#my three Most Blorbos

[heymacy]

💛

[heyclickadee]

So, my family is rewatching Rings of Power, and since I’m the one in the family that read The Silmarillion (like a masochist), I’m the one who keeps getting asked all the questions.

[thetwilightroadtonightfall]

very very self indulgent doodle of my blorbinos, the marshmallow gang 🤍

in the wise words of me from the past:

[nysus-temple]

Odysseus slander in class today. and it was because. because of the Telegony. the Telegony. out of all things. wee woo wee woo

[shannonallaround]

Watched Mickey, Donald and Goofy: The Three Musketeers with my siblings tonight and all at once remembered gloriously why I love Mickey so dang much

[chiropteracupola]

has anyone made an annotated map with all the various Important Napoleonic Wars Media and pinpointed wherewhen is the ideal meeting spot for as many Guys as possible?

[tickle-bugs]

Lil idea for the 3 Peter Parkers!

Peter 1, the youngest, often gets snarky with the older two "brothers". They both eventually decide theyve had enough of his jabs about their age, and team up on him, working together to tickle him to bits and teach him to respect his elders

Attitude Adjustment

Okay so if you’re like me and literally can’t keep the numbers straight: peter one (referred to just as Peter here) is tom holland’s spidey, peter two is tobey maguire’s, and peter three is andrew garfield’s. I felt SO silly writing in the numbers but there really is no other way LOL

Also, au where they’re in sort of a Spiderverse situation and the other spideys are trying to figure out how to get back to their dimensions. Absolutely no canon, just vibes. 

“Hey Pete? How do you work this thing?” Peter Two huffs and flails his hands around through the holographic energy core in front of him. It spins listlessly, unsure how to interpret his gestures, and beeps at him. 

“Comin’.” Peter rolls off the couch, chucking his phone onto the rickety coffee table. His new place was small, achingly so, but it was starting to come together nicely. He had pictures on the walls, a rug on the worst spot of the floor, and a bedframe. All progress was good progress. 

“Show me how you’re doing it?” Peter squishes beside Two, who sort of swats at the hologram like an irritating bug. 

“Oh, okay. So, uh, the hologram maps its movements according to your fingertips. If it can’t get a good read, it’s not gonna respond. Here, like this.” Peter pulls his hands into the projected image, twitching his fingertips and twirling his wrists. The simulated core spins and zooms at his whim. Eventually, the image flashes green, and a small loading bar picks up at the bottom. 

“Neat.” Peter Two watches in awe as the computer begins to synthesize his formula. He idly spins the image around. “We didn’t have anything like this growing up. It’s crazy.”

“Glad I could help, grandpa.” Peter grins, giving Two’s shoulder a good-natured squeeze. Two rolls his eyes and shoos him away. 

“What a nice young man, helping the elderly,” Peter Three hums from the ceiling, typing away at his laptop as if his life depends on it. He looks a bit like a goblin, or maybe a vampire, hunched over all of them. 

“I do my part.” Peter salutes, flips back over the couch, and pulls his phone back into his hand with a web. He’d lost his place in the Fantastic Four interview he was reading. He sighs. 

“You both are hilarious,” Peter Two grumbles, watching a holographic array of complex mathematics spin in front of him. 

Peter sinks down into the couch, into the quiet buzz of technology and Peter Three’s terrifying typing. It’s not silence, not quite, but it still gnaws into his bones in a way he doesn’t like. He’s been avoiding being Peter as much as he can lately, instead staying out on patrol as late as his body can handle. Collapsing on a rooftop as Spider-Man is easier than coming back to Peter Parker’s shithole apartment. 

Spending time with people like him, people who get it, it’s…nice. Steadying. He knows it’s going to crush him when they leave, but having them now is more than he could ever ask for. He has no one, but he has them. 

“Hey.” Peter leans over the back of the couch and waves at Three. “Need help?”

“Hm? No, I’m good. Still compiling that list of compatible metals. Hoping to keep this matter projector the size of a rubix cube. Or, worst case scenario, like a suitcase.” Peter Three gnaws at his lip, then squints at his screen. He flings out a web and snags his glasses, catching them out of midair. He puts them on with care, pinning the laptop to his upside-down lap with his free hand. After fiddling with the lenses, he gets them to balance properly. 

“You’re still squinting.” Peter chuckles. 

“It’s part of the creative process.” Three waves an idle hand, then squints more aggressively. “I, uh--I’ve got shit eyesight. It’s fine.”

“The spider bite didn’t fix your vision?” Peter furrows his brow. 

“It did, but I wrecked it again. Too much blue light, too many flashbangs to the face--it all takes a toll, y’know? You should be grateful your eyes still work. Take care of them while you have them.” Peter Three nods sagely. He grabs his mug of long-cold coffee with a web and brings it carefully to his hands. He sips, gags, then comes back for more. 

