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Nicholas thought he was done with London, but London was not done with him.
In which Nicholas and Danny talk; a lot, but not about dragons; and Nicholas realizes he’s a terrible liar and a bit of a sap.
Bookmarked by maple_evermore
07 Feb 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
“Can I come back?” Danny asks; slurry-voiced from near sleep.
“Sure, but there’s not much time,” Nicholas says. His voice sounds funny. Possibly his tongue needs sleep as well. “The assignment was for six weeks.”
“Oh.” Danny curls into him, threading together any parts that will mesh. Nicholas feels too lax to even wonder at it and rests into a tangle of limbs. So when Danny suddenly lifts his head, it startles him.
“Wait, six weeks?”
Nicholas struggles to shrug. “The Chief Inspector said they’d consider it a non-issue after that.”
“Then you’d come home?”
“Yeah?”
Danny is kissing him again. Hard. Hungry. Nicholas finds himself responding despite feeling utterly drained. When Danny pulls away, his expression is something Nicholas, with all his years of trained human observation, cannot define.
“You couldn’t wait one more week to see me?” he demands hoarsely.
Nicholas knows now what that expression is. What it has been all along, lurking beneath all the other expressions used to qualify it.
“No. I couldn’t,” he answers.
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He came from a world where magic is not fiction, and spells are part of everyday life. And where does he have his Mage, to whom he has sworn eternal loyalty, to whom he must return | bravebyers au, Paladin Mike who falls into their world for one day and Will Byers, who is insanely jealous and envious of himself from another world (and just jealous Mike Wheeler)
Bookmarked by maple_evermore
06 Feb 2026
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Sir Michael assesses them both. He seems to accept whatever he finds, nodding slowly. “I see. My apologies, I have gotten ahead of myself. For how long have you two been courting, then?”
Someone chokes behind them, and for a long moment, Mike honestly thinks he's misheard him. The look on his face is dead serious, though, stoic in a way that makes it very clear he's not joking.
“What?” he croaks. He looks over at Will, who looks just as caught off guard as he feels.
“You need not be shy,” Michael reassures them, back straightening. “I, too, was hesitant when William and I first began our courtship. I understand.”
When Mike's doppelganger shows up dressed like something straight out of one of their D&D campaigns, he thinks he should be thrilled. There are alternate universes. There are alternate universes with knights and wizards and dragons. And, honestly, Mike probably would be thrilled, under normal circumstances. The guy is just so weird about him and Will.
Bookmarked by maple_evermore
05 Feb 2026
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i am caught, right inside your line of fire by ethqreal
Fandoms: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
02 Feb 2026
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“Why are you touching him? You don’t own him.”
Will dropped his head into his hands. “Mike, oh my god—”
Paladin Mike’s jaw tightened. “I do not own him,” he said immediately. “He is—” He stopped, swallowing. His eyes went back to Will softening, and that softness made Mike hate him even more. He could recognize the look, and saw it mirrored in his own eyes countless times.
[...]
“He is the Light. By your oath, I am bound to him. My liege.” He bowed his head slightly toward Will, his mouth wrapped around the word like it was a prayer. “My cleric.” He said after, softer.
“Oh my god.” Will flushed, impossibly. “That is crazy. He is actually crazy."
Max, who had been standing with her arms crossed behind them, muttered, “Jesus Christ,” under her breath.
Mike Wheeler is going to explode, because there is an alternate, armoured version of him, following Will Byers around like he belonged to him.
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- English
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Bookmarked by maple_evermore
05 Feb 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
Will’s brows knit, faintly. “Okay. So what?” He looked confused, and unsure.
“So what?” Mike repeated, incredulous. “Because—because you don’t.” He spluttered, his words tripping over each other now. “You don’t belong to him.”
Will studied him. His jaw tightened, and his clenched once at his sides, then again, like he was bracing himself. "Okay." He said finally. "Who do I belong to then?"
Mike stared at him. He swallowed roughly, and Will was still staring at him, knowing soaked into the way he held himself. He understood more than Mike ever could, and it made him sick, because he wished once that he could catch up. He always felt like he was running behind Will, trying to keep up with the magic of his mind. He just wanted to understand, he just wanted to run with him.
