant. I will find another person who will give me more ad revenue. You are replaceable in that sense. Someone else will join tumblr tomorrow. And tumblr will make a buck off them instead.

But they cannot replace the ways in which you and I have made this site livable and bearable and fun. And I want us to leave so that the husk of this place can collapse and blow away in the wind. I want tumblr to take a major hit and I want the loss of ad revenue to HURT THEM. I want a mad scramble to figure out how to fix it all. They can't. They won't. The fix has always been there and it's always been refused. Terfs will never be turned away from tumblr. Neither will nazis. "Sorry you feel that way, but that's not against our tos. Was this answer helpful?"

You know how they say, "it there are ten people at a table and one is a nazi and no one stands up, you have ten nazis"? This feels like that to me. If 20,000 of us wait a week, shrug, and resume joking and playing and say, well, yeah, it's sad that another dozen trans fems were banned last night. But I like it here...

It feels like that. Why are my trans sisters' archives of 5, 10+ years of life and joy being wiped clean? I can't even tell you how many posts I've seen from an op whose url I recognize from last week, but whose username is grey and icon default, because she posted something less than a day ago to say "yo this sucks. Fuck this place and fuck this guy." They've never ever found the terfs and nazis to ban them because they DON'T CARE. Those are the ones they prefer. That they cater to. Post about the ceo being a dumbfuck and in 12 hours, risk losing your community and the ability to look back at your life online. Clean slate. As if you never lived there. Oh, but tumblr isn't a transphobic place. We fired the one and only naughty transphobe on staff who was taking bribes to send out bans. Pay to win moderation. That person's gone. So it's okay and you don't need to worry. It's okay, I promise. It's the queerest place on the web. Get comfortable.

I love my job and I love this place. One of them is going to push me to the edge. But I can choose to leave one. You can choose to leave with me. They can't fire us all.

[just-avocado]

So I stayed up until like four last night writing down the lyrics for the Circe Saga because it’s incredible and Spotify didn’t have lyrics yet but since tumblr doesn’t want me to post pics rn for some reason I’ll just try again later and instead talk about the songs!!! :D

Puppeteer- The intro instrumental lives in my head to rent and so does Eurylochus’s rap part, I need to know what he was going to tell Odysseus he sounded so vulnerable- I swear this guy is climbing up my favorite characters list, I do find it interesting how he wanted to leave the crew behind with Circe when later in Mutiny he confronted Odysseus for “trading the lives of his crew” in order to get home so hopefully that means he had a change and heart and wasn’t just being a hypocrite, I also love how the Circe Saga as a whole but especially Puppeteer and There Are Other Ways really highlight how terrible Odysseus feels about everything he’s done, everyone he’s failed or killed since leaving home, I need to know how he goes from hating himself to embracing all he’s done

Uhh favorite lines!

“Look at all we’ve lost and all we’ve learned, Every single cost is so much more than what we’ve earned” SING IT Eurylochus

Wouldn’t You Like- HEHEHEH I absolutely adore the synthwave-y aspects of the song I’m a huge lover of synthwave vibes as of recent, I would genuinely vibe to the instrumental all day long, Mr. Jalapeño release the instrumental versions pLplzplz 🙏, I’m sure we all know by know that Troy is the real Hermes there’s no other way he can bring THAT much charisma to the role, I’ve seen charisma before but never like that oh my god, I also love his unhinged laugh so much idk how he does it but I want to learn, also when I was writing the lyrics I had to stop for a sec and be like “is this song just Hermes giving his great grandson drugs ooor-“ because that’s 100% something he would do

Favorite lines…

Just the entire “Here in the root of this flower, There lies such a power, To take her on” segment of the song it’s just 👌

Also the part where he’s going OOOhoOhohAhahdph while the ensemble sings his verses his voice is so BEAUTIFUL and POWERFUL oh my GOD

“Don’t thank me friend! You very well may die” I chuckled so loud lmao

And his little “Good luck 😉” he’s so silly he knows shit is going to go down

Done For- okay was the lyric for this song always “I just ate a flower, one that claims your power” cuz I could have sworn it was drains your power but I might just be crazy, also chimera supremacy I love that Jorge was able to find a way to implement it, Jorge and Talya’s voices sound so great together I need more 😭, I also love that this song starts to hint at more depth behind Circe’s actions idk who out here thinks she’s a meh one-note/one-off villain but she’s not!! I’ll make a 50 page PowerPoint on this don’t test me!!

