#I am still going to do a few more over the week

[moonlight-prose]

“please don’t make me say it if you aren’t going to say it back” with a desperately in love with joel reader would hit so much…

weaved around your finger like yarn

a/n: me writing for joel again?? this has sat in my inbox for over a year and i never meant to actually take this long with it. but i finally figured out how to write this concept. and now i am actually obsessed with the small world of softness i created for these two. this is yes jackson joel, but nothing bad happens ever to him because why would it? it's all fine right?

summary: he never made space in his life for love in the aftermath of destruction. the after of his life he once thought would extend past decades of gray hair, smile lines carved in around his mouth now set in frowns and sneers. but snowfall and alcohol blur the lines for both of you when winter comes to jackson.

word count: 1.6k+

pairing: joel miller x reader

warnings: not explicit, love confessions, heavy makeout sessions, alcohol consumption, tipsy joel, sad joel, laughter at the end of the world, hope.

He can't remember laughing until his stomach hurt. The ache that spilled into his chest, warming his insides with a sun like quality that left him shivering. He can't recall the feel of his cheeks pulled so wide the sensation became a phantom pain seconds after. He knows it happened. He can distinctly recall the jokes, the joy. But the laughter lingers like a ghost at the back of his mind—translucent and gray and distorted enough to feel false.

Alcohol simmers in his stomach with a rueful intent. A malignant aftermath that would hit him in a few hours after two months of attempted sobriety. Ellie insisted, he accepted. Easy enough to say. Difficult to follow through with.

He had his days where whiskey sounded better than the flavor of bacon Tommy would bring him in the early mornings. But the dismay in your eyes helped him hold off, regain his awareness of a world not yet shattered. For once in quite a long time...he finally lived. For you, for Ellie, for Sarah.

He lived to see his hair grow longer and the grays appear more frequently. To drink coffee in the mornings on a porch you were already settled on. To help you fix small things here and there in your cabin next door. He lived for your smile, the light in your eyes. The curve of your lips as they pulled up into bolstering peals of laughter—the furrow in your brow as you frowned from endless frustrations on long hard days.

Joel Miller lived to love you.

He existed to dig his heels in and wait shit out—it's what he was good at, what he knew how to do. But for you he relented quicker than ice on a hot asphalt driveway back home in Texas. His mind became sand that slipped through your giving hands—heart a fluttering mess that sang a tune he could never get right on the guitar stashed in his living room.

Days bloomed into weeks which grew into months. Eventually a year passed and what used to be difficult and awkward to be around people again, felt like breathing the fresh winter air. The jackets he managed to find hung on hooks by the door, a pair of heavy boots beside the small table Tommy crafted him.

The mornings were nice. When hot water hit ground coffee and the aroma plagued his kitchen for hours at a time. The evenings called you towards him—simple cooking skills shared in the confines of a home he pined for you to reside in.

Life was a sliver of peace he never imagined he'd get again. But the hole in his heart never faded, the pain still rang out sharp enough to have him clamping down on the inside of his cheek. And your smile made his stomach ache with a longing deep enough to scar.

Tommy told him to buck up and do something. Ellie called him a fucking idiot.

You...gave no indication you felt the same way. So silent and reserved he would remain.

Your feet slid on icy, fingers gripping tightly to his jacket with a yelp in a quick attempt to save yourself from slamming to the ground. Joel snickered loud and brash and a wash of embarrassment burned under frozen cheeks. Dragging you up, his arm looped tightly around your waist—hand pressed harsh and insistent to the small of your back. You swallowed the butterflies at the sight of his face flushed red—eyes shining from the effect of too much whiskey.

"We were bad tonight," you muttered, breath forming a cloud between your faces.

He grinned—skin buzzing at the close proximity of your form. "Only a little bit."

"You're not supposed to drink Joel."

Leaning in he traded his smile like a secret; you tucked it into your chest with a sharp breath. "I won't tell if you don't, darlin'."

"Joel..."

"C'mon. No one's gettin' in trouble here."

A blade pierced your heart brutally—spilling crimson along pale white snow. Even as Joel remained entirely unaware of how you clung to him. How your body called his name—your mind plagued with thoughts of his being, with images of his smile, with the sound of his raspy voice. He'd never know the way you cherished each moment with him. The mornings tucked away from an unruly world—the nights shared between friends who might one day be more.

Your teeth scraped along the cracked skin of your bottom lip, eyes cast up to the curl of his lips. The words sprang forth faster than you could drag them back. Your chest of secrets unlocked and bared to the man who drowned you in his small flecks of joy. Later you'd blame the alcohol. When the headache ravaged your head and an ache lingered between your thighs.

Later you'd comb over every small glance and breathy word.

"I like spending time with you Joel," you breathed, fingers toying with the front of his leather coat. "I like...um..."

The breath caught in his throat, gaze desperate to catch yours. "Yeah sugar?"

"It's a hard thing to say." Another cloud of your whiskey tinged breath filled the air.

"You can tell me anythin'. You know that right?" Even as hope flared bright and scorching through the width of his chest. "I'll listen."

Hesitation spilled into the night, your voice a soft whisper he barely caught. "Please don't make me say it if you aren't going to say it back."

Oh didn't you know?

Did you not see how his gaze dug beneath the layers of flesh and bone, of tendons and veins that clung to your form? Did you not understand he would take a bullet for you? That he'd bear the wound of a warrior's death to keep you alive? How could you not know that his love stuck to his tongue with a saccharine bitterness he swallowed down like the drugs he once took to numb his mind?

You healed pieces of his soul you never broke. A marred and fucked puzzle that was meant to find a home six feet underground. By his own hand no less. He was destined to die—born to suffer—yet you swathed him wool with the promise of a peaceful life.

A future etched by the hands of love.

"Say it," he pleaded, frozen hand cupping your cheek.

"It's more than just that." The breath you took shot adrenaline down his spine. "I like our mornings. I like our dinners and conversation. And even when you come into town with me. But I...I love..."

The glossy nature of your eyes created by unshed tears that pooled at your waterline dug the knife deep enough to meld it within his heart. You didn't know. You couldn't have. His silence, his hesitation, swallowed every emotion he might have told you—every secret uttered in the shadows of night that told only half his story.

He told you about Sarah. About their life together, about her smile. That in itself felt like a proclamation of love—a key to the heart he thought stopped beating long ago.

"I knew it would freak you out," you muttered, pulling away from his hold.

Only for him to panic. His hand gripped the back of your jacket, pushing you towards him hard enough for your feet to slip again. But your gasp was swallowed by the cold press of his mouth to yours. Lips chapped by the winter air slid against your parted mouth as you froze against his chest. Your hands hung listlessly at your sides. He kissed you tenderly, attempting to wake you from the spell of shock, but to no avail did it bring you back.

"'M sorry." His words were muffled against your chin, forehead pressed to yours and eyes squeezed shut. "I shouldn't have–"

The press of your fingers into his cheeks jolted him back—eyes wide as you dragged him back with a stifled moan. Your mouth found his tongue hot and wet along his bottom lip in a pleading motion he complied to instantly. Stepping forward he fell into you with a deep groan. One that echoed and vibrated right down to your stomach—one you savored with a lick along his back teeth.

Hands cupped your ass with an insistent need to mold you closer, fingers digging into the plush flesh he longed to bite and taste. You tasted like whiskey. You smelled like him. It made him dizzy with want, anxious to lead you back to his porch—to seat you on his kitchen counter in the mornings while the coffee went cold.

"Fuck I wanna take ya home sugar," he grunted, biting at your lower lip with a grin.

Your breathless reply made the hair stand on the back of his neck. "You can."

"No." He shook his head, stealing another kiss with a gritty moan. "Not tonight. 'M gonna do this proper."

"Proper," you smiled, tugging on the longer curls you refused to let him cut. "You're such an old man Miller."

The large breadth of his hand cupped your chin, pushing the cheeks he lightly bit into together. "Won't be sayin' that tomorrow when I ain't got all this fuckin' alcohol in me."

"Yeah?" The droop of your eyelids—the darkened iris now filled with lust—set his teeth on edge. His body hummed with a new buzz he craved since meeting you. "Prove it."

"Oh I will." He grinned sharply, licking his teeth like a wolf waiting to pounce. "Don't you worry 'bout that."

A glimmer in your eyes caught his attention, the grip on your face loosening. "You know I love you right darlin'?"

You smiled—big and bright—and Joel felt another piece of his soul set back into place. "I love you too Joel."

[shouyuus]

Vi! who has never given bottoming much thought—you see, she just doesn’t get the appeal really—until she meets you; someone she feels so completely safe and sound with, someone she’d trust with her life and now all of a sudden she’s jolting awake from feverish ‘nightmares’ where you loom over her, half cruel half kind smirk plastered across your face, as you languidly thrust into her, murmuring praises and she feels so warm and hot and overwhelmingly full and—

(+++ she’d be such a bashful bottom initially!! blushing and cursing and groaning and biting her knuckles raw to keep the whines from spilling out, hiding her face in her forearm or your shoulder etc etc) 

send me vi thirsts and i'll give u my hand in marriage

tw: strap usage (vi receiving!)

woof okay like. as much as i stan top!vi (bc rawrrr), i am, at the core, a switch!vi truther. so like, absolutely she would, once she's comfortable enough w someone, bc the concept of surrender is just so foreign to her, but ppl who have been the one constantly Doing the Thing their whole lives, i feel like always crave that kind of surrender, right. so it would take a good few months, but as the trust grows, she'd let her mind wander down that alley more and more, each time pulling back cause a part of her still recoils at the thought of giving up that much control.

still, the night that it happens, her dream starting off in a familiar place -- in your arms, your lips like cinders to the parchment of her skin, but then you're pushing her back, and there's a heat coiling within her (it's been there for weeks but she's never known how to define it, never really leaned in close enough to hear it's name). and the ache between her legs is so familiar, and yet so strange at the same time bc it's not her first time, she knows the wanting for that fullness -- your fingers, your mouth, your tongue (sweet gods you're tongue) but it's nothing like this, right, the feeling of wanting to be stretched out. to feel --

her hips jerk, her mouth falls open, there's a whine twisting its way up her throat and her eyes are squeezing shut, bc why are you looking at her like that, like she's perfect but that you couldn't wait to take her apart. you snap your hips and she keens, biting down on her bottom lip so hard she thinks she tastes blood.

"fuck vi -- so good for me --"

"please -- n-ngh --! pleasepleaseplease --"

"vi?"

"a-ah --!"

"vi! are you okay? hey -- wake up!"

"h-huh?"

she jerks up, her heart a wild clatter of thunder in her chest, her skin flushed, her eyes unfocused till she sees you, hovering above her like in her dream, but unlike her dream, there's no delicate smirk on your lips, only a sincere, mounting worry creasing your forehead as you cup her cheek.

"are you okay? you were moaning in your sleep --" you say, eyes flickering over her face, taking in the dark flush in her cheeks and the uneven pace of her breaths.

vi swallows, a fresh wave of heat cresting up her stomach into her chest as she feels herself clench over nothing, the phantom fullness of the dream receding even as she scrambles to find something to say.

"sorry -- shit -- uh -- it was uh --"

"it was just a dream," you soothe, convinced that she'd had a nightmare and not --

she hisses out a long breath as you lean up to kiss her cheek, her hand coming up to catch yours, her grip strong as it always is, but something about it makes you pause.

"vi? is... everything okay?"

she takes a few deep breaths, leaning back against the pile of pillows. it's only then that she realizes what time it is -- the late afternoon sun slanting orange into the bedroom. right, she'd come into the bedroom for a power nap, and you said you were going to join her in just a few minutes.

she sighs, nodding.

"yeah. everything -- everything's great, cupcake. c'mere." she drags you into bed with her, pulling you into her chest. you settle there after a few seconds of shuffling limbs, pressing your ear to her heart.

"was it a bad dream?"

vi laughs, blinking hard as she tries to rid her vision of the afterimages of you, fucking her open on a strap, gently tugging away her hands as she'd tried to hide her noises.

"uh... no. i mean. it was just --" she swallows, "different."

you look up, your bright eyes curious as she sucks in another breath, blushing.

"but it wasn't a nightmare?"

vi licks her lips, her mouth suddenly very dry.

"uhm... no. not really exactly."

"well, you wanna tell me about it?"

vi bites her lips, swallowing down the kneejerk urge to reject the idea completely. she steadies her breathing and closes her eyes. if there's anything she knows in this life, it's that you'd never laugh at her, never do anything you thought might hurt her.

that you love her, unconditionally. in a way that she's still sometimes unused to being loved. but she's learning. so she figures it can't hurt, and she opens her mouth.

"yeah actually --" she takes a deep breath, "it was a dream about you."

[tthoroughfare]

kerosene (part 2) // ellie williams

*･゜ﾟ･* summary: the one where she breaks up with cat.

*･゜ﾟ･* pairing: jackson!ellie x reader

*･゜ﾟ･* content: sfw

*･゜ﾟ･* length: 0.8k

this is part two of this series! find part one here

I AM ENJOYING WRITING THIS SO MUCH i literally don't want them to get together because i just love yearning so much sighhh. i'm already up to the part where things finally happen and i know i'm gonna end up posting those, then going back and writing little extra parts to slot in where they're still friends. anywayyy hope you enjoy <3

something about the conversation makes ellie deliberate for weeks. it was the way you’d spoken about your relationship just not feeling ‘right’, the way she couldn’t really verbalize anything she felt like she should say about cat. she doesn’t know if she’s just overthinking everything. cat’s great. sure, she can’t see herself spending the rest of her life with her, but she makes her happy. they have fun. they have things in common. she feels like she starts to make a mental list of all the reasons they’re together, analyzing the relationship, analyzing her own feelings. she can’t shake the notion that now they’re settled in, the excitement of newness gone, she, too, feels like something isn’t ‘right’.

she hopes it just goes away on its own. but when just over a month passes and nothing has changed, she knows she has to just do it. 

it starts off as a regular day; she meets cat at a spot they frequent, stomach churning at the anticipation. she wants to just rip the band-aid off, but she can’t. the words won’t come out. she flounders around for a while, talking about nothing, knowing full well cat can tell something’s up. finally, when she straight up asks her why she’s being weird, she just comes out and says it. she wants to break up.

of course, she feels awful. cat’s confused, and crying, and asking all kind of questions ellie can’t really express any answers to. she’s upset about it, too. but she just knows in her heart it’s for the better.

it’s cemented when she’s walking back home, realizing she feels a little lighter.

she sees you properly again about a week later, when there’s an event in jackson. she really wasn’t planning on going, not wanting to risk seeing cat (not wanting to have to interact with anyone, pretty much), but dina had convinced her, saying she ‘can’t lock herself away forever.’

she walks in late, party already in full swing, and immediately spots you in the corner chatting to jesse. you haven’t actually spoken in a few weeks, just a greeting when you saw each other out and about, but you seem happier than you were before. she kicks herself mentally when she finds herself hoping it’s not because you’ve found someone new.

she awkwardly hovers around, getting herself a drink and sipping it, people watching. these things were never her idea of a great time.

after about ten minutes, dina appears at her side, visibly tipsy. “what the hell are you doing?” she asks playfully, gesturing at the room full of people. “you’re a single woman now, c’mon. get out there.”

ellie pulls a face, rolling her eyes and taking a sip of her drink. “yeah, that's definitely my style.”

dina lets out a short, exasperated sigh, taking ellie by the wrist and tugging her across the room, towards you and jesse. “at least socialize. you’re all… weird. more than usual.”

