chamom1le



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  1. Public Bookmark *

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    Wilbur’s breathing hitched as he looked into the pale eyes of the dead boy. Unlike before, his lips were no longer blue, and there was no more seaweed stuck in his blonde curls. He was sitting up now, the waves soaking the bottom of his pants as he sat on the sand across from Wilbur.

    “You-”

    “I’m not dead, Wil,” the boy said, the words tumbling out of him in a rush. “I’m not dead, don’t fucking listen to them when they say I’m dead because I’m not. You know I’m not!”

    “I-I saw your body,” Wilbur stammered, unsure of how the dead boy knew his name.

    “It’s not me! I don’t know what the fuck that thing was, but I’m not dead! You can feel it, can’t you?” The boy pleaded, his voice cracking as he started crawling on the sand towards Wilbur. “You have to save me, Wil. Please, you need to get me out of here!”

    or, Wilbur finds a dead body at the beach, and that's only the start of his problems.

    or or, crimeboys enjoyers just trust me on this I gotchu

    Language:
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    4/4
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    27 May 2026

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    fuuck

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    Tommy was handed a small flyer in printed in black and white, with the words “POETRY NIGHT - OPEN MIC” splayed across the front in bubbled font. He fumbled with his binder as he took it, eyes wide as he said, “are you sure? I mean, I love poetry and all, but I don’t think-I’m not sure—what if I can’t write poetry?”

    Mr. Sam’s dark eyes softened, and he reached out to place a hand on Tommy’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “Everyone has to start somewhere; every poet, from me to Rudy Francisco, started off without knowing a clue about what we were doing. Tommy, it’s not about if you can or cannot write poetry, it’s about if you want to.”

    or:
    The performance poetry AU in which Tommy joins a slam team and finds a home in the arts.

    Language:
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    12/?
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    27 May 2026

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  3. Public Bookmark 84

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    The kid perked his head up and Wilbur sighed. It wasn’t like he hadn’t dealt with a foster kid before, this office was one of the only ones in London that accommodated the United Kingdom Foster Care services, he was used to seeing quite a few foster children a month. They never stayed, however. One or two appointments was all it took for their social worker to be ushering them off into another city.

    “Tommy, please. I go by Tommy,” the kid made his way to Wilbur and stopped a few steps in front of him, leaving a good amount of distance between the two.

    Wilbur nodded solemnly, “Got it. Tommy. I’ll remember that, come with me.”

     

    Or; Wilbur is a therapist, Tommy is a traumatized foster kid. Everyday is the same until it's not.

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    07 Jun 2025

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    im sad

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    Tommy has a secret. No one knows. Not the nice lady at the corner store, not the weird guy at the video game store, not Tubbo, and certainly not any of his housemates. He's an alien, sent to study Earth. It's not easy, keeping that secret when he's living with three humans, but he can do it, he's sure.

    Wilbur has a secret. He's not told a soul and never intends to . He's an alien, sent to study humans on Earth, so that his people can make first official contact. It's not easy hiding what he truly is, especially when it comes to his three human housemates.

    Technoblade has a secret. He's very good at keeping it, but sometimes it's... difficult, around his three human housemates. Loathe as he is to admit it, Technoblade cares about them, and perhaps even feels guilt over his lies. His race wants him to determine whether or not Earth is an ally or an invasion site. But, for the sake of his people and new friends, he will keep his secret.

    Phil does not have a secret. He has never, once in his life, kept his mouth shut, even when Puffy tells him to. It's not his fault no one else believes aliens exist. At least his new housemates, normal as they are, seem to tolerate it better than the last guys.

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    06 Jun 2025

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    i liked this

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    In his bones, the ache of loneliness has set in. Worse than that, the seatbelt digs into his ribs and one of his arms is twisted uncomfortably. Broken, maybe. The ship has realigned, and he can hear the dinging warning of oxygen leaks and damage, flashing red lights, but he lets his head drop to his chest. He closes his eyes.

    Tommy is alone.

    Floating in the middle of space as his water supply runs out is the last place that Tommy wants to be, but he's resigned to the fact that it might be his fate. That is, until a ship finally picks up on his transmissions...

    Language:
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    06 Mar 2025

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    im so tired