#WHAT THE FUCKW AS THAT???

[butchdykenormallen]

have i ever told you i love gordon so deeply

[spaciebabie]

good god i need him bad

[sunnibits]

IZZY’S FOREHEAD SCAR WASNT FROM ED CUTTING HIM. IT WAS FROM HIM TRYING TO FUCKING KILL HIMSELF?????

[cheeziswin]

im cursed to reblog posts from my mutuals that they just reblogged from me I need to come to terms with this fact

[saltedsolenoid]

okay we're back to my normal amount of mentally ill now

[catmaidetho]

no you're literally so right though. i've always thought it was weird when people would like, send twitch donos asking about their opinions on xyz thing or if they're okay with their silly little oc they play getting shipped like !!!!!!! what the fuck are you doing!!! this is OUR house. stop inviting them in and letting them rearrange the furniture!!!!!!

I KNOW. ok so i have a feeling about where this originated.

back in september 2020, i wanna say? august or september, just before i got into dream smp, the dream team had a stream where dream laid out his boundaries, and the boundaries for his friends (bbh, sapnap and gnf). this included their opinions on shipping, especially sexual content of themselves for some reason, as well as asking people not to just rip their vods off twitch for reupload (that one kind of bugs me looking back on it, why dont you want people archiving your work if you arent going to do it yourself? but its unrelated and i digress)

ever since then, there's been this obsession with creators "boundaries" in fan spaces, especially regarding fanworks. you cant ship those two characters, their players dont want to see it. ok, then they can stay out of fan spaces--why is it our business to comfort creators in spaces not meant for them? i understand a discomfort w making sexual content of creators who were minors at the time, esp since that touches a VERY blurry line of legality, but like. everything else?? let beeduo kiss they were literally MARRIED ON THE DREAM SMP.

but when it comes to actual boundaires in regards to, yknow, respecting the streamers as human beings, people were dicks. (niki nihachu comes to mind immediately. i also think about the people who tried to backseat fucking parent tubbo, tommy, and ranboo.)

anyway. all of that to say, we can probably blame dream for this trend of asking for cc's boundaries on fanworks. hatred and violence.

[jaechan01]

SEHYEON | DKZ 7th Single Album 'CHASE EPISODE 3. BEUM' 호랑이가쫓아온다 'Uh-Heung' 🖼 CONCEPT PHOTO FEARLESS ver. + FEAR ver. 🎶 2022.10.06 18:00 (KST)

[icallhimjoey]

ARE WE GONNA GET FIRED? Fuckwe are so screwed we are so gonna get fired. If we get fired can we please blame Joe? And can he make it up to us? Because we're cute? 🥺🥺🥺 Thank yooooou!

oh we ARE screwed, but you're right, we are also very cute 🥰 Wordcount: 3.9K

---

Mistaken, Not Stirred

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Thin ice. 

You remembered Martin saying you were on thin ice, that one morning. And you'd understood. Agreed, even. You just thought that maybe the ice would've thickened up enough by now. 

It had nearly been three weeks. It should've thickened up plenty.

It hadn't.

But instead, you'd fallen through. Hadn't even heard it crack, no real warning signs alerting you that maybe you ought to be extra careful still.   

You left the bar in a weird defeated state, tears of frustration streaming down because you were an idiot. The biggest one you knew.

You hadn't for one moment thought that looking Joe in the eye when he walked in as you walked out would've lead to what it eventually did. 

"Hey, are you– what's going on?" 

It startled you enough to stop walking, and you looked at the wall next to you, jaw working and eyes blinking, hoping you could somehow make it stop. Make this stop, because you knew what Joe was going to do. You had gotten to know him well enough to know what he was going to suggest and offer and just... do. Even if you told him not to.

Fired. 

You'd gotten big-girl-fired. 

You were back in the same spot you'd found yourself in months earlier, where you'd had all of these same worries. How were you going to tell people you'd lost your job again? Would your landlord have the patience to give you a few extra days if you needed them? Would your dad look at you like that again when you'd eventually ask for some money that you'd swear you'd pay back the minute you'd make some?

You'd gotten fired.

Should've probably gotten fired after you and Joe left the bar in a right state.

Hadn't then, for whatever reason. Benefit of the doubt, maybe. Being cute had been enough then, maybe.

Thin ice, was all that Martin had said.

Joe looked at you now, stood in the long hallway in between the bar and the stairs that lead up towards the exit, and you couldn't look him in the eye. Couldn't even say why you were crying without hatred bubbling up inside your chest, all of it directly aimed at yourself.

God, you were so fucking stupid. 

Tears spilled, and Joe pulled you to the side by an elbow.

