#i just remembered askbox exists

[falling-skyzz]

I'd love to see your Peacemaker design 👀 /nf

drew him with all the potential arc 4 protagonists a while ago !!

[dovesndecay]

oomf are you okay,, i am Looking at that spuffy meltdown you're having like. do you need a hug ??? therapy ??

[gfwooyo]

wanna get a non kpop mutual into kpop.....if any of y'all are bored go check out ateez then come talk to me <3

[sundial-bee-scribbles]

Yeah like what’s the point of even having anon features if they can’t use your website?????? Like on certain blogs I can’t even view them without being blocked????? I don’t understand????

And I can’t talk to people if they don’t have a submission box which is awkward because not many people have a submission box that I can see! -🌟

══════════════════ 

well the blog thing is most likely that some people have set it to not be visible outside the tumblr dashboard; some people just don’t want their blog viewable to anyone outside of tumblr and there’s a number of reasons why that could be, it’s their own personal decision

the submission/ask box thing can sometimes be a case i know of new users forgetting to turn it on, but sometimes too its deliberately turned off (or limited, like anons being turned off and only other users can ask qs) for, again, a number of different reasons (︶︿︶)

[hamlets-ak]

sleepy boi ༊*·˚

m.list ◦ askbox

synopsis: dad timothée with newborn baby

« Is he sleeping ? », you asked, softly, almost in a whisper.

Timothée shook his head, utterly consumed by the small creature lying on the bed beside him. You had been waiting for him in agony for way too long, and now that he was finally here, it was impossible to tear your eyes away.

« He’s just staring at me, » Tim mumbled and turned to you. « He’s so suspicious. » You chuckled and at the sound of your laugh, Marc motioned his head in your direction. Timothée grinned behind his palm, looking down at him lovingly, with eyes softer than ever.

Fresh out of the shower, hair still wet, you tilted on the doorframe. Your gaze lingered on them as you melted on the wooden surface. You had never seen him like this. He had never seen you like this. No amount of future glances could have prepared you for this moment. 

Paradoxically, it didn’t feel strange or even life-changing, as everyone said. A new age had begun for you when you decided to fill your entire existence with a person. But nothing had changed. It was still you.

« You’re looking at mummy, Marcy ? », Tim asked and Marc averted his gaze to him as if he understood perfectly. You exchanged a furtive glance. 

You were both so tired; eyes maroon and hooded, bones heavy, doliprane after doliprane, and coffee after coffee. But there was something about him that managed to break through that fogged-up mist of fatigue and weakness, and give you an almost plasmatic sense of courage and vigour.

It was six in the morning, dawn. You couldn’t remember the time you last closed your eyes. The sky was a paradisiacal shade of pink, as if out of an adolescent dream. The final neon-lighted stands and street lights swang out of sight, along the city. 

« I’d kill to be on his mind, » Tim murmured. He touched his open palm, tiny and soft, and Marc curled his fingers around it, eager to touch, to test the warmth of his father’s skin. 

A smile grew on your lips and you disconnected yourself from the door. You caught a sweater as your feet brushed against the wooden floor, leading you closer to them. Marc turned to you, letting out a muffling sound.

« I really want to know what he’s thinking. » Tim turned to you.

You sank into the mattress and balanced on your elbow so you could look at him.

« Do you think he understands ? »

« Of course he does. »

« Of course he does... You understand us, Marcy ? », Timothée bowed and pressed a kiss on his cheek, his neck, his belly. He lightly leaned his head to the side and Tim chuckled.

« It tickles ? », you asked, tilting your face on your palm. You caressed his cheek gently, slowly moving to his forehead. Hair slipped between the slits of your fingers. 

He was perfect, from rounded cheeks to tiny toes, everything about him. You looked at him and recognized bits of every family member you had ever met, and you knew that there were bits of thousands of past family members you had never known and would never know. You could see kaleidoscopic visions of yourself in him and you could see Timothée.

« I want to show him everything, » you said.

Marc fussed a bit, but Tim scooped him and let him lay on top of his chest with his tummy.

« Yeah... I can’t wait for him to grow up. We’re going to play with cars. »

« You miss playing with cars ? »

« So much, » he nodded and you laughed. Tim chuckled as well. He motioned his head for you to snuggle and wrapped one arm around you, bringing you close. Your head rested on the crook of his neck, tiredly.

« You sure I didn’t wake him up ? », you glanced up at him.

« Only those who sleep wake up. » You smiled, your gaze not leaving his. « He hasn’t closed an eye all night. »

Marc looked at you lethargically. Peaceful, he blinked his eyes at the feeling of Tim’s heartbeat. He stared at you with that electrifying glint of his blurry eyes and you wondered what was hiding deep inside those abyssal irises.

« He needs to sleep, » you mumbled.

« So do you, » Tim said and pressed a kiss on your temple.

« I’m fine. »

« How are you fine ? You haven’t slept since I don’t know when, » he murmured.

« Neither have you, » you pressed your lips and looked at him. He mimicked your expression and lightly raised his eyes.

« I’m nocturnal. »

« You’re not, » a smile grew on your lips and Tim let out a small grown as he threw his head back. You averted your gaze and softly brushed your fingers through your son’s hair. He kept staring at you, his lips pouted, and eyes half sealed. You slightly scrunched your face trying to imitate him.

« Paternity made me, » Timothée said, rubbing his hand through Marc’s small back. « Anyway, you have to sleep, » he turned to you.

« I’m fine, Tim, cut it. »

« No, sleep. We’ll go to the living room. » You looked at him momentarily, silently assuring him that everything was alright. « We’ll go to the living room. Right Marcy ? », he whispered and held him closer. He fushed lightly but Tim was quick to soothe him. « We’ll walk around the house, and we’ll talk, and eat, and wear clean diapers... » You laughed a little. « Mum is laughing... »

« You’ll wear clean diapers too ? »

« She’s just being silly, Marcus, but we love her, » he pressed a kiss on your lips as he got up, your son in his arms. « We do love her very much. »

« I love you too. So much, » you smiled.

« Sleep, » he pointed a finger in your direction.

[feefivefoe]

Something I think about when it comes to the batfam is what if they remember reader after a long long time? I’m talking 10+ years after leaving the family. Like what would that be like? Reader wouldn’t be a young adult but someone who’s established themselves in a career and most likely moved out of Gotham, got themselves a somewhat better apartment or maybe a small house, maybe gone through therapy and has decided that they are indifferent about the families existence, to the point that reader forgets about them sometimes. Except Jason reader would probably light a candle every birthday and holiday for him

I feel like the angst potential would be like an aged wine. Bruce Wayne forgot about his first born child their entire life, plus 10 years. Maybe the only reason they remember is a Gotham exclusive on the family, a “where are they now?” type story and half the family (Steph, Cas, Damian, Duke) discover reader existed and the other half is reminded of the forgot part of their family. Oh the angst for Jason! His favorite sibling, his friend from before his death, how could he forget them?? How could Bruce forget them??? And oh god it’s been such a long time where are they?? The story said that they couldn’t find a record in Gotham anymore, are they dead? He let them be forgotten, something he couldn’t stand happening to him, and now here he is, perpetuating it. The fight this would cause!! I feel like the fam would turn on Bruce demanding answers that he doesn’t have. Jason goes to readers room and finds nothing. Maybe reader wanted to cover their tracks? Maybe they didn’t want any trace of them in a manor that never cared for them in the first place? Who knows, all the fam knows is that this building feels so much colder now with this revelation.

Meanwhile reader is getting dinner with friends and work colleagues, having a good and fulfilling life, one outside Gotham, outside of the depressing influence of the Wayne’s, rogues, and owls of Gotham (sorry for making this so long!! Hope you’re having a great day!! Love your work!)

No bc how dare you come into my askbox and drop the most beautiful ask I've seen while I'm sick and brain fogged /affectionate

No hate to anybody else who has sent asks, ily all, but this one HIT MY BRAIN SPASMS AKDMELAK-

BECAUSE YOU'RE SO RIGHT???

The longer it goes on, the worse the inevitable realization is for EVERYONE. Including reader. Because while there's no record of them legally, that's just because they're doing too poorly to have records.

Once you leave Gotham and start settling, you have legal documentation that you just need, you know, for life. Your ssn, birth certificate, etc. Documents that Bruce thought he had somewhere, only to find out you had requested them from Alfred when you left home.

Alfred, being the enabler he is and always hoping you'd reconnect with them one day, just gave you legal copies. Or illegal copies that are good enough to pass, idk how that stuff works.

Point is, they can find you.

BUT.

That's after they get past the emotional turmoil that the discovery puts them through. Imagine if one of them is watching the special for laughs, members of the family snickering at how fake and put together they all are on camera, elbowing each other at how prim and proper some of them are.

Then, near the ending, it cuts to a city far away from theirs. Not Bludhaven, which confuses them. The rest of them stayed, at least relatively close. So where-?

"Y/N L/N, formerly known as Y/N Wayne, has not been seen in the public eye for over a decade. While our reporters were unable to make contact, some still can't help but wonder on where this mysterious member of the beloved family-"

*Snap*

That's Jason, snapping the remote in half while staring at the screen.