“oh, shut up,” she retorts lowly, but allows herself to be hauled over to the two of you. her stomach flutters slightly when she gets a proper look at you; you’re a little more done-up than normal, eyes sparkling in the warm light as you greet her.

she doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol or something else, but that night is the first time things start to feel explicitly different. on one hand, it’s similar to how it was before — the odd pleasantness dissipated in the air. it feels more like a real friendship again, rather than two people dancing around each other. but on the other, something just feels… new.

she actually ends up having a really good time. she spends the majority of the night with you, drinking more than you both probably should, conversation flowing easily. and when it’s over, she insists on walking you home, despite you saying dina’s staying the night and you weren’t going to be alone anyway.

she just shrugs and smiles.

on the short walk back, dina’s chatting your ear off, thoroughly drunk, but you can’t really focus on anything she’s saying. not just because of the fuzzy feeling in your head, but because of the way you’re so, so aware of ellie’s presence. you’re walking in between them, noticing the way she seems to gravitate towards you, swaying away slightly, then back in. you cross your arms, not wanting to accidentally brush against her, not really understanding why.

she lingers at the door when you get home, dina heading straight in and kicking her shoes off, flopping down on your couch.

“well… thanks. you’re free to go,” you joke after a small pause.

ellie shoots a lopsided smile, leaning against the doorframe. “welcome.” she pauses, like she doesn’t want to go, like she wants to say something. but she doesn’t. she just taps the doorframe and stands up straight. “see you later.”

dina yells out a ‘bye, ellie’, and you wave goodbye as she turns around to leave, trying not to think about the way that smile sent your stomach all funny. “get home safe. update me on the hangover.”

she looks over her shoulder at you as she walks away, chuckling. “will do.”

you go to close the door, watching her stuff her hands into her pockets and make her way down the street for a moment too long.

[bqstqnbruin]

Friendsgiving

Hi so we are going to ignore the fact that it is nearly 2 am but here I am with a fic that I started today because of this tik tok that I saw a few hours ago and I immediately went 'fic'. So, here we are

Warnings: none

WC: 5845

Enjoy!

__________________________________________

“Why and how are you in Vancouver?” 

“Don’t hate me.”

“Oh, my god, did you move to Canada without me? You moved and didn’t even tell me.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at what you hoped was Lena’s unnecessary panic that you heard through your phone speaker, trying to navigate your way through the airport that you had never been to before. “No, I’m just probably doing something stupid.” 

“And you’re doing it without me?”

“Leen, I’ll catch you up later, ok?”

“Am I going to have to make sure you don’t end up in a ditch?”

“You should probably watch my location for the next few days,” you say, in all seriousness. “But I have to go, I love you, bye.”

You hang up on your best friend as you hear her screaming on the other end about calling the authorities, knowing that she wouldn’t actually do that. Actually, she might. But you can’t think about that right now.

You were trying to find Brock, despite the fact that you had never met him in person and stupidly agreed to fly to Vancouver on a day's notice from your home the week of Thanksgiving. 

You couldn’t believe the last couple of days of your life. You had posted a silly photo of you and your friends at your annual Friendsgiving. You always got together the Friday before, and had been doing so since middle school when your parents still had to either make the food for you, or had to be in the kitchen with you heavily supervising the entire time. This year was the 15th year in a row that you had all gotten together, celebrating in a much bigger fashion than you had in years past; you all dressed up, you all brought the food in the best serving dishes you had instead of the Dollar Tree tin dishes you all normally brought, you had the fanciest bottles of wine you could afford littering the table, and you had even all planned to stay over together for the first time, continuing the event into the morning. 

Brock had messaged you because of the photo. You were mutuals, having some of the same friends in college but never actually interacted with each other. 

All of your friends talked about how you two would get along so well, but it seemed like every time you were supposed to meet, something happened that prevented you from doing so. There was the one party you were supposed to go to with your friends, that you had been planning on going to all week until you got food poisoning from the dining hall. There was the class you were supposed to take together until his practice times got changed and ended up conflicting with the class. You were supposed to go to a formal together as each other's dates until he slept through his alarm and missed the bus to the venue.

You were always supposed to meet, until you didn’t.

But then you got the message from him a few days ago asking if you wanted to come to his Friendsgiving that he was going to with his American teammates. 

It was easily the craziest thing you had done in your life, saying yes to flying out to Vancouver the next day to meet a guy you had never actually met in person, or really talked to before those messages.

It made you realize you really hadn’t done much with your life. 

You walked through the airport, trying to see if you could find the guy you would be spending the next couple of days with by the baggage claim where he told you he would meet you. 

You finally see him, the blonde head of hair sticking out to you for an unknown reason. 

You knew from his pictures on his account that he was attractive, but, shit, he was gorgeous in person. 

He was also dressed up way more than he should be for someone to be waiting for a stranger in an airport; he was in a full suit and tie, his hair looking like he had just gotten out of the shower and styled it immediately. 

“Hi,” he says to you when he sees you, a smile on his face making your heart skip a beat. 

You didn’t even know this guy. “Hi,” you manage to get out as he pulls you in for a hug. “You look good, all dressed up.” 

Brock reaches for your bag, taking it off your shoulder and walking you out of the airport. “Thanks.”

“Why are you dressed up?”

“We’re on our way to the game.”

“We?”

“I didn’t tell you?”

“Do I look like I’m dressed for a hockey game?”

Brock looks at you as the two of you approach his car, opening his trunk to put your bag in. “You look great to me.”

“I’m in sweats, fresh off a plane. When do you think you told me?”

“Uh,” he lets out as you get in his car. “Yesterday?”

You take out your phone, scrolling through the messages the two of you exchanged. “You told me you had a game, not that I was going to one.” 

“Who did I tell that to yesterday?” he says, staring out through his front windshield, wracking his brain. You couldn’t help but laugh. “I can take you back to my place, if you want.”

“Would that make you late for the game?”

He glances at the clock, pulling out his phone. “Very late, yes.” 

You roll your eyes, fighting back a smile that you couldn’t help. “I’ll go to the game. I’m sure I have something I can change into stuffed in my bag.” 

The two of you fall into easy conversation, much like you had when he first reached out to you. There was something about him that was easy to talk to. 

He pulls up to the arena, still talking about one of the parties you were both supposed to go to in college.

“Do you remember that one kid, Chris, who somehow threw up at every party he went to?” he asks you, leaning against his car as you rifle through your bag in his trunk, searching for any semblance of an outfit that was better than the sweats you were currently in.  

“Hold on,” you tell him, climbing into the trunk and pulling the hatch closed, trying your best to change in the cramped space. You managed to find jeans and a black shirt that could pass as a non-airport outfit that you were smart enough to pack as a spare since Brock didn’t really give you a ton of information as to how the week was going to go. You could see him standing outside the car, dumbfounded by the abrupt nature of you practically commandeering his car as a changing room for yourself. “Ok, I’m good,” you say, opening the door back up in what you were sure was record time for changing in a car trunk.

“Wow,” he says, you noticing the slightest shade of red appearing on his cheeks. 

“Better?” you ask. Your foot catches on part of the trunk as you try to get out, practically falling out of his car. 

You feel Brock’s hands catch you, spreading across your back and under your legs. “Much,” he says, his face inches from yours. He clears his throat, his face turning bright red as he puts you down.

He wasn’t about to kiss you, was he? And why would you have been ok if he did that? “Thanks for that,” you tell him, embarrassment seeping into your voice. 

“So, uh, Chris?” he asks, walking you into the arena with his hands now firming shoved into his pockets.

“He really did somehow end up in the bathroom at every party.”

“Even if he didn’t have anything to drink that night.” 

“I wonder what he’s up to now?”

“He just got engaged, actually,” you tell him. “His fiance was one of my lab partners back in college.” 

“Wow. Never would have known that,” he tells you. The two of you walk through what you could only describe as the tunnels of the arena, Brock showing you around and trying to explain to you what everything was. 

“You’re gonna be in here,” he tells you, showing to a room that was filled with women and children who all seemed to know each other. Before you can ask anything, he checks his watch, his eyes practically bugging out of his head. “Shit, I’ve gotta get ready. I’ll meet you right here after the game.” 

Brock runs off, leaving you standing at the entrance to this room that you could see was at ice level, filled with people you didn’t know. 

You couldn’t enter the room. This was already ridiculous, you being here in the first place with a guy you just met for the first time in person less than an hour before. Now you were apparently supposed to go into this room with a bunch of people and do what? Talk to them? 

No thank you.

You feel your phone vibrating in your pocket, leaning against the wall next to the entrance of this room as Lena calls you again. “Ok, you did not fly all the way to Vancouver to see a Canucks game.”

“I’m going to stop sharing my location with you,” you laugh.

“Ok, spill, why the hell are you in Vancouver?”

You recount the whole string of events to her, realizing how ridiculous the whole situation sounded now that you were actually verbally articulating everything. “And now, I’m outside of this room with a bunch of women and I think this is where I’m supposed to be for the rest of the game.”

“Are you in the WAG room?”

“The what?”

“The WAG room.”

“No, I heard you,” you sigh, “What does that mean?”

“The wives and girlfriends.”

You stare at the wall on the other side of the hallway as people you ignored scurried around you. “But I’m not a wife or a girlfriend?”

“Well, as long as you have that established. I heard there’s supposed to be amazing food in those rooms for the families.” 

You peek your head into the room, seeing a line of the women forming on the other side of the room in front of what looked like an incredible spread of food. “I can see that.”

“Go in!” Lena shrieks in your ear. “Have fun, make friends, and bring me some food when you get back.” She hangs up before you can say anything else, leaving you there with your phone pressed against your ear and no one on the other end of the call. 

You finally work up the courage to go into the room, trying to slip in and stay in the back, out of the way of anyone who would feel the need to come to talk to you. You stay along the wall closest to the door, trying to take in the room around you. There were children seemingly everywhere, running and shrieking as they played with each other. Toys were scattered all over the floor, bags lined against the wall. You probably looked like a freak the way you were moving through the room, trying to find a seat that you could sink into and become invisible in.

“Shit,” you let out, slamming down onto the floor, tripping over one of the toys you were somehow too busy to notice. 

“Are you ok?” one of the women asks you, crouching down on the floor to meet you at what was now, embarrassingly, eye level. 

You could feel your face getting hot. “Other than my ego being bruised, I think I’m good.” 

“I haven’t seen you before,” she says to you. “I’m Lexie. I’m Thatcher’s wife.”

You had no idea who Thatcher was, but it probably wouldn’t look good for you if you admitted that. 

You introduce yourself, finally getting up off the floor and dusting yourself off. “I’m here with Brock.”

Lexie’s eyes light up with excitement. “You must be Brock’s mystery girl.” The room seems to go silent when Lexie practically shrieks that, even the children making no noise. “He had been telling us he was seeing someone, but we never thought he would bring you to a game early.”

“Oh, I,” you start, getting nervous now that all eyes were on you. You had no idea what he had told these women, or their husbands, or boyfriends, or whoever these people were. “Here I am.”

“I can’t believe Brock would just throw you to the wolves like this,” Lexie says, linking her arm with yours and walking you over to the food table.

“Are you kidding?” another one of the women chimes in. “This is exactly something Brock would do. I’m Natalie, by the way, J.T.’s wife.”

The two women start chatting your ear off, you unable to comprehend what they were saying. Brock had a ‘mystery girl,’ that you had now taken on the identity of. Brock was probably seeing someone who couldn’t be there this week and now he was going to look like an awful human when you suddenly disappeared and were replaced with another person next week. 

But, why did you care? You barely knew Brock.

You had no idea how much time passed by when they all start filtering out the seats near the ice, the players skating around in circles. 

You join them, unsure what else to do. You pull out your phone, getting an idea and starting to type in a new note, trying to wave Brock over to the boards when you finally get his attention.

They think I’m your ‘mystery girl??? you show him with your phone screen pressed against the glass when he comes over. The color seems to drain from his face, mouthing ‘I’m sorry,’ and shrugging way too casually for your liking before practically sprinting away from you to the other side of the rink. 

You head back into the room, beelining for the exit and pulling up Lena’s number.

“Brock told everyone he and I are dating?” you try not to scream too loudly, hoping that none of the people in the room or in the hallway 

“Oh,” Lena says. “That’s not great.”

“Not great?” you say, running your hand through your hair, feeling yourself panic. “This is crazy. What if this turns into a psycho killer situation?’

“He’s way too high profile in the area to get away with killing you.”

“That’s not reassuring.” 

“I’m just saying he wouldn’t get away with it.”

“Adelena,” you stomp your foot like a child out of frustration, using your friend's full name.

“Ok, calm down,” she says. “There’s no need for the government name here. I think you just need to talk to him after the game and figure out what’s going on. I will fly out there and save you if I have to.” 

You take in a deep breath. This was the dumbest thing you could have done, regret seeping into you with every passing moment that you spent in Vancouver. “I’ll let you know.” You go back in the room, trying to pay attention to the game as the people around you milled about, trying to get to know you and about your ‘relationship’ with Brock.

“How long have you two been going out?” Lexie asks eagerly. 

“Um,” you panic, “Not that long, honestly. This is all really new.” That wasn’t a total lie.

“How did you two even meet?”

“We went to college together.” 

Before Lexie could ask you another question that you probably didn’t have an answer to, a toddler runs up to her, crying. “Gotta go,” she says to you, lifting the toddler and trying to comfort them. 

You sat and tried to watch the rest of the game, writing down everything you told Lexie in hopes that Brock would have said something similar. You spent the rest of the game on your phone texting with Lena, thankful that no one else in the room came up to you to talk to you or ask questions the way Lexie had, only going back to the ice and looking up from your screen to see Brock scoring.

You wait outside the room for Brock once the game was over, his teammates coming out much faster than he was as the hallway and the room behind you slowly emptied out, leaving you alone in the hallway. 

“What the fuck,” you ask him when you finally see him. 

“I’m sorry, I know,” he tells you, walking out to his car. 

“I don’t care if you need me to pretend to date you, but I would have liked to know about it before you threw me into the Gossip Grotto.” 

Brock exhales when he gets into the car, resting his head against the steering wheel while you stared at him with your arms crossed in front of you. “The guys keep bugging me about not dating anyone so I told them I was seeing someone to get them to shut up.” 

“And you didn’t think that was relevant to mention when you invited me here that there was a good chance they would think I’m the girl you’re dating?”

“No. I figured they would have forgotten about it by now.” 

“Well, their wives didn’t.”

“So what do we do?”

You stare at him. “I could leave on the next flight and get out of here and probably be mad at you forever. Or, we pretend we’re together.”

He whips his head to you, his eyes crazy with shock. “What?”

You shrug, pulling out your phone and showing him the notes you made during the game about you and him being together. “We fake date. I’m only here until Wednesday, and you said we were only going to be seeing your friends on Tuesday night. We have plenty of time to figure this out.”

“We have a day and a half.” 

You scoff. “You think I haven’t figured out more complicated things in less time? I got a plane ticket and got myself here on twelve hours notice.”

“So, we fake date?”

“We fake date.” 

_____________________________

“What are you doing?” you ask, walking into Brock’s kitchen the next morning, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. You spent the night in his guest room, sleeping in what was probably the most comfortable bed you had ever slept in. You spent the night before starting to hash out the story you would tell his teammates and their partners, agreeing that you would only share information about the two of you if you were directly asked about it. 

“Debating whether or not to make us breakfast,” he tells you, one hand on his hip, the other holding open the fridge door. Brock had on no socks, boxer shorts and a t-shirt, all of which showed off to you just how unfair his entire physique was. His hair was messy in a somehow perfect way that would have made you drool under any other context. You could pretend to drool over him, but real drooling was out of the question right now. 

“What’s the other option?”

