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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 1 month ago

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Blessed With Lucky Sevens

Shiv x GN!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Day 14: Begging

Summary: Shiv's in trouble.

A/N: Thank you so much @thexsanctuaryx for beating and saving me as always! Again this one became not smut.

Warnings: guns, blood, death, disposing of a body, declarations of love, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 1108

The gun presses further into Shiv’s temple. “Please, please.” He knows he’s begging for his life, but the substance of it, the tangible essence of the plea has long since escaped him. Lost in the torrent of fear that is paralysing his mind.

The cold concrete bites into his knees.

“Please.”

Ivanov snorts and presses the gun harder, forcing Shiv to bend his neck. “You beg so quickly, fucking pathetic.”

“Ivanov,” Shiv swallows, trying to formulate something, anything that would get him out of his. Give him a chance.

Ivanov smacks him hard around the face with the handle of the gun.

Shiv’s mind sings, fizzles under the sudden pain and pressure. For a second he thinks he’s going to pass out, or throw up. Or both.

Ivanov spits in his face, the salvia splashes up his cheek. “You think you can fucking say my name?”

Shiv swallows, eyes closed and shakes his head. “I’m sorry.” Warmth from his temple runs down his face.

“Sorry?” Ivanov huffs, “You think that’s fucking good enough for a piece of shit like you? You think that-”

The gunshot explodes, shattering everything. Shiv gasps, his hands automatically covering his ears as he falls to the ground. He’s sure he’s been shot. Sure he’s dead.

But the concrete’s cold. And despite the thudding pain in his head from the smack, and the thump from falling (plus the few good punches Ivanov had got in earlier) there’s nothing. No extra pain.

Maybe the bullet had struck his head, shock removing the sensation as he slowly died.

He breathed deeply, counting. One… two… three… still here.

Shiv opens his eyes slowly.

Ivanov’s open eyes stare back. Lifeless. The top of his head is missing. Blown out by a rifle shot.

He’s going to be sick.

It’s not the first time he’s seen a dead body. But it’s all too much. The brains on the floor. How close he was to death. Is to. Whoever fired that shot is still out there.

He scrambles back, as far away from the body as he can, away from the seeping blood despite the spatter that is already covering him.

He needs to get to cover, get out of Ivanov’s fucking car headlights at least.

It’s the dead of night, a sideroad in the middle of nowhere that’s hardly fucking used. Thick dense forest to the side.

Despite the headlights, the stars are the only source of light, the moon not yet risen. He could try to hide in the forest, but he’s with it enough to know he wouldn’t last until morning. Exposure would get him long before daybreak.

He could grab the gun in Ivanov’s hand, check his pockets for the car keys. But whoever shot that rifle is still out there, surely waiting for a clear shot to pick him off too.

He does vomit then, the bile coming up all in a rush. He spits and wretches into the dirt. He needs to…

The sound of a car approaching, he can’t see it. Ivanov’s headlights are blinding everything despite how far back he’s moved, and whoever is coming doesn’t have theirs on.

Shiv scrambles back further into the undergrowth. It had to be the shooter, come to finish the job, impatient to splatter his brains all over the ground.

He doesn’t recognise the car that stops.

Could he reach the gun? Shoot first? No. Stay. Hide. Hide. Don’t give away your position.

“Shiv?”

He does recognise the voice instantly. Your voice. You.

“Shiv?” You step out of the car when he doesn’t answer, there’s a handgun in your leather gloved hand.

You look around, checking the body.

He calls your name weakly.

Your eyes snap to the undergrowth. “Shiv? You okay? You hurt?” You rush over as he pulls himself back onto the little concrete instep.

“Fuck,” you kneel down, holstering your weapon and touch his face gently just below the wound. It’s the softest caress and he just melts into it. Unable to do anything else.

“What are you doing here?” He asks weakly. “It’s dangerous.” He doesn’t want to cry, shouldn’t. But his voice is thick with it, his throat aches with the force of holding it back.

“Shhh,” you look him over, checking for more damage. “Can you walk?”

He nods.

You help him to his feet and put him in the passenger seat of your car before you grab things from your boot. You return to him, wrap him in a thick blanket and then hold out two pills.

The white of them seems to shine against your black glove.

“What are those?” He asks, his voice small.

“Pain killers, the good kind.” You say softly.

He takes them without asking more questions, drinking from the flask when you offer it. The hot chocolate inside surprises him, but it tastes glorious.

You tuck him back up, putting the seatbelt on for him. “I won’t be long.”

The medication starts to have an effect quickly, either that or just the situation in general. The sudden dip in adrenaline. He starts to drift off almost instantly.

You walk over to what’s left of Ivanov, check his right coat pocket and wouldn’t you know, first time lucky. You find his car keys.

You douse his corpse in the petrol from the can you have in your boot before you check his car. There’s nothing much of use in there, some drugs. About ₽250,000 in cash, you pocket that.

It’s an easy matter to get in the driving seat and park the car over his body. You douse the vehicle in the rest of the petrol before you set it on fire.

Shiv’s seemingly completely out of it when you get back to your car and pull out.

You’ve been driving for about twenty minutes when he speaks. “I didn’t know.”

“Hey, it’s alright.” You lightly touch his shoulder, comforting him.

“I didn’t know,” he repeats, his voice thick and dreamy, “that you were such a good shot.”

You smile a little at that. But it’s not a happy one.

“I’m taking you to a friend’s, they’ll get you patched up.”

He breathes deeply, steadily for a few moments and you think he’s fallen back asleep. “Thank you.”

You don’t reply, about to take your hand off his shoulder, but he reaches out from under the blanket, squeezes your fingers tight and he presses a kiss to your palm before he lets you go.

He’s practically unconscious when he speaks again, fighting through the thick veil of exhaustion to speak. “I love you, you know. I always have.”

You know. You love him too.

Thank you for reading!

