~Ėā§ćnicknames: sammy, ace, call me what you like (/ref)
~Ėā§ćpronouns: he/they/it
~Ėā§ćgender: transmasc
~Ėā§ćsexuality: demiomniromantic, bisexual
~Ėā§ćmusic taste: lovejoy, wilbur soot, james marriott, crywank, the montaines, mcr, ptv, will wood, wwatt, weezer, evanescence, conan gray, olivia rodrigo, panic! at the disco, ghost, phoebe bridgers, radiohead, and more
~Ėā§ćfandoms: the promised neverland, school bus graveyard, hamilton, ride the cyclone, beetlejuice, wicked, MCYT, ghost, jjk, peanuts, marvel, the greatest showman, heated rivalry, the naturals, holly jackson, descendants, lovejoy, mcr
~Ėā§ćhobbies: acting, reading, writing, music, sleeping, art/crafting, making ocs, baking, bracelet making
I know a lot of ppl hate this idea but I would absolutely love to have separate rooms w my spouse if I was married. like we can sleep in each others beds and probably would a lot of the time but also having your own space exclusively for your things which you can decorate however you want and donāt have to compromise on someone elses wants or worry about their mess and also can decompress there if u do want alone time would be amazing
Hey itās the most normal thing in the world to want this with your partner(s).
If anyone ever tells you itās unhealthy for a marriage - or any kind of partnership - they are extending a generalization to your relationship and making a personal judgement about your situation. You can feel free to ignore them. If your partner is uncomfortable with the idea, thatās something you need to iron out with them early and definitively, so that no bad feelings fester. If you need Your Space, they need to accept that; if their preconceptions about what marriage āshouldā look like make them feel like this is a reflection on them or the relationship, thatās something to nip in the bud.
I often remind people that, at the end of the day, you are a very large mammal. You are, depending on the classification scale being used, megafauna. Thereās a very good chance that you, reading this, weigh as much as, or significantly more than, the average puma. If you need your own space - whether to sleep comfortably without someone snoring, tossing, overheating, or stealing the covers next to you, or even just to vibe - then you should have your own space. If your partner(s) need their own space, they should have their own space. Hell, if that means separate apartments that you split your time between, then more power to you.
Let yourself be comfortable. The only people who are involved in deciding how your relationship looks are the people in it, together.
CNN has done this whole investigative scoop on how elderly retirees have been priced out of retiring to Florida and all I can say is good. That is better for the environment. That is better for maintaining a support system. Stay where your loved ones are. I hate the idea that the cost of living is so high that you cannot even afford to move to a shitty fucking red state but old people need to stop moving to Florida. Iām more concerned about the people living in Florida than the retiree/snowbird population, stay in fucking Ohio instead of moving into a condo shoddily built over endangered wetlands. There are constant natural disasters and ongoing environmental concerns, I donāt care if you wanted to retire to the beach. This is something I am so passionate about as a southeasterner even if I am not from an āidealā retirement area, moving across the country at age 65 is a terrible idea logistically speaking, moving towards family is one thing but moving to a āscenic vacationā area and pricing out all the locals and then needing a caretaker while your loved ones are states away is so baddddd.
Not to mention that the elderly are more vulnerable to heat stress and less capable of evacuating during natural disasters, Florida is a terrible place to move to in your golden years.
Iām also from North Carolina and back in 2020, I was living in a trailer in an area that was the middle of fucking nowhere but has become a more touristy recreational area in the last 50 years and a lot of wealthy people from the research triangle had (temporarily) relocated there due to the pandemic and work from home mandates. The shit they would post on the previously very quiet Facebook group boggled my mind. āThe nearest hospital is an hour away????ā āThere are no coffee shops or jogging trails?ā āThere are no municipal resources whatsoever?ā YES, EXACTLY. EVERYONE ELSE IN THE COUNTY MAKES LIKE $40k A YEAR. GO HOME.
People in the Facebook group would be like āIs this a good place to retire to?ā and locals would have to gently inform them that elderly residents in the region often have to leave the area because there are no doctors, no nearby hospitals, no home health aides and an overall lack of resources. It was so sickening.
Keep in mind old people really like the heat. We should, as a society, setting up places for people to retire to. We should allow people to go someplace warm and safe and spend their Golden years. I don't understand why people think that they can just say "DON'T COME HERE" and not out any effort into making a place for those same people.