"Do you want me to go talk to–" 

You shook your head. Didn't want him to interfere. Not again.

"Because I will, you know? It's no trouble. I will–" 

"No, please don't, it's–" you hiccuped. "It was inevitable, wasn't it? It's fine, it's–" your throat closed and you shook your head. Looked away down the hallway as you blinked rapidly, eyelashes fluttering.

"Go have fun, it's nice inside tonight, there's–" you stuttered on an inhale and felt how Joe squeezed the elbow he was still holding. "There's live music and Martin's probably already mixing you something, he's making– he made a ramos gin fizz earlier, it's really good, you should get him to–" 

"Hey," Joe stopped you from rambling. Said your name and you finally managed to look up and meet his gaze.

"I'll talk to him." 

"No," you forced a sigh. Forced your shoulders to drop and relax. "You don't have to, you–"

"I will."

"I fucked up the drinks again, and I–" 

"Give me your phone." 

You looked at him a moment, then flicked your eyes down at the hand he held out to you. After another moment of hesitation, you fished it from your pocket and handed it over.

Joe took a look and gave it right back.

You had to unlock it first.

Joe put his number in, then called himself. It gave you a moment to peer back inside, and you saw Martin mix a drink whilst Chloé was stood next to him. Talking. Probably telling him about what else you'd done wrong. About how she thought he'd made the right choice by telling you to wrap up and not needing you to come back in again.

"It'll be fine." Joe said, twisting your phone in his hands, giving it back to you. "You'll be all right." 

And you didn't know what that meant.

You'd just been fired.

For something you didn't even fully understand, but you knew you were on thin ice, had listened to Martin tell you that you were on thin ice three weeks ago, and if you added up all the bullshit, then, yea, of course you were fired. It made total sense. But that didn't make it sting less, and you'd immediately bursted into tears when Martin pulled you into the back and said that this was it.

You cost him more than you made him.

"And I'm not just talking about money."

Took more than you gave, and somehow that was the worst of it.

If you really thought about it, the fact that you managed to hold onto your position for three more weeks after that one morning was quite the miracle in and of itself. That day where you woke up with warm heavy limbs in your bed that belonged to someone else. That took up most of your mattress. That hogged most of your duvet. That tried to pull you in for cuddles and snuggles after your phone call with Martin, who had just told you to come into work to fix whatever fucking mess you left the night before. 

You'd almost punched him then. 

Elbowed him in the soft of his stomach instead and wrestled yourself free.

Panicked.

Your boss was angry with you and Joe was in your bed.

Joe from the bar.

Shit.

Your job.

Your boss.

His friend.

Mistake.

One plus one became two inside your head, brain all scrambled, and Joe became part of the guilt and, fuck off, your boss was upset because you'd fucked his friend? That couldn't be right. Felt right, though.

Ten minutes.

You had ten minutes to get to work.

There was no time to brush your teeth, or your hair. You just quickly pushed legs into jeans and feet into shoes and with a cloudy mind you told Joe to do the same. To get out. Six minutes later, you were rushing down the street with Joe on your heels. 

"Let me come, I can help–" Joe was in all of his clothes, but none of it seemed done up. He'd only just managed to close his jeans before you pushed him out the door.

"Go home, Joe."

Hurried footsteps carried you through the drizzling rain, down the wet pavement. The bar was close, just a couple of streets away, but you knew you'd be drenched in no time.

Guilt.

Embarrassment. 

Shame. 

You kind of deserved to get drenched a little bit. It was still dark out, far too early for your own liking, everything wet and cold.

The dread of an angry supervisor hanging over you.

The potential loss of a job.

This was a bad morning.

There was no time to think of Joe and his undone shoelaces. His grey scarf that was about to slide from his neck. His coat collar that stuck up on his left and was folded over on his right. His messy soft curls and pillow creases across his cheek.

It had only just gone 8AM.

You had no idea Martin would already be at the bar at eight.  

Why was he already at the bar at eight?  

"Come on, there's mess I made, it's only fair if I clean that up myself, you don't–"

"I said, go home, Joe." You were adamant.

"At least let me talk to Martin, I'll explain, I'll–"

"No." 

There was nothing left of the teasing, and smirks, and the playful push and pull between the two of you. You were angry, mostly at yourself, and it put fire in your legs. Joe desperately tried to keep up as he followed you and he slowed you down in the process. 

His mistake. 

"No." you’d said and abruptly stopped, making Joe nearly crash into you.

You turned to see Joe squint, trying to keep the rain from getting him in the eyes as he tried to fix his scarf.