He closes the fridge door, turning to face you. “I don’t make breakfast and we go out for food instead.” 

“How good are you at making breakfast?”

“I make a mean bowl of cereal.” 

“We’re going out for breakfast, get dressed.” 

“Wow, my girlfriend is bossy,” he smirks as you walk away, looking over your shoulder at him and sticking your tongue out.

Was that too flirty? You had agreed last night that flirting was ok so you could ‘get used to it.’ How could you flirt in front of other people if you had never done it before? 

You call Lena while you were getting ready. 

“You could just real date him,” you hear her suggest, crunching on something on the other end of the line.

“You could just give me real advice and not chew on something in my ear.” 

“It’s morning, let me eat my apple,” Lena says, obviously with her mouth full. “What are you guys doing today?”

“Right now, getting ready for breakfast. Beyond that, watch my location.”

“Yeah, I have no job. I can just stalk you all day.”

“If I end up dead how are you going to know?”

“Ugh, fine,” she sighs. “Have fun, don’t die.”

She hangs up, leaving you alone to get dressed for a day you didn’t know the details of. You pull on leggings and a sweater, your sneakers on and grabbed a jacket that you didn’t even know if you needed. You head back out to Brock’s kitchen, finding him leaning against the counter on his phone.

“You need to change,” you tell him. He had on black jeans and the same color sweater as you. 

“This could be a cute couple thing,” he jokes. “We could take a picture together and post it, or something.” You hesitate, walking over to Brock as he extends his hand with his camera open. “At least pretend to like me,” he tells you, plastering a smile on his face as he starts taking photo after photo.

You rest your hand on his chest, leaning into him and smiling at his camera. You did look good together, if you had to admit. 

“Can you do one where you kiss my cheek?’

“What?”

“Don’t couples do that?’

You stare at him for a second. Would it be weird to do that? He asked you to do it. “I normally scroll past those photos.”

“Me, too.” The two of you stand in silence for a second, neither of you sure how to go on. “Maybe we don’t do that. Too much, too soon.” You nod in agreement.

“So, where are we going?”

Brock smiles at you, leading you out the door. 

_____________________________

The breakfast he took you to was amazing. He said that he had an entire day for you planned as a thank you for coming out here in the first place. 

“How are you with hiking?”

“It depends.”

“On?”

“How long the trail is.”

Brock laughs, putting his car in park in front of a water front. 

“If we don’t stop, it’ll take two hours.” 

“That seems like a long time.”

“That’s how long my games are.”

“Yeah, that was a long time,” you tease him, getting out of the car. 

The trail was beautiful, a breeze off the water cooling you down as you walked alongside Brock. This could easily have been a real date if the two of you were actually together. 

You shake your head slightly of the thought. This was just supposed to be you helping him out, even though that wasn’t the original purpose of your trip. “So what are you supposed to do for Friendsgiving tomorrow night?”

Brock stops walking, the person behind him nearly knocking into him as he scolds Brock for stopping in the middle of the trail. You pull him over to the side of the walkway, ignoring the spark that you swore ran through you as laced your fingers in his. 

“I have no idea, actually.” 

“So you’re off to a great start.”

“I think I was told to bring something in the group chat,” he says, using his free hand to pull out his phone and start scrolling through the message thread that seemed to go on forever, your hands still intertwined. You weren’t sure he even noticed at this point, but part of you didn’t want to be the one to break the connection between you. “Ah, mac and cheese.”

“Have you ever made homemade mac and cheese before?”

“It has to be homemade?”

You roll your eyes, starting to walk again with your hands still locked together. “Did you think it would just magically spawn in front of you once you got to Quinn’s place?”

“I only have boxes of the store brand of mac and cheese.”

“Oh my god,” you sigh, pulling out your phone and finding the recipe you make for yourself when you have motivation. “Can you use Quinn’s oven when you get there or will he not have space?”

He quickly types on his phone as the two of you keep walking. “Yeah, we can as long as it doesn’t take too long,” he tells you, showing you the message from Quinn.

You nod, scrolling to the recipe on the website. “What do you have from these ingredients?” 

Brock quickly scans the list, nodding along and mouthing each component to himself. “I have the flour, salt, and pepper.”

“So you were supposed to be making mac and cheese and you had neither the mac nor the cheese?”

“That would be correct.”

“Oh my god,” you groan again. Brock stops walking, pulling you off to the side of the trail again. “What?” Brock gestures to the water in front of you, the sun making the ripples shine, the sky absolutely pristine. “Wow,” you let out. 

“What do you think?” you hear him ask, not taking your attention away from the sight in front of you.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It is.” You look over at him, seeing him tuck his phone away into his pocket, his eyes on you instead of the view. 

_____________________________

“Why was getting all of this way harder than I thought it would be?” Brock asks, putting the bags of groceries on the counter.

“Because you had no idea where anything in the store was and we had to keep doubling back for things we missed the first time.”

“You really have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“We’re dating, isn’t that something you’re supposed to know?”

Brock laughs, pulling out pans and bowls from his cabinets as you start to get everything prepared for the mac and cheese. You tell him what to do, giving him step-by-step instructions.

“This is nice,” he tells you. 

You think for a moment, shredding the cheese into a bowl. The recipe called for more cheese than any recipe you had ever made before, and somehow the mountain of cheese in front of you still didn’t feel like enough. “It is.”

“My mom and dad used to cook like this,” he tells you, his voice somber as he comes up behind you. 

“Yeah?”

“She would tell him what to do and he would do it. Badly, but he would try his best.” You laugh along with him. He had told you that his father had passed away a couple of years ago, but you didn’t know anything else about him other than what she could find with a quick google search that now, in a weird way, felt like an invasion of privacy. “We could always tell which things Dad helped with because they tasted just a little off.” 

“You miss him, don’t you?” you say, slowing down your shredding and turning towards him. He was facing you again, his arm around you but not touching you, resting on the counter on the other side of you. 

“Always.”

You swore he was going to lean in, his eyes flickering down to your lips. You clear your throat, turning back to the cheese. “You should check the pasta to see if it’s almost done or not.”

Brock nods, smiling and winking at you before doing what he was told.

_____________________________

“This is all fake.”

“And?”

“It doesn’t feel fake.” 

“Well, you aren’t a great actress, are you?”

“Lena,” you whine. 

“I saw you try out for The Little Mermaid in middle school.” 

You had texted her once the mac and cheese was done and you were back in what Brock now referred to as ‘your room,’ panicking that he had almost kissed you again. What if you were just reading into things? You felt stupid to think that he was doing anything more than pretending for the sake of getting used to things for tomorrow, right?

“Is there a chance for this to turn into something not fake?”

“Considering he lives in a different country, unless you want me to actually move to Canada without you, no.” 

“Do you want it to be something that isn’t fake?”

You hesitate, knowing that Lena had a stupid smirk on her face that would turn into some sort of ‘I told you so,’ later in the conversation. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it does.”

You sigh. “He’s great, but I’ve known him for two days. You don’t fall for someone like that in two days, it’s absurd.”

“Jack and Rose did in Titanic.”

“And that’s fiction, not real life.”

“Ok, if you had more than two days, then what?” 

“Then, I don’t know. Maybe?” 

“So, what do you do about it?”

“What can I do, Leen?” You flop down on the bed. “I’m here for less than two days before I leave and probably never talk to him again. The best this can be is fake.” 

_____________________________

“Are you ready for this?” Brock asks you, handing you one of the trays of food you made. “No.”

He smiles at you. “Me neither.” 

You head towards the door of Quinn’s place, ready to be as overwhelmed with the people you were about to encounter as you were two days prior at the game, even if you had already met most of these people. 

Lexie is the first one to greet you, somehow, through the chaos of everyone else around you. She leads the two of you into the kitchen, even though Brock already knows his way around. “I’m stealing her,” she tells Brock, grabbing you by the hand and leading you off to another room while all the guys stand around the kitchen island, somehow the ones in charge of the food.

“It is so good to see Brock so happy,” she tells you, handing you a glass of wine as she poured one for herself. The two of you were alone in the room she pulled you into, leaving you amazed that with that many people in the house, there was even an empty room to begin with. “I mean, those photos he posted of you? You are the most photogenic person I have ever seen.”

“Uh, yeah,” you tell her, knowing that you have to stop stammering everytime you try to give someone an answer. 

“You don’t know about the pictures?” You shake your head. She prompts you to pull up Brock’s page, the most recent pictures one from yesterday.

You scroll through the carousel. The first one, as you saw, was the one of you two before you went out for the day. The second one was one of you in the airport, looking for him. You thought you looked awful, but somehow, he made you look good. The third from the game the other night, one of the photographers probably captured a photo after he scored of him looking at you and smiling at him before he heads to the bench. The fourth and fifth were ones you had no idea he took; when you were looking out at the water yesterday, smiling at the sight while your hair somehow perfectly framed your face, and while you were hunched over the cheese, grating too many cups of the stuff for today. 

“He’s in deep,” Lexie smirks, drinking her wine. 

You can feel the heat rushing to your cheeks as you looked at the photos, which he captioned, Thankful for you, with your handle tagged. 

“Now it makes sense why I’m getting so many notifications,” you joke, setting your glass down on the table in front of you. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to go find the bathroom.” 

You head back towards the kitchen, hoping to find Brock there. 

“I’m surprised you actually are dating someone,” you hear someone’s voice in the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Brock responds.

“I thought you made her up,” another voice agrees with the first. 

“I’m not Quinn, I wouldn’t do that,” Brock lies.

“That was one time when I was in sixth grade,” the first voice argues.

You hear Brock laugh, your heart fluttering at the sound, immediately hating yourself for that. You’ve known him for a few days, why did you have to remind yourself about that?

“How long have you guys even been together?” Your heart stops,hoping Brock remembered all the things they talked about the last few days. She knew what he should say, but that didn’t mean he would say it.

“Only about two months, I think.” 

“You think?”

“Petey, you know he’s not good with time.” 

You finally work up the nerve to walk into the room, seeing Brock’s face light up at the sight of you. 

He was faking it. 

“Hey, babe,” he says, pulling you close and kissing the side of your head. 

“God, you two aren’t going to be the kind of couple who overdo the PDA, are you?” Petey asks.

“Only if you piss us off,” Brock says, not taking his eyes off you. 

“So, um,” you say, coming back to reality and turning to the other two. “Everything looks great.” 

Quinn looks at the clock on the oven. “We should probably eat soon. The food should be in a couple of minutes.”

“We’ll get everything on the table,” Brock volunteers the two of you, grabbing one of the plates and handing them to you.

“Everything is going well, so far, I think,” you whisper to him once you’re out of earshot of the others. 

“Everyone thinks we’re actually together. I think we might pull it off.” 

_____________________________

The rest of the night went surprisingly well, the attention largely kept off the two of you most of the time as the team seemed to be more interested in teasing each other while their partners rolled their eyes at the guys’ antics. Brock drove you back in silence, a smile on his face the entire time. 

You headed to bed, knowing that you were going to be leaving when you woke up the next morning, part of you dreading the moment Brock would drop you off at the airport. 

He pulled up to the terminal, neither of you moving once he put the car in park. 

“Can I admit something?” he asks. 

“Sure.”

“I don’t think I want you to leave.” 

You look at him. “I don’t really want to leave.”

“But,” he starts.

“I have to.” 

Brock gets out of the car before you could say anything else, heading to grab your bag from his trunk. 

“We were good at fake dating, though,” he says, handing you your bag. 

You nod as he pulls you in for a hug. “Was all of it fake?” You don’t know what compelled you to ask that, other than you not thinking before you speak.

Brock smiles, his arms still wrapped around you. Before you can fully process it, his lips find yours, a sweet, slow kiss as your lips moved together, his hand on the small of your back pressing you into him. 

“No.” 

[christmassavestheyear]

hey besties! i talked about starting to do monthly recs, and i've decided to go through with that - in both the 911 and 1d fandoms! so here goes nothing, i guess... i based the formatting of these posts off of a few mutuals who do regular fic rec posts <3 much love to them. i read a lot of 911 fic this month! way more than i have in the past, so here goes nothing. this month we've got tevan, buddie, riaz, and a sprinkle of gen christopher!

🔥 Tricks and Treats (but mostly Treats) || @ninjatrashpanda evan buckley/tommy kinard || 3k While taking Jee-Yun trick or treating, Buck and Tommy are mistaken for being her parents. It causes them to have a conversation they’ve been putting off for a while.

🔥 Almost Cost It All || @sunnywithachanceofbi eddie diaz/josh russo || 3.7k Josh & Eddie run into one another a month after breaking up and hash it out. Jeddie Week Days 3/4: Double Dates & Missing You

🔥 Carry You Home (Alex Warren) || emaisnialleraf evan buckley/tommy kinard || 2.2k “Do you ever think about the future?”

🔥 through the good, the bad, and the gross || @wikiangela evan buckley/tommy kinard || 1.7k Tommy assures his boyfriend that he doesn't look gross, even with the boils on his face.

🔥 you still love me anyway || @epiphainie evan buckley/tommy kinard || 43.5k But that was just him. Evan. He was too much, too smart, too impulsive, too earnest, and he was prickly, petty, bratty, unruly, redefining the phrase of high maintenance. He was Tommy’s favorite person. aka five times buck was being too much and one time tommy told him so

🔥 Made From Scratch || @inawickedlittletown evan buckley/tommy kinard & jee-yun han || 4k As soon as Maddie was gone, Buck turned to Jee-Yun. “Ready for some fun with your uncle Buck?” “Yes!” she cried out, smiling big. Buck grinned. “I thought you could help me out with something really important.” “Really?” She asked, head tilting to the left. “What?” “Well, we’re going to make a birthday cake.”

🔥 with you, i am home || @rosetterer evan buckley/tommy kinard || 3.6k The injured shoulder causes some issues during the night. Tommy takes care of it.

🔥 amber glow || @userautumn evan buckley/tommy kinard || 5.8k "I think I fucked up." “What did you do?” “I think I remember how Tommy Kinard knows me.” or; Buck is a down-on-his-luck photographer, and Tommy is the industry It-boy that just wants to help him out.

🔥 friendly neighbourhood firefighter || @sunnywithachanceofbi evan buckley/tommy kinard || 3.6k Tommy's adventurous Halloween role-play goes hilariously wrong when he gets himself stuck in a Spider-Man costume, only to end up with an injury. What was meant to be a playful, sexy surprise for Evan turns into an emergency rescue situation, with the 118 on the scene.

🔥 Pumpkins Scream In The Dead Of Night || Must_Love_Dogs evan buckley/tommy kinard || 2.3k Since Bobby and Athena's house is unavailable, Tommy offers his house for a Halloween Party. With a lot of help from Buck, and a bit from Maddie, and Chimney, they plan and decorate his house to perfection.

🔥 i'm haunted (by billy boils) || buckleymoons evan buckley/tommy kinard || 935w Tommy and the 217 hear two calls from dispatch during their shift. For some reason, both of these calls relate to one Evan Buckley. or: the 217 teasing Tommy for dating an idiot that carries corpses around

🔥 on purpose, i am going to care about you || @stardustvx evan buckley/tommy kinard || 2.1k Buck has a horrible migraine and Tommy takes care of him. Perhaps they also say I love you to each other for the first time.

🔥 The Favorite (Derogatory) || xanthippe74 evan buckley/tommy kinard || 1.3k After golfing with Gerrard, Buck just wants comforting over a few drinks with his friends. But all he gets is a hard time.