Nope. Weāre experiencing an elder care crisis and the answer is not to export them to Florida as Florida is a terrible retirement destination for the reasons outlined above. An elderly personās desire to live somewhere warm does not supersede the needs of the people already living there nor does it negate the fact that pretty much every gerontological study indicates that it is better for elderly people to remain in familiar locations where they have longstanding community connections. We need more nursing homes, we need more assisted living communities, we need them across the nation. We need less people retiring to Florida.
reminder that healing is not a linear process and itās okay to have bad days after good ones you are doing amazing no matter what stage of healing youāre at and i love you
I gave you my coat, you chose to lean on me instead.
paring: revivebur x fem!reader
summary: based on wilburs last lore stream, he takes you to Techno's cabin to talk to Philza, and you finally break down. (also based around that line from āoh distant youā that makes me sob.)
authors note: fuck i totally forgot about this fic. been sitting in the drafts for about two years oops. i really miss dsmp. anyone else? ive been rewatching old streams and reminiscing, and i wanted to finish it. this is 100% inspired by that last lore stream he did and i imagine when this fic ends he takes reader on the boat with him back to utah! hope you guys enjoy the bittersweet angst! donāt like it scroll past babes š
warnings: mentions of wilburās limbo, mood swings, angsty, emotional abuse, argument, mentions of trauma, I made revivebur more emotional (than he already is since heās a tragedy within himself) , happy end, super unedited!
The soft freshly fallen snow crunches under your boots, your arms instinctively cross over your chest to keep yourself warm in the winter air. You shouldāve worn something warmer.
Maybe he had forgotten to mention how cold it would be this far out, in a whole other biome. Why would he, he was already dawning a long trench coat and comfy sweater that hadnāt been washed in quiet sometime.
Wilbur could be forgetful like that.
Maybe he had forgotten about you for a moment.
His footprints carve a pathway for you to follow, his boots made lareger imprints in the snow than yours did. Since he was double your size, everything about him seemed bigger than you.
Your head hung low and shoulders shrugged inwards as shivers ran up your body. The burning pain in your fingertips caused them to turn red from the exposure to the air. it made you wonder if following him out here was a wise choice.
He hadnāt said exactly where he was going, only that he needed to speak with someone and you opted to join him.
Tommy had drawn him a poor map, and Wilbur turned it over several times to understand better as he led you through the path. Wherever he was leading you, you hoped it would be warm.
Maybe that was the issue, always following him blindly into situations, because you trusted him. You had forgotten, but he wasnāt the same man you knew. He hasnāt been in a long time.
Thatās when you came upon a clearing. A cabin was settled right in the middle of the snowy terrain. The warm light of the torches placed outside along the fence and smoke pouring from the chimney filled you with comfort.
Wilbur stopped in front of you for a moment, hesitant to walk further for a moment. Staring at the sight before him for what reason you didnāt know. You stood beside him and frowned, teeth chattering.
He glanced down at you before inhaling deeply and letting out a sigh through his nose. He had lazily rolled the map and stuffed it into his pant pocket with a sigh.
ācāmon.ā he motioned with his hand and began walking towards the cabin.
You followed silently.
When you came upon the fence that surrounded the open area, you watched as Wilbur effortlessly stepped over the three inches of wood. He had offered out his hand to help you over and you swung your legs over shakily.
You had lost your balance, but before you could try and catch yourself from falling you felt Wilburs hands grab your elbows. You griped his forearms for stability and regained your balance.
āwoah, you good?ā he asks.
You nod, feeling somewhat embarrassed and your cheeks heat. A gust of wind picks up brushing the back of your neck, causing you to shiver again.
Wilbur frowns and brings his hands to rub up and down along your upper arms to create friction.
āYou cold?ā he asks, headed tilted to the side like a puppy in confusion.
He hadnāt realized how cold you mustāve been. It had been so long since he last remembered the feeling of warmth. but seeing the tip of your nose a light pink and shaking frame made him guilt-ridden.
It was always cold on that train platform. So cold. Over time he had grown accustomed to it. Now that he was back in the world he never noticed when temperatures changed, it was all the same to him. That was a side effect from being dead for so long.
Wilbur felt remorse for making you walk in such conditions. He hadnāt thought about how different things are for you.
You watch silently as Wilbur disrobes his long coat, It swishes in the breeze as he hold it out to you.