“Okay, dad.” Peter huffs with no venom. He tries not to be jealous that Three can drink upside down. He’s tried. Repeatedly. 

“You have a remarkable amount of attitude for someone so tiny.” Three stares at him over the rim of his glasses, which shouldn’t be as funny as it is. Peter snorts. 

“Right? It’s his tone,” Peter Two hums. The computer chirps at him that his equation is only sixty percent viable, would you like to try again? He thunks his head into the desk. Three’s mug slowly lowers itself down beside him. Two takes a sip, gags, and deposits the mug in the sink. Three balls up a piece of paper and throws it at his head. 

“Alright, I’m starting to go a little stir crazy. How about we take a break?” Peter Two stretches, popping something in his back. He does the ‘keys, wallet, phone’ patdown on himself, turning in circles to make sure he’s set. 

“Like a patrol break?” Peter perks up. 

“No, a dinner break. I’m starving, and God knows when you two last ate. Or slept.” Two hazards a glance towards Three. 

“Oh, I’m good. Go without me.” Peter Three keeps typing. Two’s glare chills the room a few degrees. He pointedly clears his throat. 

“Y’know what, actually? A break sounds great. Super on board with the, uh, the break time.” Peter Three closes his laptop and flips down off the ceiling. He stumbles as he lands, hissing in pain. The laptop goes flying, but Peter just manages to snag it with a web. He cradles it to his chest. 

“Thanks.” Three nods. Peter nods back. The room collectively sighs in relief. 

“Is it your, uh--” Two maneuvers to support Three as best he can. They limp over to the corner of the kitchen together. 

“My back, yeah. Shitshitshit.” Peter Three inhales tightly and leans up against the counter. He tips his head back against the cabinets and focuses on breathing. 

“It just, uh--well, it locks up sometimes. No clue why.” Three shrugs, then winces. 

“I think I have some painkillers. If it’ll help.” Peter sets the laptop down. Three smiles thinly at him. 

“I’ll take you up on that. I’m usually fine after a few minutes. Just gotta wait it out.” Three winces again, gripping the countertop hard. The cheap vinyl cracks with the force of it. Peter tries not to wonder if he’ll have to pay for that--instead, he fishes out the pitifully empty bottle from his coffin-sized bathroom. 

“Gimme your hands.” Peter Two crowds in front of Three and starts helping him stretch, slow and steady. After a heart-wrenching cry of pain, Three hums appreciatively. He twists side to side, working out as many sore spots as he can. Peter shakes the bottle at him and tosses it. He catches it and dry swallows the pills. 

“Hm.” Peter leans against the wall. 

“What?” Two huffs.

“Nothing.” Peter shakes his head with a smile. Fondness blooms warm in his chest. May used to tell him that he’s the only person who knows how to take care of himself best, what he needs. He wonders if she ever thought it would manifest this way. 

“Alright, c’mon. What old man joke are you sitting on right now?” Two crosses his arms. His amusement is contagious. 

“I wasn’t going to make fun of you!” Peter laughs.

“One day you’re gonna be a twenty-something with a bad back. You’re gonna be like ‘oh wise and mysterious Peter, please help me with my ailing spine’. Then you’ll get it.” Three grunts. He loudly cracks something in his back and all of them wince. 

“What am I gonna do? Do a backbend over your walker?” Peter snickers. Three gasps and splutters, sending both of them into actual laughter. They’re terrible influences on each other. 

“You are such a brat.” Two chuckles, mostly in disbelief. Peter sticks his tongue out at him. 

“Were you like this?” Two jerks a thumb toward Peter. Three quirks a smile and regards Peter for a bit--the defiant jut of his chin and the fire in his eyes are heartwarming. 

“I mean…yeah. Kinda. Just tall.” Three smirks.

“I’m not short.” Peter scoffs. Two and Three exchange a glance. Three leans on Peter’s head. Peter swats his arm away. 

“You’re barely taller than me!” Peter huffs, throwing his hands in the air. 

“First step is acceptance, buddy.” Two pats his shoulder. “Let’s get our shawarma on.”

Peter Three stifles his laughter into his fist, squinting in mirth through crooked glasses. Peter groans, smacking his face into his palm. He’s hiding a smile, though, and it makes Two smile in turn. 

“What?”

“Let’s get our shawarma on?” Peter snickers, his shoulders shaking. 

“Yeah, I can’t defend you. That was corny.” Three leans into Peter and soon they’re both giggling, set off by each other’s goofiness. 

“You sound like a dad!” Peter giggles. 

“Scratch that. We’re not going anywhere until we cure you of this attitude.” Two raises an eyebrow. Peter giggles at him which, while adorable, Two cannot stand for. 