Where...when...?

Half of them are confused. Three of them are starting to get a dawning realization.

Jason is having probably the biggest traumatic breakdown he's had since coming to terms with his death and resurrection.

Which town was that? Was that their actual home? Is that just stock footage? Did the reporter lie, did they find you? No, they would have shown that. Fucking vultures wouldn't keep the drama to themselves if they had the chance.

Those are thoughts that don't hit until later, honestly. He's too fucking furious to think coherently for a while.

He wants to scream at Bruce, and hit him, and Dick, and Tim, and fuck it, Alfred too a little. (Unfortunately, they probably have lost Alfred by now. The man was already old.)

He wants to both trash and treasure what's left of your room, small enough to make him feel cramped. It's the size of his old apartment bedroom! Fucking moneybags couldn't give his second ever child a better room than this???

There's no diary left behind, or anything that would bring any sense of closure. Actually, the only thing of note is a scattering of ancient newspaper articles badly taped up on the wall, mostly peeling or on the floor by now.

"BATMAN BESTS POLICE ONCE MORE- RIDDLER IN CUSTODY"

"WHAT WE KNOW ABOUT THE BOY WONDER"

"NO MORE JOKES - CLOWN IN CUSTODY"

"BATMAN'S NEWEST SIDEKICK? ROBIN REPLACED!"

"A NEW HERO? NIGHTWING DEBUTS!"

Them. It's articles about all of them. Their hero exploits, at least. None of them past his...expiration date. It looks like his death is what made you stop idolizing your family so much. Honestly, the paper is old enough to make it hard to read anything but the headlines.

There are a few sticky notes amidst the papers. Clumsy, childlike handwriting.

03/16/XXXX

Richard and Mister Wayne saved people from a bank! Bad guys almost blew em up. That's why they had to miss the concert!

07/30/XXXX

Jason couldn't have dinner because the Joker broke out, and they had to stop him again. Stay in jail! My brother is hungry!!!! >:(

XX/XX/XXXX

I hoped Richard was in town because of my birthday...I guess it was superhero stuff. But Jay remembers! Next year?

XX/XX/XXXX

Not next year :( I made a cake with Alfred instead. Gave some to Jay after he patrolled. Not as good as Alfred's yet, but he still ate it!

Notes you wrote to yourself. To hang up, to show you that even if they aren't there for you, your 'family' is full of good people. That they're doing important stuff, and that's why they can't be there for you.

As a child, you hung up a wall to show yourself why you weren't important. Why you didn't matter.

And Jason breaks.

[calliesmemes]

POPULAR TROPES AND CLICHÉ QUOTES

Assorted ASKBOX PROMPTS reminiscent of beloved TROPES seen in literature, on screen, and on stage.

CHANGE gendered words and in-universe phrases as needed

SPECIFY muse for multimuses

❛ So you’re the girl that I’ve heard so much about. ❜

❛ I’ve heard so much about you. ❜

❛ I could corrupt you. It would be easy. ❜

❛ Not every puzzle is yours to solve. ❜

❛ The truth is stranger than my worst dreams. ❜

❛ You will become everything you hate. ❜

❛ Wait. Did you hear something? ❜

❛ I have a feeling this has something to do with you. ❜

❛ This isn’t a dream, then. ❜

❛ All will be well. I am sure of it. ❜

❛ We’re in this together. ❜

❛ You were born to make history. ❜

❛ We make a really good team. ❜

❛ What I did, I did for us. ❜

❛ You’re not safe here. ❜

❛ I’m the happiest I’ve ever been because of you. ❜

❛ You’re my fate. Always my fate. ❜

❛ There’s a storm coming. ❜

❛ We’re not so different, you and I. ❜

❛ Hello? Is anybody here? ❜

❛ You don’t even know my real name. ❜

❛ To the ends of the earth, would you follow me? ❜

❛ Who are you, little girl? ❜

❛ I like you more than I planned. ❜

❛ I wish I could protect you from everything. ❜

❛ I shouldn’t be jealous; you aren’t even mine. ❜

❛ You won’t leave me, will you? ❜

❛ You know you should not have survived that, right? ❜

❛ Whatever you do, you’ll always be my brother. ❜

❛ The light … it’s calling to you. Just let it in. ❜

❛ If it means something to you, fight for it. ❜

❛ Can you remember who you were before? ❜

❛ The reports of my death were greatly exaggerated. ❜

❛ Never again will I let someone in. ❜

❛ I see something in you that I can’t explain. ❜

❛ There are traditions and expectations that you must uphold. ❜

❛ I won’t risk our enemies getting their hands on you. ❜

❛ A knife? Are you flirting with me? ❜

❛ Let me be your protector. ❜

❛ I am more than just a copy of you. ❜

❛ Everything’s about to change. ❜

❛ I don’t want to hurt you. ❜

❛ You have no idea who I am, do you? ❜

❛ You’ll never get away with this! ❜

❛ I’m not who I was before. ❜

❛ We’re gonna be legends someday. ❜

❛ Straighten up, little soldier. ❜

❛ You and I are going to change the world. ❜

❛ I did this all for you. ❜

❛ If you wish to see strange things, then I have the power to show them to you. ❜

❛ What’s it like to be a prophet? ❜

❛ You are not your father. ❜

❛ Are you flirting, or starting a fight? ❜

❛ I’m not the person that my parents wanted me to be. ❜

❛ I need to be touched. ❜

❛ This is where you belong. ❜

❛ I want a life full of incredible adventures. ❜

❛ Let’s cause a little trouble. ❜

❛ Relax; it’s just magic. ❜

❛ I want to go home. ❜

❛ My heart belongs to you. ❜

❛ We are connected in a way that I can’t explain. ❜

❛ I am just as strange as you. ❜

❛ Feel like making a deal with the devil? ❜

❛ You were dead. Yet here you are. ❜

❛ I have loved you since we were children. ❜

❛ I will always find you. I promise. ❜

❛ I know what it’s like to be afraid of your own mind. ❜

❛ It’s you. It’s always been you. ❜

❛ You should be terrified of me. ❜

❛ I always get what I want. ❜

❛ Why are you the way you are? ❜

❛ You and I are so alike. ❜

❛ I could tear you apart if I wanted. ❜

❛ We make a really good team. ❜

❛ I will always be proud of you, my love. ❜

❛ Aren’t you a deadly little thing? ❜

❛ You were born to lead. ❜

❛ I have existed a long, long time. ❜

❛ Give me one good reason why I should wear this dress. ❜

❛ None of your scars can make me love you less. ❜

❛ Your friendship means the world to me. ❜

❛ Without you, I don’t exist. ❜

❛ For you, I’d leave it all behind. ❜

❛ You say witch like it’s a bad thing. ❜

❛ Maybe we can fix each other. ❜

❛ I’m afraid of what I’ve become. ❜

❛ Get the hell out of my head. ❜

❛ Do not tell me what I can and cannot do. ❜

❛ I do not need to be saved. ❜

❛ I want answers, goddamnit! ❜

❛ I don’t need a name. ❜

❛ Your existence gives me a headache. ❜

❛ Is there anything I can do for you? ❜

❛ This isn’t going to be like last time. ❜

❛ You took everything from me. ❜

❛ I just want to live my own life. ❜

❛ I have nowhere else to go. ❜

❛ You’re my best friend. I can’t lose you. ❜

❛ The most dangerous thing is to love. ❜

❛ I’m doing this for my family. ❜

❛ You have information that we need. Valuable information. ❜

❛ I lost everyone; I can’t lose you too! ❜

❛ You cannot destroy me. ❜

❛ It is my duty to protect you. ❜

❛ It’s only illegal if we get caught. ❜

❛ I have a weakness for you. ❜

❛ I will follow you into the dark. ❜

❛ Maybe I’m not the person everyone thinks I am. ❜

❛ Pretty armour doesn’t make a warrior. ❜

❛ We could get arrested for this. ❜

❛ You’re too good for this world. ❜

❛ I’ve been waiting a long time for you. ❜

❛ You must be mad, coming here like this. ❜

❛ We’re two halves of a whole idiot. ❜

❛ We were never welcome here. ❜

❛ Where you go, I go. ❜

❛ My brother never came back. ❜

❛ Be on your guard. ❜

❛ The light will always win over darkness. ❜

❛ Blaming is often easier than understanding. ❜

❛ I think that you will change the world some day. ❜

❛ Look at what you’ve done. ❜

❛ Your mind is playing tricks on you. ❜

❛ How can someone so evil be so kind? ❜

❛ You were nothing before you met me. ❜

[here4kpopfics]

Lose My Mind | Wonwoo

Pairing: Wonwoo x (f)reader 

Genre: angst, smut

AU: established relationship, biker!au

Wordcount: 5,722

Summary: you can only deal with your fiancé’s antics for so long before you finally give up.

Warnings: Language, fighting/violence, blood, cleaning of wounds, wonwoo gets slapped, much angst, smut, oral, unprotected sex (wrap it pls), creampie, cum eating.

