#update: this is getting pinned for a while

[grayandthyme]

omg thinking about tommy with a cold 😖 he may be big and strong when it comes to survival…except for when it comes to a cold UGH

any fluff where he needs taken care of? much to his dismay (he secretly likes it but im not sure he could admit that) ofc !

LOVE UUUU thank u for feeding us, your fics are genuinely apart of my nightmare routine now LOL - 🦆

ducky your requests always amaze me, they make my brain full. ty mwah xx

and to the anon who ALSO requested braiding and playing w his hair.. I got you..

warnings & contents: sick. domestic fic. established relationship. no use of y/n. you play with his hair. maybe you try to braid it too.. he's a flirt, like always. ✎ masterlist

Even the strongest fall.

Even kings—those who rule with iron fists and unshakable will—can be brought to their knees. The protector, the pillar, the one who stands when all else crumbles.

—Your boyfriend has a cold...

“You’re not going on patrol.”

Your voice is firm but gentle—the kind that doesn’t beg for agreement; you just expect it.

One hand presses lightly to his forehead, fingers cool against heat. Then, a deliberate little push to keep him pinned to the pillow. He tries to lift his head anyway, and you meet him with a dry look that shuts it down fast.

“You’ve got a fever, Tommy. You’re not going anywhere but under this damn blanket.”

He huffs, that familiar half-scoff, half-laugh rumbling from his chest.

“Thought fever dreams were supposed to be sexy... This feels a lot like jail.”

You arch a brow, unfazed. “You want sexy? Try not looking like you wrestled a bear in your sleep and lost.”

He grins, teeth flashing through dry lips. “Still got charm, though. Admit it.”

You adjust the blanket, ignoring him as he coughs into the crook of his arm. “You’ve got something, alright. But it’s not charm. It’s the flu.”

His eyes flutter shut, breath hitching. “Hell of a bedside manner, darlin’.”

You smooth a hand through his hair—mussed, damp, stubborn. He leans into it, just slightly. A quiet moment passes, heavy in the way things always get when Tommy lets his guard down.

Even sick, he tries to carry it all. Tries to make light of it. But you see the tremble in his hands. The exhaustion in his bones.

“I’m gonna go tell Jesse you’re off patrol duty for a while,” you sigh, brushing your fingers along the line of his jaw—a soft, grounding touch meant more for reassurance than anything else. “Then I’m gonna charm Seth into making you some soup.”

He opens one eye, half-lidded and amused. “Charm, huh?”

You ignore the bait, thumb tracing the rough stubble on his cheek. “And if you don’t eat it,” you continue, tone sweet as honey, “I’m afraid I’ll have to resort to force-feeding.”

He lets out a hoarse chuckle, lips twitching at the corners. “You say that like it’s not something you’ve thought about before.”

“Only every time you decide you’re tougher than your immune system.”

Tommy groans, tilting his head back against the pillow with that theatrical misery. “Y’know, if dyin’ means I don’t have to eat Seth’s soup, I might just take the risk.”

You only roll your eyes. “You’ll eat it, and you’ll like it.”

He cracks a grin, eyes soft despite the rasp in his voice, “Bossy.”

You lean down, pressing your forehead against his for a moment, letting the heat of him remind you why you’re doing all this—why you’d do it a thousand times over.

He feels so warm. But, not that loving furnace heat you get at your bedside—like his insides are twisting, and melting from exhaustion.

“Yeah,” you murmur, brushing your lips just near the corner of his mouth. “But only because I love you.”

He hums, already half-asleep again. “I love you too… nurse from fuckin' hell…”

The morning was chaos—one long, brathless stretch of duty stitched together with worry.

You’d barely had time to think between sprinting from the patrol wall to update Jesse on Tommy’s condition, sketching out alternate routes with him between half-sipped coffee and radio chatter.

Then it was a jog across town to Tipsy’s, bargaining with Seth for a week’s worth of soup. He gave in, naturally, but not before wrangling a promise out of you to babysit his twins sometime this week—“God help me,” you’d muttered.

Then off to Maria, where you offered to take Tommy’s place at tomorrow’s council meeting, assuring her you’d pry the latest reports out of him before he melted into his pillow completely.

Another run back to Tipsy’s to pick up the soup—still steaming, sealed tight in glass containers. The smell alone made you exhale through your nose and crave sleep.

By the time you stepped through your front door, your brain was fogged, your limbs heavy.

You felt like you’d been wading through molasses all morning.

“Tommy?” you called, kicking the door shut with your foot, arms full of soup and exhaustion. “I’m home. Where ya at, Cowboy?”

There was a beat of silence. Then, from the couch, a familiar voice rasped out, “Dyin’ dramatically in the living room. Might need mouth-to-mouth.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a laugh as you set the soup down with a clatter louder than necessary.

“You’re lucky I brought food and not a shovel.”

He peeked over the armrest, pale and bundled in a ridiculous mix of blankets like a man twice his age, eyes still dancing with that worn, mischievous spark. “Did ya get the good kind?”

“You mean the kind that might make you actually sweat out this fever and stop being a dick?”

Tommy coughed into his sleeve, smirking. “God, I love it when you talk dirty.”

You crossed the room in three strides, flicked his forehead gently, and sighed, "Eat your damn soup, Miller. Before I start charging you for the labor.”

He grinned. “I’ll pay in kisses.”

“After you're healed, then we got a deal.”

You took your time, letting the soup simmer until it was just right—warm, comforting, something that smelled like home. You ladled it carefully into a chipped ceramic bowl and settled down across from him, watching as he ate. Slow, deliberate, like he was trying to convince himself to keep going.

Poor thing had no appetite.

But your eyes traced the pale fade of his freckles, the way the color had bled out of his face. That light in his eyes was dimmed, flickering beneath the weight of the sickness. This wasn’t just a cold. Tommy was sick—the kind that grabs hold and doesn’t let go.

You stood, crossing the room with quiet urgency. Your hand found his temple, warm but flushed, then swept gently over to cradle the side of his head. Thumb brushing across his damp hairline, a tender touch that said everything you couldn’t put into words.

“I don’t like that your fever hasn’t gone down,” you murmured, voice low but steady, “You’re burnin' up."

He met your gaze, a weak grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, humor still threading through even when his body was betraying him. "You don’t gotta like it,” he rasped, trying for a smirk that didn’t quite land. “Just gotta let me die handsomely.”

You gave him a look—sharp, soft, everything all at once. “You’re not dying.”