"Do you know what it'll look like if I walk in with you? I can't imagine what he must think if he sees…" you sighed, eyes closed and nostrils flared. "No. You can, I don't know, you can come in when the bar's actually open and talk to Martin then if you want."

"But–" 

“You're not listening!” it was too early to deal with some guy's hero complex. You'd fucked and fucked up and you were going to walk into work where you knew someone was angry and upset and, oh no, actually disappointed in you, and there was no breakfast in your system, no coffee, no carbs, no nothing, and you still smelled of vermouth and salty olive brine, had sticky fingers still from God knows which juices– it was all wrong.

Joe had to understand.

And then, he did.

"Okay." Joe said, nodding. "Okay. Just…"

You were running late and were about to get yelled at.  

You didn't have time for bullshit.  

"I'm sorry." His hand reached out, hovered near your arm, not touching because you didn’t really seem like you wanted to be touched right now.

Which was difficult.

Joe really wanted to touch you right now.

His apology fixed nothing in the moment. You'd probably be glad for it later, but now, it meant zero to you. It was mostly inconvenient, because it had taken up precious time you didn't have to spare.

It didn't help that Joe looked like someone you wanted to be hugged by until all the bad things had gone away.

Life didn't work like that, though.

Unfortunately.

"Yea, okay, thanks. I'll see you later." You grumbled, turned around and left, jogged the first few steps, and were glad Joe didn't follow you when you glanced over your shoulder. 

Your pace slowed down when you reached the matte black door, and you reluctantly went inside. You were immediately confronted with your wrongdoings and picked up Frank's stool that Joe knocked over the night before.

Shit.

You were so screwed.

If you'd have been Martin, you would have fired yourself over the phone.

You made your way down and winced at how sticky the floor was. 

Yea, you were absolutely going to get fired.

"Good morning," you carefully spoke into the bar when you laid eyes on Martin.

He was sat in one of the leather armchairs with his laptop.

"Good?" he asked, seemingly surprised at your choice of words, and you recoiled. 

Of course this wasn't a good morning.

"I'm sorry, I'll..." you lowered your head and took your coat off.

"You will...?" Martin waited for you to finish your sentence.  

"I don't know, I have no excuses. I'll– I'll get to work."

You pushed your sleeves up and avoided eye-contact as jittery legs carried you over to behind the bar. Said nothing, cheeks red with embarrassment, and silently started with the shards of glass you'd left there. 

It took you nearly an hour to get the bar looking like it should've looked when you clocked out last night, and it was stupid how often you caught yourself glancing at the spot where Joe always sat. Made you realise you probably did that all the time. Give a quick glance that way. Should stop doing that, probably.

Martin seemed to warm up to you the further along you got, and when you were finally finished, he said, "Make yourself a coffee and come sit with me a second."

You prepared for a scolding, and got one. 

Deserved it too. You understood. Agreed.

You listened to all the action-reactions, to all the cause-and-effects. To the boundaries-and-limitations. To the lines you'd very clearly crossed, and you waited for him to tell you that he was going to have to let you go.

But then Martin said James and Chloé shouldn't have left you to do the work yourself. It wasn't just you he was unhappy with.

Your instinct was to take full blame and to argue him on it.

You wanted to tell him that they didn't leave you all alone, because Frank was still there when they left, and then you told Frank to go home. That was your mistake. Your fault. But Martin wouldn't let you speak. 

"You're not completely off the hook yet," he warned, eyes scanning across the bar that looked fine now, but his eyes seemed softer.

"Thin ice." 

You nodded. Fully understood. Repeated, "Thin ice." and accepted that you brought more trouble into this place than anything else, but were really fucking pleased you were allowed to keep the job. 

"All right. See you in a few hours." Martin dismissed you.

Getting back into your wet coat, your stomach grumbled with hunger, but the self-loathing would have to do for breakfast today. You hoped that with every step up the stairs, you'd lose some of the dread you felt at having to come back later and face the music once more. 

Thin ice. 

When you stepped through the door into the light of day, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath of fresh air as you acclimated for a second. It was no longer raining, and the cold air stung your lungs, but it was nice. Made everything feel a little calmer than it had all felt inside.

"How did it go?"

You jumped clear out of your skin, heart immediately in your throat, adrenaline surging right into your toes.

"Jesus!"

"Sorry, I didn't meant to startle you,"

"What the fuck are you..." you frowned, caught your breath and tried to come to terms with why the hell Joe was there still. Had he waited around outside this whole time for you?

The urge to hurt him was still there, but you only pretended you were going to slap him. Just wanted to make him flinch, which worked. Lurched forward with a raised arm that never swung. Scared him before it made him laugh, and then you failed miserably at hiding a smile of your own.

