#well not THAT oblivious anyway | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Tumblr’s reach among the 26-to-35-year-olds in the US is 11%.

#well not THAT oblivious anyway

layzeal · 11 months

Text

i absolutely eat it UP that one of the reasons wwx is so hesitant to believe lwj has feelings for him is that he can't tell if lwj treats him with so much goodness and kindness because he's simply that good of a person or if there's ~something more to it~

and!! here's what gets me: he's 100% right to question that. because from all we know, lan wangji would still have protected and done everything he did even if he wasn't in love with wwx. it all comes down to his beliefs, and standing up to them by protecting him. wwx is afraid to jump to conclusions because his fears are genuinely very well based!

#seriously take a shot everytime wwx muses about how good of a person lwj is #even at their worst moments wwx still held a tremendous amount of respect for him #he's under the belief that lwj is doing this not bc he's in love but because he believes in him #and he's not wrong! lwj's love isnt shown through the grand gestures! but through the small quiet ones #would lwj still protect wwx if he didn't have feelings for him? yes #would lwj have drank alcohol and eaten spicy food and kept the rabbits he gave him? nope #and wwx slowly comes to realize this!! it just takes him time and getting to know lwj better!!!#AND IT'S SO GOOD AUGHHHH i just love their love story #i love the grandiose acts among the many quiet ''i love you's''#anyways y'all know it already but this is a ''wwx is oblivious to lwj's feelings'' hatehouse #he's not oblivious fandom just hates a well written slow-burn love story #modao #lace speaks

322 notes · View notes

twicecut · 2 months

Text

Alright, but the facial journey Klaus goes through when Lila threatens him out of talking to Diego... The sass in his little lip smack, the little head bobble before "yeah, sure"... If I knew how to gif from Netflix, I would. Screenshots don't do it justice.

Klaus, babe, the sassy "bitch, please" is so loud. Just say it. You are being threatened. Just. Speak your mind. Penny for your thoughts. I'm begging you to stop going along to get along all the time. You look like you're about to bite someone.

#no i get why he doesn't. prob doesn't want to ruin the wedding for luther.#but also sdkflskd KLAUS PLEASE.#anyway i love lila but oh. her romance with diego has so many unaddressed red flags and he's oblivious.#i think. genuinely. i think that diego would've been pretty ticked off if he knew she did this.#well. the way diego was written in s1 would be anyway. rip.#anyway klaus' response would make such a good reaction gif.#out of knives [ooc];

20 notes · View notes

carpetbug · 2 months

Text

Marinette gets a binder JUST so she can model/design more masculine clothing without feeling like her chest is in the way TOTALLY nothing else hahaha. and also she maybe puts on a fake mustache hahaha. and goes by a different, more masculine name hahaha but it’s not fr guys it’s just for designing and stuff! until one day she goes “wait a fucking minute. guys I think I might not be cis”

#carpetbug talks #marinette is so not cis no one can convince me otherwise #alya and nino are like DAMN BITCH FINALLY #adrien had been oblivious so far bc he id also having his own gender thoughts #but he’s immediately team marino #anyways. i might be projecting gender thoughts. oh well

24 notes · View notes

ask-ursa-tonypeter · 3 months

Note

[fic: wicked love] and [fic: pyrite] what do the Tonys and Peters think about their multiverse counterparts or their respective relationships/dynamics? is there anything they might respectively envy?

PYRITE (BROTHERCEST) TONY AND PETER Tony: Hey, kid? Don't fuck our dad.

Peter: Oh my god, I wouldn't!

Tony: Look, it was worth saying. We don't not share some DNA.

Peter: That's different! You're… you. …And that version of you seems like a really good dad, too.

Tony: The bar is that low, huh?

Peter: I mean it! It seems like he makes the other me really happy.

Not that, um-- obviously we're not doing what they're doing-- they're like, together-together, and we're-- we're just-- s-so yeah, it's different--

Tony: …Yeah. Sure.

-----

WICKED LOVE (DADSON) TONY AND PETER Peter: …They're kind of sweet?

Tony, pained: Baby, no.

Peter: Well, I mean-- it's not the best--

Tony: Peter.

Peter: --it's bad, but I don't know, it seems like they both needed someone to talk to about stuff? Like… they could actually be good brothers, if…

Tony: If one of them wasn't molesting the other one? That 'if' is doing a lot of heavy lifting there, Atlas.

Peter: Maybe… maybe he really loves him, you know? Like you love me.

Tony: …

Yeah, sure. Maybe he does.