He watched you like he was memorizing the shape of your face—just in case. His hand barely lifted from the blanket, his fingertips grazing yours, too weak to do much else. Lazy.

The bravado melted under the heat of your care, and what was left behind was something far more fragile. Real.

“I want you to rest,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, tender. “Let me all carry this. Just for a while.”

Tommy blinked at you slowly, as if the weight behind your words pulled him further down into the warmth of your presence. He didn’t argue. Didn’t joke. He just nodded—barely—and shut his eyes.

You stood, stiff and aching, the exhaustion blooming behind your eyes sharp enough to make you sway for half a second. But still, you reached for your coat. Pulled your arms through the sleeves like it was armor.

"I'm gonna run over to the infirmary,” you murmured, voice low but steady. “See if I can talk them into giving me antibiotics without draggin' your stubborn ass over there.”

He cracked one eye open, just enough to murmur, “You always did have a way with people…”

You snorted, brushing your knuckles over his jaw. “Yeah. Let’s hope charm’s enough to outpace protocol.”

As you turned toward the door, the chill from the hallway met your skin like a warning.

The world outside didn’t know what was happening in your little shared corner of it—that he was sick, and you were unraveling slowly from the inside out.

God, he wasn't actually dying.

But something about seeing him so… low, and weak?

It moved something. Something really deep inside of you. But the world wouldn’t wait. Your hand lingered on the doorknob, hesitation anchoring you in place. You glanced back once more.

His breathing was uneven, uncomfortable—but steady. “I’ll be back soon,” you murmured, like a vow meant only for him.

Then you slipped out, the door clicking shut behind you like punctuation. No time to think. Just move.

You made a straight shot to the infirmary, weaving through the bustle like a ghost on a mission. No detours. No pleasantries. Stormed in like the world owed you something just for loving someone enough to worry.

“Jesus,” you muttered, lungs burning, hands shaking, “I didn’t drag myself all the way down here just to hear what I already know.”

Your fingers tapped an anxious rhythm against your thigh, tap. Nerves that are alive and sparking under your skin. The doctor didn’t flinch—just leaned back, arms folded, a wry smile settling into the corner of his mouth like it belonged there. Smug.

“You're startin' to sound like him,” he said. “He’s rubbin’ off on you.”

You blinked, momentarily thrown. “He—” You exhaled, voice cracking as you swallowed hard. “What?”

Maybe.

Maybe the Miller brothers had that kind of gravity—slow and steady, pulling people in without meaning to. And maybe you'd been orbiting long enough to start burning like them, too.

It’s not like you hadn’t noticed the shift. That creeping impatience when someone you loved was hurting. That fire-under-the-skin urgency, like the world needed to move faster or get out of your goddamn way.

Maybe you picked that up from Tommy. Maybe it was inevitable.

You remembered last fall—when you rolled your ankle bad enough to limp. You waved it off like it was nothing. Swore you could walk it off.

Tommy didn’t even entertain the idea.

He practically moved the entire infirmary around you. Rearranged cots, commandeered supplies, talked to people like it was a battlefield and your twisted ankle was some war wound. You told him, again and again, that it wasn’t broken.

And he looked at you like you were speaking a language he couldn’t understand. Like of course it didn’t have to be broken for it to matter. Of course he was going to move mountains for you.

But that’s him, isn’t it?

The doctor’s voice pulled you back.

“He’ll be fine,” he said gently. “Flu’s goin’ around, but it’s nothing he can’t sweat out. You caught it early. Just keep him warm, hydrated. He needs rest. And maybe—maybe you could use some too.”

You nodded, lips pressed tight. Took the medicine he handed you and clutched it like a lifeline.

“Tell him to get better soon,” the doctor added, half-smiling, "… He's got a commune to run."

You gave a small laugh, but it didn’t reach your eyes.

“I’ll tell him when he’s awake enough to argue.”

And with that, you turned back toward the door—heart aching, but lighter now. Because maybe it was rubbing off.

The protectiveness. The sharp edges.

The way love makes you reckless. And maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

Stepping through the door felt like a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Like coming in from a long, cold night, and finding the lights still on. Tommy hadn’t moved much—but he had moved. He was half-sat up now, blanket still pooled around his waist, a cup of coffee cradled in one hand. The window beside him cracked just enough to let in a breeze.

The empty soup bowl rested on the table like proof he’d tried. Like proof he’d waited.

“Hey,” you exhaled, tugging your boots off at the door, relief loosening your shoulders. He looked up at you, eyes soft despite the shadows under them. A flicker of a smile crossed his face before he tipped his head toward the edge of the couch—his silent invitation.

“You feelin’ any better?” you asked, crossing the room in a few quick steps, light on your feet. You held out the medicine and a canteen, your movements gentle, but tinged with urgency.

Tommy didn’t answer. Just reached out and pressed two fingers right between your brows.

“If you knit ‘em together any tighter,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep and something softer, “I’ll start thinkin’ you’re tryin’ to kill me with your mind.”

You blinked, startled into a laugh, and swatted his hand away with mock offense.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Miller,” you said, though your grin betrayed you.

He took the medicine, downed it with a grimace, then reached for your hand and tugged you closer—enough to feel the warmth rolling off him, enough for your knees to bump his.

“You worry too much,” he said, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“I get the flu maybe once every ten years... Odds were just catchin’ up.”

You tilted your head. “Yeah? Well next time they do, could you maybe not look like death warmed over? That’d be real comforting.”

Tommy chuckled, lo and gravelly. “I thought you liked me lookin’ rugged.”

“I like you with color in your face and an immune system that works.”

His smile widened, lazy and lopsided, “Damn.. 'That what it takes to impress you these days?”

“No,” you said, settling beside him carefully. “You impress me just by breathing. But I’d like you to keep doing that, preferably without the fever.”

He leaned his head back, eyes slipping shut for a moment as your shoulder met his. “You’re bossy when you’re in love,” he murmured, teasing.

“You’re worse when you’re sick.”

“Only way to get you to baby me.” His smile was peeking through, tugged up lips, and messily sprawled facial hair.

You nudged his leg with yours, pretending not to enjoy the way he leaned into your side—like gravity just naturally pulled him toward you. And maybe it did.

Because even sick, even tired, even wrapped in two blankets and the smell of menthol rub, Tommy Miller had this way of anchoring you. Of making a worn-out room feel like a home. Of making you forget, just for a minute, how much the world outside still asked of you.