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#shiv #PU 239 #shiv x reader #x reader #shiv x you #x you #shiv x gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #shiv x gn!reader #x gn!reader #my writing #fanfic #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters

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loevemora · 1 month ago

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final | tom riddle

warnings: mentions of blood.

genre: angst.

Tom Riddle strode down the hall. He didn’t know where to go or what to do with himself. He was sure. Always sure of himself. But right now, doubt crept into him, and he did not like it one bit. Go to the dorms. Find the others. There’s a puzzle to be solved somewhere. Just be unobtrusive. Sure, a boy as pale as modest calcite and carrying an almost dead body in his arms wouldn’t be noticed at all. His footsteps scattered to the doors of the Slytherin common room. He remembered what Lestrange had said about witches who overexert their power falling ill or suffering a harsh fatal fate. He felt his robe droop. He looked down to see the blood of Inara’s abdomen seeking into him, weighing his uniform down. He cursed the damned apparition restrictions. He cursed his damned legs. He needed to be fast.

In the fire-lit common room sat Rosier, Nott, Lestrange, Malfoy and Ivanov. At the sound of shuffling, they all turned to the sound. Ivanov gasped at the sight, straightening to a stand.

“Merlin Riddle, what happened?”

The forest served as an escape for Inara. She had made it a habit to sneak into the wooded areas during odd hours of the night when everyone was asleep. This was her lullaby. This was her salvation. She crossed over the barked grounds, her feet light as she trekked and weaved in silence.

The moonlight shone down, illuminating the path for her—it served as mere aesthetic; she could find her way around blindfolded. The gravelled path rolled into a tight lane. The fine curves of the trees walled the passageway, reaching out to the skies. A lake lay in the wake of the path’s opening.

Inara readjusted her wand and stepped gingerly over a decaying rat, the smell causing her to scrunch her nose. Her silken robe billowed faintly, brushing the edge of the wind as she made her way to the corner of the waters. She sat down on the firm earth. She freed the blade that sat obediently in the security of her boot. The night’s light glistened in the reflection of the chrome cutter, and her ears perked at the distant crunch of leaves. He always did follow her.

“Tempting, Riddle, isn’t it?” Inara sat still and looked ahead into the water that mirrored her face. Her eyes, wide and dark, slipped into his green orbs.

“I suppose so.” Riddle unclasped his hands from his back as he strutted forward from the shelter of the shadows. “We might as well indulge it.”

“We?” She gazed up at him. He walked with precision, his posture so elegant she felt like pushing him over, just so he could not seem so close to perfection. She looked back down at her blade. She had almost mastered the lost art of Dark Magic; a feat she was determined to best. That may have been the reason Riddle associated himself with her in the first place. She could see it in his eyes the first time they met. His avaricious eyes practically drank in all of her being once he had discovered her allure to dark magic. Their meeting was inevitable.

“Of course. It’s only fair.” His eyes examined her. The blade in her hand shined arrogantly bright and he found himself wondering where she had found the odd thing.

Inara blew the slightest exhale and gestured to the spot next to her, “Sit.”

Riddle did not like being told what to do, but he found himself sitting anyway.

“This will only sting for a split second,” Inara mumbled, her eyes trained on her blade. In her spot, she turned her body towards Riddle, and sat on her shins. She refused to meet his eye. She needed to focus.

Riddle found himself staring at the witch in front of him. He understood people. He could read people. A skill he had polished and recognised as one of his assets. And if he could not read people, he would trace every line of their minds, whether they allowed him to or not. He did not understand, however, the brick wall that was Inara.

He remembered the day they had met, she was perched on one of the windows along the aisle towards the Slytherin common room. People passed her, never acknowledging her presence, he had almost thought he imagined her. She sat, a leg crossed over another, and traced the lines of her palm with her wand, too entranced in her actions to care for any distractions around her. He found her curious and when she held an unflinching mental barricade against his attempt of legilimency, the curiosity only grew.

“Your head is bleeding.”

“Least of your concerns, Riddle.” Inara reached out for his arm at his side as he sat back on his heels.

Riddle agreed with her. As far as he knew, he did not feel the need to check up on the well-being of anyone. He did not feel. He kept silent when Inara reached for his hand. He kept silent when she sliced his palm. He kept silent when she sliced her palm. Her eyes, wide and dark, identical to her long locks, swayed in the rhythm of the wind, a strand straying in the grips of the blood streak on the side of her head. And when she raised her bloodied hand to rest it on his heart, it took all of him to keep from moving.

She recited an incantation, her eyes spilling into the darkness of his own. His veins stood at a standstill, and he swallowed a hefty breath as his muscles quieted. The air around them swirled near and the crunch of the leaves fell silent. Behind Inara, Riddle could barely make out the red light that hung in the dark edge of the surrounding trees. And when the odd light barreled straight toward him, his reflexes urged him to move. He did not, of course.

Inara’s incantations fell silent, and the happenings of the trees returned back to normal. Riddle tensed and welcomed the newfound weight of magic he felt surging throughout his body. Dark magic; beautiful magic; powerful magic. The sight of the witch before him cleared his sight. Her eyes mirrored the magic heaving through him and her lips were slightly parted to heave an exhale. The magic had taken a toll on her.

“Teach me.” It wasn’t so much a plea as it was a demand. Inara did not appreciate his tone.

“Manners, Riddle.”

At Riddle’s silence, Inara raised a brow. “Don’t get shy now.” She could see the vexation in Riddle’s taut jawline. He was dangerous to look at.

Riddle did not beg. He did not plead. Begging and pleading was a practice for lowly mutants, peasants below him. And yet, the witch before him, in all her smugness, was a temptation he did not mind indulging. He would gladly master the art of Dark Magic just to watch the smug ghost of a smile fall from her face. He wanted to reach out and skim the curves of her dark locks. And then what? He shook his head. She was dangerous to look at.

Before he could voice out a response, the blaring red light identical to the one from moments before had returned, hurdling straight towards Inara. The light connected to her body, illuminating the witch. She seemed at ease. Did she expect this? At once, Inara collapsed forward, and Riddle’s arms wrapped around her instinctively.

