#grinninglikeadevil

"i swear, if i get put in the fuckin' box one more time, i'm gonna start taking people's knees out." rory hissed over the rim of his beer bottle, "try playin' fuckin' hockey without any fuckin' knees."

obsessed with you!? i cannot wait until i'm home so we can be absolute menaces together ( also ummm the DnD ic bullshit HELLOOOOOO @nopartyinvitations )

Levi was leaning against one of the old columns, looking up at one of the broken windows. "How did you find me? Here I thought I was good at hiding."

@taylorswift @taylornation

SEND ME POSITIVE THINGS! POSITIVE HOURS ON MAIN!!!

by the last night, everything in her felt worn thin in a way frankie couldn't hide anymore. they were sleep-deprived, wired wrong, with skin too tight over something that wouldn't settle. and when she found wren backstage, she didn't close the distance all the way. just stopped a few feet off, arms folded like they didn't trust what they'd do otherwise. her gaze flickered up to him and then away again, like even that was too much to hold. "don't—" they started, then cut themself off, jaw tightening. she tried again, this time quieter. "don't turn this into a joke, okay." it wasn't sharp, just tired. a beat passed where they didn't say anything else, like they were weighing whether this was even worth it, or if they should just let it end the way everything else in their life tended to: half-said, half-understood. "i've been off all day," she muttered finally, picking at the seam of her sleeve, not looking at him. "feels like… when you know something's ending before anyone actually says it out loud." their mouth pressed into a thin line. "and i keep trying to act normal about it, but it's—" she exhaled through her nose, short and frustrated. "i can't do this. i DON'T do this."

THE BELL over the restaurant door had barely stopped ringing before regret started crawling up frankie’s spine. she felt ridiculous the second she stepped inside — all sharp eyeliner and tattoos wrapped up in a dress that clung too tight to her hips, heels clicking against the floor while she tugged awkwardly at the hem like maybe she could make herself SMALLER. this was exactly why they hated blind dates. sage’s babysitter had laughed her out the door twenty minutes earlier, insisting she deserved ONE NIGHT where she wasn’t covered in stencil ink and goldfish cracker crumbs, but now her stomach twisted hard enough to make her want to turn around and leave. and then they looked up. recognition hit instantly. wren. fucking WREN. one of her clients. the guy who sat in their chair for hours at a time while they pressed ink into his skin and traded easy conversation over the buzz of a tattoo machine. heat flooded straight into her face so fast it almost hurt. “oh my god,” they breathed, already grimacing as they approached the table. one hand rubbed nervously over the side of her neck before she laughed once — embarrassed and disbelieving. “i’m so sorry. i told katrina NOT to set me up and...” another glance down at themself only made it worse somehow; the dress suddenly felt too tight, the heels too loud, their whole body too exposed in a way it never did at the shop. “now we’re here.” and she was going to kill katrina.

“stay in my bunk tonight… i sleep BETTER when you’re here, even if all you do is take up space and breathe next to me.”