Rating: M/18+

AN: Happy Birthday to my soulmate @playmetheclassics! I love you so very much, I'm so happy to have met you and can't wait for the day I can hug you for real and I hope you enjoy this lovely pile of angst with a dash of smut. First time writing from someone not reader’s POV so I apologize in advance if it’s eh at all. Trying to improve my skills. Thank you to @the-boy-meets-evil for beta-reading, and @classicscreations for the banner/divider. Enjoy!!! 💜

Masterlist | Taglist | AskBox | Coffee?

“I can’t do this anymore. I can’t live this life with you if this is how you’re going to be, Wonwoo.” 

The memory plays back in his mind clear as day as he spins the engagement ring around on the sticky counter. 

“I love you so much, I’m sorry.” Your voice breaks as the tears stream down your cheeks. He wants to wipe them away, wants to change your mind. But he can’t. He knows he can’t. So he lets you take his hand in yours, setting the engagement ring he worked so hard to find just for you in his palm and letting go. 

How could he have fucked this up so badly?

He met you four years ago at some party he couldn’t remember the host of if he tried. You were in skin tight jeans, a lacy bodysuit leaving very little to the imagination, boots, and a motorcycle jacket on top. 

The definition of perfection in Wonwoo’s eyes. 

Alcohol brought you two together quickly, and soon after sobering up while talking to you, had you on his motorcycle as he drove through the city to his place where you two had sex into the early hours of the morning. The way you moaned his name, nails scraping down his back as you clenched around him had him seeing stars and finally believing in something, anything, because you existed. 

You ghosted him for a month and he was going insane. Just one night with you was addicting enough that he needed more. He needed you around him at all times. He needs you on the back of his bike, your arms tight around his waist as you clung to him for dear life. 

He finally found you at another party, cornering you in a room and demanding you explain why you ghosted him. 

“Had to see if you were worth it. If you really wanted me or if you were just drunk and horny.”

He cut off any further explanation with his lips against yours, roughly fucking you against the wall when you said the word please.

Two years later, he’s hopelessly in love with you and you are with him. He had introduced you to his biker gang, which you thought was adorable at first, but soon grew to have a love/hate relationship with. You became friends with the other significant others of the gang, all of you often worrying about your men getting into trouble. The others treated it like a joke, but you genuinely worried every day and night for him. 

He often came home with bruises or a cut lip. He wouldn’t tell you what happened. He couldn’t. It always led to a fight. Which would then lead to angry makeup sex. He’d promise to lessen the fighting and you’d stupidly believe him. Every. Time. 

The third year, he wound up in the hospital you worked at after a car merged into him when he was in their blind spot. You told him to get rid of the bike, to just get a car and be safe. He refused. You were mad, but you loved him enough to stay home with him and help him get better. 

The day he proposed, you two were at a bar, surrounded by his crew. Mingyu handed you a shot, saying congratulations, not realizing Wonwoo hadn’t proposed yet. When you looked at him, it made Wonwoo want to tear Mingyu apart for spoiling it. He took you away from the group, taking you outside where it was snowing. He stood you next to his bike, getting down on one knee and showing the ring, asking you to be his forever. 

He swore he understood the entire universe when you said yes and put the ring on.

That stupid ring. 

That stupid ring he can't stop playing with as he fights the urge to throw it against the wall with the liquor bottles.

“Wonwoo? It’s three in the morning, where have you been?” Your voice is laced with exhaustion, worry, fear, and anger. 

He hates that tone. But it’s nothing compared to the tone that always follows next. 

“I got sidetracked with the guys.”

“Sidetracked? Are you serious?” There it is. 

He tries to sidestep you in the dark living room, hoping you don’t see his face. But you do. 

Because you know. 

You always know. 

You’ve known since the beginning. 

He fights. Late at night in the back room of a dirty bar. He fights. 

And he wins. 

Usually. 

Your hand reaches for his forearm as he tries to move past you. You’re smaller than he is, but you have a control over him that he’ll never understand. He puts it down as either you being in the medical field or simply his love for you and the way he’d walk on fire for you. 

He winces when you drag him to the bathroom, flicking on the light and making him sit on the edge of the tub while you acquire the first aid kit. He watches you move, you still haven’t looked at him. Your body moves around the bathroom like it’s done this a hundred times before, setting up the counter with everything needed to clean wounds and stitch up the hits he received. 

When you finally turn back to him, putting on the disposable gloves, your eyes avoid his, grabbing his hands and assessing the damage. You let go of one of them, keeping his dominant hand in yours as you turn back to the counter to grab what you need. 

“Y/n…”

He’s cut off by your perfectly timed and nowhere near gentle application of rubbing alcohol. He takes it as a threat to be quiet, so he does. He watches you work, cleaning his knuckles before adding medication to them and bandaging him up. You quietly repeat the action on the other hand, this time a little gentler with the alcohol. 

“Jacket.” You mutter it softly, and he’s quick to obey, shedding the leather jacket that reeks of beer, liquor, and a dirty room, without making much movement. You inspect his arms, seeing only hints of bruises forming, but no blood or dislocations. Not this time at least. As if routine, he removes his shirt too, letting you access the hits he got to the chest and back. Nothing this time. 

Your hands delicately hold his face, your eyes continuing to avoid his gaze. His eyes follow yours as you analyze his injuries, preparing in your mind what you need to do. All part of the routine, he thinks. 

You turn back to the counter, hesitating. 

“Where are your glasses?” You ask, turning back to him, pouring some alcohol on a pad.

“I…I lost them.”

You sigh, dabbing the alcohol harshly against his eyebrow, letting him wince in pain. 

“Where are your glasses?” You ask again, with a hint of anger in your voice. He knows he can’t get away with lying. 

“They broke.”

“How’d you get home?”

“My bike.” 

He wasn’t prepared for the sharp slap across his face. 

All the punches he’s received in his fights, all the hits and kicks and cuts and bruises, all felt like nothing in comparison to that slap. 

But he doesn’t react. He sits and he waits for whatever’s next because this isn’t part of the routine. When he fights, his glasses are tucked away somewhere safe and he puts in his contacts, tearing them out once he’s done and the glasses go back on when he’s back on the bike so he can see on his way home. 

Your eyes finally meet his, and it feels like the earth is about to swallow him whole. The betrayal and the sadness in your eyes just enhance the pain from the slap. You say nothing, and neither does he as you turn back to the counter to quickly put everything together. 

You silently get back to work, cleaning up the rest of the injuries, turning back to the counter to open up the little tube of glue he knows you hate using. He’s seen you at work doing this, you’re great at it. But that’s because it’s your job and you’re good at your job. And it’s also in a perfectly clean and sanitary place. But in your bathroom, at three in the morning, patching up the man you love? It’s a complete one-eighty. And he sees the fear in the way your hands shake, the way a single tear falls from your eye as you turn back to him. 

He closes his eyes as you take a deep breath, trusting you completely. 

His nails dig into his knees the moment the tube makes contact, the glue seeping into the wound, forcing himself not to move or react to the pain of you pinching his skin together to help the adhesive do its job. 

When you’re done, applying a gauze pad over the adhesive stitches to keep them safe, his eyes follow you as you put everything away, throwing away your gloves and washing your hands. You don’t spare him a glance as you walk out of the bathroom, turning the light off and leaving him in the dark. He stays seated for a moment, trying to figure out how to fix this until he hears a door close. 

He heads to your shared bedroom, only to find the door closed and locked, two pillows and a blanket sitting in a pile on the floor. He leans his pained forehead against the door in defeat, sighing. 

“Y/n. Let me in, please?”

Silence. 

“I’m sorry, baby. I know I need to end this. And I will. There’s just one more and if I win, we’ll have enough for us, for the wedding, and for our future.”

He thinks he hears a faint sob on the other side of the door and has half a mind to kick the door down to be with you. But he can’t. You have every right to be mad, every right to be hurt and to cry and to lock him out. 

He grabs the pillows and blanket and heads for the couch. 

The next morning, Wonwoo wakes to the sound of your medical kit being placed on the coffee table. You silently wait for him to sit up, quickly brushing his hand away when he goes to rub his eyes. You turn around, grabbing the required materials to clean up his wounds again. 

His hand subconsciously grabs your thigh when you wipe an alcohol wipe across the laceration in his eyebrow. He feels the way your hands still, your body turning into a statue at the contact. 

You push through, finishing it up and turning back to your bag, pulling out the things needed for a week of taking care of his wounds. 

“You only need to keep the gauze over the stitches for a day or two. It’s the glue kind of stitches so there won’t be anything to remove, just keep it closed or you’ll have to go to urgent care to have them fix it. The rest are all superficial. Just don’t touch them and they should be fine.” 

You speak at such a rapid pace, but still manage to sound professional like you do with your patients. But it’s nothing in comparison to how fast Wonwoo’s mind is racing. 

“Y/n…?”

“I’ll leave some extra gauze, polysporin, as well as just regular bacitracin. The ice packs are all in the freezer if you feel any soreness. Drink water and electrolytes and you’ll be fine. Your backup pair of glasses are on the kitchen counter.” Your voice fails you and you try to hide the sniffle it causes. 