He was in the Slytherin dorm room; his gaze tense as he watched Inara’s peaceful figure laid straight on the emptied coffee table in front of the fireplace. The group was alert, Ivanov’s eyes were fixed on the witch before her. The knick knacks she had sent the boys to grab were perched on the space beside Inara. Rosier and Nott sat on the fixtures between the bed and the table. Lestrange sat cross-legged on the floor at the foot of Inara’s body, Malfoy welcomed the embrace of the couch nearest to the fireplace, and Riddle stood at the back of Ivanov, scrutinising her every move with his unwithering stare.

In the whisper of Ivanov’s lips lay a prayer before she bared the materials into a mortar; a song she had memorised the choreography to—step by step. This had to work. She would die before she let her friend succumb to her injuries. She grazed the line of Inara’s jaw, tipping her head back so she could pour the finalised concoction into her mouth, then resealed her lips shut.

Silence hugged the standstill of the room and everyone in it. The traitorous flames of the fire waved across Inara’s dark lashes. Slowly, the gaping well of blood in her abdomen began to seal; slowly but surely. Ivanov urged Inara to wake; she did not like the idea of post-Inara-death Tom Riddle. The amplification of an already dark and cruel Tom Riddle. The warmth of the fire did not soothe the shudder that rolled through her. She also just wanted her friend back; her stupid almost dead friend—to wake; her most beloved companion in this group of gross smelly boys. She could not bear their putridness all on her own.

Just as Riddle seemed about ready to turn the school building inside out, Inara’s eyes opened. The unified exhale of the entire group cracked through the suspense and ridded the tension of the dramatic moment.

Ivanov pinched the awakened girl, a hand on her heart as she exasperated, “I thought you were gone! Do not ever do that to me again.”

Inara kissed the knuckle of Ivanov’s hand, “Thank you for waking me, dear.”

Ivanov flushed at the sudden confession. “Oh, don’t be so forward, you twat! It’s quite alright.”

“The witch awakens.” Inara turned and faced the blond boy sprawled on the couch. “Next time you feel like dying, do me a favour and hurl yourself off the Ravenclaw Tower.” Inara glowered at the boy, his face and posture proud of his witty remark. Deep down, she knew he was relieved that she had not died; he was in the room was he not? Either way, she was drowsy and the boy was annoying her. She waved a hand towards him, sealing his lips shut. At the action, Malfoy’s brows raised to an all-time high, his face a scowl of frustration at the coerced silence of his precious voice. Low chuckles sounded around the room at the sight before them. Malfoy was going to get Inara back good—real good.

“Good thing you’re up. We have training at dawn.” Lestrange informed her, a warmth in his hardened stare. His body was toned and he built a figure wider than the rest of the boys. His fox eyed stare withered the mere beings of people but he held camaraderie with Inara. With a brief nod of acknowledgement, he stood up and headed to his dorm room.

Sandwiched in the fixtures, Rosier and Nott exchanged glances with one another. Rosier leaned into Nott and whispered something in his ear. With a barely contained giggle, Nott turned to Malfoy and raised his wand adorned hand. He sent a bat-bogey hex his way and did not wait to feel the wrath of Malfoy before he ran out the dorm room, a loud cackle escaping him while bat-infested-nosed-Malfoy attempted to chase him down.

The remaining cohort Rosier and Ivanov both shared a look. That was all it took for them to take their leave. Inara’s brows furrowed and she tilted her head. “Where are you guys going?” Rosier met her gaze and his eyes flickered from her figure to the space behind her. He exited before Inara could say anything else. The door closed behind them and she turned to find Riddle standing above her, his stare ever solid. “Oh.”

Riddle raised a brow. He stood in the shadow of the corner. Lunatic. “Oh?”

“What do you want, Riddle?”

Said boy drank in the assumed state of the witch before him. The ends of her hair, deeply dark, found solace on the top of the table, waving in curls so immaculate, he wanted to reach out and soothe them. Perched on the table, her legs hung off the edge and she stared up at him, apprehension and annoyance swarming behind those inked orbs. He could drown in them.

“What happened back there?” Riddle’s tone was firm, solid rock ingrained into the earth.

She did not feel like talking about it but by the looks of the boy in front of her, she did not really think he bothered about what she felt. With a sigh, she explained, “I overexerted myself. When the surge of my incantation bellowed beneath your muscles, your veins, my magic gained rule over me.”

“How did you know I felt that surge?”

“I know my magic.”

“Inara.”

“It’s Velor to you.”

Riddle uncrossed his arms and strolled over to the stubborn girl on the table, holding her gaze as he sank to his knees and sat back on his heels. With swiftness, he brought forward the alcohol-polished tweezers beside Inara and pulled her wounded hand forward.

“What are you–” Her query was quickly cut off by the stern glare of the boy before her. She watched his actions as he began to pluck the minute pieces of gravel and dirt from her open cut. His focus reigned in on her wound, meticulously extracting the stubborn articles. It stung like hell but she forced down any sort of reaction to the slight discomfort.

His robe sank from a burdened weight; it looked soaked. Her eyes enlarged. She reached her unharmed hand to the silken material. “Is this my doing?” She asked, slightly jarred. She rubbed the soaked robe between her fingers and pulled back, recognising the red of her blood that the fabric had sponged up. Riddle grabbed her wrist, and with a clean corner of his robe, he wiped the crimson remnants from her blood-stained fingers.

He fixed her wounded hand with a bandage and traced the lines of her veins with the point of his finger all the way to her neck pulse. She fixed her jaw, a determined stare she did not want to break under the withering gaze of Tom Riddle. The rounded darkness of his eyes flickered to her lips for the briefest second before resting on her neck where his hand sat; a lone finger pressed to her pulse.

“Yes, dear, this was all your doing,” and at once, he felt the resurgence of an entirely different magic between the fittings of his bloodstream.