āHere.ā he mumbled, you blink and want to reach out for the piece of clothing but youāre shaking frame made you hesitant.
With a quick movement, Wilbur whips it around your body and places it along your shoulders. You gratefully put your arms through the sleeves and already you start to feel you body heat up, and not just from the material engulfing your small frame.
Wilbur steps closer until his lips are mere inches away from your forehead, his warm breath fanning your skin and youāre suddenly aware of the proximity between you. He takes both sides of the lapels in his hands, brings them closer before buttoning the front up. It was his attempt at being a little more kinder towards you.
Your arms wrap around yourself once heās finished and fluffed the collar out around your neck. You thank him.
āthanks,ā you smile.
ābetter?ā he asks, an almost apologetic look on his expression. He really was trying.
You nod briefly.
He gives a quick nod in return.
okay.
When he turns around to walk up the steps of the porch to the front door of the cabin, his feet thud with every climb and the wood creaks out a groan. you bring your sleeve covered hands up to your nose in hopes of getting it warmer.
Cupping around the bottom half of your face and blowing hot air around the small pocket, the faint cigarette smell floods your senses. You scrunch up your nose at the stench. Youād remind yourself to wash this for him when you got back home.
Wilburās knuckles rap against the door four times, to the rythme of your heart pounding in your ears.
The click of the door to swing open never comes.
No answer.
Wilbur knocks again. Sounds of shuffling comes from the other side of the door. It swings open seconds later to reveal a shorter figure than Wilbur who stands in the doorway.
The manās wings dropped behind him when he saw his son standing in the doorway of his home.
Phil.
āWil? what are you doing here?ā Philās forehead creases in confusion. He looks past Wilburās shoulder and meets eyes with you, offering a warm smile. The wise crow had always been kind to you. Always there to offer his advice and wisdom for your problems. You never knew why Wilbur had talked about him with resentment for so long.
āI need your help, I have a problem and Iām not sure what I should do to fix it.ā Wilbur says, his body is straight and voice sounding vague.
Phil gives him a look of understanding, doesnāt even hesitate to stand aside and offer you both sanctuary from the snow.
You eagerly step up the stairs and into the cabin following Wilbur, wanting to get to warmth as soon as possible. The cabin has a nice rustic feel to it. It's cozy and welcoming, with weapons tossed in the corner by the door, and you notice Techno's cape hanging against the wall. But the warrior was nowhere in sight.
Wilbur stops midway through the middle of the room and is staring at something on the fireplace mantel. A single picture frame is placed in the middle of two objects. Wilbur stares at it like it's foreign, almost as if he's seen it in a past life.
"Would you both like some tea?" Phil asks, treading to the kitchen, with his wings tucked behind him.
Tea sounded absolutely incredible right now. Even though you were finally starting to get feeling back into your fingers, a nice cup of Phil's tea would warm you up much quicker.
You go to open your mouth but Wilbur is already speaking for you.
"Just for y/n, she's freezing." he doesn't take his eyes away from what he's starting at in the living room.
Phil nods and gives you a smile before turning into the kitchen. You can hear Phill rummaging around the cupboards while you stride up to Wilbur, with your arms still crossed over yourself to keep warm. He blinks a few times when he feels you standing next to him to pull himself out of his thoughts.
"What's wrong?" you ask, worry lacing your voice as your brows knit together.
Then Wilbur is lost in his thoughts again, running a million miles per second. He wanted to spill his guts to you completely, to tell you everything that's been bothering him lately, but he can't find the right words. He hates himself for making you worried when he spaced out. For making you come all the way out here so that he could talk to his father. To resolve his own issues. He should just leave.
"I'm fine," he said in an apathetic tone.
Youāre not convinced of his answer. He can see in your eyes and the crease in your forehead that you are still worried. Before you can speak again, Phil is coming back into the room with two mugs of tea in his hands.
Thereās an awkward beat of you taking the mug from Phil when he offers it to you with another smile and youāre silently moving away from Wilbur to give some space to approach his son. Handing him the mug, Wilbur takes it gradually and thereās a silence that hangs in the air.
āSo, what can I do you for?ā Phil chimes.
Wilbur clears his throat, pushing up his glasses.
āI need your advice on something.ā
Phil seems surprised his eldest son was here to ask for guidance. He couldnāt remember the last time that had occurred.