🔥 Family Dinner || @sugdenlovesdingle evan buckley/tommy kinard & the 118 || 817w The first 118 family dinner at Bobby and Athena's new house

🔥 Lay Waste To Your Beliefs || thespeckledbandicoot evan buckley/tommy kinard & the 118 || 3.1k Buck gets cursed on the job. Luckily, Chimney knows a guy. For the Bucktommy Winter Fest Halloween prompt: Magical Realism

🔥 Save A Horse... || Must_Love_Dogs evan buckley/tommy kinard || 1.7k What if Tommy had helped Buck decide which costume to wear for the "Firehouse Haunt Fest"? A season 8, episode 5 missing scene because I would have loved to see Tommy's reaction to Buck's cowboy costume.

🔥 maybe together we can get somewhere || @the-amber-raven evan buckley/tommy kinard, tommy kinard & daniel buckley || 62k Tommy has always been able to see ghosts. Usually, they stick around for a few days or weeks, maybe several months before they get what they need to move on. There was one ghost, however, who appeared when Tommy was young and seemed to be unable to get the closure he needed to let go and so he just… never left. He got used to it, after a while, and Daniel became a consistent companion throughout his life. Or, the one where Tommy can see ghosts and is haunted by Daniel Buckley for reasons it takes him almost thirty years to understand.

🔥 Where All This Love Comes From || @carlos-in-glasses carlos reyes/tk strand || 107k A single tear slips from Carlos' eye. Years ago, there was a young man in New York City called TK Strand and he had no idea that in Austin, Texas, a stranger called Carlos Reyes was aching, yearning, pining for exactly him. He had no idea how loved he was going to be by someone he had yet to meet. He had no idea how wonderful he was as a person with or without a partner – but he was about to find out. That's why you have to keep living, Carlos thinks, so you can find out.

🔥 a moment of clarity || acollectionofdaydreams evan buckley/tommy kinard || 2.1k The morning after breaking up with Evan, Tommy opens his door to find an Eddie who has something to say about it.

🔥 go ahead, rip my heart out || @atimeofyourlife evan buckley & eddie diaz, evan buckley/tommy kinard || 2.6k After 8x06, Buck crashes on Eddie's couch for the night. Eddie finds him the next morning presenting with cardiac symptoms on his couch.

🔥 Pause || iwroteafictoday evan buckley/tommy kinard || 3.2k Sometimes you just need to put a conversation on pause and talk it out with a friend. Post 8x06 fix it fic

🔥 If You Really Love Someone You Don't Let Them Go || @black-and-whitecrow evan buckley/tommy kinard & eddie diaz || 4.3k There are things worth fighting for. Like love. There are people worth fighting for. Like Evan Buckley. There are idiots needing some sense talked into them. Like Tommy Kinard. Luckily, there are also good friends who can make idiots see what's worth fighting for. Like Eddie Diaz.

🔥 i choose us every time || @spacewinter evan buckley/tommy kinard || 3k Of course, Buck is angry. He got his heart shattered by a man who thought he could tell Buck what he should feel. He's hurt, he's angry, and he's not ready to let it go. Hen's words resonate - he should fight for this relationship if he wants a future with Tommy, so that's exactly what he does. He drives over full of righteous anger and hurt, only to be faced with a ruined, heartbroken man that he still loves They talk instead, they hug. Apologies are made, anger is expressed. They make a decision to build something stronger together.

🔥 Closet Conversations || @eyesonstars-feetonground evan buckley/tommy kinard || 10.6k Six months is a long time to stick around if he thought you’d dump him. OR After his boyfriend dumps him, Evan Buckley goes on a date, makes a new friend, has some conversations, and realizes he's queer. Tommy haunts him every step of the way.

🔥 Hold Your Tongue || @guardiandelacour evan buckley/tommy kinard || 4.5k The Buckley parents decide to pay a visit to their reluctant children, and Tommy is finally forced to meet the people who made his boyfriend believe that he is worthless.

🔥 A House is Built with Walls and Beams || fairytalegonewrong evan buckley/tommy kinard || 2.1k Tommy is ready to take the next step in his relationship with Evan as they celebrate their anniversary. After much thought, he plans to ask Evan to move in with him, marking a significant moment in their relationship.

🔥 excellent chemistry || @judymarch15 sal deluca/eddie diaz || 3k Sal wants to be a fire captain someday, but to do that he'll need to go back to school and earn an associates degree in fire science. Eddie shows his support.

🔥 Just Let Me Adore You || @inawickedlittletown evan buckley/tommy kinard || 35.7k What if...instead of Chimney taking the role of interim Captain of the 118, Tommy is asked to take on the role. Or, what happens when Buck meets Tommy in S2

🔥 I'd Love To Hear 'Bout How You Been || Snaptic evan buckley/eddie diaz || 10.5k Did you say Evan Buckley?” Eddie has to confirm because there’s no way he heard that correctly. “Yes, sir…” The lady says, continuing on, but Eddie hears none of it, his brain still stuck on the name. Evan Buckley. He hasn’t heard that name in years. His thoughts become a grainy slideshow of memories, fragmented from the years; a wicked smile on a dirty face, broad shoulders covered in camo, curly hair blowing in the breeze, piercing blue eyes gleaming in the sunshine. Or: two old friends from the desert reunite in an LA hospital room

🔥 time is shortening (down to the bone) || @calinaannehart evan buckley/tommy kinard || 8.3k (WIP) “Hey, excuse me,” Buck says to the nurse behind the desk. “I’m not sure who I’m-" The words die in his throat as his eyes land on a familiar form in a large wingback chair, the leg rest raised so he’s reclined with his head tipped back and eyes closed. He’s thinner than he was when Buck last saw him, deep shadows sit under his eyes and his hair, patchy in places, has been shaved short. There’s a port-a-cath in his upper arm and hanging on the drip stand above is a bag of fluid, the bright red chemotherapy label visible even at this distance. “Sir?” The nurse says, but Buck can’t look away from the man. “Tommy.”

🔥 It's Freakin' Bats! || writerdot evan buckley/tommy kinard || 3.8k He startles awake with a gasp, sitting straight in bed. He’s scared and he doesn’t know why so he closes his eyes, breathes deep, and feels himself start to relax. Once the feeling fades, he looks at the time, and sees it’s just after 2AM. Grabbing his phone, he opens his text thread with Tommy and sends a heart. Or: it's Buck and Tommy's first Halloween together and Buck's not quite feeling himself.

🔥 Where It Wasn't Supposed To Be || @princessfbi evan buckley/tommy kinard || 45.7k They’d kept it under wraps to an almost paranoid degree. They didn’t touch in public, not even on their hikes up the countless trails that were never short of people minding their own business as they took in the good weather. They sat on opposite sides of the table at dinner. Evan came over to his place instead of taking the risk with his roommates. Evan had even come up with a cover story if they ever ran into anyone: he was picking Tommy’s brain about the job. Nothing more. Nothing less. What if Buck and Tommy met the three months before Tommy transferred to Harbor and Buck started at the 118?

🔥 The Last Drop Spilled Over || @lucid-ao3 evan buckley/eddie diaz || 28k Eddie is having conflicting feelings now that Buck is in a relationship with Tommy. Why does it feel like time is running out? And why does Drunk Eddie keep giving him so much trouble?

🔥 Habitual Damage || @eggmacguffin evan buckley/eddie diaz || 9.1k About a week after starting back at the 118, and about three weeks before he was supposed to start getting a steady check again, Buck quietly moved out of his loft— —and into his jeep.

🔥 Led Me Here To You || @andthenshesaid-write carlos reyes/tk strand || 28k TK knows his life is going to change when Gwyn and Enzo die, leaving him with custody of his six-year-old brother Jonah, but he isn’t prepared for the rigours of parenting, the questions it raises in himself, or for Jonah’s new teacher, Carlos Reyes.

🔥 old flames, new fires || @jamesandanthony evan buckley/tommy kinard || 3.1k The picture round arrives with the interval, and they're hunched around the sheet, arguing over a country outline that has them a little stumped when a figure approaches their table hesitantly. "Tom?" he says, and Tommy looks up in surprise. "Oh my god, Mateo?" he says, eyes wide as he stands to greet him. "Yeah," Mateo replies, grinning, and Tommy doesn't miss the way he looks him up and down appreciatively. "Man, how long has it been?"

🔥 The feeling came late (I'm still glad I met you) || paleredheadinascifi evan buckley/eddie diaz || 4.6k Come on, Buck. Let it out. I hate this, too. I hate leaving you. Tell me how much you hate it. Yell at me, Buck. Come on, yell at me,” he begs. Buck snaps. He pushes off the couch and crowds into Eddie’s space. “Is this what you wanted?” He spits, pushing hard enough against Eddie’s chest that he takes a step backwards. “Hmm? You want me to lose it on you?” Or, Eddie cannot handle Buck pretending to be fine about his move to Texas. He, in fact, refuses to let him.

🔥 got nothing on my mind (but the two of us) || @tommybuckleys evan buckley/tommy kinard || 5.1k “You’re covered in flour. Why are you covered in flour?” Buck sighs, letting his eyes follow Tommy’s path down his form — and wow, yeah, okay, it’s somehow even worse than the small glimpse he caught earlier. The apron he threw on has protected most of his clothes, but he can already see the flakes getting matted in the hair on his arms. Buck can only imagine the state of his face and hair. Maybe he should have prioritized that shower, after all. “I had a, uh — baking mishap,” Buck admits, still wrong-footed from Tommy’s sudden appearance. “I didn’t know you baked.”

🔥 our love is spook-tacular || @aesthetictarlos evan buckley/tommy kinard & mara & jee-yun || 2.1k "Uh, I made a list.” That's when Tommy notices his dangerous smirk and the clipboard on the table, together with a notebook and a few pens. This screams trouble, so much trouble. “A list about what?” He asks curiously, bracing for the practically endless range of possibilities. “Halloween couples costumes we could wear,” Buck says enthusiastically. Or, the one where Buck and Tommy go trick or treating with Mara and Jee.

🔥 Half Agony, Half Hope || @livinginsunnyhell evan buckley/eddie diaz || 52.6k He should’ve known this was going to be a moment when Christopher says, “Then why don’t you date? If dad’s gay… Why don’t you get together?” Buck does choke on his water this time. Sputters droplets all over the table and coughs loud enough to draw the attention of everyone around them. “Why – why do you ask that?” Buck wheezes and coughs again. Or Buck goes through the five stages of grief when Eddie comes out and considers dating men.

🔥 Your Name, Forever The Name On My Lips || @911varietyposts evan buckley/tommy kinard || 2.6k He was a widow at the age of 35. His husband had been ripped from his life in a cruel joke. OR: Evan adjusts to life without Tommy after a helicopter crash takes his life.

🔥 It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything || @xjustlikeyou evan buckley/eddie diaz || 148k Chris leaves for Texas. Eddie tries to cope. Eddie fails. aka the Fight Club 2.0 fic

🔥 this love was once mine (please god, let it be us again || @xtarmanderx evan buckley/tommy kinard || 11.5k Buck's blue soulmark on his wrist is the thing that keeps him going after his breakup with Tommy. Somewhere out there, he may still have a soulmate who loves him. He holds onto that until the day his world is turned upside down and his mark turns black while he watches Tommy collapse to the ground.

🔥 Let the walls break down || @harmonic-intervention evan buckley/tommy kinard || 15.6k A whole month. That was how long Tommy could push his luck. bucktommy fix it, near-death experiences will force them to talk if nothing else will

🔥 never last (last) || Philipa_Moss (bsky) christopher diaz-centric || 15.2k Carla turned off the car and turned to him. “It’s just you and me,” she said. “What happened, baby?” Everyone said he’d been such a sweet kid. Every time he opened his mouth, he could hear himself pushing that kid farther away. “Nothing,” said Chris.

🔥 Darling, I Wanna Love You! || @rosyhoneydew evan buckley/tommy kinard || 2.4k “It’s no trouble at all,” Maddie jumps in. “Come on in, Tommy! You can just leave your shoes by the door there.” Buck turns his head slowly to give his sister a look that hopefully conveys the gravity of her duplicity, but she merely widens her eyes and tilts her head toward him in a motion that says get over it! He’ll do no such thing.

🔥 Bad Beer and Naked Rodents || @dashing-disaster evan buckley/tommy kinard || 1.6k "My point is, you got scared of commitment for three seconds and tell Evan Buckley, Evan Buckley, to go off to frolic on Grindr? I’m sorry, but do you know how stupid that is? Do you have any idea what happens to guys like Evan Buckley on Grindr?” Or: after the break-up Tommy's friends are there for moral support and a much-needed reality check.

🔥 The Weight Of The Past || @acrownofstardustandbone evan buckley/tommy kinard || 1.6k Sometimes the weight of the past is just too much to carry alone--and now, Tommy has Evan to help him shoulder this burden.

🔥 I Don't Want To Be Like This || Snaptic evan buckley/tommy kinard || 2.6k “Tommy?” Evan asks him gently, evidently noticing something is wrong. Tommy sighs, wondering if he’s really about to do this. If he’s really going to sit there and give Evan the ammunition to walk away from one of the best things that’s ever happened to Tommy. OR: Buck finds acceptance in his partner. Tommy shares his own secrets.

STATS: # of fics: 49 # of authors: 45 # of words read: 1,170,000~

[vodika-vibes]

knight!Kix x princess!reader where the reader has had to run away from their palace after an attack on her kingdom and Kix has keep her safe and get her to a safe zone?? Hurt/comfort aswell??

Queens Aren't Born

Summary: Kix, like all his brothers, is a member of the Royal Guard. Though, as a medic of the Guard, he doesn’t have many dealings with the Royal Family. Then, one day, that all changes.

Pairing: Knight! Kix x Princess! Reader

Word Count: 2698

Warning: Some angst, reader survives a coup

A/N: So, I'm not sure this is exactly what you wanted, but I hope you like it!

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

The Palace feels wrong.

Part of it, Kix knows, is because all of his brothers have been sent off to war. Well, all of his brothers except him. He had been nursing a broken leg when the King declared war, and so had been the only one of all of his brothers left behind.

He’s meant to join them in a couple of weeks, now that he’s healed.

All he has to do is withstand a few more weeks of this weirdness, and everything will be fine.

Still, the overall vibes in the palace are rancid.

The divide between the Nobility and the Working Class has never been more stark. The servants are barely toeing the line between obedience and insubordination, and Kix knows that if he ever dared to be so obvious about his insubordination his eldest brothers would have his ass.

He turns a corner, pauses, and then drops into a deep bow, “Good morning, Princess.”

The Princess, a slight woman clad in a long gown that looks to be made of satin, glances at him. “Good morning, Medic,” She greets, “It’s a lovely morning, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Princess. It seems that the rain has finally moved on.” Kix replies politely. 

“I am glad for it,” The Princess directs her gaze out the window, “Perhaps I will spend my morning in the garden.” She pauses, and then turns to look at Kix again, “Have you met my newest handmaiden?”

The Princess gestures to the young woman standing to her left. 

The handmaiden is wearing a long, simple dress and she is wearing a headscarf and a face wrap. She is even slighter than the Princess, and Kix can’t help but think that the young woman looks unhealthily thin. 

“Her religion doesn’t allow her to be exposed to the sun,” The Princess explains, “You will be kind to her, won’t you?”

“Of course, Princess.” Kix is surprised at her request.

“Good,” The younger woman glances out the window again, and then she smiles, “Come along, handmaid. We’re going to the garden.”

“As you command, Princess.” 

Familiarity washes over Kix as the handmaid speaks. She sounds familiar, even though the cloth that hides her from his view. He might not know the royal family like some of his brothers, but he knows the Princess when he hears her voice.

Why is the Princess pretending to be her own handmaiden?