The ghost of a grin painted Inara’s face. Tom took her in. With a tilt of her head, she let a smug smile break out into her face, ignoring the blood that chattered against her teeth. She looked crazed. Tom’s brow lifted. If that wasn’t an invitation…

“Well, hell,” Riddle muttered. He closed the distance between them and took Inara’s face in his hands. He moved slowly, deliberately, kept the kiss quiet, the barest brush of lips, giving Inara the chance to pull away if she wanted to, though he didn’t know what he would do if she resisted. But she didn’t. She drew closer.

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aestheeredie · 1 month ago

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The Broken Promise

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈

➳ 𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐱𝐞𝐢 𝐕𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐲 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ೄྀ

➳ 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 ೄྀ

➳ 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏, 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 ೄྀ

➳ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟔𝟒𝟔 ೄྀ

➳ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐱𝐞𝐢 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮. ೄྀ

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈

The days stretched into weeks, and the weeks into months, each one passing with an agonizing slowness. The war raged on, casting a long shadow over every aspect of life. The drawing room, once filled with laughter and warmth, now felt cold and empty. You spent countless hours there, clutching the extra book of poems, the same one you had given Alexei, reading and rereading the familiar verses, drawing solace from the thought that perhaps, somewhere far away, he was doing the same.

The letters you received from him were infrequent, but each one was a lifeline, a beacon of hope in the darkness. You cherished every word, holding them close to your heart. But then, one day, the letters stopped coming. Days turned into weeks without any letter.

One evening, as the sun set, casting a golden hue across the room, there was a knock at the door. Your heart leapt with a mixture of hope and dread. You rushed to open it, only to be met by a somber-faced officer, his uniform marked with the dust and grime of the battlefield.

"Are you Miss (Your Name)?" he asked gently.

You nodded, your throat too tight to speak.

"I am Lieutenant Sergei Ivanov," he said softly. "I served alongside Count Alexei Vronsky."

Your heart clenched painfully at the past tense, and you clung to the doorframe for support. "Is he...?"

The lieutenant took a deep breath, his eyes filled with sorrow. "I'm afraid I bring grievous news. Alexei Vronsky fought bravely, but he... he did not survive the last battle."

The world seemed to tilt, and you felt as though you might collapse. Tears streamed down your face as the reality of his words sank in. "No," you whispered, shaking your head. "He promised... he promised he would come back."

Lieutenant Ivanov reached into his coat and pulled out the small book of poems you had given Alexei, along with a dried up small flower tucked in between the pages. "He carried this with him always," he said, handing it to you. "He spoke of you often, your love giving him strength. He wanted you to have this, to remember him by."

You took the book, clutching it to your chest, your tears falling onto its worn cover. The promise that had once given you hope now felt like a cruel reminder of what had been lost. "Thank you," you managed to say, your voice breaking.

The lieutenant nodded, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. "He was a good man, and a brave soldier. He will be missed by many." He paused, then added softly, "I'm so sorry for your loss."

After he left, you sank to the floor, the book held tightly in your hands. The pain of his absence was overwhelming, a deep ache that seemed to pierce your very soul. You opened the book, the familiar verses blurring through your tears. One poem, where the flower is located, caught your eye, a favorite of both yours and Alexei's:

"Love is a flame that burns in the heart,

Even when parted, never to depart.

Though shadows may fall and hopes may wane,

Love's light endures, beyond the pain."

You read the lines over and over, finding a bittersweet comfort in them. You twirl the flower in between your fingers as you read. Though Alexei was gone, his love remained, a constant presence in your heart. The promise he made, though shattered by the cruelty of war, still held a truth: his memory would live on, and his love would be a guiding light in the darkness.

In the days and months that followed, you clung to that love, finding strength in the memories you had shared. The pain of his loss never fully faded, but you carried on, living your life as he would have wanted you to. And every night, as you read from the book of poems and look at the small flower on the bedside table, you felt his presence beside you, a reminder that love, even in the face of the deepest sorrow, endures.

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈

#alexei vronsky #alexei vronsky x reader #anna karenina 2012 #aaron taylor johnson #alexei vronsky x fem!reader #anna karenina #count alexei vronsky #count alexei vronsky x fem!reader #count alexei vronsky x reader #count vronsky #count vronsky x fem!reader #count vronsky x reader

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aria-ashryver · 5 months ago

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Luca's past relationships / hookups

Here I am, still thinking about Avalon era Luca and some of their exes and stuff! More about Luca's exes below 💘

(Under the cut bc of sexual content)

ALEX DE VRIES | Their first serious boyfriend was another dance major, Alex, who absolutely sucked, and who I talked about a bit here (<- cw dubious consent). Luca's first experiences with bottoming were with Alex, and while Alex treated him with care physically during sex (at least at first) the same cannot be said for the emotional side of things. Just a big ol' "ew, stick him in the dumpster where he belongs" type experience. Utter garbage bag of a man. 0/10, not the best start to exploring their sexuality.

VIKTOR IVANOV | Okay, I will admit that these two have had some moments, yes. Viktor had a bit of a crush on Luca when they first met (which died down… and then re-emerged again… and died down again. Viktor gets crushes a LOT lol), and there was one brief period where Luca thought maybe they had a crush on Viktor -- funnily enough, the timing of their crushes never coincided. Their relationship has never really been one of strong, mutual romantic connection, but they have experienced sexual attraction.

The first time they got together was not too long after Luca had broken up with Alex -- Luca was reflecting on how much safer, more respected, and more loved they felt spending time with Viktor compared to Alex, and were kicking themself for being such an idiot who dated this complete tool in the first place.

Luca was pretty down about the whole thing, and Viktor was struggling with his depression; they were just hanging out in their dorm room one night being real sad, when Viktor asked (mostly as a joke, but also completely seriously)

"Wanna just split a joint and suck each other's dicks already?"