āokayā¦ā phil says slowly. āwhatās up mate?ā
Wilbur glaces between you and phil panicked, forgotten you were standing here awkwardly sipping the mug of tea in your hands watching the interaction. Phil having caught on, an understanding gaze in his eyes when he realizes.
āCould we go somewhere else?ā
Phil nods without another word and motions for him to follow. They walk to the kitchen and before Phil shuts the connecting door he gives you one last smile.
āmake yourself at home y/nā and then youāre left alone in the strange house.
Confused, you make your way around the sofa and over to the fire that was settling in the fireplace. You donāt understand why you followed Wilbur here if he just wanted to have a conversation with his dad. It made no sense why you aimlessly followed him blindly. But you were the fool who cared about him.
You thought Phill might appreciate if you kept the fire going so you placed your mug down on the mantle and picked up a log on the wood rack by the fireplace and placed it on the embers. The wood was slowly catching fire, you dusted off your hands and hummed when it produced much needed heat in the room.
When you went to grab your mug your eyes met with the framed picture that sat behind it and you froze. It was the one Wilbur was looking at when you entered the cabin. It was an old picture. Phil was in it sitting in the grass with two young boys around the same age, twins, you guessed. One with pink hair holding a play sword, Techno. The other; brown curly hair and round glasses looking over his dadās shoulder at the baby in his arms. Tommy.
It was bittersweet. All of his sons had grown up since then. The only memory of their innocence trapped in a single photo.
Now they were men who had fought in wars, died, come back to life and gone through many traumas.
You can hear low voices coming from the kitchen, but you can't make out the words. You're unsure if he's talking about you and whether he regrets bringing you here. The constant feeling of being a shadow that clings to your undead lover weighs heavily on you. Lately, Wilbur has been on edge; he seems fidgety around you and lost in his own thoughts. What stands out the most are his mood swingsāthey give you whiplash. One moment, he is stoic and somewhat dismissive, and the next, he acts as if heās trying to make up for his behavior with kindness. It feels backhanded and forced.
Why did you come?
You keep asking yourself that. Why do you keep chasing after someone who keeps pulling away... Trying to reach him through the thick fog that he refuses to clear. Hoping that he'll reach out for your hand. But he never does.
Maybe it's because you remember everything.
Pogtopia.
A name that stands out in your memories like a burn. Like a bad dream.
You remember the frantic desperation in his voice. The fire that burned in his eyes when he spoke, on the edge of becoming a madman. The sharpness in his mind, the conviction in his actions- and how all of it felt like it could turn on you in an instant. Like he could love you and destroy you in the same breath. The way he would look at you, like you were the last bit of hope he had left in the crumbling world around him. In the end, it wasn't enough.
You watched as he dove over the edge. Sucumbing to the darkness. Thinking that maybe you could've saved him if you tried harder. Maybe if you voiced your concerns with his late nights pouring over papers, hatching his schemes while covered in ash, with his wide eyes and outbursts of anger. It hurt watching him care more about wars and a doomed country than the people who stood beside him. It hurt that you weren't enough to ground him.
The day he died. Witnessing his own father plunging a sword into his chest, you couldnt even scream. Your heart felt heavy and lost that day. If only you tried.
Then Ghostbur.
Ghostbur was soft and gentle, everything Wilbur hadn't been in the past few months. It felt like a punch in the gut when you asked him what he remembered. When he told you he could only recall your laugh, your smile, and the more intimate moments you shared with your lover, it felt like a fresh start.
You thought maybe this was easier to try and forget. Push the pain down. You've held that ache in your chest ever since. The anger. You never gave yourself permission to feel it. Not with Ghostbur, and certainly not now that he was back. You didn't want to be another person who made him feel like he had to apologize just for existing now. But god, did it fucking hurt.
Every time he'd push you away, and then come back, you would always give in. He never apologized and still hasn't for the mistreatment towards you.
Walking in circles, you try to avoid looking at the photos on the walls. The images of a man with his family, reminders of what used to be, make your stomach churn. Youāre not sure how long you remain in that spot until the sound of the door creaking open catches your attention.
A tear slips down your cheek, and you quickly whip it away. Wilbur struts back in, hands stuffed in his pockets. Gaze flicks towards you, then away. Not noticing that you have been crying seconds before.
Standing still halfway between the coach and the fireplace. The silence cuts deeper in the air than you expected it to. He strides towards you, feet heavy with every step
"I-" the word dies in his throat. Caught between wanting to say something and then stopping himself. "C'mon, I've got something to show you."