Maybe tomorrow he’d be back on his feet—half-smirking, full of jokes, acting like he hadn’t just scared the life out of you. Like he hadn’t made your heart lurch with the quiet fear of what if.

But tonight, he was yours to tend to.

And God help him, he soaked up every second.

The rest of the day passed in the kind of silence that doesn’t press. That doesn’t demand.

Just comfortable—like worn cotton and shared space. He eventually mustered the energy to shower, steam fogging up the bathroom mirror while you stripped the couch of the blanket he’d half-sweated through.

He returned with damp hair clinging to his forehead, skin flushed from heat and fever. His t-shirt stuck to him in places that made you momentarily forget he was still sick.

Now he was laid out across the couch again, head resting easy against your lower stomach, his legs tangled in the throw blanket. You were half-reading, half-listening as his voice filled the quiet room.

“—n’ then I told Joel the damn beams were too low. I said it. Clear as day. But no, fucker knows better. Always knows better. 'Til I crack my head on it and suddenly it's my fault for bein’ ‘too tall for my own good.’”

You exhaled a soft laugh, your hand drifting from the spine of your book to his scalp, almost on instinct. Your fingers slipped into the damp weight of his curls, slow and steady, nails dragging along his skin in soothing circles.

He let out a low, involuntary sound—half sigh, half groan—like he didn’t mean to let it escape.

“Don’t stop,” he mrrmured, already melting.

You grinned, carding your fingers through again with more intention this time, working through a small knot at his nape. “You act like you’re not already spoiled.”

“I am spoiled,” he said, eyes shut, a lazy smirk curling his lips. “Just makin’ sure you remember it.”

“You’re lucky I like the sound of your voice,” you said, playfully tugging one of the damp strands.

He cracked one eye open. “Lucky? Sweetheart, you braided my hair that one time we ran outta things to do. I knew right then I had you.”

Your laugh caught in your throat, and before you knew it, your fingers were sectioning off another lock of his hair.

“I was bored.”

“You were in love,” he teased, one hand ghosting over your thigh like punctuation.

You stuck your tongue out, not that he could see it. “Keep talkin’ n' I'll shave your goddamn head.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he mumbled, voice already thick with impending sleep. But he was smiling, proud and smug like he’d won something. You started to braid—slow, small sections, tiny, more about the motion than the outcome.

It was mindless. Soft. Like letting yourself breathe after holding tension in your chest too long.

“Y’know,” he said, voice going quieter now, “… don’t think I ever had someone do this before.”

“What, braid your hair?”

“Nah. Just… fuss over me. Not like this.”

You paused for half a second before resuming, your hands moving a little slower, a little more carefully.

“Well,” you said, almost under your breath, “… guess I’ll just have to keep doin’ it then.”

Tommy didn’t answer at first. Just sighed, deep and content, like your touch was rewiring something under his skin. “Yeah,” he said eventually, voice thick and low. “Reckon you will.”

And he let himself drift there—tucked against you like a secret, like something too tender to name. Safe in a way he never said out loud, but you felt it. In the way his breath evened out when your hands were in his hair.

In the quiet weight of his body against yours, as if he trusted you to hold all the pieces he didn’t know how to carry on his own. Your fingers moved again, slow and careful, nails grazing from his forehead to his nape. He let out another low, unguarded sound—half sigh, half something rougher, like gratitude threaded in want.

Then you went back to braiding—tiny, aimless plaits that would be undone and redone and undone again. Just something for your hands to do. A rhythm to fall into. Like folding laundry or humming under your breath.

Like loving him out loud without having to say a damn thing.

“I ever tell you this is my favorite version of you?” Tommy muttered, voice muffled by your shirt, lazy and on the edge of sleep.

You quirked a brow. “The hair stylist who takes clients in the living room?”

He gave a soft laugh that rumbled against your stomach. “Nah. The one who touches me like I ain’t a man.”

That quieted you. For a moment, the only sound was your fingers slipping through the curls again, the tiny creak of the couch as he shifted just slightly, nestling deeper.

“You’re allowed to let people hold you sometimes, y’know,” you said finally, voice gentler than you meant it to be.

“I know,” he said, and you could hear the lie in it. Not malicious—just muscle memory. The kind of thing people like him say when they’re used to carrying their own weight too long.

You leaned forward a bit, pressing your lips to the top of his head.

“Good,” you whispered. “Then let me.”

Tommy didn’t say anything, but his hand found your calf, and you drag your leg up to allow him the access—his fingers dancing near your ankle, fingers curling around it like a tether. Like he needed something real to hold onto.

You went back to braiding, slower now. Almost reverent.

“You keep this up,” he murmured, “I’m gonna have to marry you... Just so I get lifetime access to the scalp massages.”

You grinned. “Is that a proposal or a threat?”

“Little of both.”

“Mm. Well, in that case, I better start practicing my vows. ‘I promise to braid your hair and nurse your man-colds until death do us part.’”

Tommy chuckled, deep and warm. “Don’t forget ‘laugh at all your dumb jokes and keep you humble.’ That one’s important.”

“No one could keep you humble, handsome.”

His eyes opened then, just enough for a glimmer of mischief. “That so?”

“That’s so,” you echoed, tugging lightly on one finished braid before raking your fingers back through to start again. Undoing it, not because it wasn’t perfect—but because the doing was the point. Because touch was how you spoke when words felt too small.

He sighed again—long and content, body heavy in the way that only happens when someone finally lets themselves rest.

And you stayed like that.

You, unbraiding. Him, unraveling.

Both of you were exactly where you were meant to be.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All In 18

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Bucky's reluctance to let you go contrasts your eagerness for the same thing. A twinge of guilt plucks in you as you walk away from the car. You should be grateful after everything he's done. The hair, makeup, dresses, books, everything. It was a good night and he's so attentive, but at the same time, his intensity makes you nervous. More than usual.

Your mom's at work. You depend on that to help hide your deceit. As you close the front door behind you, reality sinks in. You're lying to her. After everything, you're going behind her back. You can comfort yourself that the money will help out but it still feels wrong.

You should have a real job, not whatever this hole is you've dug. You can still try; still send out resumes, fill out redundant apps, but what would make it any different than before? Bucky is both your saviour and your defeat. That's all you can get. He's a good guy; rich and handsome but the situation is less than ideal.

You're thinking too much. You drag your feet to your room and shut yourself in. It's an instant relief to be alone. To be back in the place you always went to hide. You miss the quiet nights. It's not even been more than one night away yet it feels longer.