Luca stared at him for just long enough that Viktor started to panic (and was about to blame it on his Tourettes) but then Luca, very firmly and confidently said, yeah, actually, he'd like that. So… they did! And they had a fantastic fucking time! (Or, a fantastic time fucking? W/E lol.) They hooked up a few more times after this, though it was more often in a group context than it was them just having sex one-on-one.

PARTY HOOK UPS | Viktor and Luca getting physical shifted the overall dynamics of YBA -- soon it became pretty unremarkable for the band members to just be in the room with each other when folks were hooking up at parties, or for them to actively get involved as well (Yay, performing arts students lmao). Please enjoy an entirely superfluous infographic!

Bonus fact! Between the members hooking up with people both in and out of the band and the resultant love triangle having so many sides, there was a point where the band went by the name "Fucktangular Love Shape".

AVA CUNNINGHAM - Luca had sex with Ava once while they were both figuring some stuff out about their respective sexualities. While they both enjoyed themselves, the best way I can describe it is that it was something of a << Kombucha Girl .GIF>> moment for both of them? Ava definitely had a moment of "yeah, pretty sure I'm gay" afterwards haha. It wasn't awkward; they found the whole thing funny and still do.

TE AROHA KING - Ugh, here's the charming one 😊 Luca met Te Aroha (theatre major, he mostly goes by TK) when he moved from Australia as part of Avalon's exchange programme -- they have a sister school in Australia where the academy was originally founded.

Viktor was the one to introduce them -- Vik met TK when they were both still living in Aus, and all three became pretty close. The first threesome Luca had was with Viktor and TK, where Luca wound up topping (Vik) for the first time. Te Aroha was an absolute sweetheart, and he proved to be a really good person to help Luca feel more like himself in a relationship following the BS with Alex. TK made Luca feel like he had agency and respect.

They kept their relationship open for a couple reasons.

1 - Luca was still a little raw from the Alex stuff and they wanted to take it slow before getting into a serious relationship again.

2 - TK was an exchange student. He always knew he'd have 6 months in Scotland, max, before going home again. Neither wanted to do long distance, so they tried real hard (failed) not to catch feelings.

Luca and Te Aroha existed in this lil situationship where, yes, they hooked up with other people sometimes, especially at parties; TK slept with Viktor a few times; they had a foursome with Vik and Cal, etc. But everyone kind of knew that Luca and TK were a "thing", despite their not wanting to put a label on it. They went on dates. It got super romantic. They supported each other. They listened to each other. Helped each other grow. By the time TK was due to fly back home, it wasn't a bittersweet parting. Their relationship was what it was; it brought them happiness for a time, and that was enough.

CHRISTOPHER WU - Chris is SUCH A CINNAMON ROLL oh my god. His primary mode of communication is ruthless sarcasm but he's also like… so soft. So kind. (He's also the person I imagine Luca did that contemporary piece with in CH13!)

It took these two a while to get together -- Chris is a ballet student too, and was transitioning around the time they were studying together. They used to role swap all the time -- their teachers would give Luca all the traditionally male parts, and Chris all the traditionally female parts, and the second they got into a practice room unsupervised, they'd be swapping parts immediately.

They were really good friends before things ever got romantic or sexual, and Luca was super confused for a while about the whole thing? It all started to make a lot more sense when they had a conversation one day that was essentially like:

Luca: …I was so sure I only liked guys? But I really like you. Chris: ...Dude, I'm pretty sure I am a guy. Luca: Oh. Oh, that makes sense, yeah! Wanna kiss about it? Chris: psh, obviously.

Things between them ended amicably -- Chris got an advance placement with a touring ballet company, so they knew that when the year ended, he'd be leaving, and they decided to pump the brakes on their relationship (and then Luca wound up moving to Crimson Beech a few months later anyway). Luca does still keep in touch with Chris and TK, but its sporadic -- they aren't as close as they once were, but they wish each other well 💛

Was Luca ever in love with any of these people? I think if they'd had longer together, he probably would have fallen in love with Te Aroha. Whose name (ironically enough, bc I didn't plan this at the outset) means "the loved one" in te reo Māori. But with the way things panned out? The first people Luca ever fell in love with were Gabriel and Cas 💖✨

#SICSIG #luca o'rinn #viktor ivanov #relationship headcanons #nsft

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moosemonstrous · 11 months ago

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btw I have now put links to both the tag here and on AO3 in my bio bc I got sick of scrolling through tumblr 😌 Full disclosure - I have met lab people who act like small animals caught in the middle of a road whenever someone dares to enter their domain.

Ghost Rider Pacific Rim AU - sticks and stones

“Can’t promise the spot will stay open,” Kwok tells him apologetically. “But this is good, no? All the young’uns want to go to the academy!”

Robbie would bet his working eyeball that none of the young'uns would be so keen on it after ten minutes alone with Major Brooks. “So I keep hearing,” he mutters. “Sorry for the trouble. I appreciate you taking me on in the first place.”

“Navos is good people,” Kwok shrugs. The Shatterdome functions on a rather opaque network of favours and IOUs. ‘Good people’ seems to be a fairly high praise. Not quite on 'one of ours' level, but high. “You remember me when you are a ranger up in the dome and we’re even.”

And just like that, the transport maintenance chapter of Robbie’s career closes with little fanfare. Technically, he didn’t have to come speak to Kwok in person – his assignment has already gone through and the man would’ve been notified either way. He doesn’t want to leave a bad impression, though. For all he knows, the battery of tests he’d been fast-tracked through the day before will spit out some convoluted reason for why the drift activated on its own and he will be back on the job market before the end of the week. At least there are plenty of positions open – it’s easier to hire someone inside the base and train them up than wait for the paperwork to clear for an experienced worker from the outside.

He remembers the last time he let himself think things were finally turning around, though. He’s not going to make that mistake again.