"What?" Your heart tightens. You know by the tone of his voice that's not what he wants to say.
Wilbur exhales hard through his nose. "We're going." his voice is hard, and he stomps over to the front door, frustration sinking into your chest.
You stay planted in the middle of the room. "No."
Startled with his hand hovering over the doorknob as he slowly turns to you at your sharp word.
He takes a step towards you. Then another.
āIāā he starts, but you cut him off before he can finish.
āWhat the hell is wrong with you?ā
Wilbur freezes mid-step. His brows furrow, more stunned. āWhat?ā
You stand up, mug trembling in your grip, and place it down on the mantle with more force than necessary. āYou heard me.ā
āY/n, Iāā
You snap.
āYou dragged me all the way out here without saying a word about where we were going, or why, or how long, or how cold it would beājust to have a conversation with your father that I wasnāt even allowed to be a part of?ā
Your voice cracks slightly but you push through it.
āI followed you, like always. And you didnāt even look at me. Didnāt ask how I was. Didnāt notice how cold I was until I was shivering so hard I couldnāt speak.ā
Wilbur opens his mouth again, but you donāt let him get a word in.
āYou act like nothing happened. Like you didnāt blow up everything. Like you didnāt come back from the dead and decide to walk around acting like none of it matters. Like I donāt matter.ā
He flinches, his face falling.
āThatās not true,ā he says quickly, his voice soft.
āNo? Because it sure as hell feels true.ā You step toward him now, anger and hurt twisting in your chest. āDo you have any idea what it was like watching you spiral? Watching you die? Watching you come back and not even look at me?ā Your throat is raw, and tears stream down your face. "It fucking hurts. Im tired of it."
His throat bobs as he swallows hard. āY/nā¦ā
āI waited for you,ā you say, voice shaking now. āI grieved you. And then Ghostbur came, and I tried to believe that was enough, that it was something, even though I knew it wasnāt really you. And then you came back and you looked right through me like I was just another ghost of what you left behind.ā
Wilburās mouth parts like heās going to speak, but no sound comes out.
You keep going, voice louder now. āYou never apologized. Not once. Not to me. Not to Tommy. You acted like you could justā¦ show up again and it would all be fine.ā
"I didn't know what to say!" he steps closer. "I still don't."
"That's bullshit," you snap. "You could've tried. Instead, you made me feel like I was nothing to you."
"I didn't know how!" he says, louder now, voice raw. "I came back wrong, y/n. Everything feels wrong." his voice is rough. "I was in that fucking train station for thirteen and a half years, feeling numb. Nothing but remorse for what I had done to everyone. To you. I regretted everything!-"
"Then why did you never apologize?!" you cry.
"BECAUSE I DIDN'T KNOW IF YOU'D EVER FORGIVE ME!" he shouts.
You blink, and for a moment, time feels suspended. Both your chests are rising and falling quickly, the weight of the moment hanging between you. In that stillness, you notice itāhe is scared. Of what he's admitted. It softens you for a moment. Wilbur takes a deep, shaky sigh, looking away from you. You move toward him carefully. A moment of silence falls between you. Until he talks again.
"I was scared that if I did apologize, you wouldn't want me in your life anymore,ā he pauses. voice low. āI didnāt want to lose you.ā
Tears prick in your eyes again. You don't speak as you take another step closer.
"I was selfish, scared, and angry. I kept pushing you away because I thought you'd be better off without me. Now I realize I was wrong. I need you. But you don't need me. And it was selfish of me to shut you out." he chokes out a sob, and you're heart feels heavy as you're now practically invading his space.
You lift your hands to gently cup his cheeks, trying to get him to look at you, but he refuses to meet your gaze. He stares down in shame, trembling against your touch, as if he doesnāt welcome it at first. Itās almost as if he feels he doesnāt deserve such softness after all this time. You softly brush away the tears as they fall with your thumbs.
"Will, please look at me." he looks up, and he completely shatters under your saddened gaze.
I'm so, so sorry," he sobs, words thick in his throat. Shaking, you pull him into a hug, his arms curling around your waist beneath his trench coat, which you're still wearing. As you both cry against each other, your fingers run through his hair, trying to soothe him. You recall how your touch in his curls always calmed him. He tucks his face into your shoulder, inhaling your scent and clinging tightly.