“Fuck, I’m going to be late.” You murmur, grabbing your medical bag and heading to the front door where you have two suitcases. How did he not hear them being brought down? 

“Y/n, where are you going?” He slowly moves off the couch as you stuff the bag into the suitcase.

“Ari’s for now. She can only let me stay a few days, though. I’ll figure the next place out when I get there.”

“Why?” His voice cracks and you finally turn to look at him. 

“Because I give up.” You shrug, voice breaking at the admission. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t live this life with you if this is how you’re going to be, Wonwoo.” 

All at once, he feels his world crashing around him. 

“Baby, please. Don’t…don’t go. Just sit down and we can discuss this.” 

“There’s nothing to discuss, Woo. You’re going to stay in that silly biker gang. You’re going to keep going to that bar. You’re going to keep going to that back room. You’re going to keep fighting and coming home battered and bruised with broken promises of stopping and living a better life.”

“I…I’m serious this time, though. It’s just one more fight next month and we’ll be set.”

“We’re already ‘set’! We’re more than set, Wonwoo! I don’t need designer clothing, a nice house, fancy car, or jewelry. I don’t need any of it! You are literally the only thing I need and you can’t give me that while fighting.”

You take a few steps toward him, your fingers playing with the engagement ring that he had to win three fights to be able to afford. 

“I love you so much, I’m sorry.” Your voice is broken, you’re crying and he can’t do anything about it as you take his hand in yours, setting the engagement ring in his palm and letting go. You say nothing more as you drag your suitcases out the front door, refusing to look back at him.  

Time stops as he sits there, the faint sounds of you getting in a car and driving away in the background as he tries to process. 

You left. 

You left him. 

You gave him the ring back. 

The pain from the wounds on his face doesn’t even come close in comparison to the way his heart shatters when he looks at the ring in his hand. 

He pockets the ring in his wallet, downing his drink in one go and slamming it down on the counter, almost crushing it. 

It’s been a month since you walked out. A month since he last spoke to you. A month since he heard your beautiful voice. You were gone. No longer his and he no longer was yours. 

However, you never came by to get your stuff, never sent someone else to do it either. A month and you haven’t set foot in the house you shared with him. Half of that stuff is rightfully yours, so there had to be a reason for you to not come back for it, right? 

There has to be. 

“Wonwoo? You ready?”

He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his shaking hands before he turns to his best friend, Changkyun.

“Yeah. I just need to put my contacts in. How much time do I have?”

“Eh. You know there’s no real start time. But we’ll say like forty-five minutes? Take your time. Get focused. Seungcheol doesn’t give up easily. He’ll kill you if it’s an option.” Changkyun laughs, but Wonwoo knows his friend is serious. He’s seen the way Seungcheol fights. It’s brutal and one guy he fought was put into a coma and has been for the past eight months. 

“‘Kay. I’ll be ready soon.” Wonwoo slowly gets up, walking past his best friend and towards the bathroom. He takes half a second to look around the bar. It’s become a habit the past month he’s been hiding here. Hoping and praying you’ll walk through those grimey doors. But you never did. You never will. 

Except he swears he sees you sitting in the back corner with Changkyun’s girlfriend. But before he can confirm if it’s you or not, one of the newer members with the nickname Dino, is drunkenly yelling his name and wishing him good luck. By the time Seungkwan ushers him away, you’re no longer in the back corner. You’re nowhere. Just another illusion there to haunt him.

After spending a good amount of time in the dimly lit bathroom, the blue light flickering in and out. He removes his glasses and puts in his contacts that he hates wearing, he sets his jacket down on the counter, glasses sitting to the side and tucking all his important shit in the pockets, including the wallet with your ring. 

Your ring. 

“Fuck, why am I still doing this?” He silently questions himself, fist slamming down on the counter in anger. He looks up at his reflection in the mirror and he’s sick of himself immediately. What he’d give to punch himself in the face for driving you to leave him. 

The thought to punch the mirror quickly appears and disappears in his mind when there’s a quiet knock on the door. 

“I’ll be out in a minute, Changkyun. Just— I need a moment.” He states, trying to mentally prepare himself for this last fight. The knocks return, but louder. 

“I said I’ll be out soon!” He shouts, trying to resist the urge to open the door and punch his best friend just for annoying him. He heavily considers it when suddenly the door opens and he feels like he has been punched in the face. 

It’s you. 

You’re right there. 

In that fucking dress he bought you after one of his first wins. 

You’re really there.  

“Y/n? What…? What are you doing here?”

“I needed to talk to you.” You state calmly, fingers fidgeting with the fabric of your dress. 

Did you cut your hair? Color it? It looks nice. He wants to tell you how gorgeous it is. How gorgeous you are. 

God, he wants to crush you in a hug, keep your lips against his until either of you can’t breathe, have his hands everywhere on your skin and cause goosebumps. He wants to be close to you, but the growing fear that you’ll run away from him again is too much. 

“You love me, right?” You ask quietly, staring at the disgusting ground. You already sound like you’re about to cry and it’s making coming closer to you even more difficult for Wonwoo. 

“More than anything.” He breathes out quickly. 

“More than fighting?” Your brows knit together as you slowly start to look up. “More than the money and the ‘better life’ you seem to think I need? More than your gang or your bike?” Your eyes find his gaze at the mention of his bike and he wants to scream at the world for the tears building up behind your beautiful eyes. 

 “Of course, more than any of that, baby. I’d give it all up for you.” He takes a small step forward and you take one back, closer to the door. 

“Yet here you are, a month after I walk out, ready to fight someone Changkyun says is actually dangerous and requesting my medical assistance.”

“You’ve been talking to Changkyun?” He’s been talking to you? And Changkyun didn’t tell him he was in contact with you? All while, spending hours at the bar with him drinking himself to sleep, wondering where you were and if you were okay. 

Did he tell you about him? About how much he missed you? How it felt like his soul had died without you?

“Of course I’ve been talking to him! I needed to make sure you were okay.”

His mouth opens, but he can’t speak because you’re speaking again. 

“We’re supposed to get married, Wonwoo. And live a life together. Have a family some day, get a cat or something, go out and come home early because we’d rather be together than out there socializing.” Your voice falters with a small laugh, the tears silently falling. 

“But I can’t marry someone who’s risking their life every night, not just with the fights, but driving a motorcycle without glasses or contacts. I can’t marry someone who causes me to be in a constant state of anxiety every time you leave the house.”

“I’ll get rid of the bike. I’ll leave the gang. Whatever it is, I’ll do it.” He steps towards you again, and you take another step back, back meeting the door. 

“I don’t care about the bike, Woo!” You finally yell, throwing your hands up in frustration. “I don’t care about the gang. I don’t even care about the bar! I care about you and your safety and how little you care about it.” You pause to take a breath, hands shaking as you try to reform your thoughts. 

Wonwoo’s heart cracks at the sight. He takes two steps back, giving you the space he knows you need. He wants to say something, anything, to make the tears stop falling, but you’re right and he couldn’t defend himself if he tried. 

“Do you know how many people I’ve seen come into my emergency room half beaten to death? Do you know how many I’ve seen die from those injuries? Or put into induced comas because the brain injuries are so severe? I don’t want to be there one day and have them roll you in on a cart half alive. My heart would break if I did. I mean, fuck, I wanted to fall apart when you got in that hit and run and brought in.”

He looks down to the floor, memories of how upset you were when you came into the emergency room and found him lying in a bed. With a broken leg and scratches everywhere from being dragged down the road by his bike. 

He kept reassuring you it was never going to happen again, as if he could predict the future, but you were still upset and pushed him to sell the bike that was trashed and get a car. 

He ended up buying a better bike and you barely reacted when he brought it home. He promised to be safer and fucked you senseless after.  

“I… what do you want me to do?” He hesitantly asks, “Do you want me to back out of the fight?” You scoff, crossing your arms. 

“We both know you can’t do that. Joon would have your head on a spike if you lost him all that money.” You close your eyes, stepping forward and away from the door. “I want you to do two things for me. Win and never fight again. Keep the bike, hang out in the dirty bar with your friends, drink all you want. But never go in that back room again.”

Your eyes lock onto his and he feels smaller in comparison to you. Your hands reach out for his as you step closer and his gaze falls to the contact. 

“I promi—” 

“No.” Your hands tighten around his, “your promises mean nothing now. You’ve promised me hundreds of times. Don’t use your words, prove it with your actions.”

He doesn’t hesitate when he pushes forward, pressing you back against the wall as his lips crush into yours. His tongue easily slides past your lips when your mouth parts in shock. 

Your arms snake their way around his shoulders and his hands drop to your thighs, lifting you up to wrap them around his waist, pressing you further into the door. 

“I’ll do it. I’ll win for you, and I’ll never step foot back there again.” His lips leave yours, quickly finding their way down the space between your neck and shoulder. “I’ll do anything if it means never having to go a month without you again. I miss you so fucking much, y/n.”

