#who's this

[drabbles-mc]

Let Me Know

Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

For Week 7 of @buckybarnesevents's Hot Bucky Summer: Who's This?

Warnings: 18+, language, light angst, mentions of blood/injuries

Word Count: 4.8k

A/N: Roommates to lovers?? Don't mind if I do! 😂 It was so fun to write for Bucky again! I haven't written much for him as I've been doing other events for other fandoms, but trust he is still bouncing around my head always haha. This got away from me in the best way. Hope you enjoy!

MCU Taglist: @artemiseamoon @garbinge (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

You hadn’t heard from Bucky since he left for his last mission. That wasn’t something that was necessarily unusual—it wasn’t uncommon for him to drop off the radar for a couple weeks at a clip. You’d known that was part of the deal for a long time, long before the two of you had started whatever relationship it was that you had now.

At first you two were just roommates. Hell, you didn’t even want to refer to the two of you as friends for a while at the start. It wasn’t that you disliked each other, but Bucky didn’t seem like he was really the type who was keen on making friends. He was civil with you, cordial, but it wasn’t as though the two of you spent a lot of quality time together. He spent most of his time in his room unless he was showering or cooking. The times when he was home alone you’d come back to the apartment to find him in the living room, but once it was the two of you again, he’d soon retreat back to his own space. You mentioned to him on more than one occasion that the living room was considered a common area for a reason—it wasn’t as though only one of you could be there at a time, but he always found a way to brush the comment off.

It wasn’t until he came home in the middle of the night from a mission while you were in the kitchen making yourself a midnight snack that the two of you had any interaction of real substance. You heard the apartment door open and you were automatically on-edge. Bucky was known to come and go at all hours, and while no one had ever tried to break into your place, you knew that there was always a first time for everything.

So, you grabbed a knife from the knife block and slowly crept towards the door. You heard someone let out a soft grunt, followed by heavy booted footsteps on the floor. Your grip around the knife handle tightened as you held your breath. Reaching around the corner, you quickly turned on the lights and stepped around the corner, effectively not only scaring the shit out of Bucky, but also yourself. You were a lot of things, but one thing you were not was someone who thrived in fight or flight situations.

“Jesus,” Bucky said, bracing himself against the arm of the couch, recovering once he realized it was you. He made a small gesture to the knife in your hand. “What the hell are you doing?”

You huffed, heart still pounding inside your chest as you let your arm drop carefully back to your side. “What the hell are you doing?” you shot back.

His brows knit, confused, like the answer was perfectly, obvious. To his credit, it was. “Trying to come home?”

“It’s almost 2AM. Why didn’t you just stay—”

“I wanted to be in my own bed,” he cut you off. He shook his head at you. “Why am I getting interrogated for wanting to be in my own apartment?” He paused. “Why are you awake at 2AM?”

You pointed back towards the kitchen with the knife, which would’ve been more amusing if either of you were less frustrated or less exhausted. “Wanted a snack.”

He huffed out a laugh, one that almost sounded a little bit amused. “Right.”

“Want some?” you offered, like an olive branch. “Quesadillas.”

“At 2AM?”

You rolled your eyes. “You don’t have to have any of it. Just thought—”

“I’m good,” he cut you off, “but thanks.” He watched as you nodded, both of you still just standing there, occupying the same space because neither knew what move to make next. “Goodnight,” he finally said, prying his hand off the couch so he could slowly keep making his way towards his room.

You stepped to the side, letting him pass. You couldn’t help but notice that he was moving slower than usual, not quite limping but definitely stiff. “Do you need—”

“I’m good.”

You sighed, letting your head drop back so you were staring up at the ceiling. Someday the two of you would get through a conversation where he actually let you finish your sentences. Once he shut his bedroom door behind him, you shut off the lights in the living room again, retreating back to the kitchen to put the knife away and finish making your snack.

You were just putting the dishes in the sink, thinking you’d rather do them tomorrow than right in that moment. Right when you reached to turn the kitchen light off, you heard footsteps again. Lighter this time, but still slow. You stopped and waited.

Bucky came all but hobbling into the kitchen. He made a beeline for the refrigerator, opening the freezer side and pulling out a frozen water bottle. Immediately he brought it down to his leg, rolling it against his thigh over the lounge pants he’d changed into.

You frowned slightly at the sight. “Anything I can do?”

He shook his head, eyes still fixed on his leg. “No.”