Fav lines…

“You’ve lost.” Okay Odysseus 🤡

“My nymphs are like my daughters, I protect them at all costs, The last time we let strangers live, We faced a heavy loss.” This!! This is what I’m saying she feels like she has no choice other than to hurt people so that the people she loves will stay safe, she’s literally Odysseus further down the line! it’s so fascinating to see a character like this facing off against the main protagonist bc at this point in the story we don’t know what kind of person he will become yet and yet Jorge shows us with Circe Ahdldhnsbdk

There Are Other Ways- Okay I’ll be honest, this song was the last one on my radar not bc I didn’t like it but because I was just looking forward to others so much more and it was also the one I intentionally heard less clips of because I wanted at least one song that I didn’t already know half of the lyrics to 💀 ANYWAY THIS ONE IS THE BEST SONG IN THE CIRCE SAGA CHANGE MY MIND (I’m so sorry Troy I love your voice but this song is simply better) Dude the lyrics go soso hard in this one, I’m such a sucker for one character having like a big emotional moment while another is like singing/backing them up in the background and there’s so much of that here, and the call backs? Both to earlier songs in the saga AND Just A Man, my favorite song Just A Man? Every call back to that song is just so RAW I LOVE IT, I don’t know a ton about Greek mythology outside of Epic so I dont know if Circe and Posideon have this past beef or something but I do find it interesting that it’s only after he is mentioned that Circe decides to help Odysseus but I also think it’s larger due to how he reminds her of herself with how he misses Penelope, UM THE BEAT DROP after the underworld is mentioned for the first time??? CHILLS SHIVERS EVERYTHING dude I love how the entire atmosphere changes so much because yes this could be Odysseus’ only change to make it home safely but it’s also so much more dangerous than the shitty situation they’re already in so there’s not even time for relief or a breath of air like he’s IN it now there’s no going back

Best lyrics omfg…

“There are other roads to the soul~” Talya, Tayla. This is why some of us can’t sing, the universe needs balance and you are the only explanation for that

“Want to save your men from the fire? Show me that you’re willing to burn” 😐 AAAAAH

“But there’s no puppet here” get it puppeteer? Puppet here? I thought it was clever lol

“Back at home, my wife awaits for me, She’s my everything, My Penelope” The yearning in his voice made me feel things

“So I beg you Circe, Grant us mercy, And let us puppets leeeeave~” We have literally never seen Odysseus use this sort of tactic before to get his way but I genuinely think he’s being genuine here, no play, he only wants to see his wife and son again, he’s so close to giving up hope, he’s losing his spirit, he’s searching for any sliver of help even from a women who wants him dead

“I know of a brilliant prophet… Problem is that prophets dead.” Again the cord or piano key I think it was was so AH SO GOOD AH I am foaming at the mouth for when we start getting teasers for the Underworld Saga

“Maybe showing one act of kindness, Leads to kinder souls down the road” someone make an au where Polities and Circe become besties she needs a friend like him but don’t we all, but seriously THIS is what I’m saying!! She is future Odysseus! Only difference being is that she’s so tired of hurting people at this point she decides to take a chance and give help rather than pain in the hopes that it will somehow contribute to a kinder world

“Maybe one day the world, Will need a puppeteer no more” this is her plea for help, she yearns for the day where she won’t need to be a monster in order to protect her nymphs, for Odysseus his plea was for him and his men to leave, they both showed such vulnerability in this song in different ways its ART ITS ART *gun shot*

“I have been in love once before” She even had her own Penelope guys, this is the true reason why she decided to help Odysseus methinks

Okay uhhh I think that’s it ^_^ Circe Saga rules, it might be my fav saga I’ll decide soon

[mithrilhearts]

TRICK-OR-TREAT

This was a part of my 2021 #ACORNTOBER event! While I am still debating on whether to keep the drabbles on ao3, I am absolutely keeping them here on tumblr, and want to give them a little bit of polishing and love! So, with perfect timing for Halloween, enjoy this Reshirement-Parentshield centered drabble!

“And once the sun goes down that’s when all the fauntlings will go out with their parents and go door to door and ask for the sweets,” Bilbo was rambling, feeling as if he was expertly explaining this whole Halloween thing, but truth be told, the confused look on Thorin’s face said otherwise.

“...There’s good food in the larder, Bilbo. Plenty of sweets. Why are we sending Frodo to beg for them from our neighbors?” Thorin scratched at his head some, genuinely trying to wrap his mind around the concept of this trick-or-treating thing. Hobbits sure were fond of their holidays, just as dwarves were, but this one was a little extraordinary.

No doubt Fili and Kili would have loved something like this when they were small, and even when they were full-grown, just as they were now.

“Thorin, I love you, but please try to keep up. Frodo’s not begging for food, it’s just a fun thing that we get to do! The kids love dressing up, and these aren’t just any sweets, you won’t find a single tart in Frodo’s basket—” Bilbo narrowed his eyes dangerously before reaching forward and giving the bottom of one of Thorin’s braids a small yank. “And stay out of his basket when we all come home!” He said loud enough for Frodo to hear in the other room before dropping his voice with a wink. “We go through the basket after he’s asleep.”

Like any good parent, it was customary to sneak a few pieces out of the young one’s baskets. They couldn’t possibly eat it all!

It was still confusing, but Thorin was just going to go with it. He had been trying incredibly hard to adjust to Shire life, and this was part of it. It was part of why he had allowed Bilbo to put this silly bit of headwear on him. At first, Thorin had scowled, but tossing a few dark horns on his head to replicate that of a dragon was no big deal.