You stretch out and yawn. You're exhausted. What little sleep you got wasn't restful. You stay sprawled on your bed for a while before you peel away.

You get up and change into a pair of pajama pants and a cotton shirt. You grab a book and take it back to the bed. You lean your pillows against the corner of the wall and nestle in. As much of a whirlwind your life has become, you still prefer fiction.

Your anxiety spikes as you hear the front door. Your mom calls out. You wonder if she checked for you that morning. You mull the lies Bucky suggested...

"Honey bun?" She calls out.

You snap your book shut without marking the page. You hope up and hurry to the door. You crack it open and peek out.

"Mom?" You eke out.

"Oh, there you are! I feel like it's been ages. You're a busy bunny."

"Mhmm. Sorry. I should've... mentioned. It's a pretty full schedule."

"I know. So long as you're taking care of yourself. Aren't you?" She cheeps.

"Oh, yeah, of course." You answer as you clasp your hands behind you. "How's work for you?"

"It's work," she shrugs. "Happy to be home. You going in tonight?"

She heads for the kitchen and you follow. "Um, yes. I... I have another shift--"

"Shhhhhhhh," the long hush greets your entrance as you come into the kitchen. Roxy sips from a fresh cup of coffee.

"And hello to you too, hon," your mom rebuffs. "Late night?"

"Mmm, very," Roxy answers hoarsely, "probably later tonight."

"Ah, my girls," your mom puts her purse on the counter. "Such hard workers. So grown up."

Her preening makes you shrink down and your sister rolls her eyes. She taps on her phone with her thumb. "Yeah, well, you know, I might get a better gig soon. Somewhere bigger. Better pay."

"Amazing," your mom beams as she searches the fridge.

"Since." Roxy punctuates the single word as she jabs her finger in the air. "My loving sister won't put in a good word for me at the casino. But whatever. Wyla says she knows some people."

"That's wonderful. Just be safe. Both of you," she takes the chicken breast out of the fridge. "Hungry?"

"Um, I'll cook, mom. You just got in."

"I don't mind," she waves you off. "Really. Seems like I won't get to take care of you two much longer. Oh, dread the day."

You scrunch your lips up. You watch her for a moment then look down. You never lie to her. You tell her everything, not that you've ever had much to tell. You hate this.

"I'll help at least," you insist.

"Alright," she relents. "Rox, you feel like pitching in?"

"Pfft, no thanks. I gotta get ready. I'll eat later." Your sister takes her cup and struts away, eyes glued to her phone. Your mother ho hums.

"I wonder where she gets that from. Never taught her to be a brat," she tuts. You peek up and she smiles in your direction. "Ah, but I got you, don't I?"

You try to smile. Your cheeks pinch painfully. You clear your throat. "Yeah. Um... what're we doing with the chicken?"

You just want to focus on the simple task. Not on the lies. You want to pretend everything's normal. If you're good at anything, it's avoidance.

🃏

It's turning into a routine. Your mom drops you off at the casino. You walk up to the hotel and check-in, just like Bucky directed. He's been texting. A lot. You're anxious.

You get to the suite. There's an outfit waiting. A two-piece top and skirt. Shiny rose gold and figure hugging. To go with it, there are heels in a similar shade and a necklace with a single diamond.

The knock at the door isn't a surprise but still makes you jump. Bucky enters as you struggle to find your voice. He stops and his eyes skim up and down your body. He whistles and crosses the room. He reaches for you as he approaches.

"Well, doll, you are goddamn stunning," he frames your hips. "Mm mm mm. Beautiful and..." he brushes his hands up your sides and draws you closer. "All mine."

He leans down and you tilt your head. Your lips meet but you're unprepared for his ferocity. He pushes past your sealed lips and gags you with his tongue. One hand slips down to your ass as his other cradles your head. He rocks you as he presses his pelvis against you and growls.

When at last he lets you breathe, you're dizzy. You blink up at him and he smirks. "Sorry, can't help myself."

"It's... fine. I... I'll put on more gloss."

You turn and grab the tube of lip gloss. You bend to look in the fantasy as you unscrew the top. You slide out the wand and he steps up behind you. He bends over you, planting his hands on the table. You smear the sparkly shine across your lips. He watches over your shoulder and snarls. He once more rocks his pelvis into you.

"What about this? Huh? Our first time? You could watch the whole thing?" He bows and kisses your shoulder, rubbing his crotch against your ass. "I could still see your face..."

"Bucky," you squeak as you twist the gloss tube. "Um... you said you wanted to go play games, right?"

"We can but I really wanna play with you, kitten." He nuzzles your hair. "You just look so damn good right now."

"Thank you, uh..." you look at him in the mirror as he rests his chin on your head. With his arms penning you in, you feel trapped. "You look good too."

"I do?" He wonders with a coy tweak of his brow.

You nod. His dark hair is tucked behind his ears, his beard is thick but tidy, and he wears a sapphire jacket that makes his eyes even bolder. You can't help but smile. He really is a good looking man.

"Yes," you answer and gently touch his thick fingers. "Can't put in all this effort just to stay in."

"Ah, baby, damn, I know you're right but I wish you weren't," he growls and stands up. "Gotta show you off, huh?"

You grab his hand. "Uh huh." You never look forward to facing the public but the alternative scares you more. "Maybe this time, we'll win."

"Oh, I already have, baby," he raises your hand and kisses your knuckle. "I already got the best girl in the room."

🃏

Bucky's hand rests on your lower back. It's no different than the night before. He stops to speak with those who recognise him. He keeps you close as he does.

He stops at the bar and puts a drink in your hand. Cranberry with a twist of lemon. He gets his usual dark liquor.

You go to a table with a wheel. He sets your drink on the trim and helps you onto the tall stool. He squeezes your hip as if to make sure you're steady.

"Roulette," Bucky explains. "Mostly luck. Can't really be good or bad."

He beckons over your shoulder. An employee in all black appears with a tray of chips. Bucky accepts them and sets them on the table. "Benny," he says to the dealer. "This is my lady. She's going to make some bets. Give her a good spin."

"Yes, boss," the dealer responds and watches you patiently.

"Pick a number, doll," Bucky gestures to the table.

You look at the odd chart of numbers and all the different colours. You tap your fingers as others place their chips down on the squares. "Twenty-seven?"

He nods and puts a stack on. You wiggle your foot nervously. You don't want him to lose too much money.

"Alright, last bets." Benny calls out.