You nodded, not looking to push things with him, especially not at the given hour. “Okay. Well…you know where to find me if…” you trailed off, not really sure how you wanted to end the sentence. Really, you didn’t know what you could offer him that he wouldn’t be able to do for himself. It felt wrong to not put the offer out there, though.

He nodded, still not looking at you. “Thanks.”

You turned and were going to start heading back to your room. Just as you were going to round the corner into the short hall that separated your rooms from the rest of the apartment, you looked back over your shoulder to see Bucky peering into the fridge again, this time looking for something to eat rather than just an ice pack.

With his back to you, you could see a stripe going down his shirt, just beside his left shoulder, where he was bleeding through. You frowned, considering for a moment if you should say something or not. He’d never been one for unsolicited commentary.

“Bucky?” you said, leaning against the wall.

“Yea?” he responded, still digging around the fridge for something that required no effort to eat.

“I, uh, I think…I think you’re bleeding?” You watched as he finally looked at you, glancing back over his shoulder like he was trying to figure out if you were being honest or not, not that you’d lie about something like that but he still didn’t trust anyone off the rip. You made a vague gesture to the area where the blood was, not that you were really close enough for it to matter. “Your shoulder.”

Recognition washed over his face, quickly followed by annoyance. “Shit.”

“I’ve got bandages,” you nodded towards the bathroom. “If you want, I can…I mean just so you don’t bleed everywhere.”

The apprehension was clear as day on his face, but he knew you were being practical. Plus, he really didn’t feel like having to get new shirts and sheets if he didn’t have to. He sighed, finally giving in with a nod. He shut the fridge door, opening the freezer and tossing the water bottle back into it with a little more force than necessary before shutting that door too.

When you came back to the kitchen, you found him sitting at the counter. His back was to you, his shirt clutched tightly in his metal hand as he braced himself on the edge of the counter. You didn’t say anything as you set the box of bandages down next to him, taking a couple out so that you could try to completely cover the cut that was running along his back.

It was the first time you’d ever seen him without his shirt on. He was always at least in a tank top when he came out of his room, always made sure he dressed before stepping out of the bathroom after his showers. Until now you’d thought it was just a courtesy thing, the same way he never really stayed in the living room or kitchen with you for too long. But as you looked at his back, seeing the scars and the bruises, you had a whole new understanding of it all.

“Is it bad?” he asked, breaking the silence.

You shook your head, and it took a moment for you to remember that he couldn’t see you. “Not too bad. You won’t, uh, you shouldn’t need stitches. Bandages for a couple days should be find until it scabs over a bit.” You paused, delicately placing the first bandage on the upper half of the cut. “This is gonna sound stupid,” you started with a laugh.

You heard the sharp exhale he let out through his nose, the closest thing to a laugh you’d heard from him in a long time. “Good. Love that.”

You laughed a little harder, heat flaring up in your face. “I just, I don’t know, I guess I didn’t realize that you could…I just thought that since you’ve got that super soldier thing…”

“I’m not invincible,” he said, his tone sarcastic but not nearly as mean as it could’ve been. “Takes more to do damage. Heal quicker. But I’m not…yea.”

“Hmm,” you hummed in acknowledgment as you applied the second bandage.

“What?”

“No, nothing, I just, I didn’t know. Feels weird to ask.” You chuckled nervously. “God forbid it sounds like a weird threat.”

He glanced over his shoulder at you, looking exhausted but also a little amused. “Didn’t want to ask what it would take to kill me?”

“That’s not what I said,” nervous laughter spilled out of you, your entire face and neck feeling like they were on fire. Stepping away, you threw the little slips of paper from the bandages into the trash, finally looking Bucky in the eye again once you did. “You should be all set. Honestly, if you really do heal quicker, you’ll probably only need those on for the next day or so.”

“Thank you,” he told you as he got up off the stool at the counter.

You nodded, offering up a quiet, “You’re welcome,” as he went back to the fridge again, t-shirt still clutched in his hand. You chuckled softly. “There’s enough to make another quesadilla if you want.”

Things had started to change between the two of you after that. It was slow, gradual, but you noticed it. You never went out of your way to bring up what had happened that night, because really it wasn’t that big of a deal—it wasn’t like you’d had to reattach a limb for him. It was just a couple band-aids. But it was enough to tip the scales just slightly. It started off with small things. When Bucky would cook while you were home, he made enough for both of you. Depending on what you were watching, he’d accept the invite to sit in the living room with you to see whatever show or movie you had on.