"Im sorry," he recites. "Im so sorry y/n. For Pogtopia. For shutting you out. For coming back and pretending like everything was fine. Even if you never forgive me, I'll try for the rest of my life to make it right by you."
As you took a moment to steady your breath, the emotions swirling within you began to settle. The fire of anger faded away, leaving behind a deep sense of grief. It wrapped around your heart, mingling with the bittersweet warmth of love. No matter the circumstances or the hurt that had happened, your love for him remained an unwavering constant, a silent promise that had never ceased, etched deep within your soul.
Wilbur holds you as though heās terrified to let go. He fears that if he releases you, even for a moment, you might slip away for good this time. Eventually, you ease back just enough to look up at him, and your eyes meet. His gaze is glassy, and his glasses are slightly crooked. Without thinking, you reach up to adjust them. He lets you, his fingers lingering on the side of his face as you brush a wayward curl from his forehead. You smile through your tears. The gentle touch causes him to shake his head in disbelief.
"I don't deserve you," he whispers.
"Yes, you do."
He doesn't argue.
Your hands glide down his chest, coming to a stop just above his heart, where you can feel the pulse beneath the soft fabric of his sweater. It feels both foreign and familiar at the same time. As the weight of the shouting and resentment begins to fade, he places his hand over yours and gives it a gentle squeeze.
"I meant what I said."
You nod. "I know."
"Do you believe me?"
You hesitate, then breathe. "I want to."
That's enough for him. He nods slowly, pulling in a shaky breath, then leans down until his lips brush your cheek in a tender kiss.
"Then I'll prove to you every day how much I mean it," he vows.
You find yourself believing him, despite a nagging feeling in the back of your mind warning you not to get caught up in it. The tension in your gut urges you to run, yet you remain here, standing in his arms once again in the warm cabin.
"Don't do it again. Don't shut me out. Don't leave me behind," you say, swallowing the lump in your throat. He looks at you with guilt and remorse in his eyes. This time, he is the one to reach out and cradle your face in his palms.
"I promise you I won't ever again."
You inhale slowly and then say it.
"I forgive you..." you croak.
Although you shouldn't, you can't help it. You love him too much. You watch as the words hit him. His body stills, eyes wide, and something like hope fills them again. He just stares at you, as if he can't believe what you've said. Then he surges forward, hands still cradling your face, his lips find your forehead first, then your cheeks, your jaw, nose, brow, everywhere. His kisses are soft and frantic all at once. Like he's memorizing every part of you and trying to apologise with every brush of his mouth. You don't stop him.
His voice cracks on a whisper as he presses a kiss to your lips, mummbling. "Thank you for forgiving me," he breaths, eyes shut. "I love you. I love you. I love you."
Your heart twists, and you're pulling him close again.
"I love you too.'" You murmur into his chest.
In that fleeting moment, itās just the two of you, enveloped in the flickering glow of the firelight that dances around you like a warm embrace. The air is thick with every word youāve longed to share. As time seems to stand still in this intimate cocoon of longing and hope.
As he gently pulls you from the warmth of the cabin, the crisp cold air envelops you once more, sending shivers down your spine. This time, his hand instinctively finds yours. Fingers intertwining as he guides you forward. Together, you step into the dark, with home on the horizon. Soon, the cold is taking over your bones again, causing you to shiver. He notices, and you move closer to lean against his arm, head pressed to his shoulder. He doesn't flinch away, as you trek side by side through the snow.
Filled with both uncertainty and possibility, he leads, and you follow.
End.
taglist: @lillyspeakz @horny-p0et @sootwilb
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funny thing about anxiety is sometimes it kind of breaks your sense of danger. like i am known for repeatedly putting myself in situations that make my friends go "bro you couldve died. werent you scared?" and the answer is š yjeah. i did it scared. i do everything scared. i didnt know that was the actual important kind of scary because i usually have to ignore my fears to function in society. it will happen again. watch out.
ykw who cares if one of my irl friends (who iāve been friends with for five years) didnāt tell me happy birthday at least my moots did and wilbur streamed on my bday itās fine
(i love all my moots thank you guys so much for all the love !!)
ykw who cares if one of my irl friends (who iāve been friends with for five years) didnāt tell me happy birthday at least my moots did and wilbur streamed on my bday itās fine
(i love all my moots thank you guys so much for all the love !!)