Satin swishes and Kix’s gaze drifts over to the fake Princess. There’s a look of warning on her face, “Is there a problem, Medic?” Several feet away, the real Princess gazes at him anxiously, and Kix suddenly realizes that something is very, very wrong in the palace.

“Not at all, Princess.” Kix replies smoothly with a deep bow, “I just found myself lost in thought.”

The fake Princess’ face clears, and she nods. “Perhaps you should get some rest. You only have a couple of weeks before you deploy.”

“Thank you for your concern, Princess. I shall do as you ask.” He remains bowed until he hears the nearly identical footsteps walking away, and then he lifts his head.

It’s none of his concern. 

Whatever reason Her Highness has to pretend to be her handmaiden, while her handmaiden pretends to be her is none of his business. He’ll keep his mouth shut, and in a few weeks he’ll be deployed, and it won’t matter anymore.

Kix releases a slow breath, then turns to head towards the Palace infirmary. He might as well get some work done. And maybe keeping his hands busy will help him forget what he just saw.

But Kix has never been that lucky.

The deception of the Princess and her Handmaiden plagued him through the day, and several hours later, he lies in his bunk in the empty barracks unable to sleep because of this mystery.

The worst part, of course, is the fact that he can’t ask them what this is about. 

Just as sleep is about to claim him, Kix is jolted out of his bed by the sounds of screaming in the hallways. He quickly pulls on his armor and is about to open the door when there’s a rapid knocking. 

Blade drawn, Kix opens the door, expecting the worst. But nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

The fake Princess is standing at his door, clad in the delicate white sleep gown of the Princess, though the gown is stained with blood. None of it looks like hers. 

The real Princess stands just a little behind her, still completely covered in the dull brown of a handmaiden’s garb, though she’s clutching her shoulder and Kix can see blood dripping from her shoulder.

“You’re alive, good.” 

Kix stares at the fake Princess, “What’s happening?”

“The King and Queen are dead,” She says dispassionately, “As are both Princes. At this point, the baby princess has probably been killed as well, I wasn’t able to get to her.”

Kix’s eyes narrow, “A coup?”

“Yes. Headed by the Grand Duke, most likely.” She sighs, and leans her blade against her leg as she pulls a pair of contacts out of her eyes, “You need to take the Princess and run.”

“No! You can’t—” The Princess finally speaks, removing her facial covering so Kix can see her properly. She looks stricken, but then her entire family was just murdered by her uncle, so Kix thinks she has good reason.

The handmaiden ignores the Princess, instead focusing her severe gaze on Kix, “Listen to me. There’s an escape route for the royal family in the servant wing, that part of the palace has already been…cleared.”

“Wait, cleared?”

“The Grand Duke’s men are killing everyone.”

“Then I have to stay and help—”

“No!” Kix stares at her, stunned. “You must do your duty. You are the only Royal Guard left in the Capital. You must see the only living member of the Royal Family to safety. You must.”

“But you’ll die.” The Princess’ voice cracks, “My Uncle’s men will kill you.”

The Handmaiden turns to the Princess and she favors the other woman with a bright smile before she leans in and bumps her forehead against hers. Kix knows that this scene isn’t for him, but he can’t seem to avert his gaze.

They could pass for twins, the Princess and her Handmaid. 

“You can’t ask me to leave you behind, how am I supposed to live without you with me?” The Princess asks. 

The Handmaid reaches up and presses her hands against the Princess’ cheeks, “You will have to. I have to ensure your safety. With me dead, no one will be looking for you, and Kix will be able to get you somewhere safe.”

“But—”

“I am your body-double. We always knew that this could happen. Let me do my duty, Princess. Let me save you.”

The Princess’ lower lip trembles, but slowly she nods.

The Handmaiden favors her with a fond smile, and then she pulls the face covering back over the Princess’ face before she focuses her attention back on him, “You will protect her.” It’s not a request.

“With my very life,” Kix promises, he reaches out for the Princess and she willingly walks over to him, “I’ll wrap her shoulder, and then we’ll make a break for it.”

The Handmaiden nods, once, and then with one last look, she turns and runs down the hall, vanishing into the smoke from a fire that has been started somewhere.

As much as Kix wants to go and fight, to go and help, he knows that he can’t. His priority, his only priority is the woman trembling at his side. And so, he steels his nerves, grabs his med kit, and then turns to the Princess. “Let me see your shoulder.”

“Are you warm enough?”

You look up at Kix as he kneels in front of you, and you nod quietly. “I’m okay for now. Thank you, Kix.”

It’s been months since the night of the coup that killed your whole family. Over that time, the hot summer rolled into an unseasonably chilly autumn, and you know winter will be rolling around soon based on the fact that it’s already snowed.

Kix had been forced to take up some odd jobs to make enough money to buy both of you winter clothes, not to mention camping gear suited for the winter.

He’s not willing to risk your safety in any of the towns you’ve come across since the coup. However, you hardly recognize yourself in the mirror, so you doubt anyone else will recognize you either.

You jump when Kix adjusts the scarf around your neck, and pulls your wool hat a little lower over your ears, and you favor him with the tiniest of smiles, “I’m really okay, Kix.”

The look of concern on his face fades slightly, “You’re sure?”

“I am.”

His glove-covered hand drops to rest against your cheek, “Alright, if you’re sure.” Kix lightly tugs your scarf so it’s covering your mouth and nose, “Do you think you’re up to walking a little more today?”

“I can keep up.”

“Not what I asked, sweetheart.”

You press your gloved hands over his, “I can keep going, Kix. I promise.” You hesitate, and close your hand around his, “How much farther, do you think?”

“Until we stop for the night?” Kix asks.

You shake your head, “Until we find your brothers?”

There’s a flicker of apology on his face, “Several weeks, if not longer. It looks like it’s going to be a bad winter, so we’re going to be hindered by that.”

“Right…” You allow him to help you to your feet, “I suppose beggars can’t be choosers, right?”

“Exactly so.”

“And they know about the Coup?”

“Yeah, I sent word about it. Your Uncle can’t have been thrilled to learn that he lost the entire Royal Army.” Kix’s hands settle on your shoulder, and he smiles down at you, “Come on, let’s get a move on.”

You fall into step next to him, as he leads you through the forests that you have become very comfortable with over the last few months. You’ve also gotten pretty adept at grilling food over an open fire.

It’s not something you ever needed to learn at the Palace. But life is different now.

You’re grateful for Kix. He’s been your rock through all of this. You’re sure that without him here, you would have fallen apart several times over. You might not have been close with your parents, or siblings, but they were still your family. 

Honestly, you had a harder time dealing with the death of your best friend. You’re still reeling from her death, life is so much harder without her here to encourage you, but you’re trying. 

You lift your head when Kix releases an ugly curse, and then you cast your gaze skyward and you sigh. It’s starting to snow.

“I guess we’re stopping for the night?”

“I’m afraid so. Help me get the tent set up before the snow starts accumulating.”

“Alright.” You’re not the best at setting up tents, even with months of practice. But you are very good at helping him set up the tent, and you’re better at following instructions. 

You help Kix set up the tent and then help him use fallen tree branches to help funnel the snow away from the top of your tent, and then you slip inside the insulated tent and start setting up the blankets and heater. 

There’s only one tent, so you and Kix had to get really comfortable with each other a lot faster than either of you would prefer, but at this point, it’s normal now.

Once the tent is made up with the blankets and heater, Kix joins you inside, and the both of you pull your outer gear off to let them dry. Then Kix digs through his bag and offers you some food that was cooked the day before.

It’s not the most flavorful meal, but it’s good enough.

If you’re being honest with yourself, your favorite part of the day is after the sun goes down and after dinner. That’s when you’re allowed to lay your head on Kix’s chest, and he’ll dig a book out of his bag and he’ll read to you.

Sometimes the books he gets are medical books and other times they’re novels, but he’ll read them to you all the same. Most of the time, you’ll drift to sleep with his fingers combing through your hair, and his voice in your ears.

And tonight is no different.

His fingers comb through your hair as he reads a romance novel to you, and you absently curl your fingers in the thick material of his shirt.

But tonight, you’re having a hard time focusing on the story.

When Kix flips a page to start a new chapter, you lightly pat his chest to get his attention. He closes the book and glances at you, “Something wrong?”

You shift so you’re able to look up at his face, “No, there’s nothing wrong, really.” You hesitate, “I was just thinking…”

Kix sets the book to the side, and adjusts himself so he’s able to look at you properly, “About?”

“About what happens after.”

He gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, “After?”

You turn your head so you’re face is pressed against his chest, “What happens when we find your brothers? Are you going to leave?” You hesitate, “Am I supposed to become Queen?” You’re voice grows smaller and smaller with each question.

You can feel Kix’s gaze on the top of your head, and then he heaves out a sigh and you cringe.

His warm hands settle on your hips and he tugs you so that you’re laying on top of him, rather than on the ground, and it surprises you so much that you lift your head to stare at him.

“When we find my brothers, we’re going to sleep in actual beds and have proper meals and proper showers.” One of his hands slides up your back to rest on the back of your neck, “As for me leaving, it’s never going to happen. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me now.”

That’s a relief, you like Kix. You like him both as a person and as a man. Though you’re keeping that part to yourself. A Princess shouldn’t fall in love with a Knight, it’s not proper.

And it’s kind of ethically reprehensible. 

Kix rubs small circles on the back of your neck, “I have a question for you, sunshine.”

You tilt your head curiously.

“Do you want to be Queen?”

You hesitate, and your fingers curl around his shirt, “...I should say yes, right?”

Kix shakes his head, “I don’t want to hear about what you should do. I want to know what you want.”

“I want…I want to be a music teacher.” You admit, quietly, “Or maybe a stay-at-home mom.”

His gaze is serious, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, then that’s what will happen. No one is going to force you to rule. I won’t let them.”

“You won’t?”

“Of course not.” He smiles at you, “You’re going to be a great teacher.”

“Thanks.”

He lightly taps your chin with two fingers, “And you’re going to be an even better mom and wife.”

You feel your face heat, “Yeah, well. You can’t ensure that will happen.”

“You think so? If you’re abdicating your title, that means that I can do this,” For a moment, you’re confused about what he’s saying, but then his lips seal over yours.

The idea that Kix might like you the same way that you like him, never once occurred to you. But, as his arms tighten around you and he deepens the kiss, a kiss you eagerly reciprocate, you think this might be the first time you’ve been properly happy in months.

And, when Kix flips so you’re pinned under him and slides his tongue along the seam of your lips, you stop thinking about anything that isn’t him. Right now, there is nothing more important to you than Kix, and you have a feeling that he feels the same way.

@imabeautifulbutterfly

@n0vqni

@bad4amficideas

@justiceandwar98

@mira-loves-star-wars

@tiredbi-peach

@dukeoftheblackstar

@trixie2023

@kimiheartblade

@padawancat97

@falconfeather23435

@etod

@bb8-99

@kiss-anon

@continous-mistakes

@yoitsjay

@liz-stat

@cc--2224

@adriennelenoir

@cdblake1565

@sweater-sloot

@heidnspeak

@wax-birds

@silly-starfish

@lonewolflupe

@maniacalbooper

@rebell-ious

[pthalogreenwriter]

Trouville Limerence - Chapter 2

A/n: Hi! I am hoping to do weekly(ish) updates so chapter 3 will come next week! If you would like to be in the taglist, let me know and I will add you immediately!

Link to Ch 1

P.S I wrote this when i was high so bare with me

Wc: 3.5k

Summary: Hitman/Assassin!Gojo x Reader where he's very Yandere but doesn't want to kill you, he is genuinely obsessed with you.

Warning: creepy Gojo, stalking, lowkey delusional

Gojo hit the gas pedal and quickly tried to park his car. His eyes almost ceased to leave the sight of you but he needed to walk if he wanted to know where you were going. He parked along the street you crossed from and locked the car without looking back. 

He would’ve lost you in the crowd of people if Gojo didn’t already have your scent ingrained in his brain. He focused his senses, following the smell of clean cotton and lotus as he sped through the crowd. Soon, he was able to find you, still hurrying along the street to wherever your destination was. You wore a white button up long sleeve, tucked in a khaki skirt that stopped right below your knee. Formal but inconvenient in the moment of haste. 

He made sure to keep a good distance behind you, glad not to have his blindfold on to make him stand out. There were dozens of people around the street, and you flew right past them, head down and determined. You wouldn’t even have noticed him if you weren’t in a hurry. 

Gojo didn’t know what his goal was. He didn't know if he was going to speak to you, introduce himself, or want to find out where you were going. He only followed and watched. 

Minutes passed before he realized where you were running off too. You ended up in a pastel blue bakery on the corner of a street, its windows aligned with white tables on the inside. A bell rang as the door opened, Gojo being able to hear it in front of a store a few doors down. 

Satoru was at an impasse. He could either go in, introduce and talk himself up as he usually did or he could walk away. 

I can’t just walk up to a stranger anymore. I don’t know anything about her. 

With the door closed to the bakery, Gojo could still smell you, stronger than the made desserts you were rushing to. He wanted to look at you more but you left his view. He stood in front of the nearby store, taking a breath and ready to walk away. And then he heard you. 

You spoke with rushed kindness, your voice consuming all that he could hear around him. He knew even if he tried, Gojo wouldn’t be able to block out your voice, your smell, you. You were intoxicating and he got addicted fast. This frustrated him. 

He followed his frustration, crossing the street to see if he could get a better view through the windows of the cafe. This worked, watching your side profile move as you were talking to the girl behind the counter. Hearing your voice and  watching the way you carried yourself was more consuming than the smell of you. Gojo couldn’t walk away now. 

The baker walked away to get your order as Gojo noticed the small gleam of sweat he smelled on your body earlier had disappeared. The clean cloth scent in the air grew stronger every time you looked at your phone for the time, you were nervous. 

Satoru Gojo did not understand why he could sense you from far away so strongly when everyone else didn’t affect him like this. When people were in close proximity, he blocked them out. Prior to learning control, he would have smelt what someone had for breakfast that morning hours after or hear a baby crying in the middle of the night 7 doors down . These were what his younger teen years felt like. Overwhelming and almost painful to learn control. 

This felt as if he was a teen again, unable to not feel everything around him and drown in it. Except the only thing he could sense was you, and he found himself letting it take over his breath easier than usual. 

His sight worked for him well here. He saw the lady come back behind the counter with a large box that matched the color of the store. You paid for the order and picked it up, securing your small purse around your shoulder. You didn’t struggle with the box when you left the store and weren't as in a rush as when you got there. Instead of running, you sped walk, slower than your earlier scurry. 

When you left the store and started going back the way Gojo found you, he crossed the street again and kept the same amount of distance and people in between the both of you as there was earlier. You still didn’t notice him, focused on the way back to your destination before you were too late. 

Gojo took this time to further wonder what he was doing. He wasn’t sure what he wanted from you, if he was going to meet you he would’ve done it at the bakery. This is what he repeated in his head to try to stop himself from following you further. 

To no avail, he followed you all the way to your goal. Less and less people were on the street, the normal lunch time for work coming to a conclusion. Satoru slowed his pace, not wanting it to be obvious to others that he was on your trail. He still had a good view of you from where he was lurking behind. Since there were less people, he took this opportunity to guess where you were going. He didn’t have much time to, coming to a halt when you made a turn. 

Saitama Urami East Junior High

He read the stone plaque that was carved with the school name as you hurried past it and up the stairs. No one else was around, indicating classes had already started. You were still in a rush not noticing Gojo behind you at the school entrance. At this moment Gojo realized what you were rushing to. 

She’s a teacher.