"Was everything okay?"

"Yea... yea, it's, it's fine. I didn't get fired, I'll..." you sighed, seemed exhausted. "I'm going to go home, I'll see you later." 

You waited for Joe to say something before you would turn around to leave, but Joe didn't say anything for a second. Just looked at you a moment, and you could see how his eyebrows quirked up a little with empathy.

He shouldn't have done that.

He shouldn't have made himself look so soft for you.

It made you abandon rational thought.

Made your eyes flick down to his mouth

Made you step a little closer, and then Joe was already leaning down when you got a hold of a wet coat collar to pull him in for a kiss.

A slow kiss.

Too slow for the time of day.

Too slow and too soft for what all of it, all of this, whatever that even was, had been the night before.

You pulled yourself away when you started to feel yourself lose it a little, and then poked him in the stomach for good measure. To set the record straight. To remind Joe of what this was.

It caught him by surprise, and Joe recoiled, stomach muscles tensed as he bent into you and showed the hurt in his face.

"Hmm," you smirked. "Good thing I'm cute."

And with that you turned on your heel.

Left him there.

Joe watched you walk away and did an awful job at hiding his grin.

When you disappeared around the corner, Joe glanced at the door and, he just couldn't help himself. Told himself he shouldn't go in. You didn't want him to go in. But then he went inside anyway and talked to Martin who wasn't surprised to see him at all. That should've maybe given something away then.

"Not your responsibility, Joe. She works here, not you."

"I know, but she made me the perfect martini last night and I just thought–"

Martin raised a hand in a bid to shut Joe up. It half-worked. Joe backed off a little. Held up two hands and took a step back, and then said, "Almost liked it better than yours." before disappearing into the hallway and shouting, "I'll see you tonight!" over his shoulder.

Joe'd be back over that evening. Would see Martin then. Would see you then, and couldn't fucking wait.

At 9PM that evening Joe'd walked in, had sauntered over to his usual seat and sat down. Smiled and nodded, mouthed hi at all staff as he took his coat off and didn't like how you ignored him. How you didn't greet him at all.

But he got it.

This was a bit awkward, probably.

But fine.

He could make it not awkward.

Joe looked at Martin who seemed busy with a tray of drinks, clearly working on a larger order, and caught his attention.

"Interested in trying a poinsettia?"

"Actually, I'd love a dirty martini," Joe said, pretended to be all casual and it made Martin narrow his eyes slightly before he turned to find you. Eyes scanned around the bar, and there you were, talking to some guests, made them smile as you handed them their drinks, no spills this time.

"Give her a second, she'll be right with you."

When you made it back to the bar, Martin put you to work and with shaky hands, under the watchful eyes of both Martin and Joe, you mixed the drink just like you'd done the night before.

Gave it to Joe and turned to clear the workspace of bottles and jars. Heard him say, "Perfect." after a sip and you snuck a look to see Martin smile.

Good.

Everything was fine.

You and Joe had had a weird one time thing, and now he was here, and he was trying to make sure everything was normal still, and it was all fine.

And everything remained fine when Chloé gave you an order and you managed to do it without any issues. There was one hard collision between the two of you, but Chloé just grabbed you by the shoulders to ensure neither of you fell over and then laughed. You swore she was about to tell you sorry, but caught herself just in time and then instead just laughed as she stepped around you.

It was fine.

No more mistakes.

Well.

No more life-altering ones, at least.

You were lucky you were cute.

Joe slipped right back into his annoying-guest slot, and it took a couple more digs from him for you to realise he'd been flirting this whole time.

Flirting.

Joe was lucky he was cute, because had he not been, it would've never fucking worked.

Martin got his goodhearted smile back when a few shifts later he saw Joe sneaking up on you as you were cleaning a table on the other side of the piano. He was the only guest left and decided to make you jump by abruptly using both hands to press down on some of the keys.

You'd nearly cried at the shock, and a weird chase followed where you tried to get Joe in the face with the wet dishcloth you'd been holding. Martin had to stop the running by talking to the both of you like a stern teacher would.

"Oi! No running in my bar!"

It was fine.

And Frank looked on and fondly shook his head with a smile when you'd been sent to go and fix the tinsel that adorned the door outside. The wind and rain had messed with it and it was no use trying to fix what was still up, so you pulled all of it down and decided to start over. Do it properly, and try to make sure it would last until Christmas.

Joe had just walked up, had to finish a cigarette before going in, and decided he didn't mind this view all that much. He stood to the side, next to Frank, and both men watched on as you balanced up high on your knees on one of the barstools as you struggled with staples and tie-wraps.