At least his head is clearer after half an hour in a giant magnet and a full night’s sleep. He’s still unable to hold a conversation with Ivanov without some truly strange thoughts popping up like bubbles on the surface of a pot – the more tired or angry he gets, the harder it is to ignore them. He knew he was going to pay for running on fumes for weeks, and being sedated for nearly three days must have knocked something loose, but. Nothing proper sleep hygiene and some semblance of a routine won’t fix.

Or maybe you’re just noticing stuff, because you ain’t an idiot. Huh? Could it be that?

Or maybe this whole business with The Charger is extremely weird and Robbie should be packing up and running for the hills. Unfortunately, his and Gabe’s permits only work in Hong Kong and when he last checked how much it would be to fly back to US, he had to sit down for a long moment. Even if he was willing to risk taking a ship, where would that leave them? Back on a decimated coast, hoping the wind doesn’t blow over nuclear fallout, and struggling to find enough food for both of them? Queuing at state borders for days or weeks, hoping they’ll be lucky enough to get through on the increasingly stringent rules? Nevada already stopped letting in anyone without immediate family members or sponsors in-state.

Looks like the only way forward is through.

His wristband scans through to the R&D wing now. The soldiers standing guard give Robbie odd looks, but don’t make a move to stop him, so he forces his shoulders down and walks through the armoured door like he knows what he’s doing.

He has no idea what he’s doing. Cho said, ‘come find me in R&D before noon’. There are at least fifteen labs just in this one corridor and none of the doors have anything approaching a comprehensible naming convention. Some signs are just a piece of printer paper with a name scrawled over it, some have the original writing taped over with a KEEP OUT sticker, some seem to list the people working inside. None of those list an Amadeus Cho. It’s half past eleven.

Eventually, Robbie sticks his head in a room labelled ‘HMT DES’. Inside, there are three circular podiums with a mannequin each, showcasing variations of the PPDC hazmat suits. There are three people inside; two hide behind the middle suit as soon as they notice him, leaving the third to fend for herself.

“Can–can I help you?” she asks nervously. She has blue hair and wears fishnet sleeves over a tank top. Not exactly the nerd attire Robbie was expecting.

“I’m looking for Amadeus Cho,” he explains, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. It’s the opposite of what he usually tries to achieve, and she looks like she might be having an anxiety attack. “Any idea where I could find him?”

The girl listens to some frantic whispering from behind the suit. “In the bone lab,” she squeaks. Then blushes so hard Robbie worries she might actually pass out. “Up one floor, two doors down on the left, thankyouseeyoulater.”

What the hell.

He closes the door.

At least with the directions he finds the right room in less than five minutes. The label indeed reads ‘bone lab’. He’s pretty sure the music blasting from the inside is Dead Kennedys. When nobody answers his knocking, he prays he isn’t about to embarrass himself further and pushes the door open.

Cho is standing with his back to him at a table completely covered in… either huge chunks of dirty plaster or – more likely and vastly more disturbingly – massive bone fragments. He’s holding a metal training staff. Before Robbie can call out, he brings it over his head and smashes one of the chunks. When it doesn’t break, he adjusts his grip and tries again. And again. And again, until the greenish-grey surface cracks, at which point he gives out a little whoop.

“Cho?” Robbie risks. The music is too loud, coming from a small bluetooth speaker at the edge of the table. It’s shaped like a cat head. “Hey, Cho!”

Cho whirls around with the staff ready to smack the intruder. He’s wearing thick safety goggles. When he sees Robbie, he drops his weapon to the table with a clatter. “Good news!” he shouts over the music, like it’s normal both for people to just show up in his lab and to start a conversation from the middle. “You don’t have brain cancer!”

Well. That’s definitely good news.

“Was that a–?” He waits for Cho to lower the speaker’s volume through his phone. “Was that a risk?”

Cho is busy checking his messages, frowning. “Did you break my outfitters?”

“What?”

“Hazmat lab?” The frown becomes a grin as he scrolls through a bunch of texts. Robbie feels like that’s worse. “Good job getting on their good side, they might be designing your drivesuit soon.”

“I just–“ Can we get to the point? This kid is missing a screw. “You said to come find you?”

“Yes! Come on, take a–“ he picks up a hammer from an office chair before sliding it towards Robbie. “There you go. I was hoping we could talk without the grown-ups hovering around.”

The grown-ups. Robbie can already feel a headache coming. He takes a seat while Cho leans on the table, untroubled by a pile of skeletal remains inches from his back. “Talk about what?”

Cho scrambles around for a remote and points it at one of the screens at a wall behind Robbie. He flicks through several output sources – one is most definitely a cartoon show Gabe used to love back in L.A. – until he finds what looks like the Hell Charger’s blueprints.

“That,” he says, suddenly serious. “What do you actually know about this jaeger?”

“I already–“

“Yeah, but that can’t be all,” Cho cuts him off impatiently. “I found your records from before your mom took you and your brother off-base. You were eight. Your dad never took you to the hangar?”

Not really. Mama didn’t want you losing fingers in the machinery.

“Wasn’t a place for a kid,” he mumbles. There are records? “I don’t really remember much from that time. Weren’t all the records sealed?”

I told you Ivanov is full of shit.

“Oh, they were,” Cho smirks. “But the last guy in my role had access to some of the classified stuff, and nobody ever revoked it. You know how it is.”

Robbie has no idea how it is. “What do they say?”

“Nothing!” Cho groans. “Just that you and your brother existed. That’s why I’m asking.”

It’s both crushingly disappointing and a perfectly good reason for Ivanov to just say there was no information available. Keep deluding yourself. You’ll see I’m right sooner or later. Still, Robbie doesn’t really have much he can – or wants to – tell Cho.

“Sorry, I can’t help,” he shrugs. “I’m told we left before it was decommissioned. Mom never talked about it.”

Cho lifts up his goggles to his forehead to rub his eyes. He seems frustrated. “No weird work anecdotes? No drama about close calls?” He huffs when Robbie shakes his head. “Great. Another dead end. What did Ivanov tell you?”