You respond with a whimper, hands tangled in his hair as he feels your hips try to roll forward. Wonwoo pins your hips down, stopping them from moving and rolls his hips instead, eliciting another whine from you. 

“Woo, baby, please.” 

His lips make their way up to just under your ear when he whispers, “what is it, baby? Please what?”

“I need you.”

“Yeah?”

“Missed you. So much. Want you.” 

He pulls away from your skin to look at you. 

“You have me. Always and forever. Just you and me.” He places a small kiss on your forehead, a small grin forming, “and maybe a small kitten. We can name it Snuggles.”

“I like that.” You sniffle, the tears pooling in your eyes again. “But I need more right now, Woo. Please.” 

“I got you, baby.” He kisses your lips once more, standing you back up momentarily to pull his jeans down to his ankles, cock springing free from his underwear. You reach down and give his cock one stroke before his fingers wrap around your wrist, placing it by your head, grinning at your pout. 

“We don’t have time.” He chuckles when you’re about to complain, kissing your pout away as he wraps one of your legs around his waist. Your free hand reaches down to pull your underwear to the side while his free hand lines himself up before slowly pressing past your folds. 

“So fucking tight.” Wonwoo rasps, watching his cock slowly disappear as he sinks you down on him, grabbing your other leg to wrap around his waist as well. Your ankles lock together and he grunts at the feeling of your heels poking his skin. 

Wonwoo shudders when he’s fully inside, cock twitching every time you involuntarily clench around him after almost every breath you take. 

His hand sneaks down between you two, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing small and slow circles, watching your face contort into that of pure pleasure. 

“My girl. My beautiful baby.” The praise and pet names quietly fly past his lips as he leans forward, lips latching onto your neck, “gonna marry you and make you so damn happy. Gonna love you every fucking day and night.” You don’t respond with anything but whimpers and whines, your hands tangling back into his hair and pulling him up to kiss him. 

Everything about this is sloppy and heated and neither of you can last more than a few moments as you’re both coming undone around the same time, his hips stuttering you further into the door as he fills you up. 

He keeps you against the door for a minute, but before you can ask to be put down, he’s bringing you to the counter, laying his jacket out enough for you to sit on so you can avoid the grossness of the dirty bathroom. He grabs some paper towels and cleans himself up, bringing his underwear and jeans back. 

He catches you just in time when you’re readjusting your underwear, moving to stand up to fix your dress. He stops you, placing his hands on both of your knees, keeping them spread apart. 

“Hold on.” He whispers, getting on his knees and scooting you closer to the edge, “let me clean you up.” 

“Woo…” you try to speak but he picks that as the perfect moment and licks up between your folds, collecting what he can of both his and your orgasms. His lips latch onto your clit, switching between sucking harshly and softly blowing on it. He can feel how close you are, his actions a little more chaotic until there’s a hard banging on the bathroom door. 

“Wonwoo! I know I said there’s no time on this, but there’s a fucking time on it. Let’s go.” 

“Two minutes, Changkyun!” Wonwoo snaps back, anger quickly taking over his voice. 

“You have one minute before I come in there. Whatever you’re doing with y/n, make it fast.”

You look down at Wonwoo in horror, but that just eggs him on, “you heard the man, baby. I’ve got one minute.” 

Your eyes widen at the evil smile he gives you before diving back in. Only this time, he doesn’t hold back; licking, sucking, fucking you with his tongue until your hips are bucking upwards and you’re trying desperately not to scream his name out as you come. 

You have to push his face away from your center, much to his dismay, before he causes a third orgasm. He fixes your underwear, helping you stand up as his lips find yours again, hands adjusting your dress. He reaches behind you, grabbing his jacket and opening it for you to slip your arms into.

He pulls away from you, eyes locking on yours as his hand dips into a pocket, grabbing his wallet and pulling the ring out, dropping the wallet back in the pocket. 

The ring fidgets in his fingers as he looks down at it before glancing back at you. 

“…I give up the fighting, the money, the lack of caring about my safety. I’ll be better, I’ll do better. As long as it means this ring stays on your finger forever.”

The tears form in your eyes again as you slowly reach for the ring, delicately taking it from his fingers. You slowly put it back where it belongs on your ring finger, Wonwoo letting out a dramatically heavy breath that he didn’t think he was holding. 

“Deal.” You whisper quietly, pulling him back down for a kiss that’s perfectly interrupted by the door opening. 

“I gave you three minutes. Let’s go. Sorry, y/n.” Changkyun shares a look with you that Wonwoo can’t quite read, choosing to ignore it as he reaches for his glasses on the counter, placing them in your hand. 

“I’ll win.” He whispers, kissing your forehead and walking out after his best friend, your ring wearing hand in back in his.

The fight is, as expected, brutal and bloody. Seungcheol never holds back, throwing punch after punch like it was his only goal in life to beat Wonwoo down to a pulp the moment the two of you stepped into the back room. Seungcheol gave you both one glance, chuckled, and looked away before the fight began. 

Wonwoo was able to dodge a good amount of the punches, but the ones that did land sent him straight to the ground, trying his best to stay conscious. 

He can feel the blood dripping down his face from a cut between his eyebrows. His nose feels broken. He's pretty sure his leg is bruised from Seungcheol kicking him down and kicking harder when he’s not responding. 

“Get up.” Seungcheol grumbles, circling Wonwoo, “unless you want your girl to watch you get pummeled.” He shrugs, a smug grin across his face as Wonwoo lifts himself onto his hand and knees. 

“I don’t mind. Maybe she can tend to my wounds after.” He smirks, watching Wonwoo try to steady himself as he stands up. “She can kiss them better. That what she do with you?” 

Wonwoo’s eyes dart to you, in the corner or the room, holding Changkyun’s girlfriend’s hand tight. Your eyes are wide and you’re trying not to react to anything happening, trying to stay neutral in case either of you needs immediate attention. You can’t hear the salacious slander Seungcheol is taunting Wonwoo with, and for that, he’s thankful. 

Seungcheol speaks again, but Wonwoo doesn’t bother listening, instead bringing his fist back briefly before punching Seungcheol in the jaw, sending him backwards. 

He wastes no time taking advantage of Seungcheol being even slightly disoriented, knocking him to the ground and punching one after the other. It takes you shouting his name to pull him out of his mind and stop punching the man beneath him. He sits back on his feet, mindlessly watching as Changkyun checks on Seungcheol before Wonwoo is declared the winner. 

He’s shoved aside by his best friend as you’re brought to the losing participant, checking his wounds and determining what needs to be done, instructing Changkyun how to do it before turning around and doing the same with Wonwoo. 

“Anything feel broken?” You whisper, cradling his face in your hands, analyzing the injuries. He tries not to wince as you gently move his head side to side. The nitrile gloves feeling oddly cool against his sweaty skin. “Tilt your head up for me, baby.” He obeys your murmur, teeth gritting as he does so. His eyes find your sad ones and he finally understands it. 

“I won.” He whispers, a battered hand reaching to wrap around the back of your neck, pressing your forehead to his. “Never again.” 

You nod, flashing a soft smile as you pull away from him, letting go of his head, checking his hands quickly before grabbing a towel and covering his knuckles. “We should go home. I can treat you better there.” 

You stand him up slowly, your name being called by Changkyun as he has someone else sitting Seungcheol up, wiping up any blood. You turn just in time to catch the keys being thrown at you.  

“Here. I’ll take Wonwoo’s bike. Take the car.” 

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Don’t let him get on that bike like that.”

Wonwoo doesn’t miss the smile that appears on your face as you nod. You’re not the only one that cares about his safety. 

After you say your thanks, you help Wonwoo into the passenger seat of the car and get in the driver’s seat, taking him home. 

“I mean it.” His raspy voice pierces the silence in the car after a moment, “No more fighting. No more riding without my glasses. I’ll take better care…I’ll be better…for both of us.” He unwraps his hand from the towel, wincing slightly, and moves his hand over to your thigh, giving a gentle squeeze. 

“Good. Because I’ll throw an actual fit if I walk down the aisle to you in a tux with fresh cuts and bruises all over your face.”

“I think you’d kick my ass.” He jokes, but you just smirk. 

“Baby, I’m medically trained and have been taking self-defense classes for years. I know how to stop the blood flow to your brain and stop you from breathing with one hit. Don’t fuck with me.” 

“I love the image of you in a wedding dress just beating people up.” 

“Don’t compare me to the bride in Kill Bill, Woo. Please.” You groan and he laughs. 

“It’s hot. That’s all I’m saying.” 

“You’re lucky I love you.” 

There’s a long pause before Wonwoo finally speaks again. 

“That I am…”

[sugdenlovesdingle]

post US election hangover WIP Wednesday

thanks for tagging me @nisbanisba @carlos-in-glasses @captain-gillian

this whole US election mess is giving me war flashbacks to the Dutch election from last year with unfortunately a similar outcome... and the less said about that the better. I'm normally a news junkie, but today I turned off the breaking news notifications. I've had enough of things happening for now.