Over time, your conversations stopped being quite as one-sided. You didn’t think that Bucky was ever a chatterbox even on his best day, but it did eventually get to the point where he was giving you answers that were more than two or three words at a clip. He’d ask you questions instead of just you asking him things. Not only that, but it seemed like he was actually listening to the answers.

After that first night in the kitchen when you’d been ready to stab Bucky with a kitchen knife, he promised that he’d make sure to text you whenever he got back after a mission, giving you an ETA so you wouldn’t freak out again. It was a small but appreciated gesture. No matter the hour, you were pretty much always up, and always cooking or eating something when he got home. In the back of Bucky’s mind he knew that you did it on purpose, one gesture in return for another, but he didn’t allow himself to process the full weight of it, the real comfort that he could get from it. Too afraid to acknowledge it out loud in fear that it was going to get taken from him.

Then one night after he got home from a mission, walking into the apartment at an hour that was too late to be nighttime but too early still to be morning, he found you standing at the stove in the kitchen. He lingered in the doorway, every muscle in his body feeling exceptionally heavy after how things had played out in the field. As much as part of him had wanted to come straight home and collapse into bed, another part of him was looking forward to the exact sight that was in front of him now.

“It’s nothing fancy,” you said with a laugh as you turned around, one plate in each hand, “but—” You stopped short when you looked up and saw the state that bucky was in. “Holy shit.”

His eyebrows lifted just slightly at your reaction. He knew why you’d reacted that way, but he was too tired to get into it all. You set the plates down on the counter with a light clatter before quickly making your way to the other side of the counter to him. His face was littered with bruises, a small cut through his eyebrow and a few others on his cheek. Nothing that required a doctor’s visit, but you knew that if his face was this bruised, the rest of him was too.

“What happened?” you asked, reaching out to touch his face before you could think better of it.

He flinched slightly at your touch, and it was only then that you realized what you were doing. Bucky saw the panic flash across your face and he wanted to say something, but he couldn’t get it out. It’d been a long time since someone had been gentle like that with him.

“Long story,” he finally said with a shake of his head.

You nodded, trying to be understanding while also knowing there was no way you could try to wrap your head around the situation. “Right.”

Bucky saw the way that your eyes would drift from his to the bruises, worry in your expression as you tried not to stare. It was the most visibly beat up he’d been in a while upon getting home from a mission. Reaching out, Bucky rested his right hand against your shoulder, his grip gentle, warm even through the fabric of your t-shirt. You were extremely aware of the fact that it was the first time Bucky had ever touched you like that, given a passive form of affection.

“It looks bad,” he conceded with a weary chuckle, “but I’m alright.”

The ends of your mouth turned up just slightly as you nodded. “Okay.”

When he came back to the kitchen after changing and dropping off his things, he found you sitting at the counter patiently waiting for him. He plopped down heavily in the seat next to you, neither of you saying much for the moment as you ate what was essentially going to be an extremely early breakfast.

You grabbed both your plates when you’d finished, bringing them to the sink. Checking the time on the stove, you sighed, knowing that you weren’t going to be able to fall back to sleep at that point. The best you were going to be able to hope for was going to bed extremely early the next night to make up for the lost time.

“I’m gonna make coffee,” you said over your shoulder as you grabbed a mug for yourself. “You want some? I know you’re probably just gonna pass out.”

Bucky stared at you, watching you going through the motions of something so simple, something he had definitely seen you do plenty of times before. He cleared his throat. “I’ll take one. I slept on the plane back,” he lied, desperately wanting to sleep but now tempted to try and stay awake with you at least for a little while. “Won’t be able to pass out for a bit.”

He listened to your hum of acknowledgment as you reached up to grab a second mug for him. He sat for a moment, trying to piece apart all the different thoughts and feelings racing through his mind. It was impossible for him to look at anything but you as you leaned forward, bracing your hands on the edge of the counter to keep yourself upright while you waited for the coffee to brew.

Getting up off the stool, Bucky walked over to you. Your mind was miles away, and you didn’t hear him walk up behind you. It wasn’t until he tapped your shoulder that you snapped to attention. You flinched, spinning around since he caught you off-guard. You nearly smacked into him, not expecting him to be standing so close to you. He always managed to leave a buffer between the two of you.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice unsteady when you didn’t mean for it to be.

He nodded. “I’m good.” He paused, racking his brain for the right words. “Thank you,” was all he managed to come up with, but it was better than nothing.

You laughed, a little breathless from the fact that he was still standing so close to you. “It’s nothing.”