He spins the wheel as a ball bounces around it. Bucky runs his fingers up and down your back, sending chills all across you. His touch is so smothering, he just never stops. You squirm and glance around. You feel like everyone else is staring but you're too afraid to look at their faces.

"Twenty-seven." Benny declares. You flinch and sit up. Others groan, some sigh, and the chips are pushed toward you.

"Really?" You utter.

"Congratulations."

"Oh?" You stare at the pile.

Bucky tidies the stacks with one hand. You cup your chin and look at him. "Why don't you choose this one?"

"I spent all my luck on you, baby," he purrs.

You giggle. Sometimes the things he says make your insides all wiggly. And the way his voice sounds...

"Try your drink." He says.

"Oh, thanks." You grab your glass and take a bigger gulp than you mean to. The tart cranberry is laced with stringent vodka.

"Number?" He asks you.

"Mmmmm three?"

He puts a bet down again. The wheel spins. No luck this time; five. You shrug and take another drink.

You empty your glass quickly. Too quickly. Bucky picks up the tray of chips and signals again. He hands it to the same employee. He offers his hand.

"You need another drink."

"I can wait," you say.

"I do too," he intones.

He walks you back to the bar. As you turn and reach back to brace the seat of the high stool, he grabs your hips and lifts you onto it. You make a face and he chuckles.

"You're adorable," he praises and squeezes your hips. "Absolutely irresistible."

He turns, an elbow on the bar trim, his other hand fluttering to your thigh. He rests it there as the bartender approaches. "My regular and...doll?" He looks at you. "You want the same thing or..."

"Sure. Uhh, cranberry."

"Cranberry martini," Bucky corrects you. "Thank you, sir."

Bucky rubs up and down your leg as he steps closer. Each time he trails up, he gets a little closer to your panties. You shift and push your thighs together.

"You icing me out?" He wonders as he leans his cheek in his hand and stares at you.

"I just... I don't like... people seeing," you peek around.

"Ah, I know. You wanna keep it private. You want it special." He tickles above your knee. "I get it. I'm sorry, doll. I can't help myself. Not with you." He keeps his elbow on the bar and lifts his head. "You know, I've been thinking about this morning. About the shower..."

"Oh, uh, yeah," you touch your neck as it burns. "Well, that was just... that was new."

"You liked it though."

"Mmhmm," you hum and smile. "Yeah, it's fun..."

The bartender returns. Bucky pulls his arm off the bar and slides your drink toward you. You thank him and take it. You peer into the dark red cocktail and make yourself drink. You don't want it to go to waste.

"We'll have some more tonight," he grips his glass and hovers it in front of him. "Can I kiss it again?"

You nearly choke as you go to take a sip. Your eyes round at him. His cheek dimples.

"You can pull my hair while I do."

You swallow tightly as the drink in your hand trembles. Your lips twitch. You can't speak.

"You can sit on me. Right on my face." He slithers as he pets your knee. 

"Please, um, later. Erm," you trace along your neck nervously.

"What do you want me to do, doll?" He gets closer and brings his hand up to the nape of your neck. He looms over you. "You wanna touch me like you did this morning? Maybe you could use your mouth too?"

The glass nearly tips out of your grasp. You catch it and place it on the bar. You giggle nervously. Your ears are on fire.

"Well, er, sure," you murmur. "I--"

Your name booms out from behind you. Your brows rise even higher. You frown and Bucky's eyes raise pointedly. His jaw sets.

"Yo, it's me. You know? Your sister!" Roxy stomps up beside you. "Woah. Some job you got." She reaches to tug on your shirt. Bucky flicks her away. "They got a nice uniform for you and everything." She snorts and glares between you and Bucky. "This your boss?" She snickers. "Oh, sweetie, if this is the work you're doing, I coulda hooked you up."

You bat your lashes as your eyes wet, "no, Roxy, please... don't tell mom."

"Don't tell? Oh, I mean, I wouldn't if you'd told me but now... hm. You always were the good one." She taunts. "I can't believe you'd like to mommy."

"Roxy--" You slide off the stool and nearly fall. Bucky catches your arm.

"Too late." She sneers. "Go on and fuck your sugar daddy. I'll find my own." She glances at Bucky, razing him up and down with her eyes, then spins away. "Ha! Should've fucking known."

"Rox," you reach for her and Bucky pulls you back. You whine and put your fist to your lips.

"It's okay, doll."

"No, I..." you squeeze your hand tighter as you lower it to your chest. "No, I shouldn't have ever done this. I... lied--"

"You are an adult," he says. "You do whatever you want. Your sister gets no say." He grabs our shoulders and bends to look you in the face. "Don't let her ruin our night."

But-- but---"

"That's a problem for tomorrow, right, baby?" He brings his hands up to cradle your face. "Right now, you're with me. Come on, let's finish our drinks. It'll help."

"I don't... I don't know."

"Sit," his thumb brushes across your cheekbone. "I told you, didn't I? I'll take care of you. You don't worry about nothing."

[eunoiiea]

ˏˋ°•⁀➷ May i have a promotion, please?

(Sorry if the header is the same as the pinned post, im not in the mood to create another one. :( )

Hey, im Wynn, but you can also call me Fay, or LaFay.

I go by it (preferably) and any pronouns, so please try to keep that in mind.

My commissions are open, but i haven't gotten a commission for a while or so. So i need a promotion so people could maybe continue to commission me :)

I make: layouts and themepacks... Not much, but im still trying to learn more stuff to create.

Here are some examples:

I've updated the payments, so now you can pay me with nitro or robux!

Here's how much you'll have to pay me with:

Layouts: 400 robux. (200 if pfp/layout only.) ; basic nitro (if i already have nitro, then pay me with profile decorations.)

Themepacks: 1000 robux ; nitro boost. (Same thing with the layouts one.)

If you're gonna pay me with robux, here's what you'll have to know:

There are 2 ways to pay me with robux: either with a redeem card, or with the gamepass.

With the redeem card, you'll simply just have to buy it (either online or in real life) and just send me the redeem code. Pretty simple :)

With the gamepass though, it'll cost more than what i listed: since roblox just gives me 70% of the robux when someone buys my gamepass, which really displeasures me. So i decided to add 30% more to the gamepass so i could get the accurate robux i should get. (Sorry if i dont speak english well.)

MY DISCORD USERNAME IS eunoiiea, FRIEND REQ ME IF YOU WANT TO COMMISSION!

