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Tag: Families of Choice (Found Family)
Sample Size: 19,860 stories
Source: AO3
Note: "&" denotes a platonic ship
⚠️ DON’T START DISCOURSE ABOUT RPF IN THE NOTES!! YOU WILL BE BLOCKED IF YOU DO SO ⚠️
Before you vote: This poll is about the content creators, NOT the characters. If you don’t ship them because you don’t ship rpf, hit the “non-rpf shipper button” option. If you ship the characters but not the real people, don’t bother saying that as that’s not the point of the poll.
Do you ship it?
Phil Watson (Philza)/Kristin Rosales Watson (MissTrixtin) [CCs]
I ship it!
Sure, why not/I can see it
Neutral
I don’t ship it
I don’t know them
Non-rpf shipper button
No reason submitted
the man, the bird, the fatherfigure
zombie phil from @wolfythewitch's au!! im brainrotting so hard
hey so sbi (+ others) foster au fics are great, ok, like I love them. They're one of the main types of fics I read. But Kristian and Phil are almost never together in them. Like either she's dead, just doesn't exist, or they start dating after the fostering starts. The main exception I've seen is in ones where it's not set in a realistic world and she's like literal Death, but she's still not too involved in the story.
I think it would be cool if they were married in one and just decided to foster for whatever reason. I know there's some but personally I've just not seen a ton unless specifically searching for them being together in particular.
Tommys magic is subtle.
It’s not like the girl across the street, who drips with neon green and has plants turning at her presence.
It’s not like the boy next door, whose eyes always glow a vibrant purple when he focuses too hard on something.
No, Tommy isn’t like them. His magic is quite shy in reality, a parallel to Tommy’s own personality. It rarely blinks into life for more than a moment, a dull gold that could be easily dismissed as a sun ray.
Nobody really notices the way his blonde hair seems to glow, how the yellow leaves that fall in autumn appear more vibrant when Tommy is around. Still, it affects them, brightening the atmosphere and widening smiles in the slightest way. No, Tommy’s magic isn’t anything extravagant- but when he sees his friends stare into the golden sunset, mesmerized- he thinks he’s okay with that.
Phil adores his magic. The way translucent green pours out of his palms, stretching out over the land before rising, bringing to life his architectural imaginations. The magic glitters in the sun at the right angle, and he could spend all day in the sweltering heat just building. Bringing his magic to life and getting to share it with other people.
His magic is more personal than others. While the green is vibrant to Phil, his wife Kristin describes it as faint- “as if I was looking at it through a fog”- so he makes sure to sketch out the designs on paper, too, so he can ask Kristin for her opinion on all of his new projects.
He discovered that he can create whatever he wants and hold it there. So, during his younger years when all he wanted to do was fly, he brought a pair of green wings to life, and rested them on his back. He hasn’t let up those wings for years, and now they react with his emotions, moving and gesticulating along with him. They feel natural.
Pink has followed Techno around for as long as he’s been alive. It drags along with his movements, highlighting the stroke of his arm as he brings his sword down on his opponent. When he jogs, the pink gradient leaves a trail, one that disintegrates as he progresses further in his run.
He used to despise the pink, which tainted his life and had him mocked in school. Then- when he got into wrestling, and took down his tournament partner with a flourishing swing- he watched the video back and found himself entranced; the pink highlighting his movements in the same way a streamer would follow the arc of a dancer. Amazing.
He snuck out that night and bought hair dye. Pink- the same shade as his magic- and he dyed his short head of hair in an act of defiance.
His parents were angry, sure, but the connection he finally felt with his magic made the arguments worth it. He grew his hair out as long as possible, after that, and reveled in the way his hair swung with his movements in the same way his magic did.
Wilbur thought he was powerless for a long time. No matter what he did, or tried, or risked, his magic never showed up. It made him feel empty, like a piece of himself was missing and he was convinced it would never show up.
He was angry for a long time- and sad- but mostly angry. He fought with kids at school, with his teachers, with his parents. Any time they tried to ask him what was wrong, he couldn’t form the words to explain.
But then, one year when he forgot to list out what he wanted his elective to be and got randomly placed in the boys choir, something happened. A spark- something blue and curly and bright- lit up his vision while he was humming the tune they were learning in class.
He cried that day. He went home a bumbling mess as he sobbed and sniffled, a stupid grin on his face as he tried to tell his parents what had happened. They let him stay home, and after he sung his voice to the heavens and back before losing it, his parents bought him a guitar and a keyboard.
He slowly learned that his magic isn’t bound to his voice, but to whatever music he created. So he strummed nonsensical tunes and pressed random keys until those blue, twirly and bright sparks lit up around him again, and he cried.
As he grows up, expanding his musical dictionary as far as it can go, he meets other new, magical people.
He meets the boy with golden hair, who lights up the world around him with only his presence and a cheeky grin.
He meets the man with faint green wings, who laughs readily and loves just as easily as he creates.
He meets the guy with a pink silhouette, who dyed his hair pink to spite the world, and whose sense of humor is as sharp as his sword.
“Yes,” he sings into the theater, blue sparks exploding with the last strum of his guitar, “I think I will be alright.”
After a solid ten minutes of wrangling an unreasonably fast spider back into its little spot in the cupboard, Phil collapses into a chair by the table, feeling as if he’s aged another year. Wilbur sits with him, slumping into his seat as if moments away from being sent into another stress-induced coma.
Tommy moves on very quickly from the whole ordeal.
Tubbo: *Pulls a glass a water from out of nowhere* Phil: Where did you get that? Tubbo: My pocket. Phil: How do you keep a glass of water in your pocket? Tubbo: Skills.