“Just that my dad used to be a pilot. That he died killing Daggerblight.”

There is a long moment where Cho watches him like he’s waiting for Robbie to crack and admit to some vast conspiracy. When nothing happens, he blows the air out of his cheeks. “Bummer. Oh well, let’s go find Montesi before she starts wondering where we are.”

Robbie feels the bottom of his stomach freeze over. “We were supposed to be meeting her, too?”

Cho is already walking over to the door. He holds it open with a stupid little bow. “Yep. We better hurry.”

Robbie kind of wants to punch him. He’s beginning to suspect this will be a common occurrence.

#ghost rider pacific rim au #robbie reyes #amadeus cho #the texts amadeus is getting are mostly keysmash followed by 'he cute tho'#amadeus stop bringing up how little he remembers he'll do something stupid about it

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bp-trio · 9 months ago

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✶ ׅ ࣪ ᧔♡᧓ ࣪ 📎 … 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐇 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐗 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐘

The Astrix Agency Launch Party was a night to remember, filled with glitz, glamour, and celebrations. As Aria Yi, Hana Muira, and Solaire Ivanov walked into the venue, they were met with a sea of familiar faces – celebrities, athletes, television personalities, and professionals from all walks of life. The room buzzed with excitement as guests mingled and chatted, eagerly anticipating the official unveiling of Astrix Agency.

For Aria, Hana, and Solaire, this moment was especially meaningful. As members of the internationally renowned girl group BlackPink, they had always dreamed of branching out on their own and starting their own agency. Their time at YG entertainment had been fruitful, but they couldn't shake the feeling that they were being held back from reaching their full potential. The launch of Astrix Agency represented a new chapter in their lives, a chance to take control of their careers and pursue their goals with unwavering determination.

As the night kicked off, the three founders took to the stage to deliver a heartfelt speech, thanking their guests for their support and expressing their gratitude for this incredible opportunity. Emotions ran high as they reflected on their journey and the challenges they had overcome to get to this point. The audience listened attentively, hanging on every word as the trio spoke passionately about their vision for the agency and the impact they hoped to make in the industry.

In a surprise moment, Hana's boyfriend joined her on the dance floor, spinning her around with grace and precision. The couple's infectious energy and chemistry lit up the room, drawing cheers and applause from the crowd. It was a magical moment, capturing the essence of love and partnership in its purest form.

As the night progressed, the other members of BLACKPINK arrived to show their support, joining Aria, Hana, and Solaire on stage for a special performance. The group danced together, their synchronized movements a testament to the bond they shared as artists and friends. The sight of the seven members moving in perfect harmony was nothing short of mesmerizing, a powerful symbol of solidarity and unity.

The Astrix Agency itself was a sight to behold, a luxurious space designed to inspire creativity and innovation. The name itself evoked a sense of mystery and allure, hinting at the limitless possibilities that lay ahead for the agency and its clients. With its sleek, modern décor and state-of-the-art facilities, Astrix Agency was destined to become a beacon of excellence in the entertainment industry, a place where dreams were realized and stars were born.

As the night drew to a close, Aria, Hana, and Solaire basked in the glow of their success, surrounded by friends, family, and well-wishers. The launch party had been a resounding success, a testament to their hard work, dedication, and unwavering belief in themselves. With Astrix Agency now officially open for business, the trio looked ahead to a bright and promising future, ready to conquer the world and make their mark on the industry they loved.

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corrupted-nightmare · 7 months ago

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back to the basics -

name: tariq colson ivanov. name meaning: tariq meaning he who knocks at the door. colson meaning people of victory. occult type: vampire, red council. birthday: january 9th age: 35 ; 24 (age when turned) sexuality: straight occupation: bookkeeper at stitchcraft tailor shop. language(s) spoken: english, french

extra, extra, read all about it !

personality deep dive -

archetype: the shadow zodiac: capricorn - the sea goat - earth - saturn personality type: intj - architect positive traits: courteous, considerate, intelligent negative traits: defensive, possessive, calculating moral alignment: lawful neutral enneagram: type 1 - reformer hobbies: chess, piano, puzzles, astrology pinterest: click here theme song: bad moon rising - creedence clearwater revival

the ties that bind -

adoptive parent: kolya ivanov adoptive sibling(s): daisy hobbs other: winnie montague, walden smith deceased family: john & amilyn ashford (parents), lamar ashford (brother) pet(s): chippy - english bulldog

open for the taking -

(connection) best friend - you were one of the first people outside of his new family that he connected with when he came to town. likely one of the only other people that know of the vampire-hunter history he has.

(character) left behind - you are tariq's ex-girlfriend. you either lived in the same town as him, or went to school with him. after the murders, he essentially ghosted you, never speaking to you again once he moved. now, for whatever reason, you have made your way into san arcadius and he is trying to avoid you.

(character) family slayer - you are the one that killed his family. could be that you just came to town, or that you didn't remember what he looked like when he came to town. either way, once you find out who he is, will you try to keep your identity a secret or will you try to finish the job?

once upon a time -

tariq was the second born son to john and amilyn ashford. they lived a few towns away from san arcadius for as long as tariq could remember, but his parents had grown up in england.

growing up, tariq was under the impression that he lived a fairly normal life. his parents seemed to love one another, him and his brother, lamar, got along greatly, minus a few brotherly scuffles over the years.

the only strange thing, tariq found, was that his parents were very mum about their own childhoods. this frustrated him at times because he wished to know more about his family's history. other than his gran, he didn't know any other extended members of his family.

tariq was a law student at boyd, deciding it cheaper to stay in his family home while he went to college. he had been studying late in the library on a foggy, october night, coming home far past his normal time when he arrived to what could only be described as a massacre. there was blood everywhere, his family slaughtered.

before he had the chance the call the police, he was attacked. the man who attacked him had red eyes and before tariq's own eyes closed, he could've sworn he saw the man turn into a bat and fly out of the backdoor.