This was great in Gojo’s eyes. The best case scenario this could’ve been. You knew how to handle children, had a clean record, and liked sweets. Perfect.

The fresh cotton smell was leaving him the more you walked away, it made him want to yell out for you to stop. He couldn’t though, not when you were already running late to class. 

Satoru turned on his heel and quickly walked away back to his car. He replayed the journey in his head, wrapping his mind around the fact that no matter how hard he tried, he never had the will to walk away. After the bakery, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to anymore. 

The idea of having you in his life didn’t frighten him as much as it did before when you were a stranger. Gojo outwardly huffed at the idea of that, sounding ridiculous as if he’s known you for years. Sure, he still didn't know your name but it wouldn’t be hard to find out. His job and abilities made it easy for him to find almost anyone he wanted, and you being a teacher was not an exception. 

He got to his car in a short amount of time, too eager to not drive back to the school. His plan was to wait in his car for classes to finish for the day and wait for you to get out of work. 

And then what? 

Gojo kept asking himself this question while waiting those few hours for you. He didn’t know what, but he knew he couldn’t come up to you after following from the bakery. He wasn’t blind of the fact that it was creepy of him to wait near a school for a teacher to come out either. He was at a loss for words of what to say if he went up to you. 

The thought of his current work assignment has ceased to pop up in the contractor’s head as you never left his mind. You overpowered him more than he was used to, and not on purpose. The only other person that popped up in his mind was Megumi. 

She works with middle schoolers. When she meets him, she’ll be used to his shit because she works with kids like that everyday! 

When. He almost missed it. A word guaranteeing something happening, not if. What was he thinking? 

No, he can see it now. An image popped up in Gojo’s head. 

Megumi was sitting on the couch doing his homework as Gojo walked in from work, kicking his shoes to the side. His back ached from the scuffle he had with a case subject, realizing he definitely should have stretched beforehand. 

“Welcome back.” Megumi greeted him, momentarily looking at him walk through the living room. His eyes didn’t look back up until Gojo ruffled his hair, the same way he’s been annoying Fushiguro for years. A deep grunt came from the brunette and slapped the elder’s hand out the way, fixing his pointed tips then going back to his homework. “She’s in the room.” 

The bedroom door was closed but not locked. Satoru braced himself as he opened the door, his excitement and hunger eating at him and he felt giddy coming home to the both of you. He never got used to this, his heart thumping in his chest, feeling like electricity was coursing through him, charging him up for you. 

Your back was turned to him when he opened the door. You were too busy to notice him, drying your hair in the mirror from your shower a few minutes prior. 

Gojo ripped the sunglasses off his eyes, wanting to take a better look at you. He took this time to see what you were wearing, a shit-splitting grin growing on his face. You were in his pastel blue work shirt, some spots sticking to you from the undried shower water. His sweatpants would drag every time you moved your feet, his long legs making it hard to wear any bottoms of his. Yeah, he never got used to this. 

You didn’t notice him until he was directly behind you, making you jump from the sudden silhouette popping up in the mirror. He grabbed at your waist turning you around. His large hand coming up to cup the side of your neck, thumb running along the side of your cheek. Gojo inhaled, taking in everything in front of him.

The smell of Lotus got stronger, the happiness and warmth growing inside your heart. His fingers felt forbidden as they traveled along your back, making you gasp once they grasped your backside. Goosebumps were summoned on your skin as Gojo touched you, a shiver going down your spine. His aura was so cold, a complete irony to his hot touch. 

He pulled your face toward him into a hungry kiss. Your eyes fluttered close as you let him lead, tongue brushing against yours in simple devour. With every kiss, he sucked your breath into his, taking the life you had inside. Nibbling on your lip, he moaned against your mouth, especially when his hand that was over the clothes on your backside was now under them. Gojo pulled you into his body, pressing against you to feel how hard he was. This is how it was meant to be. 

But you had different plans, pulling at the hand on your face to pull away from the kiss. He took this as a chance to move his mouth along your check to your neck, lifting you with ease with the one hand on your ass. You whimpered as your hands pushed against his shoulders, releasing his hold from his mouth and hands moving back on the clothes. 

“Satoru, no, not now. I’m going to help Megumi with his essay and make us some food.” He still had you pressed against him as spoke, his face still dangerously close to yours. You wanted to but you couldn’t, you had things to do. 

“Let me order. You’ll be done by the time the food gets here and then I can have you all to myself.” He nuzzled into the side of your face as he spoke, both hands now gripping your ass tight and watching the way it fit in his hands in the mirror. 

You hummed at the thought, not wanting to cook now that Gojo was here. You never ordered out for you and Megumi, him giving no indication of wanting anything else anytime you cooked dinner. And Gojo was always the one to offer, willing for you to stay in the house while he got the food. 

“Hmm okay. I’ve missed you.” Your hands went up to his undercut, scratching light at the skin underneath. Gojo fluttered his eyes closed, only seeming to get harder under your touch and making his knees feel like jello. This didn’t go by you, “You missed me too.”

You kissed his lips once more and then stepped away from him, picking up the towel you dried your hair with. You giggled as he pouted, his grasp left empty as when he first walked into the room. Gojo couldn’t help but smile though when you gave him another kiss on the check before leaving the room. You adored him and he knew it. 

You joined Megumi on the couch, Gojo following you back to the living room and leaned against the side wall. He watched you both, talking and working on the essay. Fushiguro never gave you as much sass as he did Gojo, you were too nice and he spoke to you about everything. Even if he did, you never took any lip from him, calling the teen out yet worried about what was going on. Satoru couldn’t have been happier. The two most important people in his life were close with him and each other, never needing anything else but him. 

Gojo bites his lips at the thought of being close to you, hands gripping the steering wheel tight once again. He had to slow himself down and keep a level head while he waited. He needed to figure out what he was going to do once you got out of work. He needed to figure out what you were going to do once you got out of the school.

You were perfect so far, yet there was more to know. What did you do after work? Did you already have someone to go home to? Did you have any kids yourself? If you smelt like clean cotton when you were nervous, what did the lotus and the eucalyptus mean? Would you really smell like lotus if you were happy? 

Gojo would have spent all day thinking and waiting for you in his car if it meant that he would see you again. So the hours flew by yet they were painstakingly slow, the urge to hear your voice and have the sight of you in front of him fed his earlier frustration. He needed to see you. 

At the end of the school day, all the students filed out first to leave school grounds. With it being Friday, Gojo was hoping you would be out once the kids left. This would let him to really get to know you, what you do and who you see. He didn’t know when he would get this chance again, having to be home with Megumi most of the time, so he didn’t want to waste it with you being at the school all day. 

Should I have Suguru watch Megumi again next week? No, I’ll get Nanami to do it. He’ll do it if I give him one of my personal days. 

He decided to ask Nanami while he waited for you to get out of work. He probably wouldn’t answer yet, something about ‘phones being a distraction from the work at hand’ but Gojo always had his phone on. If the school called for Fushiguro, then Gojo had to be ready to answer. 

It wasn’t long after the kids left that Gojo saw you walk out the entrance you came in through. You were happier, no bakery box in hand but instead a shoulder bag for work on the side. Gojo realized the desserts must’ve been for your students when a familiar scent passed through his nose. The smell of lotus was fragrant and lush in the air, no sign of any nervousness from hours before. I was right.

You didn't take a car to work. Gojo figured that out when you had started walking far enough that he had to follow the same routine from earlier, keeping many people between you. If you ended up turning around, Gojo would be far away enough to do the same thing and act like he was looking at something else. But you didn’t and he followed you on the local train and the walk to your place. 

The trip to your small apartment building wasn’t long, actually being closer to Gojo’s house than he was to the Kaisen building. It was a wide two story building, four apartments wide. He watched you climb up the brown stairs at the side of the tan building, face neutral with thought. Your keys jingled as you unlocked your front door to get it, the stranger that followed you home standing directly underneath you below the apartment balcony. He heard the door close behind you, the lock securing in place loudly above him. Gojo let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

What now?

Satoru Gojo was never in this place before. He didn’t know his next move. He could go back to his car and park it nearby, but what if you leave your place while he’s gone? What if someone comes by? 

It was quiet for the first time since he left the office that day. Your door was strong enough to nearly block the lotus and clean cotton in the air, making it hard for Gojo to feel you once again. 

Feel you. He wondered what your touch would feel like on his skin, would it be the electricity he feels when he thinks about you? A shock wave that pulses throughout his body? Maybe it would feel like a head high, but passing through his bones and nerves rather than just his head. Whatever it was, he was willing to take it as long as you touched him. 

For what felt like days, but was really seven hours, Gojo stood under your doorstep in case you decided to ever leave your apartment that Friday night. He stayed in one position the whole day, legs crossed as his back leaned against the concrete wall, hands in his pockets. His eyes were closed, concentrating on what he could hear going on from behind your door. From time to time he would hear the dramatics of reality tv on your screen, or you speaking to a friend on the phone line about something funny or ridiculous a student did today. But Gojo’s favorite part was when you cooked yourself dinner. 

Oh how he wished he could have seen you. He heard you hum to yourself as you prepped the food, soon changing into whistling as you started to cook. Whatever was on the stove smelt great, still Gojo never took his focus off of you, by scent or hearing. You hummed and whistled a lazy tune, making his eyes flutter under sunglasses. What he would give to see you at peace right now. 

You didn’t leave your place again that night. The inside of your apartment went quiet after 10pm, and Gojo would only hear an occasional stir from deeper inside your apartment. He could only guess that it was you moving around in your sleep. He wished to see that too, another form of simple peace he would love to see on your face. 

After another half hour of convincing himself that you were asleep and wouldn’t leave your place, Gojo finally lifted himself from the wall. He had to walk back to his car and complete the duty that was assigned to him. His fists were clenched as he left, the force of having to walk away from your apartment hit him ever so slowly. It was a miracle he was able to leave the property, almost turning back around a few times to his now comfortable spot under your front door. 

Alas, Satoru finally remembered where he was originally going to go when he first saw you. The full warm feeling in his chest ruptured at the thought of Mahito, wanting to come back to you as soon as possible. He wanted to abandon his original plan to make Mahito suffer, knowing it would take away too much time from being with you. He couldn’t though, not letting Mahito suffer like the worst of them brought a disgust to Satoru’s mind, like he was doing an injustice to society by letting him die quickly. It would be. 

Once Gojo entered his car, the bottomless pit came back to his chest, crying at him to run all the way back and take you with him. He couldn’t, not to where he was going.

~~

Taglist: @ctmaw @alinasromanova @borntoexplore11-blog

[insomniac4000]

141-George Clarke

Your lipstick’s everywhere! George Clarke

Georges flat was usually chaotic with three content creators living together and a couple more being very frequent visitors, but tonight it was unusually quiet. Chris and Arthur were out filming, leaving George to relax in the kitchen with Aimee. She sat on the countertop, her laughter filling the space as George teased her about her inability to peel a clove of garlic without making a mess.

“I’m telling you, it’s an art form,” he said, waving the peeler like a wand.

“Oh, please,” Aimee replied, rolling her eyes. “Let’s not pretend you’re a culinary genius. Before I came along you were Deliveroo's best customer!”

George grinned. “I’m not pretending. I am a culinary genius.”

Their friendship had been the foundation of their relationship. For months, George and Aimee had danced around their feelings, but a few weeks ago, it had shifted. Aimee’s hand brushing his during a late-night movie session turned into a kiss, and from there, something undeniable had begun.

Now, in the soft glow of the kitchen lights, the air between them was thick with unspoken warmth.

“Alright,” George said, placing the orange slices in a bowl. “Masterpiece complete. You’re welcome.”

Aimee leaned forward, plucking a slice. “Thank you, oh great chef.”

Her playful sarcasm was cut short as George moved closer, standing between her knees. His hands rested on the counter on either side of her, and for a moment, neither spoke.

“You know,” George said softly, “we could just tell them.”

Aimee raised an eyebrow. “Chris and Arthur? You really think that’s a good idea?”

“They’re going to figure it out eventually,” George replied.

“True, but I’d rather not have them gloating about being right this early. Besides, I like having you as my little secret,” she teased, poking his chest.

George laughed. “Fair enough.”

He tilted his head upwards, and Aimee leaned in, their lips meeting in a kiss that quickly deepened. His hand slid to her waist, pulling her closer as the rest of the world melted away with her on the counter top still asserting dominance.

Neither of them heard the front door open.

Chris strolled into the flat, Arthur following behind, both mid-conversation with Arthur trying to convince Chris to do another TikTok to promote his new song.

“I just keep making a complete tit out of myself, what the—” Chris stopped abruptly in the kitchen doorway, his eyes widening. Arthur nearly bumped into him before looking over his shoulder.

“Oh, my God,” Arthur muttered, blinking at the scene before them.

George and Aimee sprang apart like teenagers caught sneaking out. Aimee’s cheeks flushed crimson, and George’s ears turned a matching shade.

“Uh, hey, guys,” George said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Chris raised an eyebrow, arms crossing. “Hey? Hey?” he repeated, his voice dripping with mock incredulity. “That’s all you’ve got?”

“It’s not what it looks like,” Aimee blurted.

“Oh, it’s not?” Arthur asked, smirking. “Because it looks like you two were very...friendly.”

“Guys, seriously,” George said, stepping forward in an attempt to diffuse the situation.

Chris tilted his head, studying George. Then, with a grin, he pointed. “Mate, your face.”

“What?” George asked, frowning.

Chris chuckled and pointed to Aimee. “Your lipstick is everywhere.”

George’s hand shot to his face, wiping at his cheeks, chin, and mouth. Aimee groaned, burying her face in her hands.

“Subtle,” Arthur quipped, leaning against the doorframe.

“Alright, fine!” George exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “We’ve been seeing each other. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” Chris replied, his grin stretching wider. “I mean, this is amazing material.”

Aimee glared at him. “If you post anything about this online, I swear—”

“Relax,” Chris said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Your secret’s safe with us. For now.”

Arthur snickered. “But seriously, how long has this been going on?”

George sighed, sitting at the kitchen table. “A few weeks.”

“A few weeks?” Chris exclaimed. “And you didn’t tell us? We live together!”

“We wanted to keep it low-key,” Aimee explained. “No drama, no teasing.”

Chris feigned offense. “Tease? Us? Never.”

“Sure,” Aimee said dryly. “Because you’re known for being so mature.”

Arthur laughed. “She’s got you there, mate.”

George leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Alright, you’ve had your fun. Can we drop it now?”

Chris and Arthur exchanged looks before nodding—though their smirks suggested the teasing wasn’t over.

“So,” Chris began, pulling out a chair and sitting opposite George. “When’s the wedding?”

Aimee groaned. “I’m going home.”

“Don’t run away,” Arthur said, stepping aside to let her pass. “We’re just getting started!”

She shot him a mock glare before heading to the door. George stood, grabbing her jacket from the hook.

“I’ll walk you out,” he said.

As the door clicked shut behind them, Chris and Arthur exchanged a look.

“Well,” Arthur said, “that was unexpected.”

Chris leaned back in his chair, a sly grin on his face. “Oh, it’s expected now. We’re never letting him live this down.”

Outside, George and Aimee lingered by her car.

“I told you this would happen,” Aimee said, laughing softly.

“Yeah, yeah,” George replied, smiling. “But it’s kind of a relief, isn’t it? No more sneaking around.”

She tilted her head. “True. But now we have to deal with their constant commentary.”

George shrugged. “We’ll survive.”

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips.

“And besides,” he added, “you’re worth it.”

Aimee smiled, resting her forehead against his. “You’re lucky I like you, Clarke.”

“Oh, I know,” he replied, grinning.