I'm also a big fan of sticking my head in the sand and pretending certain things don't exist so I've been writing ficlets all day - mainly for bucktommy (the brainrot is real at the moment) but here's a little something for tarlos with Judd that's been living in my drafts for a while. I don't really remember where I was going with it but maybe this will get the creative juices flowing enough to finish it.

---

“Whose face are you picturing?”

Judd looked up and saw TK leaning against one of the machines in the firehouse gym.

“My own. But I’m not in the mood to talk.”

“Ok.” TK shrugged and sat down on a bench with the weights. “I’ll just sit here and watch then.”

“You want to watch me work out?”

“No, not you. My dad is trying to convince Carlos he’s allowed to use the gym here instead of paying for the one down town.” He explained. “And I do want to watch him work out.” He grinned and winked at Judd.

“Can’t a man just work out in peace here without you making eyes at your fiancé?”

“Sorry, not today.”

Judd rolled his eyes and focused on getting a few more punches in on the bag. If he could just work through his frustrations in peace, the world would be a better place.

“Yes Carlos I’m sure. I’m the captain here and I officially give you permission. You’ll be my son in law in just a few weeks, you’re family.” Owen said, gently pushing Carlos into the gym.

“It’ll only be a few weeks. Just until the gym at the station is done. It’ll be done when we get back from our honeymoon.”

“You can just keep using it after that too, nobody here minds. And like I said, you’re family.” Owen turned him around and patted his shoulder. “Have fun.” He said and left, leaving Carlos standing in the doorway.

TK got up and walked over to him, slipping his arms around his waist.

“If dad says it’s ok, it’s ok.” He insisted. “Come on, we can work out together.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow.

“What? Here? Now?”

“Not that kind of work out. We can do that in the bunk room.” TK teased, a little too loud so Judd would overhear.

“As long as you do it on your own bed and not when I want to sleep, I don’t care.” Judd told them and turned back to the punching bag.

“You alright Judd?” Carlos asked, walking further into the gym and somewhat timidly setting up one of the treadmills.

“Judd is in a mood but he doesn’t want to talk.” TK explained, sitting back down on the weights bench.

“Judd just wants to work out in peace without some smart ass know it all bothering him.” Judd snapped but TK ignored him.

“I can go…” Carlos trailed off.

“No you’re alright. It’s your fiancé that doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.”

“I’m not doing anything! I’m just sitting here admiring my future husband in his workout clothes.”

---

tagging: anyone who wants to share something to make the sucky parts of life suck a little less today.

And also my askbox is always open for prompts! (for tarlos or bucktommy - but please no crossovers because i suck at those)

[mla0]

it's so weird having been a slenderverse fan for so long, because i feel like i remember things from a long time ago yet when i look for it anywhere i can't find a single trace proving its existence. AUs, RP blogs, different famous artists and writers from back in the day.... they're just, like, gone!

one of the examples is i SWEAR back in like 2015 or 2016 there was some askblog or comic or something about a multitude of slenderverse characters being stuck in a mental hospital or asylum of some sort, and like, habit was stuck in evan's body and couldn't leave, milo was trans and changed her name to "mia", i think mary asher was there, patrick was there and i think patbit was a key plotpoint... and i think there were these detailed maps and stuff and characters were dropping like flies and i swear to god it was at least a LITTLE popular. but every time i look it up, no trace of it, or its art, can be found anywhere, even on wayback machine. do i have false memories, or what?

oh, also there were tons of RP blogs with the wildest of ideas. OCs, crackships, fully drawn art and askblog esque stuff.... you'd go into the tag and see people writing bits of roleplay in the askbox back and forth, but i never see that anymore.... can't figure out if it's specifically the community that changed, or just tumblr as a whole...

[adverbally]

God…. Thinking about that fic you posted about Steve going into subspace and Eddie misunderstanding and just leaving him by himself in the middle of nowhere - that wrecked me!!!! Such good good angst (I have long wordy thoughts, please ignore if it’s too much!!)

Thinking about Steve somehow stumbling back to his car and his house in a haze and not being able to explain why he feels so awful the next few days, and deciding to shove everything in a box and bury it

Eddie and Steve avoid each other until s4 happens. Eddie slowly lowering his walls and realising that steve is a good guy, if not one of the best and starts paying attention, starts putting together the pieces of all the shit Steve’s been through and vows to be there, to be the one take care of him

Maybe one day in the future, after they’ve been drinking - Steve being tipsy and loose from the liquor - finally lets himself flirt with the pretty boy his been pining after again.

And maybe while they flirt, Eddie brings up their last time together, and Steve lets it slip, how he felt - the floaty haze, the cold shock, the bad feeling that dragged after, trying to laugh off how it was probably insecure jock behaviour, how stupid it was that he sat around that lake for ages, how he felt drunk getting back to his car, back home - that is was good he was alone so no one could see him fumble.

Steve watching in real time as Eddie’s grin slowly drops, his face turning paler than he’s ever seen, only stopping at most broken, whispered “Steve” he’s ever heard.

Just,,,, of all the stuff Steve’s been through, steve puts it on the back burner bc he chalks it up to them being young and stupid but it just… wrecks Eddie for a while

I can’t believe you came in my askbox and hurt my feelings about my own fic like this 😭

But seriously, I love talking about this stuff so feel free to come off anon and message me! 💕

I hope you enjoy this little fix-it follow up to You Tattered Me, You Tethered Me to You based on this amazing idea. (And I think this is my first askbox fic?! I’m so excited!)

———

Steve’s face is already warm from drinking but the way Eddie is looking at him makes his cheeks flare even hotter. It’s embarrassing, remembering how clingy he had been, how he had wanted that closeness while also being ashamed of it. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No, Steve, I’m sorry,” Eddie interrupts. “You never… I didn’t realize that’s what happened. I thought you were having some sexuality crisis, not…” He sighs, floundering for the right words through the haze of alcohol. “I should’ve seen what was going on and taken care of you.”

“What?” Steve scoffs. “Why should you have to babysit me just because I couldn’t pull myself together?”

So Eddie explains subspace and sub drop to him, answering all of Steve’s questions to the best of his ability. It makes Steve’s head swim, learning about a whole new world that he never knew existed, but Eddie is so patient with him. It hurts, too, finally having the words to ask for what he needed, long after he needed them.

“Well, I guess now you know for next time. If it happens again.” Eddie won’t look Steve in the eye, just fiddles with the rings on his left hand.

Steve pauses. It seems like a risk, being honest here, but the booze is making him brave and Eddie is so beautiful in the warm light of Steve’s kitchen. “It hasn’t happened since then. Just with you,” he confesses. Saying it out loud feels more intimate than Eddie fucking him had.

“Oh.” Eddie looks more shocked than anything. “That’s… flattering. Thanks,” he says softly, glancing at Steve from the corner of his eye with a small smile.

“Is that weird?” Steve is immediately prodding him, trying to gauge what that reaction means. “Like, do you think it means something?”

Eddie takes a long sip of his beer like he’s steeling himself for something. Gathering his courage. “I don’t know that it’s weird, per se. And I can’t tell you what your feelings are, but I think maybe…” He sighs, thumbnail picking at the corner of the label sweating off the beer bottle. “Maybe you let yourself get that deep because you trusted me. Maybe you haven’t felt that with someone since then.”

Steve wishes Eddie would look at him, really look at him. “Yeah, maybe. I thought you knew what you were doing and I let you take the lead because I hadn’t, um, been with a guy before. So I guess that takes trust.”

“I was a drug dealer hooking up with you in my shady van,” Eddie snorts. “Your self-preservation instincts could use some work.”

“Or I could just tell that you’re a good guy,” Steve fires back. “You gotta stop putting yourself down like that.”

Eddie is staring at him now. His eyes are wide and dark and shiny.

“I trust you, Eddie. I know it for a fact now, after everything that happened in March. I know that you wanna protect people and do the right thing. And you take shit so other people don’t have to, and you don’t hide who you are, and you made me feel so…” Steve rubs his forehead in frustration when the words don’t come fast enough. “I don’t know, it wasn’t just a subspace thing that time. I knew you were gonna take care of me as soon as we kissed.”

“Steve.” Eddie looks gobsmacked.

“I could be about to ruin our friendship right now, but I really like you.” He sounds pathetic to his own ears, pleading with Eddie to hear his words and feel the same. “I wanna let you take care of me, and I wanna take care of you right back.”

It catches Steve completely off guard when Eddie lunges forward and meets his lips in a sloppy kiss. It’s awkward and off-center, but it’s the best kiss Steve has ever had, especially when Eddie settles one hand on Steve’s hip and the other on his jaw and holds him close. He tastes like cigarettes and beer and a hint of cinnamon gum. Steve commits it to memory.

“I want that, too,” Eddie tells him, still so close that their noses are touching. “I want you.”

Their next kiss clacks when their grinning teeth collide.