Neither of you moved, or spoke, you hardly even breathed in the next few seconds that passed. Bucky didn’t take his eyes off yours and it had you feeling like you were about to melt into the floor. Taking a deep breath and a leap of faith, you reached up towards his face again, your fingertips gingerly touching his cheek. He didn’t pull away, determined not to make the same mistake twice. A smile involuntarily spread across your face at the acceptance of your touch, your hand shifting just slightly so that you could better cup his cheek, your thumb lightly grazing his cheekbone. Your touch ghosted over the bruises blooming over his skin.

You were about to ask him if he was sure that he was alright when he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. It was a split second, over just as soon as it started as he pulled away, trying to gauge just how big of a mistake he’d just made. His eyes searched yours, heart pounding in his chest. You beamed at him for a moment before bringing his lips back to yours, kissing him with purpose, feeling the way that he was instantly trying to meld himself into you.

As the days and weeks ticked by after that, it was as though the two of you started to forget that your apartment had two bedrooms. Most of the time Bucky stayed with you in yours, but every now and then you’d find yourself tucked safely under Bucky’s comforter and in his arms in his room too. There was never a conversation about it, and in the back of your mind you knew that maybe there should’ve been. But it was working so well, the last thing you wanted to do was complicate it, potentially ruining something that was so precariously created between you.

And now here you were, pacing the expanse of your apartment’s living room, waiting for some sort of confirmation from Bucky that he was back home and in one piece. You were used to him going silent, but you usually heard from him before anything about his work hit the news. The fact that the television going in the background had running coverage saying that there had been another successful mission, saying there were more details to come even though there never were, had you on-edge when your phone refused to chime with a message from Bucky.

You spent a few more minutes waiting, pacing, before finally deciding that fuck it, you might as well show up and hope for the best. So you grabbed your keys and took off out of the apartment, making sure that you locked it up on the way out.

You found yourself standing in the lobby of the building, helpless to do anything but stare and gawk at everything around you. You’d never been to their base in Brooklyn—never had a reason to when Bucky lived with you. You didn’t even know where to start.

Luckily, you didn’t have to stand there overwhelmed on your own for too long. You turned your head towards the sound of someone clearing their throat. You knew who he was, because Sam Wilson’s face was everywhere these days, but he had no idea who you were. You would’ve assumed that even if he didn’t have a mildly confused look on his face.

“Something I can help you with?” his tone was cautious.

Clearing your throat, you nodded. “Yea. God, I’m, I’m sorry. I know I probably shouldn’t just,” you fumbled, trying to get your sentences together, “I just, shit. I’m looking for Bucky?”

The confusion on his face intensified. “Bucky?”

“Yea, I’m—”

Whatever the conversation was about to be between you was cut short by the sound of Bucky saying your name. He sounded just as confused as Sam had, only Bucky had a thick layer of annoyance layered on top of the confusion.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, brows knit tightly.

“I just got worried when I saw the news but I didn’t hear anything from you. I thought you—”

“You can’t just come down here,” he cut you off, and for a moment your mind flashed back to how the two of you were months and months ago now. It stung more than you’d bargained for.

“I waited but then I got worried, alright? That’s not, you know, that’s not ridiculous of me. You always tell me when you get back.”

“Sorry,” Sam was looking back and forth between the two of you before his gaze finally landed on Bucky, “but who’s this?”

You both answered simultaneously, but the problem was your answers weren’t the same.

“His girlfriend.”

“My roommate.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up as he looked back and forth between you. You felt like someone had let all the air out of your lungs, like you were about to deflate and crumple right onto the tiles beneath your feet. Bucky’s annoyance faded only slightly when he registered the words you’d said, but he was still too off-kilter and confused about the entire thing to say or do anything.

“Right,” Sam said, clearly a little uncomfortable. He turned to you. “Well, it was nice meeting you. I’ll leave you two to…this.”

You shook your head, trying to ignore the sting of tears in your eyes, the smoldering anger you could feel in the pit of your chest. You made sure not to take it out on Sam. “I’ll leave. I’m sure you have important things to take care of. It was really nice meeting you, Sam.” You turned your head to look at Bucky. “Guess I’ll see you at home, roomie.”

Bucky only got half your name out before you turned on your heel and started to take off for the door. He sighed, chin dropping to his chest. Finally picking his head back up, he looked over at Sam, who was just shaking his head at him.

“What?” Bucky snapped.

“You messed up,” Sam said with a laugh, clearly not feeling any pity for the man standing with him.

“Helpful. Thanks.”