As they parted ways, George returned to the flat, bracing himself for whatever Chris and Arthur had planned.

But as he stepped back into the kitchen, he found them surprisingly quiet.

“Alright,” Chris said, gesturing for George to sit. “We’ve decided to take it easy on you.”

“Really?” George asked skeptically.

“Sure,” Arthur said. “For now.”

George sighed, slumping into his chair. “Thanks, I guess.”

[flowersandskeletons526]

"We Need A Tagger" - Warriors Concept Album Fanfic (Part 1/?)

okay so based off some of their interactions on the album, I am of the firm belief that Ajax was the one to recruit Rembrandt. This is my take on their first meeting and Rembrandt's initiation. Enjoy!

-------

Ajax sat at the table in the Warriors’ tiny apartment, holding a crumpled tissue under her still-bleeding nose. Cleon paced the kitchen around her as she muttered under her breath. In the other room, Cochise sat on the couch thumbing through a newspaper beside their newest addition, the stray Cleon found under the boardwalk and promptly promoted to second-in-command. Ajax was still a little sore about that, but Cleon made the argument that her number two needed to at least sometimes remain level-headed and Ajax couldn’t make a valid point against that. 

“For fuck’s sake, Ajax,” Cleon hissed. “When I said I wanted to expand our territory, I didn’t mean you should go off by yourself to annex two blocks!”

“I thought I was on our turf,” Ajax repeated for what felt like the hundredth time. “I swear, Cleon. I wasn’t picking a fight on purpose.”

“This time,” Cochise added.

“Fuck off.”

“If you thought someone was on our turf, you should've gotten us,” said Cleon.

“There were only three of them.”

“And only one of you!”

“Send your assistant on patrols with me if you’re worried about numbers.”

“Hey, fuck you, man!” Swan snapped.

Ajax leapt to her feet and was immediately pushed back into her seat by Cleon. “I made you an enforcer, not a scout,” she said. “You handle the issues the scouts bring in. You don’t go looking for them yourself.”

“We don’t have scouts,” Cochise pointed out. 

“I thought you were gonna talk to your friend that bartends at the Neptune Lounge. The one that’s always wearing that fucking hat.”

“Still trying to convince her.”

“Fuck.”

“We need a tagger,” Swan interjected. “Yeah, we need more members, but that’s just going to cause more problems for us if we don’t mark our borders.”

“For once,” said Ajax, “I agree with the sewer rat.”

“Dude! The fuck!”

“Cool it, you two,” Cleon warned. “Do you have any nominations?”

“I’ll find one,” Ajax offered.

“If you can find a decent tagger that isn’t already affiliated, you have my permission to bring ’em in to talk.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And no more fights!”

So ensued two weeks of fruitless searching for an unclaimed graffiti artist. Ajax went halfway insane with frustration by the end of the first week. Every time she found a new artist’s signature, she went back to report and was met with one denial or another. If they weren’t already running with a crew, it was because they were untrustworthy or had been jumped out of their old gang for some offense and Cleon didn’t want someone else’s scraps. 

Swan volunteered to go out for a few rounds with her. She knew more about the political side of things, Ajax could admit that, and since they’d both promised Cleon that they wouldn’t butt heads, the trips passed by in almost complete science. They were out late one evening, the sun setting over the ocean as they patrolled the boardwalk, when Swan stopped before a massive, impressively intricate and detailed graffiti mural sprayed across the front of a shuttered carnival booth.

She whistled as she looked over the painting. “Damn. Someone spent time on this.”

“There are a bunch of these,” Ajax said, standing beside her. “Talked to some of the carnies, they said the things pop up overnight, they get covered or washed off, and the next day there’s a whole new design.”

Swan hummed and nudged the bottom of the grate with her foot. Where she stepped, in gorgeous swirling script, was a signature. “Rembrandt,” she read aloud. “You tell Cleon?”

“Asked her, asked Cochise, asked everyone. No one knows who the guy is, just that he’s talented and prolific.”

“Well.” Swan shrugged. “Let’s find him.”

Easier said than done. When Ajax said no one knew, she meant no one. No one had a clue because no one ever saw the paintings go up. When Ajax explained her plight to the crew, the only help she got was, “You said you would find a tagger, so go find him.”

This resulted in Ajax walking the boardwalk in the dead of night, listening to the waves and her own footsteps and watching out for the sound of spray cans. Her unlucky streak finally broke one night walking past the abandoned parachute tower. She almost thought she was hearing a gas leak at first, a constant hissing from the other side of the structure. She realized it was spray paint when she heard the telltale rattle of a can being shaken.

Crouching low, she crept silently around the base of the tower. A small, slight figure wearing a respirator face mask held a can in each hand, arms flying as the graffiti artist raced through his work. Ajax watched in fascination as he dropped cans into his backpack and pulled out new colors without ever taking his eyes off his canvas, working only by the light of the moon and the city’s distant glow.

She straightened. She’d found the phantom tagger.

“Yo!” She called. The artist froze as she approached. She couldn’t see his eyes beneath his hood, only the mask. “Let me talk to you for a second.”

The artist grabbed his backpack and a paint can and bolted.

“Shit!”

Ajax took off in a chase after the artist. The little fucker was quick and agile, but Ajax was quicker and knew Coney Island like the back of her hand. “Stop!” she shouted. “I just want to talk!” He only ran faster.

Just as she thought she would run out of steam, the artist turned the corner into an alley. He hit the fence at the back hard and started to climb but Ajax had a major height advantage. She grabbed his backpack and yanked him down. He wheeled around, can in hand, and smashed her square in the face with it. 

He was quick but he wasn’t that strong. Ajax was certain the hit at least chipped a tooth, the taste of blood coating her tongue, but she wasn’t stunned. He tried to dart past her. She spun and snagged a fistful of his sleeve, then threw him backwards into the fence with enough force to knock the mask off his face. She wasn’t proud of it - she was trying to recruit the punk, after all - but her mouth hurt from the hit so she considered it a fair trade.

Ajax stood over the artist. On his ass with his back pressed to the fence, he raised a paint can and pointed it at her like a gun. His hand trembled so hard she thought he might drop his improvised weapon. His hood fell back. She finally got a good look at his face.

Staring up at her was a terrified young woman with the saddest deep brown eyes she’d ever seen. She had a busted lip halfway healed and short, wild curls framing her face. She didn’t even try to act tough; she wore the expression of someone who’d been in a similar position and knew she didn’t have the skill to fight her way out of it.

Ajax was violently aware of how dangerous she must have looked at that moment. For the first time in her life, she wasn’t proud of it.

“I’m not tagging,” the girl said before Ajax could get a word out. “I don’t run with anyone. I’m just painting. I swear I was only painting.”

Ajax tried to make her voice sound gentle. “I know. I know you’re not.” She wiped away the blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. “Fuck. You really clocked me. Sorry for throwing you, I didn’t mean to do that.”

“I’m not tagging,” the girl repeated. “I don’t-”

“I know! Calm down, I just want to talk. I’m not going to hurt you. Really.” She crouched down to the artist’s eye level. “You’re Rembrandt, right? That’s your signature?”

The girl lowered the can. “Yeah,” she said timidly. 

“Call me Ajax. I run with the Warriors.” She extended a hand to shake. Rembrandt didn’t take it. Fair enough. “You don’t have a crew, right? Did you ever run with one?”

“No.”

“Well, listen, we’re looking for a tagger-”

Red and blue lights illuminated the alley. Police sirens blared. Ajax shot to her feet.

“Shit! Why are the cops - wait! No, no, no, wait! Come back!”

But Rembrandt was already over the fence. Ajax roared in frustration and booked it, knowing she couldn’t risk getting jammed up by the cops again.

Mission failed, tail between her legs, Ajax ran home.

---------

“The artist’s a girl?” Cleon asked, huddled around the kitchen table with the rest of the gang. “Damn. I feel a little sexist now.” 

“Her paintings are amazing,” Ajax said. She was still a little breathless from her sprint back to the apartment. “And she’s insanely fast. No way the cops would ever catch her.”

“Apparently no way you could catch her, either.”

“She was listening to me. The cops scared her. That’s why she ran.”

“Take a breath, you look like you’re going to pass out,” said Swan. Ajax flipped her the bird, and she rolled her eyes. “You said she looked scared out of her mind. What makes you think you’re ever going to catch up to her again?”

“She has a point,” Cochise agreed. “Ajax, you know I love you, girl, but you’re not exactly the most, y’know, approachable person.”

“She was listening to me! If I can go out there again, I swear I can find her and get her to come back here and talk to us. Cleon, come on, have my back.” 

Cleon sighed and hung her head. “Alright,” she relented. “If you think you can get her, then go get her.”

So Ajax went.

She sat beside the unfinished painting for five nights straight. She made sure no one covered it or washed it away, hoping the graffiti artist would come back to finish her work, but Rembrandt never showed. When Ajax returned to the apartment in the morning, she was met with the same simple question: “Any luck?” And she would only shake her head before going to pass out in the room she shared with Cochise. Cleon suggested she call off the search by the fourth night of no results, but Ajax couldn’t bring herself to take a step back and she didn’t understand why. Maybe it was simply a sense of duty to succeed at this mission for her gang. Maybe it was the paintings. Maybe it was the fear in the girl’s eyes and the fact that there was so obviously someone beating on her that made Ajax want to find her so badly. 

Cleon offered to come with on the evening of the sixth day, an offer that Ajax declined. “I don’t want to show up with the crew behind me and freak her out,” she explained.

“Ajax, I really can’t afford to keep sending you out. We’ve got other jobs I need you for.”

“Two more nights. Give me a solid week.”

“You get tonight. And if you can’t find her, I’m calling it off. We’ll find another tagger.”

“Fine.”

“Be safe.”

Ajax wandered the boardwalk for a bit before parking herself in front of the unfinished mural. It hadn’t been touched. She sighed and shoved her hands in her vest pockets. This mission was a fucking bust. Two weeks of searching and a week of waiting around and she had nothing to show for it. It was already past midnight and she hadn’t seen a single sign of anyone being out there with her, let alone Rembrandt. She promised herself that she’d stay until dawn and after that, she would give up and call it quits. Still, it sucked. She hated leaving things unfinished.

She wasn’t sure when she dozed off, only that she woke with a start to the quiet patter of footsteps on the weathered wooden planks. She looked up to see the masked, hooded figure standing a little ways off and staring straight at her. She climbed slowly to her feet and raised her hands.

“I’m not packing,” she promised. “I’m here as a friend.”

Rembrandt removed her hood and pulled her mask down around her neck. In addition to the split lip, she now sported a black eye with a scabbed over cut on her cheek beneath it. She kept her left arm tucked in close to her side like it hurt to move it.

Ajax grimaced. “Holy shit, man. Is that-”

“It wasn’t from you. You didn’t throw me that hard,” Rembrandt said quietly. “What do you want from me?”

“My gang needs a tagger.”

“I’m not a tagger.”

“You’ve got more than enough skill to be one. Look, the Warriors are on our way to running Coney Island but first we need someone to define our borders. You said you just want to paint? We’d give you free reign to put up new murals anywhere you want and they wouldn’t keep getting taken down. And whatever’s going on with this…” Ajax gestured to her black eye, and she turned aside to hide it. “We could help with that, too.”

Rembrandt hesitated. “Why me? I can’t fight.”

“You wouldn’t need to, just need to run. That’s why they have me.” Ajax looked over her shoulder at the unfinished painting. She flashed a smile. “How long would it take you to finish this?”

She thought. “Thirty minutes max.”

“Great. I got your six.” Ajax stepped away from the wall and posted up behind the girl, who frowned quizzically at her. “Seriously. Finish it. Just promise you’ll come back to Warriors Headquarters with me when you’re done. My friend makes a great breakfast and our leader is a lot nicer than I am. She wants to meet you.”

Rembrandt only stared at the warrior. Ajax made a little go on gesture before returning to her watch position. She heard cans rattling behind her and the thud of a backpack hitting the boardwalk, then the hiss of spray paint. She waited a minute before glancing back. 

The graffiti artist had her mask back up over her face but left her hood off. She painted with one hand this time, moving slow, her presumably-injured arm hanging limp at her side. Ajax cringed a little internally. She was right; someone was definitely going after her. She caught a glimpse of Rembrandt’s expression, and despite looking like she’d lost a brawl, the look in her eyes was one of complete, pure, calm joy. She was truly in her element, surrounded by a cloud of spray paint, building the shape of the Wonder Wheel and the parachute tower with layers of a rainbow of colors. She added in tiny cartoon creatures running through the city. Ajax almost laughed. 

She leaned against the tower beside the painting. “You got anyone who’s gonna freak out if they think you’re missing?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” Rembrandt replied without taking her eyes off her work.

“Boyfriend? Girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Any family?”

Rembrandt paused. She turned to Ajax, showing the deep bruise on her face, her eyes downcast as the joy faded and the sadness and fear replaced it. Ajax’s heart softened just a bit.

“Got it,” she said, and faced front again.

The sky was barely beginning to lighten by the time Rembrandt packed up her cans and stuck her mask in her backpack with them. Ajax stood beside her, admiring the painting. “Looks nice,” she said.

“Thanks.”

“So…? Will you come meet with the Warriors?”

Rembrandt shouldered her bag. She shifted her weight between her feet like a little bird ready to take off. Ajax was convinced she might run again and prepared herself for another chase, but Rembrandt buried her hands in the pockets of her hoodie and looked up at the enforcer.

“Who’s your leader?” the artist asked.

“Her name’s Cleon.”

Rembrandt blinked. “Like… like Cleon? Like the Cleon?”

“Yep. The Cleon,” said Ajax. God, the fucking ego boost this was going to give that woman would be astronomical.

“She wants to meet me?”

“Uh-huh. You coming or not?”

“But she’s like - wait, hang on! Yes, I’m coming!”

Ajax led her away from the beach, off the boardwalk and into the surrounding streets. Ajax always kept her head on a swivel, always, and apparently so did Rembrandt. She walked a half step behind Ajax, staying just slightly to the right in case she needed to take off and leave Ajax behind. Fuck, she was flighty. This early in the morning, not many people were out and about yet, but Rembrandt kept her hood up and looked down to hide her face. Ajax waved her hand by her side, and Rembrandt moved to walk directly behind her. She kept stepping on the back of Ajax’s shoes on accident, apologizing profusely each time, but she picked her head up, at least.

Ajax stopped Rembrandt outside the door to the apartment. “Stay behind me,” she said, “and don’t freak out. Cochise is a little loud and Swan’s got major resting bitch face but no one’s gonna go after you. You’re safe here.”

“Okay,” Rembrandt mumbled. 

They stepped inside. Cochise stood over the stove, stirring something in a pan and humming to herself. Swan sat on the couch with DJ Lynne Pen’s show playing quietly over the radio beside her. Cleon was on the phone listening to someone talk and scribbling notes in a small journal. Ajax reached over Rembrandt’s head to shut the door and hollered, “’Sup motherfuckers!” Rembrandt flinched.

Swan looked up with annoyance drawn across her face. “Who are you calling a motherfu-…” Her voice trailed. Cochise and Cleon turned to Ajax. Ajax stepped to the side and gestured to the girl standing next to her.

“Everyone,” she announced with a smile, “meet Rembrandt.”

No one spoke. Rembrandt waved sheepishly.

Cleon said into the phone, “I’ll call you back,” and hung up the receiver. 

“Wow,” said Cochise. “She actually exists.”

Swan stood, staring at Rembrandt’s black eye. “Ajax, what did you-”

“It’s not from her,” Rembrandt interjected. “Um, sorry. Hi.”