“You gonna send me to my room? Ground me? Oooh, I’m so scared--” Peter snorts, then he’s upside down. Peter Two’s got him around the waist like a sack of potatoes. He lets out an affronted squeak and tries to reach for the floor. 

“Whatareyoudoing--” All the breath leaves Peter in a hefty woosh as Two worms his fingers into his sides. He squeals, his legs flailing wildly. He tries to pry Two’s hands away but gravity isn’t his friend at the moment. 

“Spider deterrent,” Two says, deathly serious, but Peter can hear him smiling. Bastard. 

“Nononohoho! Tickling is cheating!” Peter cackles, all hope of playing tough long gone with his breath. No matter which way he tilts, Two’s fingers are waiting to torment him--and he seems to have quickly figured out just how deathly ticklish his stomach is. Almost like he knew already. 

“I didn’t know there were rules--” Peter Two ducks out of the way of an accidental kick-- “Hey! Violence is not the answer!”

“Gonna v-violence your stuhupid fahahace! Lemme go!” Peter growls, prying at Two’s wrists again. Two tuts at him and vibrates his fingers into Peter’s stomach. He shrieks and kicks his legs, all pent-up energy with nowhere to go. 

“Aren’t you gonna help?” Peter gasps at Three, his voice way higher pitched than he’d like. His face is redder than his suit, little giggles still slipping free. He’s (mostly) deathly serious about murdering Two if he can just get out of this. 

“Yeah, come help!” Two grins, beckoning Three over with a tilt of the head. Peter Three disappears out of Peter’s line of sight and he allows himself an evil grin. 

“We’re gonna kick your--” Peter loses the last half of his threat to a yelp, then frenetic giggling as Three claws at his ribs. Peter screeches in betrayal and tries to swat at him, but he’s far from coordinated and it tickles, oh my god--

“Sorry. More afraid of him than I am of you.” Peter Three grins sheepishly, but his eyes shine with mischief. He walks his fingers up under Peter’s arms and he screeches loud enough to make a dog down the hall start barking. He lets out a snort and desperate syllables tumble out to follow. He manages to elbow Two in the gut and nearly gets dropped on his head for the trouble.

“S-Sorry! Tickles!” Peter hiccups and clamps his arms to his sides. 

“You are so squirmy!” Two tosses him over the back of the shitty couch. Peter squeals at the sudden change in gravity, but then he’s squealing because they both follow him over the couch. 

“I-I’m gonna get a noise complaint! Guys!” Peter throws his head back against the armrest and cackles, shoving at the two of them. He’s not sure where the ceiling is anymore, everything’s sort of spinning, but the slight burn in his chest is grounding. 

“Alright, alright.” Two lays off and Three follows suit. Peter flings his arm over his face and tries to remember the sweet embrace of oxygen.

“Oho man. You guys suck.” Peter peeks at them with a goofy smile. 

“Spider deterrent. Works like a charm.” Two puts his hands on his hips. Three leans up behind him and goes to poke his side, but Two catches his hand. 

“Don’t. Do not.” Two points at Three threateningly. Three holds his hands up in surrender, but his grin is anything but innocent. He and Peter lock eyes.

“Spider deterrent, huh?” Peter leans up on his elbows with a cocky grin. “Every experiment needs multiple trials, right?”

“You’re both menaces.” Two grapples with Three, occasionally twitching but still putting up a fight. Peter manages to poke him a few times and get his arm caught, but Two can’t fight both of them.

A hush befalls the room as Peter Two visibly weighs his options, trying not to crack from Three’s pinching at his ribs. 

Two throws himself over the couch, followed by Three, and Peter eggs them on from the safety of the couch. It’s like watching cats wrestle, really--there’s an indistinguishable tangle of limbs and shouting before Peter Three’s shocked cackle emerges from the pile. 

“P-Peter! Help!” Three wheezes, holding his hand out for rescue.

“Oh, you want my help? Yeah, sure, I’ll help.” Peter cackles evilly, kicking off the couch and launching himself at Three.

“Wait, hold on--”

…

“98 percent viable. We did it,” Peter Two breathes, holding the hologram in his hands. The simulated core spins lazily. After hours of calibration and recalibration, the algorithm finally holds steady. Three squeezes his shoulder and laughs quietly, happily. They’re going home. 

“Should we tell him?” Three casts a glance over to the couch. Peter’s out cold, curled up under a threadbare blanket that refuses to let go of its musty smell. Despite the bags under his eyes, he looks peaceful. 

“Tomorrow. You both still owe me shawarma.” Two smiles, knocking their shoulders together. 

[kekamao]

OUGH

[arkaylarts]

Hokusai coming unglued is constantly in my brain...