[platoapproved]

ok i'm not going to post the ask but:

to the anon who sent a message detailing your interpretation of marius' motivations in turning benji and sybelle: your message was polite and i personally don't mind that you sent it! i have to admit i don't understand the impulse of coming to someone's askbox to defend marius - you said you weren't 'apologizing' for him but why else send an ask? it is a defense if not an apology and like, i am not hurt by this in this instance, but it might be worth considering for yourself that if you had sent this message to someone else, they might've been really upset by it. people react emotionally to fiction and nitpicking at the 'accuracy' of someone's emotional reaction, especially to a character like marius, has the potential to be quite hurtful. it's good to think about these things! especially since it felt like your message really was coming from a good place and in good faith. i am sure you don't want to go around hurting people. so maybe it would be good to examine why you feel invested enough to send a message like this, and what you will gain, and the impact your words can have.

but! to the message itself:

it is difficult for me to overstate how much i do not care if marius believed what he was doing was for armand's own good. the mere belief that your actions are helping someone doesn't matter if those actions are, ultimately, taking away someone's ability to choose for themselves. especially if it is someone you have power over, especially if you know it will cause them distress. honestly? if marius had just done it to be a bastard or as a 'random flex' as you put it, it would be less horrifying. what makes him so disgusting is that he is so certain at all times that armand is a child and marius-knows-best and no words or actions armand could ever take will convince him otherwise.

it's also crucial to remember this particular choice of marius' exists within the context of taking away armand's ability to choose for himself over and over and over again. it's a pattern, and a pattern that exists within the framework of an abusive relationship.

lastly, i'm going to be real with you. i am never, ever going to give a single fuck what marius thinks he's doing or how he justifies any action of his in his head. every single cell in my body hates that fucker and always will and there will never be room for any nuance in my heart because he's gross piece of shit who should die. that's just always where i'm gonna be with him! and if that isn't where you are, that's fine. but it's not worth wasting anyone's time trying to convince me to have even a shred of understanding let alone sympathy. cold day in hell, etcetera

[ssstarlighttt]

idk if you've already done this but i'd love to see a scotty playlist if you have the time :D

this playlist amuses me a lot because you can pinpoint the EXACT moment i remembered cradles existed and scrambled to add songs that fit the other side of scotty’s personality. this playlist is half happy vibes and half what the fuck i’m being haunted oh god what the fuck and i really like the result!

here’s the playlist!

(send me a character from just dance 2023, 2024 or 2025 in my askbox and i will (attempt) to make a spotify playlist for them and share it!)

[doberbutts]

Hello, I’m mixed and I know you’re mixed too so I’m hoping for some advice. My mom is white and my dad is Native American (technically he is indigenous to canada the tribe he is from but I just say Native American because it is easier to explain, ‘native Canadian’ sounds weird 😭) and I’m sure you know things r really bad for indigenous people in Canada even more so than in America so when my dad was young his parents managed to save enough money to move to America many years ago, anyway I guess none of that is important besides the fact that I’m mixed.

Basically, I am involved in a fandom with many mixed-race characters that I love. None that are specifically mixed like I am (well besides one character whose mom is native and dad is white, though his mom was never revealed it’s a popular fan theory so I’ll just go with it) and other notable mixed characters are Arab/white, Chinese/white, etc. Writing this out I kind of realize that all of these mixed characters are mostly half white lol. But, that is also kind of the problem.

I’ve noticed a real… I don’t want to say racist but really discriminatory and hurtful attitude towards these mixed characters that really hurts my feelings as a mixed person myself. Basically people ignoring their mixed heritage and opting to just refer to them as ‘Arab’ and ‘Chinese’ and whatnot. Which is fine on the surface, but then I see people start talking about how disgusting it is that these characters have a white parent and that it would be much better if they were ‘pure’ POC. Which is really… hurtful as someone who is mixed with a white parent. Sorry I’m not ‘pure’ enough for your liking?? I guess? What is the point of them even saying things like that? And I guess I want to know how I can bring it up to these people without them getting angry at me. I got really mad one time and said that trying to erase a mixed characters other parent is trying to erase their identity and you can’t just choose to accept half of someone you have to accept ALL of them or you accept no part of them but they just block me.

I don’t know I feel like they’re trying to be well meaning even if it’s in a really hurtful way, but then when I try to correct them they don’t even care so can I really call it well meaning? They outright ignore the fact that the characters are canonically mixed and choose to just present them as ‘pure POC’ which they act like it’s somehow ‘superior’ to being mixed. I already don’t fit in anywhere I go and I feel like neither side will ever accept me and now I feel like this pervasive fandom attitude just kind of confirms all my fears. Sometimes I wish I was fully one or the other. I liked your other posts about being mixed and how you weren’t ‘half’ of anything you were fully all of them and I’m trying to internalize that but all these people and their hurtful comments make it hard. Like they’re not making these comments about me specifically, but I see what they say about fictional characters that are like me so it’s :/

I guess I just want to know how to convince them that mixed people are worthy of telling stories about too and how we aren’t lesser just because we are mixed? How do I tell these people to get over their discomfort with acknowledging the heritage of mixed characters? I’m not very good at articulating these sorts of things.

And sorry this was so long 😢

This is a bit of an older ask, and I've left it sit in my askbox for a while because I'm honestly not sure if I even have any advice for you.

The biggest things I suppose would be

A: remember that fandoms really aren't known for acknowledging the nuance of, like, literally anything that can be polarized. Unfortunately, that includes race and racial mixing.

B: sometimes you have to be the change you want to see. And I know. I know it sucks when you always have to be that person. But sometimes that is truly the only solution. Exist happily as yourself, be content in your own mixed race identity, talk about it when you feel up to it, and those who see it will be touched by you. Perhaps they may even catch on, and start to spread a healthier way of looking at the mixed race characters within your fandom.

C: stop giving a shit what other people think. Be you. You will find people who love you for you. Fuck all the others who reject you for being yourself, and don't force yourself into an easily digestible box for those who would barely glance your way regardless.

[1ore]

Scuttling into ur askbox like a little beetle

i think i recall you reblogging/posting things about geography and culture + human effect on it - I vaguely recall a piece of art where it showed a blurred out, cropped piece of people fighting, and focused instead on the flora in the scene.

ANYWAY! getting back on track. seeing that piece inspired me to take a course this semester called "people and the land: cultural geography". and the whole reason I came to your askbox was to ask if you had any suggested reading materials? We'll get stuff in class ofc, but I am curious to see if there's any bias of materials on the prof's side vs someone else.

Phew that was a long ask. thank you o/!

That sounds like Liz Anna Kozik’s piece : D So happy it stuck with you! I love her work!!

As for your ask, what an awesome class! Land-human relationships are my bullshit, and I really enjoyed my own cultural geography class.

Thinking back on my schooling, I would say about 70% of my classes fell in with the “everything is awful and humans are the worst” narrative, and the other 30% made time for land-human relationships other than the extractive hellscape that most people currently live under. So, full disclosure, when I think of “bias,” that’s what I think of. You grow up in the miasma, it’s hard to imagine that there’s any other way of living. It’s also hard to say without knowing the professor, but I think, in general, it’s good to be mindful of who is or isn’t telling the story.

ANYWAY. All that in mind, here’s some articles about people-land relations that I think are neat:

The Environment and Society portal - I like their digital exhibits especially. I remember enjoying Oceans in Three Paradoxes and The Northwest Passage. Great place to wander around and pick a random article that catches your eye.

Of Deserts and Decolonization: Dispelling Myths About Drylands – obligatory desert propaganda. An article looking at how colonial mindsets about deserts disrupt existing relationships and hurt both people and land, and also how those attitudes shape environmentalism/conservation/etc. still today.

The Miracle of the Commons – lovingly challenging the Tragedy of the Commons with a creative solution to poaching and human-animal conflict in South Africa, Zimbabwe, and Namibia. Great article to sit in discomfort about (productively!)

Biodiversity: The Variety of Life that Sustains Our Own – Contains one of my go-to examples when explaining how humans can be good for land and biodiversity, the story of Quitobaquito Springs (and its sister spring Ki:towak, though the author doesn’t mention it here.)

The Environmental History Timeline - just fun to look at, especially the further you go back. It’s funny to spot where a young branch of history is trying *really hard* to reframe how academia thinks about the past, by bringing the invisible landscape forward:

2700 BCE —  Epic of Gilgamesh describes vast tracts of cedar forests in what is now southern Iraq. Gilgamesh defies the gods and cuts down the forest, and in return the gods say they will curse Sumeria with fire (or possibly drought). By 2100 BCE, soil erosion and salt buildup have devastated agriculture. One Sumerian wrote that the “earth turned white.” Civilization moved north to Babylonia and Assyria. Again, deforestation becomes a factor in the rise and subsequent fall of these civilizations. (Perlin, 1991). 2700 BC — Some of the first laws protecting the remaining forests are decreed in Ur, Messopotamia. (Grove, 1995).

^^^ fucking around and finding out forever and ever and ever.

[hamlets-ak]

soul kitchen ༊*·˚

m.list ◦ askbox synopsis: cooking and getting wine drunk with timothée

Summer air, soft, all bloom and scent, fanned in your face. You tilted your hips against the kitchen counter, toes aimlessly tracing patterns between lines and shapes, breathing in the cold tiled floor.

« What are you thinking ? », you watched him, mug covering your mouth, painting your lips a shade of maroon every time red liquid brushed your skin.