The headpiece would come off, at least.

Bilbo on the other hand had little ears on his own head that likened him to a rabbit. That was what Beorn had called him once upon a time, no? Little rabbit, or bunny, something of the like.

“And what’s Frodo dressed up as?” Thorin asked while adjusting the headband on his head.

“I’m a wizard!” Frodo announced as he dashed into the room, a gray pointy hat on his head and a robe swooshing as he ran. “Just like Gandalf!” 

“If you’re a wizard, can’t you just magic yourself some sweets?” Thorin was promptly swatted on the arm as both Bilbo and Frodo cried in unison.

“Uncle Thorin, we’re going Trick-or-Treating!” Frodo handed his basket over to Bilbo, grabbing a free hand from each uncle and moving to tug them along as the light outside was fairly dim. Someone was incredibly eager to enjoy the holiday, and catch up with the other fauntlings of the Shire.

Bilbo flashed Thorin a grin as they all eased out the door and already the shrieks of happy young ones could be heard. “Now Frodo, remember your manners at each door. Holiday or no, you will say please and thank you, right?”

“Yes, Uncle Bilbo.” Frodo sighed, sounding incredibly annoyed, but that was a kid for you, even as young as the fauntling was.

Thorin couldn’t help but crack a grin as Frodo released all hands, grabbed his basket, and took off a few steps ahead of his uncles, ready to see how many sweets he could fit into his basket. “He really does remind me of Fili and Kili.”

“Except Frodo knows his O’s from his A’s. They still call me Mister Boggins.” Bilbo sighed, sounding just as annoyed as Frodo had a few moments prior. At least Bilbo’s exasperation had gotten a laugh out of Thorin.

Watching the fauntlings run up to doors, knocking fiercely, and being on their best behavior was quite a sight to behold. Now that he was witnessing it for himself, Thorin could see where the appeal was. There were a fair amount of decent costumes running around as well. More wizards, a dwarf or two, and Thorin was certain he had seen a young one dressed up as Lobelia in all the most obnoxious of ways. 

For as much energy as Frodo had though, darting from smial to smial, you could see the exhaustion in his little legs start to plague him. There were a few doors to hit and Frodo seemed determined.

“He’s getting T–I–R–E–D,” Bilbo laughed, spelling out the word before hearing a disgruntled sound ahead of them.

“I’m not tired, Uncle Bilbo! We only have a few more. Can we please finish them?” At least he said please.

“Of course.” Tired, you could see it in Frodo’s big blue eyes.

When it came down to one door left, a familiar yellow door that housed one of the better families of Hobbiton as far as kindness went, Bilbo had Frodo’s wizard hat atop his head as well as the basket of sweets, and Thorin had Frodo in his arms who was drifting into slumber.

That yellow door opened up and there stood Hamfast and Bell. 

“Trick-or-Treat,” Thorin and Bilbo both spoke softly in unison.

“Oh, look at you three,” Bell cooed as she placed a hand over her heart. “Samwise was all tuckered out before we made it home too. Bless their little hearts. Wait here.” Bell disappeared, earning a small chuckle from her husband.

“Be sure to tell Sam in the morning that there is a special tart in Bag End with his name all over it. He’s welcome to it anytime,” Bilbo grinned, looking towards Frodo and adjusting a small bit of those curls away from the fauntling’s face.

Hamfast gave a small nodding hum in response, everyone seeming to be as quiet as possible to not wake Frodo who was now snoring pleasantly against Thorin’s shoulder. 

“Here we are, one of my apple pies. Thank you both again for watching Sam last week,” Passing over the pie to Bilbo where it could rest carefully at the top of the sweet-filled basket.

“Sam is welcome anytime,” Thorin interjected quietly, adjusting Frodo in his arms who had a death grip on one of his braids. “Frodo’s done nothing but talk about how excited he is for Sam to stay with us a few days next weekend while you and Hamfast are out of town.” 

“You two are just precious, as is he,” Bell wiggled one of Frodo’s feet, earning a small twitch from the sleepy fauntling. “Happy Halloween, boys. I’m sure we will see you tomorrow.”

Then came the usual pleasant goodbyes, though the more time that went on, the more informal it all became. Thorin truly admired the Gamgee’s and was happy to lend a hand where he could. 

The trek back to Bag End was quiet. The Shire all seemed to agree that it was time for all the little fauntlings to be tucked into bed and for the adults to settle down as well. The excitement was short-lived but well worth seeing the joy it brought.

“I’ll put him to bed,” Thorin announced quietly as they awkwardly maneuvered the door open, careful not to jostle Frodo around in the process.

Bilbo met Thorin’s gaze, his brows rising and falling playfully. “And then…”

“...we go through his basket,” Thorin grinned just as playfully in return.

“Exactly, now you’ve got it.”

Thorin finally understood the importance of Trick-or-Treating.