[knghtlock]

but also to be. un-silly for a second. the whole "canons are better than ocs discourse" has always existed in some shape or form for the past... twelve years i've been on tumblr? and we do this every three months, where people reblog posts that are supportive of ocs after oc writers are like "hey this thing is happening again, people are being dicks to ocs AGAIN" only for the cycle to repeat again in the next three to four months with no real change.

also, everyone always talks about people outright stating they won't interact with ocs but nobody ever talks about the smaller things in people's rules ( that also affect disabled people and people who can't always be on tumblr ) like activity requirements, limit on ooc chatter, or ic thread requirements, which you can't get when people don't write with you and when people don't write with you, you gotta let people know you aren't dead via starter calls and what-not. and then it becomes a cyclical thing where eventually, oc writers have to post headcanon after headcanon for weeks on end, write drabbles and make aesthetics, and be that first person to reach out on ims, post starter call upon starter call only to , eh, maybe write a few times a week if you're popular and a few times a month if you aren't. and that's before you factor in if your oc is marginalized, by the way. it is not a secret that disabled , queer , poc or god forbid , fem or androgynous ocs get significantly less attention than male-presenting cishet ocs, and it has been this way for longer than anyone will admit, and especially if your muse is intersectionally marginalized. kinda like real life, which i kinda come on here to escape from, dunno about you.

i don't know, man. maybe we need to all remember that people have real lives and tumblr is a collaborative hobby. maybe we need to start reaching out to each other more. i'm not saying there is no hope, but i am saying that we do need to change , lest we be doing the same shit again every three months until the oc writers leave or tumblr implodes.

also, obligatory "if you hate ocs just because they don't have the economic capital to become one of your beloved canon characters, you suck." the difference between a canon and an oc is marginal at best and because of capitalism and popularity at worst. like there are ocs on this website that i am more interested in than some canon characters & i consider to be unofficial canon to me. there are some people who have taken a neglected canon character or a shittily-written canon and turned them into their own oc that i like INFINITELY more than the canon version! imagine not experiencing that kinda love and joy for a friend's creation. wack as hell.

as for... action steps ? i dunno man. follow an oc. like one of their starter calls. ask them about their character. if you don't get something about their backstory, just ask. start a thread with an oc and keep it going. write a starter call for an oc, or send THEM memes! if you're an oc writer, you can write with your FELLOW ocs ! do unto ocs what you would like done unto you.

[thetomorrowshow]

normal is relative (love is love)

Hola folks! if you weren't aware, i am on hiatus! however despite completely cutting myself off from social media, i haven't stopped writing. i wrote this last week and emailed it over to my bestie and beta reader, afternineattheoasis, who is now posting it here and on tumblr for all to enjoy. otherwise, my queue should post every second tuesday of the month until i'm back :)

~

"And, I was just wondering . . . um, I—oh, this is just—I can't do this."

Doc raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Try again," he said.

Mumbo sighed, adjusted his tie. "Right. Well, I was just in the neighborhood—in the neighborhood? I've never said that in my life, I don't know—"

Doc harrumphed loudly. "Again."

"Okay." Mumbo took a deep breath. "Hi, G! Uh, I was—I have, I mean, or, or, I want? Look, it's—we're, we're good friends, right?"

"Stop."

Mumbo, gratefully, stopped.

Doc watched him for a moment, eyes roving over Mumbo, from his head to his toes. Mumbo stood there, awkwardly, just waiting for him to say something. Anything. Any piece of advice.

"Lose the tie," Doc said eventually.

"I—what? What? Lose the—lose the tie?" Mumbo sputtered. "It's—I always wear a tie!"

"It feels too formal. Take it off."

"That's absolutely ridiculous," Mumbo said. "I don't see how that's supposed to help me."

"I don't see how I am supposed to help you," Doc said. "What do you want from this? Why me?"

Well, Mumbo had thought that was obvious! Why would he go to anyone other than Doc?

"You're the only other aspec person I know," he said, pushing up his sleeves. That felt awkward. He pushed them back down. "I figured, because you and Ren have your—your—"

"Our QPR?" Doc supplied.

"Yes! Yes, that. Well, you and Ren have feelings for each other, and your relationship is a QPR—"

"I do not have feelings for Ren," said Doc, nose wrinkled. "Ren has feelings for me, and I like his feelings."

"Oh. Right." Mumbo blinked a couple of times. He was pretty sure that's exactly what having feelings was, but okay. "Um, well, how did you confess? Or how did Ren confess, I guess? Like, how was it different from confessing other feelings?"

It was Doc's turn to blink, a slow action, his robotic eye spinning circles around in his head. "Different?"