Cleon approached. Ajax nudged Rembrandt forward, but the artist backed up into the door instead. Cleon stopped where she was, raised her hands, and offered the same comforting smile that she had given Ajax and Cochise and Swan on all their first interactions. Above all, Cleon could get virtually anyone to calm down and listen to her. 

“Hey, nice to meet you,” she said gently. Ajax watched Rembrandt’s tensed shoulders come down just a fraction of an inch. “I’m Cleon. Rembrandt, right?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Want some breakfast?”

------

And that's the end of the first part! Stay tuned because I am going to continue this

[trippiexlove]

Serendipity

ch.2- story master list

Druitt POV

It was another week, another day, another show. 

I was currently backstage, in one of the hallways sitting on equipment talking to Bianca. 

"Girl we got a few days off, what you trying to do?"

"I don't know, I know Trin wants to take a trip somewhere, I have to call her and see. You should come with us."

"You know I don't turn down a good time, let me know when and I'm there" 

We continued talking about potential places we could go, til Tez walked up wrapping his arms around Bianca.

"Rhyan you trying to steal my wife"

I rolled my eyes, "oh please, if I wanted B I can have her like that" I snapped my fingers as I said that.

"Let him know bae"

Tez quickly gave Bianca a look, I couldn't help but bust out laughing. "Oh really! Then she can have you" he started walking away

"Boy stop playing, you know I am just playing with you, later girl"

I sat there as I watched them go back and forth while walking down the hallway. I couldn't do anything but shake my head at them. 

I hopped off the box, and decided to make my way to catering since I was hungry. Once in catering, I grabbed some chips and a drink, eating light since I have a match in a few. 

As I turned around, I was met with a smiling Samoan.

"jeez, Jey give a girl a warning"

He smiled showing his bottom grill, damn did he look good.

"Thank you mama, you don't look bad yourself "

"Did I say that out loud?" I felt my face starting to warm up

"You did, but its all good you look good to, I just seen you over here and wanted to come see what's up"

" thank you," I couldn't help but blush "I'm just eating light before my match."

"yeah you got a match against Zelina tonight right? I know you gonna whoop her ass tonight. No doubt you get the dub."

"well you know, I'm not giving this title up for nobody"

"Aye Uce we got to go, Hunter wants to meet with us" Sami says from across the room.

"I'll be right there!" he turned his attention back to me "I'll be watching, go kill it like you always do."

"mmm, I'm sure I will, I got some extra motivation" after I said that I seen his eyes flash, and he bit his lip smirking at me.

"Yeet!" He gave me a quick hug before running off with Sami. 

I quickly finished my snack and threw it away, noting that it was time for me to head to Gorilla. 

I fixed the top to my gear (below) before hearing the beginning beat of my entrance (just the first 42 seconds). I stood there are the lights flash on and off for the first few beats, then turning around once the beat drop. Making my way to the ring I made sure to high-five as many fans as I could.

(gear- don’t mind it saying Bianca)

(entrance song)

"Making her way to the ring, hailing from Atlanta, Georgia, she is your Women's World Champion ... RHYAN SIMONEEE"  

After completing my entrance, I turned to look at Zelina who made her entrance before mine. I wouldn't say Zelina and I were the best of friends, but there was definitely respect amongst the both of us. 

I gave her a subtle head nod, as she gave me one back

ding, ding , ding

We immediately locked up with one another, with me gaining the upper hand. 

I pushed her into the ropes, letting her come back to me and giving her a mean clothesline. 

I quickly get down and try to go for a pin. 

1 .... 2...

Zelina kicked out of it, pushing me away. 

~fast forwarding to the end~

After a long fight with Zelina, the fight was quickly coming to an end. 

I set her up for my move, The Rhyne-stone (backstabber to a bank statement)

I held it as tight as I can, pulling back as far as I could. 

"COME ON TAP OUT!" 

I held it for a few more seconds until Zelina finally tapped out. I dropped her getting up smiling and out of breath.

"HERE'S YOUR WINNER, AND STILL WOMEN'S WORLD CHAMPION .... RHYAN SIMONEEEE"

I held up title as I celebrated on the top rope. After my celebration, I jumped out the ring and started walking up the ramp. On my way up, I signed a few autographs and made my backstage.

"Great match Rhyan" Hunter gave me a pat on my shoulder.

"Thanks Hunter"

As I made my way through the halls, I saw Jey hanging around.

"that's going to be a tough act to follow" he looked up at me smiling. 

"No doubt, you did your thing out there"

"thank you, your going to go out there and kill it to"

"appreciate it ma, what you doing for your few days off"

"I have no clue, might go visit home for those few days"

"How about when you come down we hang out around the city"

"I would like that"

Before Jey could say anything, a producer came from around the corner. "Hey Jey it's almost time"

"Yeet!"

He jumped down off the crates and stood in front of me.

"good luck, I'll be watching" I smirked ta him as he looked at me smiling.

"I guess I got some motivation to" I blushed as I gave him a quick hug, heading back in my locker room. I took a really quick shower and changed just in time for Jey to make his entrance. 

A knock came to my door, and I got up to open it. Standing before me was Bianca in her chill clothes. 

"Hey boo" she gave me a hug as I stepped aside for her to enter the room. "Oop, not you watching your man's match"

"oh girl please he is not my man, that man don't want me"

"Anybody with eyes can tell that man wants you"

I rolled my eyes at her, focusing back on the screen as Jey delivers a superkick to Drew McIntyre. That's when my phone went off, and I saw Trin's name flash across my screen.

"Hey bestieee"

"Hey sis, what's up?"

"Nothing, just wanted to call and say that was a bad ass match"

"Thanks sis! I got to give credit to Zelina though, I love working with her in the ring"

"Yeah she's a great performer, but I was also calling to ask if you wanted to come to Atlanta with me?"

"That's actually funny, I was talking to Jey about going home for those few days"

"You talked to Jey!" Both Trinity and Bianca shouted 

"ummm yes-"

"what did you say" Bianca was paying attention to me now, completely turned around on the couch.

"nothing much, he asked what I was doing, I said I was going home, and he offered for us to hang out"

I can hear Trin screaming in the phone, "AHHH let me find out my bestie about to be my new sis in law"

"Girllll stop! aint nothing going on between us"

"you sure about that?"

"I mean, of course we flirt but it's nothing major"

"I bet it's something major for him, cause that man wants youuu!" Trinity yelled in my ear. 

"Ahhh I can't wait for you to become my sister in law! I got to tell Jon"

"No!" I yelled through the phone "there is nothing to tell Jon"

"Oop not she being defensive" Bianca said instigating the situation even further.

I rolled my eyes at them and their shenanigans. 

"Well I will see you in the A SIS IN LAW!" then she quickly hung up the phone before I could say anything. 

"You know, sometimes I wonder why I am friends with y'all"

"It is because you love us!" Bianca jumped on top of me and gave me hug with a big smooch on the cheek.

"Girllll, get off me" I couldn't help but laugh at her, as she got back to where she was seating. 

We continued watching Jey's match until the announcer stated that he won, and he was doing his celebration with crowd, vibing out closing the show. 

I quickly gathered my things, and headed out the locker room, with Bianca right behind me. 

"So we fly out Wednesday, and then fly out to the house show on Saturday?"

"Yeah, we got to make sure we are there early, you know what happened last time" then I turned and gave her a look.

"Ooh girl don't remind me!" Bianca shook her head, as we walked up to her husband. He would be driving us to the airport so we can all make our late night flights. 

"Hey Tez, thank you again for letting me tag along"

"No problem sis, you know we got you" He proceeded to grab both of our bags and put them in the trunk. 

I climbed in the backseat, as Bianca and Tez got in the front. He pulled off towards the gate to get out the arena. 

"What's the plans for this week?" Tez asked as we pulled off onto the highway. 

"Nothing much, going to be heading down to Atlanta with Trinity, might visit my family while I am down there" I said as I scrolled through my IG Feed. 

"mhmm and see her boo or whatever" Bianca said giving me a look through the mirror, as I gave her one back. 

"Oooh not little Rhyan got somebody, who's the unlucky guy" I gasped as I smacked his arm and he laughed. 

"Don't play me, and Bianca just playing around" I sat back rolling my eyes in a playful manner. 

All of a sudden my phone dinged, alerting me I had an incoming message. I looked and seen it was Jey. 

Main Event 💙

"Hey beautiful, when you gone be in town again?"

"I should be there on Wednesday, going to be flying early and staying til our house show on Saturday."

"Got room in your plans Friday for lunch or dinner?"

"I can definitely do dinner on Friday"

"Bet, I'll pick you up wherever you are around 8 on Friday"

"See you then ☺️"

"Yeet!"

I seen I had another message coming through and saw it was from Bianca. 

Queen Bi 💋

"I see you back there smiling bitch 😏 "

I looked up and seen she was looking dead at me through the mirror, I gave her a middle finger and laughed. 

Soon we arrived to the airport.

"Thanks for the ride, it is always joyous riding with the Crawfords"

"Anytime sis," Bianca hugged me "text me once you land and make it home"

"You the same, see you on Wednesday" I quickly gave Montez a hug, grabbed my stuff, and we went our separate ways

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trinity_fatu my sistaa so pretty! 

↪️rhyansimone thank you sistaa!

wwefan1 you're one of my favorite superstars!

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[troutfur]

A kit for Sandclan! Cobrakit, a short-furred ginger tabby tom

(Forgive that I'm not giving Featherstorm's reaction for this one. It's not personal, I simply have run out of fun things to write for that section.)

A TOM!!!!! YES, THANK YOU! We are severely lacking those, our gender ratio is sooooo skewed.

But anyway! Chart!

[Image ID: Under the header “What will Cobrakit’s life be like? (02/12/2023)” 16 rows of tally marks crossed out two by two until there is only 1 or 2 left uncrossed. To the left, a shield chart at the top with the following geomantic figures: Via as the first mother, Populus as the second mother, Puer as the third mother, Carcer as the fourth mother, Puella as the first daughter, Amissio as the second daughter, Laetitia as the third daughter, Puella as the fourth daughter, Via as the first niece, Rubeus as the second niece, Tristitia as the third niece, Fortuna Maior as the fourth niece, Puella as the right witness, Albus as the left witness, Carcer as the judge, and Coniunctio as the sentence. Below the shield chart, an astrological house chart with the first twelve geomantic figures above mentioned assigned to houses 1 to 12 in the order mentioned above. /end ID]

This chart's a little more evocative. Immediately I notice Carcer as the judge and Coniunctio as the sentence so some kind of restriction or bondage, whether physical or immaterial, is the overall theme of Cobrakit's life but in the end it will bring connection and community. I'm lowkey hoping this chart will look overall favorable for a leader. Cobrastar sounds so cool. Anyway, our witnesses are Puella to the right and Albus to the left. Puella and Albus are weird in opposition, the former representing emotions and putting the needs of others before one's own and the other wisdom that comes with age. Is the chart trying to tell us Cobrakit will defy the status quo? Will they stand up to the establishment in service of others? Still hoping for a leader-like character here...

Via in the first house is always a welcome sight. The symbolism of motion and change always lends itself to eventful character biographies.

Populus in the second house is also welcome because I honestly just appreciate not having to think too hard about what the association of the second house with material posessions even could mean in this setting. This is seriously the biggest weakness in the method I believe. If anyone has any suggestion for how I could work the second house more cohesively into the system, I'm all ears.

On the third house we have Puer. I know I said that interpreting Puer and Puella simply by their meanings as signifiers of the gender polarity was boring and all but. I've wanted to give more of these siblings and we are in need of more toms so... an all male litter? I'm thinking three or so.

Carcer in the fourth house is something we have seen before! Strict parenting and/or mentorship. I'm leaning towards mentorship more. I do still want to see if I can finnagle this into Cobrastar.

Puella in the fifth house which I'm choosing to interpret as Cobra will grow up to be a nurturing parent. We love to see our den dads around these parts and I'm taking any excuse I can.

Amissio in the sixth house... You know what we are missing? A character with a cool scar or something. I am picturing the loss predicted here to be perhaps... losing an eye? Once again, would make a lot of sense if we're trying to slot this chart into a potential leader.

Laetitia in the seventh house! Good family life with his partner. I like that. I like that.

Puella in the eight house. Overlaps a little with Hickorydawn's whole thing but I think if I'm already dead set on leader for this one being able to be a comfortable presence for his clan in their time of need would be good. Honestly, between Puella here and Puella in the fifth house, I'm just thinking this dude would grow up to be just a super charismatic and comforting presence in the Clan.

Via in the ninth house. We already saw it in the first house and here it reinforces the idea he had a transformation of some kind. The rest of the chart is not implying it yet, but I think I have an inkling of what I can weave with the last three houses...

Rubeus in the tenth house is where I think I can get my angle in. While the chart has been portraying him as a pretty uncomplicated and chill dude thus far, the notion that anger and positions of power are related for him is certainly interesting. I could perhaps say, could he initially ascend to deputy on the basis of being a more aggressive type than he ended up being? Was the journey in question about mellowing out? Perhaps this is how he lost that eye I decided way back in the sixth house.

Tristitia in the eleventh house we can build this up further. Tristitia, sorrow, in the house of allies and supporters perhaps refers to how his supporters will react to his mellowing out. Perhaps as he turns to a new cat he can and becomes an emotional support for his clan his old supporters will lament a lot about who he used to be.

And finally Fortuna Maior in the twelfth house. He'll have to work hard to overcome adversities (perhaps those who liked him better how he was before?) but in the end he will thrive by his own efforts.

Putting it all together:

Cobrakit was born alongside two brothers. He was apprenticed to a warrior that was very strict with him and encouraged in him an aggression that would earn him a reputation as a ferocious fighter. He even lost an eye to show for it and everything. This put him in the radar of the leader as a favorite deputyship candidate of a certain vocal faction of aggressive cats within SandClan. He of course gladly accepted but the position of responsibility began to make him rethink his approach. Particularly as the Clan came to rely on him more and he took on more of an interest in being an emotional support through the tragedies of combat and death, he began to mellow out. The faction that had initially favored him for deputy felt extremely betrayed at this but Cobra now stood up for himself on his own authority and his likability as a deputy. Along the way he found a partner, raised children on his own, and has grown quite well into his duties as deputy and, eventually, leader.

So, give it up for the leader of SandClan Cobra(strike)star!

[genericpuff]

vent post

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

For your consideration.

(Reminder to vote in the poll)

[ask-the-totally-real-peppino]

It is i! The one who collects the random facts!

(And forgets if my questions have been answered or not!)

Can Pep do the whole "Take off my head and throw it at Peppino" thing? Like he did in Pizza tower? Since in this Au he's more... melty.

(I have offhandedly mentioned it a few times, but yes, Pep can remove his head like in game (anything that happens in game, assume he can do). The fact that he is 'melty' does not affect his ability to do so - unless he is upset and unable to hold his form, making parts of his body fuse into each other

In fact, all clones (Fake Peppinos and Peppiclones alike), can remove their heads, and it's kind of a bonding experience to swap heads for a while hehe

Anyway, Pep brain jumpscare raugh!!!

[icewindandboringhorror]

I occasionally wish to reach out to old friends/acquaintances I haven't spoken to since high school/some other even earlier time in my life, but I have SOOO little social energy even for required tasks (like making dr phone calls or etc), I never have any leftover for extra ones, and it would be very odd to message someone I haven't spoken to in like 5 years out of the blue but then take 4 entire months to respond back lol.. My natural curiosity with nostalgia/collecting details of the past/etc. (literally if I were born a little earlier I would definitely do scrapbooking or something lol) is very strong, but, alas, not strong enough to beat out the Social Issues Demons apparently

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...