“Do I belong to you?” Will asked quietly, if he wasn’t going to.
Mike froze. The answer rose in was immediate, and ugly and reverberated through every part of him. It ripped through him, before he could even try to convince himself otherwise.
Yes.
Of course, you do.
It was there in his bones, running through his blood. How could he explain to him? How could he explain that he felt an ugly scream in his chest every time he laid his eyes on him. In the way his chest ached every time Will entered a room. In the way his attention tunneled, and he would track him across the room, the house (—the world, if Will would just let him). Will was the first thing Mike could remember warning, the first person he ever learned how to protect, the first of all of his memories, of every version he had been.
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“He really does look like Mike,” Lucas breathes, as he gives Mike’s twin a scan, head to toe.
“Yeah, if Mike were way hotter and a knight?” Max chips in, and Will can vaguely hear Mike muttering again. “He looks so medieval, like he’s from Camelot or some shit.”
“I am Michael,” the knight begins to plead again. He turns his doe eyes back to Will, returning to his side like a diligent guard, even going as far as to reach out and take his hands. “Please, you have to believe me. I would never lie to you. Have I ever broken our oath? Let me prove it.”
Will was a bit preoccupied with gazing into the knight’s eyes, his cheeks flushing under the intense stare and the way his hands were held so gently. Mike had no issues ruining their moment.
“And he’s weirdly obsessed with Will.” Mike sounds even angrier than he did in the woods, and his sharp tone is enough for Will to snap out of his hand-holding to step a respectable distance away from the knight. “We need to send him back to wherever he came from.”
or
Mike the Brave ends up in Hawkins and sweeps Will off his feet. Mike has a lot of Feelings™ about it.
- Language:
- English
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- 18,335
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- 2/2
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Bookmarked by maple_evermore
04 Feb 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
Eventually, they pulled apart, chests heaving as they gasped for air, but Mike hadn’t quite had his fill yet, so he littered kisses across Will’s face and down his neck. It doesn’t take long for him to realize that Will was so perfectly sensitive about his neck, and Mike fully intended to use it to his advantage.
He found a spot that had Will tugging his hair with the sweetest of sighs and got to work, sucking and nibbling at his pale skin, until the hand in his hair grew more incessant. “Mike, you’re gonna- it’s gonna leave a mark.”
“Good,” Mike responded, lips brushing against the reddened skin. “Let him see.”
“Shit,” was the only response Will provided before Mike was being yanked back up for a proper kiss.
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in another life, you still would've turned my head by tearsofsaudade
Fandoms: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
02 Feb 2026
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Michael stepped closer to Will, until he was nearly pressed against his side. He looked at him, head tilted down to meet his gaze. His boots made him taller, making the height difference he and Mike shared even more pronounced. Will shivered when he felt a hand press against his lower back.
“My choices are yours, my prince. If you would like me to distance myself, I will do so without hesitation. Would you like that?”
Will stared, mouth agape. Michael’s eyes were boring into his soul. Mike had never looked at him like that, and it was doing things to him. Slowly, he shook his head.
Michael smirked, looking pleased.
“Hey,” Mike snapped. “I said back off, okay?”When an alternate version of Mike, a strong, confident knight, appears in Hawkins, the Party attempts to help him get home, and Will attempts to survive his flirting.
Series
- Part 1 of we would've been timeless
Bookmarked by maple_evermore
04 Feb 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
Will jerked his hand from Michael’s, his entire body going cold. Right. Couldn’t feel good to watch himself cozied up to another man. “Sorry,” he said, not entirely sure who he was apologizing to.
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Mike said, still glaring at Michael. “He’s the one making things weird.”
“I have seen no evidence of any oath you have made to protect him,” Michael said, climbing to his feet and glaring back, his hand on the handle of his sword as he stared him down. “Your love for him clearly does not run deep enough.”
“My love runs plenty deep,” Mike hissed. Michael was using the extra height his boots gave him to his advantage, so he could look down at the other version of himself. “I just don’t think it’s fair for you to use him as some phony replacement. You have your own Will. So keep your goddamn hands off of mine.”
Michael raised his eyebrows. “Oh? He is yours, then, is he? Because earlier he said to me that you are a friend. You know him not. If he is truly yours, you would have already ravished him, as I—”
“Okay!” Will interrupted as he burned with embarrassment, diving between them and shoving them apart. “That’s enough out of you two.”