"Yes. How is—" Mumbo patted his pockets, a tic he'd developed some time ago that he did when he was searching for a word or trying to explain something— "How do you confess feelings of like? Isn't that—isn't that weird?"

"I do not understand."

Mumbo bit his lip. Doc had to be messing with him. "Well, like, a love confession is normal. But, well—a platonic confession? And asking to be in a QPR? That's weird."

Doc frowned. "It is still a love confession, Mumbo. Love is love. Platonic, romantic—just two different loves. All deserve a confession."

"Well, sure," Mumbo waved, "but it certainly isn't normal."

"Normal is relative," grumbled Doc. "Nothing is normal."

"Something—some things are normal, and—"

"Ask Zedaph what normal is to him. And then ask Joe. And then ask Keralis. They will all have different answers. Normal is relative."

He shouldn't have tried to argue with Doc. "All right, but, but a committed platonic relationship is not normal to Grian. He could—"

"I don't understand," Doc said. "You care about him, yes?"

Well, yes. Mumbo did care about Grian. He cared about him very much.

But what if Grian felt differently? What if Grian didn't want a committed platonic relationship?

What if Grian wanted more?

What if Mumbo was wrong about everything? What if he didn't actually want a QPR? What if Mumbo wanted more?

"Do you think," he said slowly, "that I might actually want a romantic relationship but I just don't know it? Like—I've never felt this with anyone before—before Grian. Maybe, maybe I actually want to date him, but I don't know it because I don't know what romance feels like and—"

"Do you want to kiss Grian?" Doc asked, one eyebrow raised.

Mumbo felt a bit of revulsion for a second, just to imagine such a thing. That would weird, a total violation of the relationship they have. "No."

"Do you want to woo him?"

That got the same feeling. "No, no—I—"

"Do you want to play footsie under the table and giggle about it?"

Mumbo actually almost gagged. "No, that sounds—"

Doc held his hands up, a look of satisfaction on his face. "There you are. I do not think you have romantic feelings for Grian."

Mumbo wasn't so sure that was a definitive test, but it did help a little bit, in reassuring his identity. He'd been identifying as aromantic and asexual for as long as he knew they existed, but his recent feelings for Grian had made him start to doubt his entire existence. It was good to have that little confirmation.

"Right," he said, still turning Doc's words over in his mind. "Okay. So—but what if Grian doesn't like . . . the idea? Of a, uh, not-romantic relationship?"

Doc sighed. "Mumbo, why are you so afraid of platonic love?"

That—he wasn't afraid of platonic love! He was just—just nervous, he supposed. Nervous that—nervous that Grian would be. Absolutely not afraid.

"Love is love. And besides, you really just want to . . . ah, put a label on your relationship, yes?"

"Well, yes, and also—make it committed? But what if Grian doesn't want—what if he wants a romantic relationship, not with—not with me, with someone else, and I don't—and we're a, uh, platonic couple? And I'm not comfortable with that?"

Doc waved his robotic arm. "Relationship. Such a messy word. Relationships are . . . ah, transitiatory, I suppose? They develop, and change, day to day. Especially in a mixed-orientation relationship, like the one you want to be in."

Mixed-orientation relationship. What, because Grian was alloromantic and Mumbo was aro? Or would it mean something else entirely?

"What exactly is a mixed-orientation relationship?" Mumbo asked hesitantly. "Just to, er, make sure we're on the same page."

"Something like what Ren and I have," Doc explained patiently. "Ren is alloromantic. I am not. Ren has romantic feelings for me. I am fine with it. He knows that I do not return them. It involves much communication, and our boundaries change frequently. That is what you want, yes?"

Not that Mumbo knew what to expect, but that sounded like something that he wanted. Maybe not the whole bit about Ren having romantic feelings anyway. Mumbo didn't really like the idea of Grian wanting that sort of relationship, and Mumbo not being able to provide.

"Does it ever get—is it ever hard, to know—or, does, er, when Ren wants things you don't want, is that hard?"

Doc stared at him for a moment, clearly trying to parse out the question. He chuckled suddenly, crossing one leg over the other.

"Right, I forgot that you're asexual also," he said, still chuckling. "No. No, Ren and I never have that problem."

That was probably too much information. Mumbo could've lived without knowing that. He could feel his ears heating up, like they always did when he got embarrassed. Change the subject change the subject—

"Um, right then. But, like—did you ever feel bad that you can't, you know, return his feelings? Give him what he wants—in like, a feelings, romance sense? You know?"

Doc, again, sighed. "Mumbo Jumbo, my platonic . . . er, love for Ren is not worth less than romantic love. They are equal, if different. You must understand that before anything, yes? There is no love greater than another. All love is worthy of love."

Mumbo knew that. He really did. He knew about love, and the different kinds. He had learned that being aspec didn't mean broken, just different.