Tim sat across from you, leaning on the table similarly, hair ruffled by the wind, head on a bird-like tilt, and eyes meeting yours.

A small smile drew on your face. You just loved having him around. He didn’t have to say anything, do anything, just being there, existing next to you, was enough. He made everything so much better, so much bearable, and your gloomy apartment suddenly turned interesting and colourful, and you could feel the unearthly magic of summer creeping into your heart.

« Nothing... », he murmured, coming closer until his shadow hugged you. His arms lingered on the marble counter and he looked at you.

Twinkling air blew inside, bringing in the few familiar companions of the dark; the flickering moonlight and the rosemary breeze. Loud noises of frenzied cars, filled the gaps of silence along with a distant melody, coming from your old stereo.

Your hand slithered around your nape, holding down your hair, out of your sight as you took another sip of your drink. Timothée chuckled, his fingers tucking leftover pieces behind your ears.

« You said you’d cook. » He frowned playfully.

« I said it, didn’t I ? », he pressed his mouth to the side, stare fixed on you. You bit your lips and nodded, trying not to smile under his stare. « You want me to cook ? »

« Yes. » Tim breathed out but your giggle brightened his face. You wrapped one arm around his neck, bringing yourself close to him. He took the cup off your hands and emptied it for you. « And you have to because you promised. »

« When did I promise ? »

« There’s no way out of it. » Timothée smiled as your watery lips touched his jaw.

« Okay... If my girl wants me to cook, I’ll cook, » he said and you pressed a kiss on his cheek before sliding back into the counter. There was a faint red hue on his skin and you wiped it away with your thumb. His mouth moved to the side, his love for you forcing him to agree to anything you wished. « What do you want ? »

« I don’t have many options, do I ? », you grinned widely. Timothée clicked his tongue and threw his head back. « Something quick. » He gradually returned his gaze at you, mouthing a quick ‘okay.’ « Something edible. »

« You underestimate me but it’s okay. I’ll remember that... », Tim murmured, as he moved to the fridge, searching through the shelves.

An unusual warmth spread throughout your body as you lingered back and watched him move around your kitchen with that kind of natural domesticity. The wine had began its action, making everything feel floaty and hazy but Tim had your focus.

You averted a bit shyly, heat climbing up your cheeks for some strange reason. Tim was murmuring things and you chuckled unsure if he was speaking to you or to himself. He gave you a glance as he let the ingredients beside you, your smile contagious. Timothée stopped for a moment, his hair unruly and cheeks feverish red. His fingers traced back the curls and his eyes wandered around, trying to think if he had forgotten anything.

« I think that’s all, » he mumbled, aimlessly taking the wine bottle and drinking from it. A hushed laugh escaped his mouth when you extended your mug to him. Red stream fell inside before Tim pulled back the bottle and took another sip.

Your stare moved to the ingredients, watching all the vibrant colours of the vegetables. You brought a pepper close to your face to smell it.

« Hey, don’t mess with my mise en place, » Timothée pointed at you. You let it back down carefully in its place.

« Your mise en place, » you mumbled in the same tone and he smiled. With your wine close, your eyes followed him to the cupboards. Noticing your stare, he had to glance at you twice making you laugh deliriously. « What are you making ? »

« Euh… spaghetti, but we’ll see how it turns out. »

« Want me to help, chef ? » 

« Euh… », he approached you, a grin drawing on his face. « Sure my little Ratatouille. »

You passed by him to get out a knife. Timothée leaned on his elbows, on the counter next to you, his mouth in a pout as he watched you chopping tomatoes and mincing pepper and onion and garlic until the whole kitchen smelled of fresh vegetables. You bit your lips trying to concentrate through that overwhelming warmth and his gaze.

« Please stop staring at me and let me finish, » you mumbled and Tim playfully moved his eyes in the other direction.

« Are you done ? Can I turn now ? »

« Not yet, » you murmured. Tim smiled, disobeying your words. He chuckled to himself a bit drunkenly and then stood better. His palms trapped your cheeks, pulling you closer and peppering kisses all over your face.

« Tim, I’m holding a knife, » you giggled, as his arms wrapped around you and his breathy kisses tickled your ear.

« Then put it down, » he mumbled, his mouth nuzzling on your neck. You tilted your head to the side and raised your shoulder through melodious laughter.

« Come on, are we doing this or not ? » He pouted, his chin balancing on your shoulder.

« Okay... », Tim breathed out.

« Where’s the pan ? »

« Wait, » he murmured, bringing one. He poured olive oil in it and then you put the onions to caramelise. « The heat not too high. »

« Yeah. »

« Five minutes ? » You nodded and Timothée checked the clock. His hand lingered on your back as he got a few leaves of basil and threw them in the pan. You chuckled and he glanced at you with a smile as you added in the garlic and you let the ingredients sauté before the vinegar.

« Wow, alright, Tony, » he said, making you laughed again.

« Heat chef. »

« Yes, chef. »

« Okay, this smells so nice, » you murmured. Tim hummed in response, mixing the ingredients with a wooden spoon. You poured in the tomatoes before the seasonings. « And now fifteen. » He grinned at you.

« Let’s get some air, » Timothée said. « We’ll leave the water to boil... », he turned on the heat of the pot. « Let’s go. »

Your fingers slid around the half-finished wine bottle and you walked passed him, a mischievous smile stretched on your mouth. He tried to catch your lips but failed miserably and shook his head.

Summer breeze hit your face. You breathed in the night and leaned on the balcony bar. The sky was blue on blue, deeper and deeper shades, long enough for you to dream twice.

Timothée balanced on his arms beside you, his foot stepping in between the railings. You tilted on his shoulder and Tim smiled sweetly. He ran his fingers through your hair and pressed a kiss on top of your head.

« Can’t believe you made me cook, » he said. You bit your lips and looked up at him.

The colours of the city reflected on his skin, painting him with strange combinations, as stars lined his silhouette and wind lured wild pieces of hair at its passage.

« Come on, you love it. »

« I love you. I do it for you, » he glanced at you as he picked out a pack of Gauloises from his back pocket. « I mean I don’t hate it, but I wouldn’t cook for just anyone. »

« Now I feel special, » you beamed. He tilted his head to the side cigarette trapped between his lips and raised a brow.

« What ? You thought you were just anyone ? », Tim brought the lighter to his mouth. With a satisfyingly long drag, he let the smoke evacuate. You grinned bringing the bottle close to you.

« You know I like to hear it. »

« I won’t say it. »

You stayed in silence for a moment, curiously watching the traffic. Cigarette dangled on his fingers, slowly burning charcoal smoke into the night. You stared at him, a small smile trembling on your face.

« Say it, » you leaned lower until your head hid behind your shoulder. Timothée pressed his mouth shut, his lips trapped between his teeth.

« No. »

« Say it, you coward. »

« I won’t say it, » Tim shook his head, taking another drag and then blowing away from your face. 

« Say it, so that I don’t think it’s the wine talking. »

« No. » You snatched the cigarette off his lips and Timothée scoffed out a laugh.

« Say it. » His gaze couldn’t leave yours. He took a deep breath and tilted his head shyly on his shoulder.

« I love you. » You grinned, placing the smoke between your lips. He smiled sheepishly, pressing his mouth shut to stop himself. « Now you say it, » he murmured.

« Me ? » He nodded. « So, you want me to say it ? »

« Yes... »

« Fifteen minutes, Chalamet, » you turned back inside.

« That’s... unfair, » he shook his head. « Shit, it smells good. » You smiled as you flicked the cigarette in the sink with a last drag and left the bottle on the counter. Timothée caught it and drank the remaining.

« I think it’s ready, » you mixed the sauce. « The spaghetti please. » He poured them on the boiling pot and waited for a few minutes, before taking them to the sink to stir them. 

You watched him as moonlight rays penetrated mysteriously on the floor. You slowly walked closer and hugged him from behind, arms slithering on his hips. Tim smiled and held your hands.

You nuzzled your head between his shoulder blades, and sleepy from the wine, you closed your eyes against his skin. Your lips slowly slid to the side, tracing the line up to his neck, brushing the tender skin lovingly.

« You know I love you. »

« I know, » he said softly, giving you a glance. « And I knew you would give in and say it. » A wolfish grin stretched on your face and Timothée turned around to face you. « You always do. »

« I’m such a coward, I always give in, » you mumbled. He took your hand and twirled you around once before trapping you into a hug against his chest. Your eyes closed.

« It’s okay, » he whispered, holding your face. « I think, I’ll finish this. »

You nodded and moved to the table, taking a seat.

You looked him in the eyes as he mixed the sauce with the spaghetti and he puffed out his cheeks, trying to concentrate. Tim could feel your persistent stare but let you have this moment to yourself.

Proudly, he passed you your plate and you brought his neck close after thanking him. You pressed your mouth on his, no pressing further, simply soaking into each other.

You ate, talking quietly ahead, laughing, smiling, and as you watched him, you couldn’t help but look beyond your own happiness, taking small glimpses of thousands of other people whose names you would never hear, and knew that there was a great unrecorded history.