“Mike, let’s take a walk,” Lucas said, grabbing him by the shoulder.
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The Upside Down isn't the only alternate universe the party has to worry about it seems. When something inexplainable happens during a game of D&D, Will is replaced by... Will? Will the Wise appears before everyone, confused on why his friends are wearing such strange garbs and what dungeon he has stumbled into. Meanwhile, Will finds himself surrounded by fantastical versions of his friends clad in armor and robes somewhere far, far from Hawkins. The party now has a new mission to figure out how to get their Wills switched back around, and Mike needs to figure out what this feeling in his chest is all about.
Or
If Will had a nickel every time he was transported into an alternate reality that had some similarities to his normal reality, he'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot, but its weird that it happened twice, right?
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It’s not his fault he had to leave home, leave Vegas, leave you. You know this. It doesn’t make it hurt any less to know that he’s gone for good.
Or, the boy and the desert and the painting and everything in between.
Series
- Part 2 of people who weep for the death of rivers
Bookmarked by maple_evermore
03 Feb 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
Theo is very still against you, building up to say something. You wait it out.
Maybe, he says, after the holidays, when the shop is less busy – maybe we can go.
You don’t know what to say, but you’ve been practicing in the mirror for months now for a moment just like this.
Theo, you say, the syllables still coming out a little muddled and very un-American, despite your best efforts. The look he gives you is bug-eyed, profound.
Yes, yes, you say. Have been practicing. Very hard to say your name in my mouth.
His hand around yours is shaking. Anyway, yes. Would love to go to California with you, see redwoods and Pacific Ocean. Maybe find little house that does not cost so much money? Have vacation home like wealthy American businessmen, yes?
You cut yourself off as another thought occurs to you. Sea lions! you say. Would very much like to –
Your words peter out as he kisses you, hungry and overwhelming.
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One day, Theo thinks, he’ll wake up and Boris won’t be there in the frigid air next to him; the sheets, so often tangled around his legs, will be loose and sliding to the floor. Theo will look out the window and see Boris on the horizon, just a shimmering mirage in the distant on the dusty road to nowhere. The thought hurts, not because Boris would be leaving, but because Theo wouldn’t be with him.
Which is stupid, honestly. Wherever Boris goes, Theo is going. Why wouldn’t he? And besides, Boris would never leave without him.
Bookmarked by maple_evermore
03 Feb 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
Boris lifts his eyes. He’s completely unreadable. No doubt he feels Theo’s pulse hammering against his wrist.
Say something. Say something before it’s too late and this gets more fucked up than it already is.
Shit.
“Not in love with me, eh?” Boris murmurs. Theo’s chest seizes up.
“Shut up,” he chokes out. “Boris. Fuck.”
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He knew why. He wished that he did not but deep down he knew. They both did, at one point or another. Maybe not in words, but it was between them all the same. The way that they knew that the sky was blue and how the sun-warmed sand burned like fire. Theo loved Boris and perhaps, although he was a fool to believe it, maybe Boris loved him a little bit too.
Alternatively: the soulmate au in which every significant person in your life leaves a smudge of colour on you.
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- English
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Bookmarked by maple_evermore
03 Feb 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
“What-” Theo hisses, staring feebly ahead at the television that neither of them had been watching. “What are you doing?”
“I am very sorry.” Boris whispers, something that Theo feels more than hears, and a hysterical trill runs through him at the realisation.
“Sorry for what? Kissing my neck?” Theo asks, twisting in Boris’ grasp so that he can meet the man's eyes. It is jarring, how close they are, scarcely a space between them, enough that their noses would touch if one of them were to inch closer.
“You are very bad at talking about important things, always changing subject to something stupid.” Boris tells him, voice steady and expression terribly fond. He raises the hand from Theo’s shoulder, fingers skirting against the sensitive flesh of his ear before the palm rests flat against his cheek, heavy and firm. He can feel the callouses, the rough groove of scar tissue against his jaw.
Boris is handsome like this, Theo notices, and realises that he is not surprised to think it. Dressed down and expression gentle, dark eyes like crushed charcoal fluttering between his own to try and entice some response from him other than evasion or his pathetic floundering. The curve of his jaw soft as he smiles and rasps his thumb across Theo’s cheek.