Why couldn't he keep it straight when it came to Grian?

"I think I'm just having a hard time with this today," Mumbo said eventually. "I know this stuff. Like, remember when Joe signed us all up for that gender and sexuality conference so that we could learn how to use Cleo's pronouns? I went to the, uh, the aspec panel, and they talked a lot about that. And I've also just . . . just read about it online. So I know—I know that you're right. I know this. It's just hard. You know?"

"Ah, I remember that conference," Doc said, gazing off into the distance with what was either a fond or a disgruntled expression. "Some racist man threatened me. The fun thing about threatening a part-creeper is that you're sure to lose."

Mumbo really didn't like Doc's smile. Maybe it would be best to return to the main subject.

"Another thing I'm scared about—"

"Another thing? Mumbo, how many fears can one have about this?"

Mumbo laughed self-consciously. "Well, well, I've—I've got a lot, so just—buckle in, bud. Another thing is what if . . . well, what if he says no? And then he thinks it's weird, that—that—that I feel that way. And he doesn't want to be friends anymore. Then what?"

Doc stared at him. "You are making things up now."

"No, I'm—this is a genuine fear! I just want to be—"

"Mumbo," interjected Doc, "when Grian first joined, I thought you were in a QPR."

Oh.

Well, Mumbo rather liked that. He and Grian already gave off QPR vibes? That was—maybe not, not great, but it made him feel kind of proud.

"Of course, others on the server assumed it was romantic," Doc continued. "My a-dar has never been wrong."

The others thought—?

Mumbo could deal with that later.

"I don't think it counts as an a-dar if I already came out to you, mate," Mumbo pointed out.

Doc waved. "Potato, potato."

"Those were the same potatoes."

"Mumbo Jumbo."

Mumbo sighed, properly looked up at Doc. When had his eyes fallen to his shoes?

Doc stared into his eyes as he spoke. "If Grian is worth anything, he will never stop loving you. Understood?"

Mumbo didn't argue this time. Doc was right. And Mumbo knew Grian. Even if Grian rejected him and it was a little awkward for a while, nothing would change.

He took a deep breath. He could do this.

"Right. So let's say I'm going to confess right now. What do I do?"

Doc, again, surveyed him up and down, robotic eye moving slower than his natural one, from Mumbo's shoes to his hair.

"Lose the tie."

-

Mumbo didn't lose the tie.

He did loosen it, though, on his way out of his tree, after doubling back to check himself out in the mirror.

Doc was right. It felt too formal, too much like he was inviting Grian to a dinner party rather than asking a close friend if they wanted to change their brand of friendship.

So he loosened it, then left to find Grian.

Grian was meant to really get some progress done on his alley build today (because of course they shared a calendar, how else would they ever get anything done?), but Mumbo didn't see him passing by, so he headed instead for Grian's starter base.

There was no one there, either. Grian must have been out mining or something. Which kind of sucked, really, because Mumbo had just gotten up the nerve to actually talk to him. Now he would have to do it all over again—spend a day hyping himself up, an hour getting ready, skip breakfast so that he doesn't throw up, et cetera—another time. After all, since Grian wasn't here at the exact time Mumbo planned, everything had entirely fallen apart and nothing that day would work because Mumbo hadn't prepared for it.

He turned to go, trying not to look too dejected. It was fine! He was fine. It was all going to work out, and everything—

"Mumbo Jumbolio!"

Grian landed in front of him, elytra clicking neatly together on his back. He smiled, big and sunny and welcoming.

Mumbo felt a bit weak in the knees. And not because—not because he loved him, or anything, but—

No. He did love Grian.

"What are you sneaking around my house for?"

"Just—just looking for you, dude!" Mumbo said, sticking his hands in his pockets.

Any suspicion cleared from Grian's face instantly, even though Mumbo probably sounded like the most suspicious person ever. Instead, Grian just turned away and started walking, so Mumbo hurried up and fell into step beside him.

Instinctively, Mumbo slowed his pace, matching the stride of Grian's shorter legs. Grian started chattering about some builder thing like block palletes or something that Mumbo automatically tuned out. It wasn't that he didn't want to hear about block palletes—he was trying to become a better builder, after all—or that he didn't want to listen to Grian talk, he was just kind of busy not having a panic attack. Breathing exercises kind of took up a lot of his mental capacity at the best of times.

They arrived, somehow, at the Boatem Hole. Grian sat down on the edge of it, swinging his legs back and forth, still talking.

Mumbo didn't really like to sit at the edge of the Boatem Hole. He always felt like Impulse or Grian would be right behind him, ready to shove him in.

He sat down, anyway. He needed to have this talk with Grian right now, or else he'd chicken out.

"—right?"