#fic: wicked love #fic: pyrite #wicked love: peter #wicked love: tony #pyrite: peter #pyrite: tony #starkercest #prompt: multiverse #ursa interlude:#both tonys just like /DEFLECT #anyway they danced around the actual questions so #pyrite!peter thinks DILF tony is super hot and is very wistful over the idea of getting to have a real romantic relationship together #he wishes that WL!peter hadn't done so much to make WL!tony sad #pyrite!tony has all kinds of feelings about watching a version of himself try to be a dad but has zero envy towards the WLs #WL!peter has a better understanding of consent etc. than this but he saw a version of himself--#--get to be in blissfully oblivious toxic codependent love with a tony that isn't wracked by guilt about it and his brain turned off #WL!tony is HORRIFIED about pyrite!tony's sleaziness and pyrite!peter's future and thus also has zero envy towards the pyrites #but realizes that his peter is just projecting Their relationship shit on the situation and is like.#well I could drill down on how that still wouldn't make it okay. but then that would just make him sad about us. so #better repress it instead #these multiverse questions are so funny it's just a circle of tonys all judging each other while peter tries to find the silver lining

19 notes · View notes

prompt-of-the-day · 6 months

Text

Dialogue: #038

"Marry me."

"No. Just because I can cook and clean doesn't mean I'll sign up for a lifetime with you."

"Why not? I love pets, make good money and can give you massages. I'm a catch."

"This is the third time this week you have proposed, and last time it was over my baked brownies. I really really think you don't get what marriage is about."

"No, I get it. I just also want you to feed me and cuddle me so I'll just keep proposing. I'm patient."

#daily prompt #writing prompts #dialogue prompt #gender neutral mc #I get the feeling that the proposer is actually serious #And MC is just oblivious #Like. If MC was good at gardening that would probably be the excuse as well #But I'm sure they'll get there anyways #The pursuer has patience #And MC is a poor frog in warm water #Like. They'll be married and MC will still think there's nothing going on

30 notes · View notes

monrohakay · 2 months

Text

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53911693

Here is my first ever Smosh fic, and my first time writing a song fic! It was so much fun exploring them both, and I hope to make more in the future. It was written for kqirva as part of the Smoshblr Valentines Day exchange. A huge thank you to wispmotherr and lilac-hecox for putting the whole thing together and everyone who participated. It was super fun and you did an amazing job! Anyway, hope you like it!

#smosh #smoshblr #smosh ships #fic #smosh fic #rpf #spencer agnew #tommy bowe #spommy #song fic #from the start by laufey #a full bop #it fits them so well #spencer pines hard #theyre oblivious beans #but we love them anyway

16 notes · View notes

oddinary4bts · 4 months

Text

Okay I’m technically already writing a new multi-chaptered (extremely long) story lmao but I’d like to know what you guys would like to see after that one! That one is Jungkook so I want to write for someone else sooo let’s do a poll

I have to admit my preferred option would be either Yoongi or Jimin but the other two could be fun as well😇 and if you’re wondering why I didn’t put namjoon and hobi -> i will be working on hobi’s chapter for the life goes on series so I want someone different, and writing namjoon is extremely hard for me for some reason soooo yeah

#that would likely be a college au bc those are my fav #friends to lovers #where he likes her and she’s oblivious #something of the sort #it will like a bazillion years before it’s out #bc 2024 is my book year #meaning I will write my whole book in 2024 #and I already have the other super long fic I’m working on #and then hobi’s chapter as well so #yeah #anyways I like to think about it well in advance #to know where the story should go #soooo #let me know what you guys think #i might do other polls so that you can choose the direction of the story tbh

11 notes · View notes

hauntedpearl · 2 years

Text

dean being oblivious about gay people is really fun and all but i have this headcanon that he very closely keeps tabs on all the political stuff actually. also. the moment he and cas meet the requirements for a common law marriage, he just starts calling cas his husband in his head and doesn't say a word about it.

#he's just weird and like he doesn't know how to *talk* about being gay but he knows he's very gay and he's like well it's NEWS ABOUT MY #PEOPLE. ykwim?#atleast that's my hc #cas getting random prayers about dean's husband like: ?????? whomst??????? because HE is the oblivious one!#anyway.#hmm #spn headcanons #destiel #doe is talking again #dean #he's just like the people who call their girlfriends wife all the time like he's literally just them..marriage on paper is like not #important

236 notes · View notes

fellpyrean · 1 year

Text

Claps hands alright we’re doing this! So I started listening to magnus archives a few months ago and it really did things to my writing ideas, so now I’m gonna round some up and post ‘em.