It was a surprise to the both of them, however, when Theo leaned forward to close the gap between them. His mouth is too dry and he only manages to catch the corner of Boris’ lips, who hums a chuckle that reverberates through Theo like the deafening rattle of that goddamn bomb. Then, Boris turns his face with the hand that is still holding his jaw and deepens the kiss with the glance of his mouth and the press of his tongue. He kisses like a man with a lot of experience, knowing far more than Theo had managed to learn. Boris was always the first, always the teacher, and it seemed oddly right that it would be Boris to teach him how to twist his tongue like that. It was unlike any kiss he had had before, Boris heavy against him but mouth wet and pliant, the rasp of their heavy breaths and the ache of his knuckles where they were clenched against his thighs.
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i want to hold you like you're mine by rosekings for freshbloom
Fandoms: The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
13 Aug 2019
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Summary
They sit on the floor in Theo’s bedroom, their backs pressed against the side of his bed. Hands clasped tightly together, resting atop the rough carpet between them. Theo isn’t thinking about it, more focused on the window in front of him and the cold glass of juice in his free hand, but at the same time, it’s all he’s thinking about. Screwdrivers in frosty glasses and the sharp smell of chlorine that permanently tinges the bedroom and the dull gray light falling through the window and the warm skin of Boris’ hand in his bandaged own, so certain and there that it makes Theo’s chest ache.
Bookmarked by maple_evermore
02 Feb 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
So as the first flickers of worry cross Boris’ eyes, worry that he’s said the wrong thing or stepped too far, Theo places both hands on his cheeks, pulls him down, and kisses him.
For a moment, he thought he wouldn’t know what to do, but now he realizes that kissing Boris is as familiar to him as anything else. He just needed to jog his memory. And God, it’s wonderful. It’s Boris’ chapped lips on his, his hands on Theo’s hips, his slender fingers warm and welcome against Theo’s waist underneath his drenched shirt, the closeness of their bodies staving off the cold of the rain soaking through their skin. It’s home, more home than Theo has felt since New York.
“You and me,” Theo says breathlessly when they pull apart. “Sounds good.”
He’s never seen Boris so happy and alive. “Sounds good,” he repeats, beaming, staring at Theo like he’s just been handed the world. Fuck. Maybe he has. Theo sure feels like it, anyways.
He slides a hand into Boris’ dripping wet hair and pulls him down again, because this is something he’s never going to get enough of, not now that their feelings are allowed to exist when they’re sober (or at least sober-adjacent) and not now that he knows exactly what – who – he wants. Their grips on each other are almost painful, their lips pressed together so hard it’s bruising in the best way possible. This is an entirely new kind of drowning. It’s not the rain that’s filling his lungs, it’s Boris.
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If Theo and Boris hadn’t been in Vegas together at the exact same moment, they would both be dead today. Boris knows it like he knows his own name. He'd be rotting in a ditch somewhere in Poland or Ukraine, and Theo- he'd be long gone, a smear on the Nevada pavement. But while the painting had kept Boris alive after their separation- what had kept Theo afloat? With no goldfinch to keep him tethered to the earth, and no Boris to dig him up if he got buried too deep?
If he were to scour the globe looking for him now, what would he find?
or
Boris and Theo think of each other for ten years. They don't always realize it.
Bookmarked by maple_evermore
02 Feb 2026
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meditations on touch, on those confusing and fucked-up nights, on souls too mixed up in each other: Theo and Boris, the Las Vegas years
Bookmarked by maple_evermore
02 Feb 2026
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“Promise me you’ll come. Eventually. Just…come see me. Sit still with me for a while.” He holds back everything else he wants to say. Get a place with me. Run the shop with me. Laugh and make dinner with me. Let me wake up next to you every morning and not have to worry if I’m never going to see you again.
“I promise.” Boris says it like it was already obvious, something that didn’t even need to be said. “Of course I promise.”