Mumbo turned to Grian, trying not to look too much like a spoon.

Grian raised an eyebrow. "Were you even listening to a single word I just said?"

Mumbo swallowed. Loudly. Audibly. That swallow was probably heard by Grian. That was awkward.

How was he supposed to casually transition to his intended subject? He hadn't planned for small talk! He'd kind of just planned to turn up on Grian's doorstep and give his whole spiel!

He had to leave. He had to get out of there, regroup, and come back in five to two-hundred business days with an actual plan.

"Oh, your tie's all messed up—here, let me—"

Mumbo went perfectly still, heart pounding, as Grian started messing with his tie, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth just the tiniest bit. 

They'd hugged before, and cuddled, and just generally hung on each other. But this, somehow, felt like it meant something more than anything else. Like Grian knew what Mumbo was here to say.

Or assumed. Or maybe assumed that he was going to suggest a romantic relationship, because fixing someone's tie was generally considered romantic, right?

Mymbo didn't know. He hoped desperately that Grian couldn't hear his heartbeat.

When Grian finished, he sat back, surveying it with a frown.

Grian actually ended up making it worse, Mumbo realized, as he looked down at himself. The back part was half poking out, the collar stuck under part of it. The tie itself was not really any tighter than it had been.

"I know how to tie a tie," Grian said, eyes narrowed. "I don't know . . . what went wrong."

"I'm aromantic," Mumbo blurted out.

Grian blinked, looking a bit taken about. "I know?"

Right. Grian did know that. How could Mumbo save this? 

"I'm asexual."

"I . . . know that too?"

Okay. He could still save this. He could still make it work.

"Well, I don't—I'm not really looking for a romantic relationship, because of, because of that—not that every aspec person feels that way, but, but I do—" he was such a spoon— "so I don't want to date, not like—not like that, not romantically, but, like, if you would be all right with it, maybe platonically?"

Silence.

Grian half-turned his head away, then back, a look of utter confusion on his face. "Run that by me again?"

Oh, dear.

"Right," Mumbo said, ears on fire. "Um. Would you be interested in a—er, in a committed platonic relationship?"

Grian stared at him for long moment. Mumbo kind of wished he could shrink down to the size of a frog and hide under a rock. Not something that would be very practical or logical for most situations, but definitely something to work on.

Maybe he could put Zedaph on it.

"It's okay if not," Mumbo said belatedly. "Like, it's mostly an aspec thing, so if you aren't comfortable or—"

"Oh, like a QPR?" Grian asked, face clearing of his confused stare when Mumbo nodded. "Okay, I think we're on the same page, now."

Mumbo nodded several times. "Great," he said stupidly. He wasn't sure what else to say. What else he could do to keep his heart from being shattered.

"Wait—you're asking me—aw, Mumbo!" said Grian, a silly smile spreading across his face. "Of course, I'd love to!"

No way.

Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes—

Streamers, confetti, a big sign rolled out that read 'he said YES' in big letters—

Mumbo, who was so busy celebrating in his mind, almost forgot to pay attention to Grian, who had begun speaking again.

"So, I don't really know how this works? So maybe we can have a sleepover tonight and do some research and stuff?"

Mumbo nodded vigorously. "Yes! Yeah, of course!"

"Because all I really know—you remember that gender and sexuality conference that Joe had us all go to, the one where Doc got us all kicked out on the second day? Well, before we had to leave, I went to the aspec panel—well, you were there, of course, we sat next to each other—and they talked a bit about QPRs there. But that's all I know."

He said yes.

Grian didn't do any of those horrible things that Mumbo had laid awake imagining, he hadn't rejected him or laughed at him or broken their friendship or tried to kiss him or anything.

He said yes. He said he wanted to learn. He said—oh, he was still talking—

"—that they have, but I imagine it'd be a bit different?" Grian was saying. "Not just because you're a different person from Doc, but because you probably have different needs than him. And me from Ren. Right?"

"Right," agreed Mumbo. "Yeah, of course, dude. Er—"

"Dude feels weird now," Grian said, brows furrowed. "Do we get, like, new cool nicknames and pet names?"

Mumbo had been thinking about the same thing last night. "There are a few," he said. "I mean, names are names and no kinds of names ought to be restricted by anything, so if you—if you wanted to try some, we could—but there are a few that already exist. Um, QPP? Like Queer Platonic Partner?"

"QP Partner," said Grian thoughtfully. "Cutie Partner. I like it. Anything less formal?"

"Um, datemate? Because we're like—just mates on dates, mate." That was so awkward why would he say that why would that come out of his mouth— "And, um, Zucchini? That's one—"

"Zucchuni!" Grian exclaimed, actually clapping his hands together. "You're my Zucchini, Mumbo Jumbo!"