Taglist: (dm to be removed!) @prwince @c0nn3ctr13ss @moonbonezzz @rwottenbunnie @pupytrail @faithfwul @decotel @vinvcloudzt @stomachbooks @dwevilliette @hauntingmizi @prismaticvampire @dandysworlds @pawingyou @l4rryzdotpng @eunashh @sentinelofspawn @thetruthofriddles @dollrndo @joeyyoink (dm to be removed!)

[phannie-elvis]

Phannie Census Update #1 (Intro and Timeline)

Phwoah dads, hello everyone!

(summary at the end for anyone who doesn't want to read the whole update, also here's the link to the census if this is the first you're hearing about it)

I'm just going to talk as the mod for the rest of this without changing the color (normally I would change the color of the text to blue when the mod is talking, but I figured that might be hard to read for the amount of text I'm about to write lol).

Welcome to everyone who followed me from the Phannie Census! If you're not familiar with the elvisverse and elvis blogs, this blog must be pretty confusing, so I would suggest checking out @elvis-official or @elvis-resercher-official if you want to learn more (if you don't want to learn more, just know that I'll have "elvisisms" in my posts -such as Phwoah dads, phummina phummina, and *sexy end screen dance*- and I'll reblog some stuff that happens in the elvisverse in addition to phannie stuff). I posted this on my elvis blog instead of my main since it has more followers, and I wanted to reach as many people as possible. If you find elvis blogs annoying, feel free to unfollow me (no hard feelings, I know gimmick blogs aren't for everyone)! I'm planning on tagging everything related to the census with #phannie census 2025, so you can follow that tag instead. If you're not a tags person, I'm also planning on creating a master post linking all my updates that I'll link in my pinned post, so you can just check that periodically.

For the timeline of the census, unfortunately it'll take a while for me to have my full-fledged complicated analysis. However, because I know people will want results as soon as possible, I'm planning on posting updates on Sundays (as I have them, for the next few Sundays I have things planned out, but as I spend more time working on code for the analysis there might be some Sundays with no updates, also I'm in the process of moving so apologies if some things related to this get delayed).

This upcoming Sunday I am planning on releasing some preliminary results! These results will not be finalized, as I don't plan on closing the survey until I feel like everyone who wants to has had a chance to take it. The results will also not be super in depth, just the results for each question on the Google Form summary (for my full analysis I'm planning on pulling together data from multiple questions/responses, e.g. what percent of respondents were dannies when they joined the phandom but are phillies now? what percent of respondents are all four G's of the Dan and Phil demographic?). On Sunday, we'll get some preliminary answers to questions like "what percent of respondents identify as lesbian?" and "were there more dannie or phillie respondents?" (just keep in mind that some of these answers- particularly ones that are close- can still change while the survey is open).

I've had over 700 responses so far, so thank you so so much to everyone who took the survey and shared it!!! I was not expecting the survey to get nearly this many responses (and so quickly too!). With a sample size this big, we're actually getting some really solid data! We might technically be able to generalize the data set to all tumblr phannies using statistics - i.e. saying with 99% confidence that approximately 29% of tumblr phannies identify as a lesbian based on the results of the survey. However, I'm not sure I wanna make sweeping statements about the whole tumblr phannie community since the way the survey was distributed was not 100% scientific (I also can't extend to the whole phannie community beyond tumblr, since as far as I know everyone who took the survey got it from tumblr- feel free to spread it to other places like Twitter or your phannie friends though! I don't have Twitter so I can't send it there but I would love a greater/more representative sample size).

tldr: This is an elvis blog (you can unfollow and just check the link in my pinned post for updates instead if you don't like elvis blogs or you can follow the #phannie census 2025 tag). I'm going to be posting updates about the census as I have them on Sundays, with the next update being preliminary results this Sunday. I've had over 700 responses so far (thanks so much!), so I can do some real math but I don't feel comfortable generalizing about the whole community so I might just stick to saying "respondents" instead of phannies/tumblr phannies (also feel free to spread the census to other social media or to friends).

Apologies for this novel of a post, I learned my yapping skills from my dad, Mr. Danny "not on fire" Howell. I want to say future updates will be shorter, but honestly I can't promise that (I'll add tldr's if they're this long though).

Athankyouverymuch everyone! *sexy end screen dance*

[stephdudette]

ok SO like... i went on tumblr today and SUDDENLY I GET LIKE 4 ASKS about THIS LIKE WTF.... ITS BEEN WELL OVER A DECADE!!!

Apparently this started circulating again and I just... I have no idea why... (Maybe cause Deltarune Chapter 3 and 4 came out?)

So I guess to answer some things. I was able to finish the demo back in the day (I wrote this post on July 3rd 2013 which was when I played the demo) and generally I liked it besides Flowey at that point. Then i completely forgot about it.

And then I find out in 2015 that the game had been fully released. I played the full game about a week after it came out. The first time I played, I got a neutral ending because at that point I didn't figure out at that point how to spare Toriel. (yes I did beat photoshop flowey, it was a very "wtf" kind of fight but I powered through).

I then quickly learned how you do it so I went back, played, and got the pacifist ending.

I DID attempt to try the genocide route but I was unable to beat Sans. I still have not to this day but I have seen others do (and I am well aware of what happens afterwards).

Generally speaking I love Undertale. I love its world and characters. I like their designs and generally find them either cute, funny, or a bit odd (But in a good way). I didn't really get involved in the fandom that much, just saw things from afar.

I don't have much more to say. I have played Deltarune and I'm really loving the game so far (I did finish chapter 4 but its like not a complete game yet).(and before anyone asks I'm just planning a pacifist route style for it).

Also someone asked me what my fav word was... I wish i can answer you but I can't. However the first word that came to my head was "apricot"

So idk if you guys know of a game called Undertale. Its by Toby Radiation Fox, the guy who does homestuck music.

Well i started playing the demo, and that part with the flower, I thought it was gonna be all cute and nice.

BOY WAS I HELL WRONG. THAT FLOWER FREAKED THE HELL OUT OF ME. IM STILL SHAKING NOW.

someone calm me down. im not even 10 seconds and this is freaky. its like OFF  but idk. sdjgklsdjg;lksdjg

imma keep playing though, hopefully it gets better

[ch1zzie]

The original in the bottom

Plus the picture I mainly drew but decided to draw the rest for funny

[ebonytails]

Hey everyone! this is where the zebra is currently with the design.