Bookmarked by maple_evermore
01 Feb 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
Theo barely, barely restrains himself from tackling Boris again, because his gaze is frozen on the pale strip of skin between Boris’ waist and where his shirt has rucked up around his stomach. Theo thinks he kissed that spot once, maybe, in another life. Was that real? Or was it some dream he had, back then or possibly years later, curled up on cold tile somewhere and high out of his mind? If it was a dream, how does he remember the way Boris’ breath caught and he shivered underneath him so vividly?
He catches Boris watching him curiously and quickly looks away as his body flushes with embarrassment. God, he’s an idiot, he really is.
But he can’t help wondering, because of the look in Boris’ eyes – maybe it was real. Maybe they were both remembering it
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Summary
Of all the people in this world, Boris cares the most. His touches, his words, all of his effort. He cares about Theo. But beyond that, beyond caring, there lies the unspoken territory of something else. Something doors are opened to when an arm reaches out and pulls him close in the middle of the night, or when Theo feels himself go warm everywhere, from his skin to his bones; when he falls into that territory but doesn’t acknowledge its existence.
They both know it’s there.
They ignore it, though; they go on with how they are, they don’t speak of it.
Series
- Part 4 of the midnight chronicles
Bookmarked by maple_evermore
01 Feb 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
“I wanted to,” he says, relinquishing his grip ever so slightly. “Always I want to, glupyy trakh. You are impossible, Potter.”
Theo shrugs. “So do it.”
“Now?”
“No, next Tuesday, yes n—”
He doesn’t finish. Who the fuck cares, though, when Boris is kissing him?
It’s not gentle; it’s rough, open mouthed, hungry and eager. Boris puts all of his weight on Theo, so that he can feel every taut muscle, and kisses him with enough passion to simply shatter Theo’s universe.
He doesn’t worry too much when he moans against Boris’s lips—only, somehow, that makes everything ten times more intense. Suddenly they’re tugging at each other, then Theo is on top, then Boris, and they’re both gasping for air—
Time stops. There’s nothing beneath him. He’s falling; off the bed and onto the floor, and Boris comes with.
He draws away from Theo, hair falling into his eyes, face flushed. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fucking fine, just come back here.”
It’s almost like two planes meeting, or dimensions colliding, kissing Boris. There’s so much happening; so many sparks, fires, feelings. There’s a raging inferno spreading over the expanse of his skin. Boris’s hands are in his hair and then under his shirt, and then his shirt is gone. They’re all over him, rekindling every flame that dies out.
“Theo—”
“Don’t,” Theo tugs him back down, desperately soaking every last second of this up before Boris draws away and never returns. “Please, god, just fucking don’t.”
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And twice more our paths crossed through the night by liminalweirdo
Fandoms: The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
07 Aug 2015
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Summary
Takes place immediately after the end of the novel, in Boris's flat in Antwerp. Theo muses on the things they did as teenagers, and the tension between them finally reaches its breaking point. Almost.
Bookmarked by maple_evermore
01 Feb 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
His mouth tasted like cigarettes, and his tongue was dry, scraping the inside of my mouth, and I think it was only then that I realised in any real sense, that he was kissing me back.
We clung to each other, hands tangled and pulling at each other's hair, our arms getting in each other's way and I had to struggle with him to pull away, to sit up so I could undo his jeans, but he was clutching the back of my skull, saying anxiously against my mouth, “No! no,” which meant don’t leave. When he realised where my hands had gone, however, tugging at the heavy cloth of his jeans he let me go and arched up, nails scraping against the bedsheets.
I don’t know what I expected. Piercings, perhaps, shock of hard metal against the curve of my hand, but he was like I remembered in those hazy dream-like memories, just him -- hot, thin skin against my hand and suddenly I felt almost like crying and it shocked me so much that I must have gone still, because suddenly he was there, kissing me again like he didn’t want to revert back to what we had done as boys where we never kissed, where we woke up on opposite ends of the bed and never spoke of it in the morning.
I made a sound when he pressed his hand up between my legs and he swallowed it, and there was a strange, unreal duality to the whole thing -- then and now -- because it was so easy to slip back into all of this again, despite being fairly sober, despite him being taller than I remembered, the new tattoos, the absence of those leather bracelets and -- “Ah!” fuck
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Summary
After reuniting, after Amsterdam, after everything, Boris wants to settle down and build a life with the man he loves. He doesn't tell Theo about this plan, exactly, but Boris figures he'll probably catch up eventually. Right?