Sam shook his head. “She was just worried about you, man.”

Bucky sighed, not wanting to get into all of it. Nodding towards the elevator he said, “Can we just wrap this up?”

Sam chuckled, getting more amusement out of Bucky’s situation than he should’ve. The damage done wasn’t irreparable, which was the only reason he found any humor in it. “Sure.”

When Bucky got back to the apartment later that night, he opened the door to find all of the lights off. He let out a deep sigh as he stepped inside. He dropped his bags just inside the door, untying his boots and leaving them there as well. He maneuvered through the apartment in the dark until he landed himself outside your bedroom door. He saw the thin strip of light coming out from underneath it, so he knew that you were home and most likely still awake.

Taking a deep breath, he gave your door a couple light knocks as he said your name. When he didn’t get a response, he rested his forehead against the wood paneling of the door. “Please let me in.”

After a few long seconds of silence, you said, “It’s open.”

Bucky let out a sigh of relief as he turned the doorknob and let himself in. Once he stepped inside, he shut the door behind him again, like it was an extra layer of privacy in your already empty apartment. He leaned back against the door, giving you some space as he watched you purposely not look up from your laptop.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked, resting the back of his head against the door.

You shrugged, fingers flying across the keyboard, still not looking up at him. “Is there something you think we need to talk about?”

He knew that he deserved some of the attitude. It was only fair. Letting out a sigh, he pushed off the door and walked over so that he could sit on the edge of your bed. “I didn’t expect you to show up like that. It caught me off-guard.”

You finally looked up at him, anger in your eyes but sadness too. “What would you like me to do instead next time I think you’re in a hospital or dead somewhere, Bucky?”

He tucked his chin towards his chest for a moment. “Things just got hectic. I didn’t have time—”

“I get it,” you said, and honestly you did. But it did nothing to mitigate your worry. “But do you get where I’m coming from? I,” you shook your head, “I count on you to tell me you’re alright because no one else will. Your team doesn’t know me. I’m not gonna get a phone call or a visit from someone who works for you guys. I’m just your fucking roommate so—”

“Hey,” he cut you off, resting his hand on your arm as he did, “stop.”

You leaned back against your headboard. “Your words, not mine.”

He frowned as he nodded. “I know.”

“That was shitty.”

He nodded again. “I know.”

You sighed, finally setting your laptop off to the side. “I know that we never really talked about everything with us, and that’s, you know, that’s on me too.” You paused, waiting for him to look you in the eyes. “But do you really just think of me as your—”

“No,” his voice was as genuine as it’d ever been. “I just, I froze up. I wasn’t expecting to see you there, wasn’t expecting Sam to—” he huffed, stopping himself short as he shook his head. “You’re not just my roommate.”

A weak smile crossed your lips. “Good.”

“I don’t wanna lose you,” he confessed.

You shook your head. “I don’t wanna lose you either.” You let out a soft laugh. “Which is why you gotta let me know you’re okay when you get home.”

He smiled, nodding. “That’s fair.”

Letting out a deep breath, your body relaxing a bit for the first time all night, you took his hands in yours and pulled him into you. “Come here.” You draped your arms around his neck in a hug, feeling the way his arms wound around your waist.

He pressed a kiss to the side of your head. “I’m sorry.”

You let your head rest in the crook of his neck for a moment before pulling away so you could get a good look at his face. You gently cupped his cheek. “It’s okay.”

He let his forehead drop to rest against yours. “We okay?”

���Depends,” you said, a little bit of laughter in your voice. “If I’m not just your roommate, does that mean I’m your girlfriend?”

He chuckled, nodding. “Yea, it means your my girlfriend.”

You beamed, leaning in to kiss him. “Good.” Pulling away from him, you swung your legs over the edge of your bed, standing up and holding your hand out for him to join you. “Come on.” You saw the confusion on his face as he put his hand in yours and elaborated. “There is still plenty of time for our homecoming snack.”

He smiled as he let you tug him off the bed. “Lead the way.”

[aquaregiaart]

sketches from twitter.

[toweringclam]

Paramount City: The Metropolitan Defenders

(click here for part 1)

"Truth, peace, and prosperity."

Summary: The big superhero team missing their Superman.

It's no exaggeration to say that when Paragon appeared, the world changed. She was a beacon of hope for a city suffering under crime, corruption, and the aftermath of the first Rift War. People called her the first superhero, and though scholars think supers had existed for a long time, they were never so public. So inspiring. Shortly after, many others followed her example, but Paragon stood alone.