It has knee braces!! I will most probably be drawing the zebra usually with them on, but it’s no requirement, for example if anyone else wants to draw the zebra :-]. I always like to make sure an animal design has official colors underneath any clothing and accessory anyway. I think this will be final! thank you everyone for your feedback!

As a reminder, aside from why the zebra was requested for this flag, this is also just a zebra with the disability pride flag on it. It’s just a deisgn to fit the flag, with input from other disabled people in our community. It doesn’t mean other animals can’t have designs with these colors, too! I don’t mean this design to be the only mascot for all disabled people. It’s just a silly series i do of pride animals, and at the time, during disability pride month, I wanted to see what everyone wanted me to start off with for this flag!

the goal with my pride animals is to take requests and make people feel happy and seen.. that’s all <:-)

[hartwound]

i made this post on my old blog about what touch is like for my ocs and by some miracle i just realized i saved it so i’m gonna rewrite it here 😁

[hana-bobo-finch]

good news party people! Found the moth I haven’t seen since last week. Bad news party people! Dagger moths have a lifespan of a week

[vagueeyes]

Mini K update:

She's watched THE TRIAL OF ELIZABETH GADGE and COLD COMFORT. According to her:

"the witch one was ok, kind of funny"

"the Cold Comfort one [she] liked...obviously, because it's dark lol" - I then asked if she saw the twist coming (I should stop asking that!!). She said she "suspected the boss was in on something" but she "didn't see the final part coming."

I also asked if 12 DAYS is still the best one for her so far, she said "I think so, yeah."

Thinking about her opinion of COLD COMFORT, I feel like her in9 journey so far can only be described by this moment in THE PARTY'S OVER:

She didn't have much time to chat, so I ended it by saying that if she gets to S3, I can predict which episodes she will like. She laughed and said, "We'll see if they line up."

I mean, it's easy to guess, right??

[scoriarose]

Pinned Post Placeholder - Work in Progress

My girls Intro

Scoria Rose pic/favs/birthday/morph/personality/ name meaning/ prior posts including her Sakura Kurimu pic/favs/birthday/morph/personality/ name meaning/ prior posts including her

F.A.Q

You Cohab your snakes??? Previous Asks

Guides:

Enrichment/Toys (inside their enclosure) Enrichment Activities (outside their enclosure) Foods! (Different foods, what's safe, and what's a sometimes treat) Feeding guides (weight vs feeding amount) Enclosure Necessities (lighting, hides, water ponds, food areas, activity areas, safety considerations, optional aesthetics) Common Enclosure Mistakes (do it for your reptile not your human aesthetics!) Things Every Snake Keeper Should Have (information, medical, equipment) Enclosure and Substrate Types (Pros/Cons) Making a Cool/Wet/Moss Hide Making a baby bin / temp enclosure (for emergencies/vet visits) Help I lost my snake! (What to do when they escape) Scale Rot (how it happens, how to avoid it, what to do if your snake has it) How to communicate TO your snake (how to show you aren't a threat, how to express what you're trying to do) How to understand your snake (reading their body language, and encourage them to "talk" to you to express their wants and needs, "airplane") Choice Based handling & interaction (bonding) When you first get your snake! Dangers to keep away from your snake! (dangerous toys and enclosure dangers, red lights, heat pads, NO THERMOSTAT OR TEMP GUN -_-') Outdated lies and idiot keepers/vets (look out for these and keep your pets safe)

[gradschoolcryptid]

ok I need the fallout/nintendogs character arcs explained because what

Lol so we wrapped our prior years long campaign by getting an error screen in the middle of the final boss battle, then getting spit out into the "real world" and learning that the "real" versions of our fantasy characters have been locked in a simulation for as of yet not fully revealed plot reasons. Cue the current game arc, where we've been pulled into post apocalyptic real world-adjacent West Virginia and tasked with delivering some sort of powerful object to Las Vegas. So far we're scared to touch it but we know from a separate game arc (the DM has so many games that he has/is running that are all part of the same connecting multiverse) that once there it will be used to create a magical surge that sends a couple displaced heros (including me from my other current game) back to their dimension. I, once a powerful dwarven barbarian, am now a short, anxious, should-not-be-allowed-near-people-because-i-will-pick-a-fight-i'll-lose guy named Gary.

Currently, we're on a train headed west, and one of the encounters we had was a giant pack of feral dogs that we had to fend off as we traveled through a valley. After thoroughly roasting the fact that our train somehow wasn't dog proof despite being, ya know, a moving train, we picked up the next game with the encounter.

As I stood guard to defend our conductor, one of the dogs, a clearly starved, feral greyhound, leaped on board.

I rolled to catch the dog. I succeeded.

The rest of the encounter was pretty much me struggling to hold onto the dog while everyone else actually did something useful. We leveled up after that, and I took a feat that functionally gives me an animal companion. The DM had to explain that this particular dog would not be able to follow the rules as written abilities the feat offers, he even had an NPC dog trainer in the next town offer to swap dogs with Gary, before I countered that I had no desire or expectation that this dog would ever obey, I just wanted a sliver of a chance at keeping him from escaping and/or eating us all in the middle of the night. Also at this point everyone in character hates/fears this untamed beast and is trying to convince me to get rid of it (ooc they're loving it almost as much as me). Thankfully Gary is a stubborn bastard who doesn't care what anyone else thinks and isn't about to start now and he's living his best star-of-a- horse-girl-movie life. I use our next stop to raid a pet store. I spend 3 days while the others upgrade the train chasing the damn dog through the woods bc I was convinced we had enough of a bond he wouldn't run away. Someone mentioned the definitely magic macguffin in our luggage and I realized I'd COMPLETELY forgotten the actual plot of the campaign.

Recently the dog went from "will bite your fingers off if you take his muzzle off" to "serene and revealing an intelligence far beyond what a dog should be capable of" literally overnight. Everyone else thinks it's weird but Gary is just convinced he was right about being a good dog trainer.

I've named him a mangled version of the name once used by simulation-Gary's best friend/almost love interest, who in this world is calling himself by a not-quite-remembered-right variation of the name of his beloved steed.

[salsflore]

ms. foulstide dot carrd dot co has been with me for the longest time but i think it is time for a divorce

[that-spider-fan-over-there]

*dusting off this old blog* Well it's been a while, isn't it?