Or: how to convince your best friend to marry you (without having to tell him you love him)
Bookmarked by maple_evermore
01 Feb 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
“Do you love me?” Theo asks. “Are you in love with me?”
Boris drops Theo’s hands to run his own through his hair. “Why do you ask this? What do you want me to say?”
Theo runs his hands over his face. He holds his temples and whispers to the ground, “I think I’m in love with you.”
Fucking finally. The penny drops, the dam breaks.
In an instant Boris is kissing him. He kisses him like he’d kissed him in Las Vegas, and like he’d imagined a million times since then, and like how he’d wanted to kiss him in Antwerp, if Theo hadn’t left. He kisses him like he’s begging him to stay. He kisses him like it’s a proposal.
And Theo kisses back, needy and desperate, clinging to Boris’ face with his fingers. But then he pulls back and looks Boris dead in the eye and says, “We’re not doing this again. I just told you I love you, Boris.”
“I know this,” Boris says, squeezing his hand. “And I love you too ––”
“Excuse me? You know?”
“Yes,” Boris says, rolling his eyes, “since always, I thought you just were not ready to know?”
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Summary
This is the moment that Boris chooses to roll over, murmuring some Ukrainian nonsense—Ya lyublyu tebe, ty ebut, Theo gathers, but he doesn’t know what it means.
He doesn’t have the opportunity to try and translate it, either; Boris’s arm reaches out and closes over Theo’s torso. He pulls him, shifting forward himself, still muttering (though now it sounds Polish).
or: boris and theo talk about emotions
Series
- Part 1 of the midnight chronicles
Bookmarked by maple_evermore
01 Feb 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
Theo kisses him. Maybe it’s insane, but it feels good. It feels like a summer day in Central Park; warm and familiar. Boris’s lips are motionless under his own, and then they aren’t; then they’re moving—both of their mouths move against the other’s, hungry in some way Theo doesn’t understand but also does; he needs more. He needs all of Boris.
Boris seems to feel the same, about him, because then Theo is on his back—being pinned against the mattress (Boris has his wrists in one hand, and really it’s fucking inconvenient because all Theo wants to do is touch Boris everywhere he can). His mouth parts over Theo’s and then his tongue is doing some weirdly amazing thing over Theo’s lower lip.
Then they break apart, panting. Boris’s face is red. “This is what you wanted to say?”
“Let me go,” Theo breathes.
Boris shifts his weight, so that more is on Theo. “Why?”
His smile is all mischief—he’s smiling, not running out of here or screaming his fucking ass off or whatever—and that’s all it takes. Theo uses every ounce of strength he has (not much, but enough) to wriggle out of Boris’s grip.
His fingers collide with Boris’s hair; tangling through the messy curls and pressing against his scalp. It still smells faintly of chlorine from their swim earlier, but it’s a lot softer than Theo expected it to be.
He kisses Boris roughly; with a passion that’s unexpected, he guesses, by either of them. He kisses Boris so fucking hard they both moan, and it doesn’t matter because no one is home to listen.
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Summary
It feels like all the strings tying him to this town have snapped except for this one, like if he could just let go of loving Eddie (and that’s what it is, love, even if it still makes his stomach twist to think it) he could leave Derry like everyone else and never look back. He could be the kind of person who didn’t have nightmares about a voice from the sewers and a taunting laugh, who didn’t wake up drenched in sweat picturing Henry Bowers with a knife to his throat.
But he can’t leave Eddie here, with his mother, can’t leave Derry until he knows Eddie will be alright. Otherwise, he thinks, what do those fucking initials carved into the kissing bridge even mean? He still walks by them sometimes, brushes his fingers over them like they’ll give him an answer about what Eddie wants. He was right, when he was thirteen and stupid-brave and carved those letters; no one ever knew.
Bookmarked by maple_evermore
31 Jan 2026
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put on a slow dumb show for you (and crack you up) by sondersoflight
Fandoms: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
11 Oct 2019
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“I would have expected Marsh and Hanscom to have this tragic, spanning years and continents life ruined shit.”
“Well you know me,” Richie says jokingly, “I can’t let fucking Molly Ringwald one up me.”
Bookmarked by maple_evermore
30 Jan 2026