I forget where/when I first saw a moth!jon but u know. He’s cute. So here is some moth!jon AU! Corruption Jon :Dc and archivist Sasha! ~1800 words.

Since he is a corruption avatar in this, there is (as expected) some possibly gross bug imagery, but not a lot of holes. And no worms! :D

______________

The flat is quiet.

Quieter than Sasha expected, and much neater too than she expected when they connected this one to "Filth." The lights are off and there's a faint dusty, sweet scent in the air as she cracks open the door, torch slicing through the dark.

It catches on motes of dust. She thinks she hears movement, a susurrus of rustling like fabric faint in the depths of the place but little else. She pushes the door further, feels it catch on the ragged old rug on the floor and watches moths flutter up, batter against her torch in little puffs of dust before they flutter away.

Part of her worries as she steps inside, as she closes the door behind herself - leaving just a crack in case she needs to get out fast.

This is too quiet for something of the powers. The flat should be more of a wreck, more… more miserably bloodstained, more disgusting and unnerving, but it looks, honestly, just a bit messy, a bit moth-eaten. The couch sags a bit wrong, but hell, she can't pretend she's never had one like it. There are shelves of books, their edges chewed and pages no doubt holey, there's even a mug left forgotten on the kitchen counter. It's all dim; lit only by what spills around heavy curtain edges and her own torch as she steps further in and - and hears that rustling again from the end of the hallway and heads straight for it.

More moths flutter up at her steps, and she is wary, she is. But the things just… flutter uselessly at her hands, their wings shedding dust and their fat abdomens plump and full, but hardly a threat before they fly - further inside.

Towards that faint rustling noise, towards the door at the end of the dim-lit hall that is just open enough to allow the frantic moths to flit inside. Writhing and wriggling at the crack between door and jamb just a moment before they vanish inside, but the movement… it makes Sasha swallow.

Something about the way the bulbous little things squirm before they pop through sets her stomach on edge. Too many of them; more than she thought, all struggling to squeeze into that door.

The crack writhes by the time she reaches it.

She can swear she hears them whine and click and screech in tiny voices above the din of their frantically fluttering wings.

She uses her torch to push the door open. Fast, loosing a cloud of moths from the stuffed crack that fall and flutter and scatter into the dim room before her.

The rustling has not gone quiet. Neither has the soft, whining song of flapping wings and voices she cannot place as she raises her torch high, fumbling for her pepper spray in her other hand. More of a comfort to herself than any real belief it would accomplish anything against something abnormal, but the room doesn’t… change. Nothing leaps out of the dim shadows, nothing comes ravening towards her with a horrid, dripping maw.

It’s a bedroom. The bed is really as far as the light peeking around the curtains lights, in thin, dusty stripes across worn rugs and a small pile of abandoned clothes.

“A-Ah.”

Sasha whips her torch towards the voice, and stills.

There is… there is something like a man there. Tucked in the corner, with all the moths frantically fluttering, scuttling towards it. She watches, stomach queasy, as the moths drill between the heavy folds of the blanket? The wrap? It has folded around itself. It reaches a hand out to a particularly fat straggler and cradles it in its palms like a treasure, bringing it up slowly, carefully, and opens thin, paled lips and lets the thing crawl straight into its mouth as Sasha gags.

It is almost worse then when it looks up.

Long, straggling hair that was probably rather nice once. Now it is loose and lank, black shot with grey and dust that hangs over… over his shoulders, over the thing he has cocooned himself within. His eyes are dark. Too dark.

There are no whites, she realizes, and cannot help but feel her fingers twinge around the pepper spray.

But he isn’t attacking. He is just looking at her, head cocked like a curious animal as the moths burrow back into the shelter he offers.

She can work with this. She sucks in a breath, wills her stomach to settle as she tells it it could really be so, so much worse, and points the torch further towards the floor. Good manners. Going out on a limb that he’s probably not too fond of bright light.

“Hello,” she says. The strange man stares at her. Hard enough she swears she can feel the tracks his eyes leave on her skin, but she only makes herself stand taller. He seems to like that. He laughs. Not maliciously.

It’s soft. Like cotton, like it’s been a long while since he’s used his voice, and the rasp sticks to it as he speaks and Sasha tries not to linger on where exactly that moth went.

“Hello, Archivist. Doing house calls?”

He’s smiling. And that’s what gets her.