[koushirouizumi]

{Blog P.S.A} For New Followers

Where to Find Me: MY "ABOUT"+F.A.Q {READ FIRST}: Here (About) + Here (F.A.Q)! {People who don't even glance at these before leaving commnts inquiring about my Thoughts on Things get Ignored} [Trust Me I'll Know] AO3: Hikari AMVs Index (All Old & Newest AMVs): here! {Currently/Mainly creating for Digimon, Adventure-related franchise} [also appears at times: 02, tri.~Kizuna~The Beginning, Frontier; less often: Xros Wars {Pt 2 of original XW is my personal favorite}/Young Hunters; Ghost Game; Tamers; Wonderswan games-verse; everything post-02 mainly being original Japanese version based] Other {+Digi}-Sideblogs: izzyizumi (main Digimon blog) hikari-m (official Digimon {news+art} archiving+general Fandom commentary; Asks or follows may come from here, Depending) taichi-x-koushiro (Archiving for Yagami Taichi/Izumi Koushiro as Ship) IF YOU ARE A NEW FOLLOWER OR LURKER, I'd really appreciate if you can send me an Ask (you could also leave a quick introductory comment here, on my pinned post) and introduce yourself (you do not need to expect a response from me), even a short description like name (Pennames are definitely fine!), preferred pronouns (if any) and/or what brought you to my page and what you're staying for (Especially if you were here for resource{s} posts/reblogging, I've been curious if they've been helping anyone!) The reason I am asking this is because lately there's been a huge uptick of spam blogs following with particular "patterns" to their Likes, Follows, etc. and in order to prevent from being softblocked by accident if you are not actively blogging, it'd be great to know in advance if you're a real person. Aside from AO3 the only other 'active' archives of social media that I have are my much older Livejournal and Dreamwidth accounts, and even they're not quite in use these days. However, if you also have active LJs or DWs and actively blog, feel free to let me know too!

{And, for Clarification to anyone "Wondering"}:

[No, I will not discuss related current events further than this or in Tags. Anyone who attempts to push my boundaries on this will get Blocked]

FOR OFF-TUMBLR CONTACT, PLEASE DM: {Note: I will NOT respond to harrassing DMs and will only autodelete/block, so please don't waste your time}:

{Currently a infrequently active Koushiro RP Journal turned into personal archival blog. Please DO NOT spam it with non-Dreamwidth RP relevant comments. All comments are SCREENED first.}

It’d be very, very cool if people could also learn to read my FAQ page linked on the sidebar before sending Asks or interacting directly with either of my blogs or myself, because I’m seriously TIRED of people ignoring it and my rules for interaction.

I am a {diagnosed since childhood} Autistic, G.N.C {Gender Non-conforming} + THEY/THEM Jewish blogger. I reblog about those topics here for that reason. {Also my Ko-fi is here.}

* PLEASE DO NOT FOLLOW OR INTERACT WITH ANY OF MY POSTS IF YOU BLATANTLY HATE/DISMISS, OR EXPECT ME TO HATE/DISMISS THE ADVENTURE [+02] + TRI + KIZUNA + 2020 CHOSEN, KOUSHIRO (*ANY KOUSHIRO, INCLUDES FOR EXAMPLE: TRI!KOUSHIRO, OWG!KOUSHIRO, 2020!KOUSHIRO, KIZUNA!KOUSHIRO), TAICHI (*ANY TAICHI, INCLUDING 2020!TAICHI, TRI!TAICHI, KIZUNA!TAICHI), DAISUKE MOTOMIYA (or “DAVIS”), SORA TAKENOUCHI (*INCLUDING 02!SORA, TRI!SORA, 2020!SORA, KIZUNA!SORA), HIKARI YAGAMI (*INCLUDING 02!HIKARI, TRI!HIKARI, KIZUNA!HIKARI, 2020!HIKARI), MIMI TACHIKAWA (*INCLUDING 02!MIMI, TRI!MIMI, KIZUNA!MIMI, 2020!MIMI), MIYAKO INOUE (*INCLUDING KIZUNA!MIYAKO), ALL/ANY OTHER DIGIMON GIRLS SUCH AS IZUMI ORIMOTO {FRONTIER}, JURI KATOU {TAMERS}, JUN MOTOMIYA {02}, OR MEIKO MOCHIZUKI. THANK YOU (I WILL PERMABLOCK IF YOU FORCE-INTERACT OR BLOCK EVADE)

* PLEASE DO NOT FOLLOW OR INTERACT IF YOU CAN’T STAND MY SHIPS TO THE POINT YOU CAN’T EVEN BE RESPECTFUL WHEN INTERACTING WITH SOMEONE WHO SHIPS YOUR NOTP. (I WILL PERMABLOCK YOU IF I NOTICE)

** THESE RULES ALSO APPLY TO MY OTHER BLOG.

*** DO NOT INTERACT IF YOU SUPPORT HARASSMENT / BULLYING / ABUSE (I WILL INSTANTLY PERMA-BLOCK YOU) OR IF YOU SUPPORT / PLATFORM PEOPLE WHO DO.

NOTICE: I am much less active on a personal level on this blog nowadays (in the sense of making personal posts or fan-works/posting fic; I still reblog informative posts). I am slightly more active on my other socials, but most of them are private and friends-locked to older groups of mutuals. If you are curious or wanting to interact about Digimon (especially Adventures or about my favorite characters and ships for this fandom) specifically, please feel free to message me about them, but please understand I may not add or speak with anyone that I do not fully trust or know well. (It will help if most of your stances on social-justice issues align with and don’t blatantly conflict with my own. I tend to not add/follow people anywhere whose posts I cannot filter [i.e. there are many popular Western media fandoms / mega-fandoms I’m not in which I blacklist, types of fanworks I don’t personally care for that I blacklist, etc]. I do not do follow-backs so please do not follow or interact here expecting one). It will also help if you read my FAQ first and agree to it before asking.

PLEASE FAMILIARIZE YOURSELF WITH MY FANDOMS LIST (notably more the major fandoms but) BEFORE YOU INTERACT WITH ANY POST ON THIS BLOG. If I check/quick-vet your blog and find nothing but hate{watching} posts/“Critical” posts for my fandoms (ESPECIALLY THIS ONE), unless I’ve reblogged from you first, I MAY HARDBLOCK YOU.

[momonokopan]

oh my god it's a pinned post

call me peachy! here's the place where i dump my doobles in

they/she vietnamese doofus

occasionally a few oc sketches would escape into the wild (hides them behind me)

inactive most of the time bc life is a hideaki sorachi manga in which i live the lamest life possible until the world suddenly blows up

may you have a good time in the Peach Cave lads and lassies