However, the second Rift War saw the rise of supervillains. People of evil intent, who used their powers not for the greater good, but to prey on the weak and enslave people to their will. Paragon realized she could not fight them alone, and for the first time, teamed up with other like-minded individuals to fight the rising tide of darkness.

Thus, the Metropolitan Defenders were born.

The original and most storied team, to this day they remain the example for others to follow. The Defenders are what you think of when someone says "hero." Yet they've suffered many losses over the years. All the original founders have either passed or retired, honored with great golden statues in the Hall of Heroes.

Most recent and most devastating was the loss of Paragon herself. During the Phyrexian Invasion, she used the last of her strength to wrest control of the Rift from Lord Riven and cleanse the world of Elesh Norn's corruption at the cost of her own life. Now, for the first time since their founding, the Defenders are under new leadership. While an impressively heroic figure in his own right, Paragon II struggles to live up to his namesake's legacy.

The Metropolitan Defenders are centered on White as their ideals are focused on peace and justice. However, Blue mana pulls in the direction of institutional justice, while Green pulls towards social justice. In the civic unrest following the Phyrexian Invasion and Paragon I's death, these divides are deeper than ever.

The Peacekeepers are centered in Blue. They believe that law and order are paramount. A society need stable and trustworthy institutions, not just feel-good platitudes about community and togetherness. While they intervene in riots (often by subduing both sides), they also work to get better laws passed and restore infrastructure lost in the war.

The Gardeners are centered in Green. They believe that protecting people is more important than protecting institutions. While they're troubled by all the riots and protests, they believe the solution is found at the community level. People who are fed, housed, and secure don't commit crimes, they say, though the existence of Lord Riven and his ilk seems like a contradiction.

Most Defenders don't fall neatly into one of these camps, either trying to balance these opposing philosophies or ignoring them altogether in favor of their own moral compass.

Notable characters:

Queen Kevnor (WU, merfolk) hails from the undersea kingdom of Cantergellod. She is able to walk on land and breathe air unaided, a rare mutation that would have had her ostracized if the throne had had another heir. A thought leader among the Peacekeepers, she is sometimes criticized as a foreign interventionist, but she was actually born in Paramount City and sometimes feels more at home there than with her own kind.

Cyronia (WG) is heir to a long tradition of druids and healers, passed mother to daughter since ancient times, though she was cast out of the circle for "illegitimately" inheriting her power. She grew up on the streets, using her powers of healing and growth to build a following among the poor and destitute. As leader of the Gardeners, she helps establish clinics, community gardens, shelters, and other resources for people left behind by the rest of the city.

Intellectus (UG, Vedalken) is a strange visitor from another world who appeared in Paramount City just in time to warn of the impending Phyrexian invasion. Initially held in Omega custody, he was rescued by the Defenders and decided to lend his psychic powers to their cause. When moving about in public, he projects the illusion of private investigator Ken Badel to hide his alien features.

Paragon II (GWU), previously known as Gatewatch, is the Defenders' new leader. Tall and muscular, with a chiseled jaw and long, flowing hair, he certainly cuts the profile of a hero. However, he only appeared a few years ago, with no memory of who he was or how he got to Paramount City. Although he projects confidence, he's plagued by self-doubt, and regrets that he can't even remember. Yet Paragon appointed him as her successor, so he will do his best to fill a role that seems oddly familiar.

[spartha1bainne]

Who's this , wrong answers only

[heungmins]

[chacotokusatsu]

who's this

who's this

[emilnikos]

love it when my friends say "you would do numbers on Tumblr" buddy I am on Tumblr. and the number is 3

[miametropolis]

and what if I told you nine was less afraid of love than ten. what then.

[dradelcra]

Guys, Netflix is going to make a modern day adaptation of Dorian Gray and they're making Basil and Dorian brothers

[slutdge]

could you imagine trying to navigate this bar drunk, this is the 9th circle of hell

[cartoonsinthemorning]

Since you guys liked Marcille as Kermit that much, it seems fitting to thank you for my 12k milestone with MORE Kercille. And this time, Miss Falin is also here.

Thank you so much again everybody! MWAH 💗

[faeriekit]

"This fic was ai generated—" Cool, so lemme block you real quick

[idontmindifuforgetme]

people who only use conventional social media are so funny bc they’ll casually be like “can I see your tumblr??” are you Insane. this is no instagram or twitter. this is my vault of secrets

[dionysus-complex]

funniest Kamala Harris VP picks go