Mumbo could have sworn his heart flew straight out of his chest.

This was so many new developments. Everything was changing all at once—in a good way, of course, but Mumbo kind of needed a moment to scream into a pillow and try to not have a panic attack. Or maybe just have it and get it over with.

But he didn't really want to leave Grian to go do that. Not while Grian was so excitedly redefining their entire relationship.

And as if he could read his thoughts, Grian took a deep breath and sat back.

"You probably need a bit of time to process, yeah?" he said.

Grian knew him so very very well. They had been best friends for years, after all.

"That would be wonderful," he said gratefully. "I'll, um, meet you for our sleepover?"

"I'll come over once the sun starts setting," confirmed Grian. "Don't be afraid to come find me if you need me earlier than that. And I'll text you in an hour or two, all right? Just to make sure you're doing good."

Mumbo nodded, heart bursting. Grian was like that, always remembering his anxiety and helping to remind him that he's cared about. 

He said yes.

Mumbo was officially in a QPR with his best friend.

He really did need to go cool down for a little. He felt like he was going to jitter out of his skin.

"Well, er, good talk!" Mumbo said lamely, standing and helping Grian to his feet. Grian sent a brilliant grin his way.

"Absolutely, datemate," he said, before suddenly pulling Mumbo into a hug.

Mumbo was never going to get used to this. He was in a QPR, for goodness' sakes—he was in a relationship!

He needed to get used to it, honestly. He wasn't sure he could stand this level of jitters every day.

He would have to tell Doc that his tie suggestion did absolutely nothing, Mumbo thought to himself as he headed back to Treesa. All that happened was Grian tried to fix it, and it halted all conversation, and gave Mumbo the chance to confess, and. . . .

Well. Maybe Doc was right.

Who would've thought?

[jeanmoreaux]

now i remember why i completely blocked out the ending of the second book because unless backman pulls a switcheroo i will be throwing my copy of the winners against the wall.

[aupermittymeowmeow]

Since my Princess Peach redesign had so many likes, I’d thought I would show you guys my Princess Daisy and Rosalina designs too! <3

[monty-glasses-roxy]

I haven't talked about anyone's animalisms much lately. Just to keep anyone interested in the loop, the animalisms are a bunch of traits I give the animatronics based on the animal they are. Like Roxy has Dogisms and Wolfisms, Chica has Chickenisms, etc etc.

This of course, only applies to animal animatronics so Sunny and Moon don't have these. DJ and the Minis maybe have some spider traits, but I don't know a lot about spider behaviour at the moment so they uhhh maybe don't have a big range of Spiderisms. Might ask the local experts about them I dunno

But yeah some examples of animalisms would be the whole thing where Roxy goes ham for squeaker toys, and things like Chica having an ingrained sense of a pecking order, Freddy being more protective of very small children than older kids, Bonnie stamping his foot on the floor a lot, Monty being territorial, etc etc. There's a good number of things for most of them, and some impact their lives more than others, with many if these animal traits being in direct conflict with the programmed character traits. Each of them settles into these traits differently and that's what gives every version of them their individuality.

There's also the part where given that they're not actually animals, the animal traits are displayed in different ways. Like, they're not all one to one things, so there's also the question of how those behaviours translate over to them, which can be an interesting thought exercise.

It's a fun way to look at everyone I think! Adds some interesting layers to them and means you get less of the 'all animals act like dogs or cats' kind of blanket traits that often don't really fit. Makes the differences between them much more pronounced, ya know? It's an interesting source of conflict too! Very fun I think!

I like talking about them and adding to them if someone tells me something about these animals that I don't already know so if anyone wants to talk about them with me, feel free to! Especially if you have any fun facts for them I might not know. I love those!

[raspberrybluejeans]

whoever dearest to you out of poppy's pals for blorbo bingo 👀 or all three I won't be complaining

Blorbo Bingo

I FINALLY REMEMBERED TO DO THE THING.... I thought about doing all three but i cannot lie that Montrose is my favorite. Griffin knows how to cook a freaking OC

red circles are a resounding yes (with the extra red circle being extra so) and the pink circles are yes but im not that serious about it

spoiler for the steeplechase finale and TTAZZ under the cut

I was literally praying for Montrose's death for the last few episodes or so I think it would have been so funny and awesome for him to die. I love him so much and I wanted him to die so bad. and then in the TTAZZ both Travis and Clint were saying how they had backup PCs in case their characters had died and that they would have been ok with that and Griffin was like "not me. I want Montrose to live forever" I was Scream laughing. Montrose is such a fucking freak. absolutely obsessed.

[hraishin]

rotating the blorbos in my mind to give them all the attention they need as my interest in them peaks and goes down constantly . the cycle of blorbos if you will