His voice is soft and smooth like old silk and his smile stiff like he’s unused to using it, but something about him feels familiar. It’s there, just at the corner of her mind, and she knows she’s frowning deeply as she casts a line and tries to hook just why she feels like she knows this strange man, but then he laughs again and stands.

He rustles as he does. That… that thing wrapped around him doesn’t move the way it should, not like cloth, but she can’t immediately place that, either. Not until he walks a little closer and her torch light catches on it and it… shimmers.

Like moth wings. And Sasha sucks in a breath.

She can see it now. The patterns in the dusty brown, the oranges that circle white to make massive, partly hidden eyespots. The thick, dark veins supporting the overall structure, and she can’t help herself from blurting out, “Can you fly with those?”

The man shudders, that smile hung unmoving on his face as he brings a hand to his mouth and coughs against the static.

“Not well,” he answers into his hand, his too-dark eyes sparkling. He lets his hand drop back into the too-layered folds of his wings and shuffles a little closer; his wingtips drag across the floor, like a blanket wrapped around a child too small for it, and she can see now where his long, untied hair turns into something shorter. A ruff of fur at the back of his neck, across the back of his shoulders.

(Can see the moths wriggling down into the fur, settling there, an army of tiny, coal-black eyes staring out at her, glinting green when her torch light catches them.)

And then he stands still, that faint smile on his face, his dark eyes half-lidded in an expression she cannot place, and waits as that soft, soft distant song hums in the room.

Sasha exhales. This is more than she dared hope for. He’s talking. He’s non-aggressive.

“I,” she begins, wetting her tongue before plunging back into her words. “I was wondering if I could ask you some questions. About the ‘Filth.’ About you.”

He watches, and she feels emboldened.

(Her phone begins to ring as she steps closer to him, and she ignores it. It’s Elias. She knows.)

“We don’t have answers. And if you could tell me, tell us what you know? About… about what’s happening.”

Her phone stops ringing. It starts again. The man smiles wider and reaches out. Sasha can see that his hands are… strange. Plated like chitin, and the desire to grab his hand and investigate each delicately plated joint wars deeply with the uneasy reminder that there are probably moths crawling beneath, of statements that were far, far more explicit about what ‘Filth’ did to a person than this man showed.

His hand waves in front of her face for a moment and she starts, coming back to herself, as her phone angrily rings again.

“Your phone?” the man asks, and Sasha doesn’t hesitate for a moment to shut the thing off.

(Elias. All three calls. If he doesn’t want her here, then she’s not leaving.)

“Well Archivist,” and she knows she is not missing the strange bitterness that clings to that word this time, knows there is something she is missing about him, “If you have that many questions, we should probably get a little more comfortable. I have a feeling that once I let you start, you’ll keep me well after dusk.”

And isn’t it bizarre? As he brushes past Sasha - both carefully and clearly telegraphing his movements so she only feels the barest touch of his wings as he heads back out into the hallway - she realizes she doesn’t feel afraid of this one. A little disgusted if she thinks about him too hard, yes, but there’s been no threat. No… no menace, no winding, evasive non-answers, just. Incredibly human remarks. It almost circles right back around from comforting to even worse than something as alien as the thing with the door. Michael.

But as the rustling moves away from her down the hallway, she can’t help but flash her torch around the bedroom. One last bit of nosiness.

An old, worn bed, rather like the couch. Shelves with books so moth-eaten they’ve gone to pieces. An open closet, filled with over-large sweaters and… She blinks. And oddly proper button ups, slacks.

And then… and then she turns her torch in one last semi-circle and catches upon a strange shine beneath the lumpy pillows.

Like polaroids.

The itch that there’s something she should know only grows when she spots them; growing from a thing at the edge of her thoughts to an all consuming need that drives her in fast steps across the dusty rug before she even catches herself. She fishes the pictures out with deft fingers and - and she thinks her heart stops in her chest.

She knows the people in the picture.

That long, dark hair shot with grey is distinctive - even set on a much more vibrant, lively face, and above a painfully crisp button up. He’s wearing glasses in the picture, and. A name tag.

She can’t read the name, but she’d recognize that emblem anywhere. Not that she needs to.

Because beside the stuffy librarian like man, his eyes green instead of black, stands… Tim. Tim, his shirt as loud as ever, his smile boisterous, and an arm slung affectionately around the man who couldn’t possibly be any more his opposite. And the same horrible name tag pinned to a pineapple-strewn lapel.

The man worked at the Magnus Institute.

He worked with Tim.

She knows his name now.

Jonathan Sims.