Tinsel fell down and Joe decided to be kind and saved you climbing off and back onto the stool. He helped by picking up what had dropped, but instead of simply handing it over, he draped it across your neck and held onto it for just a lingering second too long.

Couple of lingering seconds too long.

You felt how he pulled and you kind of had to bend down a bit because if you didn't the tinsel would snap. Couldn't have that. Couldn't have the tinsel snapping.

You'd gotten close enough for it to be weird with Frank there, especially since you were both sporting stupid dopey smiles that did an awful job at hiding how you felt about each other.

Frank had to clear his throat loudly to break you apart.

But everything was fine.

It was fine and remained fine as you grew more confident, the night of mess sort of already forgotten, and after a night of bickering with Joe over payment and tips, you decided that the bar needed an actual tip jar.

"I know you think I get half my drinks for free here, but I'd bet good money that I actually end up paying more than–"

You were already rolling your eyes.

"No, I do! I always tip well, don't I– Martin! Do I not always leave big tips?"

Martin grinned whilst he worked, gave a small nod before picking up a full tray of drinks and bringing it over to a larger table by the piano. It was busy. Martin didn't have time to be entertained by your play fight.

"Well, I kind of need to see it to believe it."

And you'd found an empty jar that you rinsed and stuck a note to. You wrote "Just put the TIP in... see how it feels" in black sharpie and smirked to yourself when you placed it down in front of Joe.

And Joe read it, sighed the deepest of sighs and took the glass jar in hand, pretended to undo his trousers underneath the bar and you shrieked for him to stop it.

Got immediately told of by Martin for fucking around.

"Hey, keep it the fuck down, will you? You. Toilets. They need more loo roll."

Joe apologised, said it was his fault, said he shouldn't have made you scream like that, but Martin kept stern eyes on you for the rest of the night until you got rid of the tip jar.

It was fine. Ups and downs, but nothing insane.

Three weeks passed, and you'd forgotten you were on thin ice still. Christmas was getting closer, and you thought maybe if you made it 'til Christmas, you'd be good to stick around for a good while, you know?

Martin kept giving you shifts, kept giving you tasks that you proved you were able to do right and when one night, you got to close all by yourself once more, you did all of it correctly.

Didn't mix Joe any drinks. Didn't drink whatever he spat out. Didn't kiss him behind the bar, and didn't desert the place because you had to take him home so desperately.

You'd wanted to do all of those things again, but you hadn't.

But you had been on thin ice still, and one big fuck up was enough for Martin to pull you aside and tell you that actually, you wouldn't even make it 'til Christmas.

Fired.

"It'll be fine." Joe'd said. "You'll be all right." and when you hesitated to accept that, Joe used both arms to pull you into him by the shoulders and hugged you tight.

And you wanted to leave. To get out. But you also wanted Joe to squeeze you until all the bad went away, so this felt good.

This felt nice.

You felt how Joe pressed his lips into your hair before he spoke closely to your ear.

"I'll text you, okay? Don't worry, it'll be fine. I'll text you."

---

The Taglisted

@adoreyouusugar, @alana4610, @ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @barfightzanddiscolightz, @bettyfrommars, @cancankiki, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @chrissymjstan, @choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @dylanmunson, @eddies-puppet, @electricmunson, @emma77645, @emmamooney, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @frootvelvet, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @harringtonfan4, @haylaansmi, @jasminearondottir, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @kellyxo1, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @manda-panda-monium, @miserybeans, @nadixq, @notverywise, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @roosterisdaddy36, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @thebellenouvelle, @thewondernanazombie, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

taglist currently full, sorry

[pixiecaps]

HEY FIT U CANT JUST FUCKINF ACT LIKE THAT DIDNT JUST HAPPEN?? WHAT THW FUCKW AS THATv

[ask-romeo-hathaway-shakespeare]

whydo you have anbinder with your face onit what the fuckw sht the fuck

it's dope?

[fanatic-posting]

WHAT THE FUCKW AS THAT.

[mwebber]

WHAT THE FUCKW WHQTAGA EHEHEJELFJKF

[stonerzelda]

what the fuckw ever man

[rainydayscore]

what was up with when you were a child and some adults were like insanely ritualistic about dinner

like being insistent about eating together is fine i get it, but like having to be like “may i be excused” to go to the bathroom or like nobody leaves until everyone is finished or something what the fuckw as up with that

my parents weren’t like that but other peoples were and it was always really weird

[sanfielle]

i redreew and psoted my bee fursona for her becasue she watned to do shit to that thing and she wont even rb the art post. what the fuckw

[spellcheck-freak]

what the fuckw