the case of his family's murders became a cold case. the two survivors: tariq and the family dog, chippy. though, tariq began to wonder if he survived at all, as he started craving blood, growing fangs, and being burned by sunlight. he began wandering the streets at night, not sure what to do or what was happening to him. it wasn't long after that he met, or rather was found, by koyla.

koyla took him in, giving him a family again by moving him into walden's mansion and explaining to him what he had become, a vampire.

a few years after he had settled, he began to dig into the one thing he had never been allowed to before: his family's history. he had originally been under the belief that it was a random attack, but he soon learned that was unlikely. as it turned out, his family in britain were renowned vampire hunters. once his parents had decided to start a family, they moved to the states to start a new life and relinquish their own bloody history to start anew.

tariq has still been trying to uncover as much about his family's past as he can and has been upfront with his new family about his findings, though he isn't keen to share any information with strangers. he finally feels he has footing again. a new father for this new life, a younger sister (which he always wished for), and uncles and aunts.

inside information -

after 'the night', tariq dropped out of law school. he now works at stitchcraft with koyla, mainly keeping track of the books and appointments.

he has always been a fan of anything that keeps his mind occupied, often can be seen working on a puzzle.

tariq is always down for a game of chess.

it wasn't until college that he became fascinated with astrology. he is always down to learn new things about it.

his parents had always encouraged both of their sons to do something outside of classes. while his brother chose the sports route, tariq picked the music route. he is very well trained on the piano, but can also sing and play accordion.

his dog, chippy, is far too lazy to chase walden's birds and can often be founding snoozing with one or more of them perched on his back.

after losing one family, there is almost nothing tariq wouldn't do to keep his new family safe.

#tariq / about #tariq / intro #intros

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myhiraeth · 9 months ago

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@noblehcart sent: 🌑 (cerci & liese SLEEP OVER or or regency au a la lizzie & jane) Send 🌑 to crawl into bed with my muse [ Regency AU ]

The light knock came as no surprise- it had been such a day, filled with the fair and the ball to follow and dancing late into the night. They were finally home, undressed and their hair unpinned and their make up washed off and finally, lain in their comfortable beds under piles of blankets.

They were to have to dissect the night’s events and the participants. “Come in,” she calls softly, setting her guilty pleasure novel aside and shifting to one side of the bed. She opened the covers to allow Liesel to climb right into bed with her once she slips into the room. “Hello my moon.” She whispers happily. “Can’t sleep?”

“Can you?” Liesel volleys back.

Cerci smiles, wrinkling her nose teasingly. “No.” She admits. “It was quite the night, yes?” A surprise proposal- neither of them, thankfully, though when the ripples started in the crowd Cerci did instincitvely look for Liesel and that troublesome little rebel that was fascinated with her-, a wardrobe malfunction no one was quite sure if was accidental or staged, one suitor pushed into a fountain outside, and two new pregnancy whispers. The night had been exciting, even by normal season standards. Cerci’s night had gone as expected, she’d done as she should and allowed two men a chance to dance in between several dances with the magnetic and intelletucal Stefan Ivanov.

“I didn’t see you much- the library?” Her sister preferred the company of books to the company of people and could often be found hiding out in the library when balls were held in homes with them available. Cerci on the other hand thrived in a crowd. Crowds were where she did some of her best work, her best digging, her best discoveries. Balls and the refresments provided, along with the general air of magic and festivity, lent loose lips to just about everyone present.

Before she had met Stefan, balls had been a whirlwind of talking and listening and prying and probing and learning. Her personal gossip mill had gone slow in the wake of meeting Stefan, her attention and efforts almost completely diverted to the man.

#noblehcart #cerci london. / int. / liesel ivanov. / noblehcart #cerci london. / verse. / regency

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crestshen · 11 months ago

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WHO : crest shen & nikolai "kolya" ivanov / @ivanovcouture. WHERE : the president's mansion, night of the gala.

one of the highlights of the opening gala, besides its impressive array of indulgences, was the opportunity to run into familiar faces. for once, he had no date tonight - to be seen with a specific mentor would’ve been too great a sign of favoritism, even for his regulars -, which left him free to mill about, scouting the crowd for the less social of his acquaintances. not everyone attended the lavish parties thrown around the capitol, but anyone who was anyone in the games would attend the first big event of the season. he scanned over the throngs of people as he passed, throwing out a greeting here, a brilliant smile there, before his eyes caught a distinctive burst of colors. waving off his interlocutor, he made a beeline for one nikolai ivanov.

❛ hey, kid ! ❜ he slung an arm around the boy’s shoulders, his free hand coming up to ruffle his hair, much as he had yizhen’s when his brother was still small enough for him to get away with it. ❛ it’s good to see you ! the lot of you have been busy, i bet. how’s your aunt doing ? all’s well, i hope ? ❜ he snatched a flute of champagne off the nearest waiter’s tray, all but shoving it into kolya’s hands. ❛ here, get a drink. the party’s no fun if you’re stone cold sober, you know ? ❜

#c : kolya ivanov.#kolya001.

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paradisesc · 2 months ago

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From Social Demands to Political Uprising

Bloodshed During the Workers’ Strike in Plovdiv

On the evening of May 3, 1953, workers at the former “Tomasivan” tobacco factory in Plovdiv staged a revolt. Night shift workers took control of the factory, throwing out the guards and closing down operations. They barricaded themselves inside one of the largest tobacco warehouses, known as “Ivan Karadzhov.” The situation escalated when, on the morning of May 4, militia forces surrounded the warehouse and locked the doors from the outside.

The Spread of the Strike

That same morning, workers from two other warehouses, “Stefan Karadzhiev” and “Georgi Ivanov,” mostly women, also stopped working in solidarity. The strikers in the first warehouse broke down the doors and forced the militia guards to retreat. Soon, workers from all three warehouses gathered for an improvised rally in the factory courtyard. The crowd grew as more workers who were not on shift joined in, and by this time, the number of protesters reached several thousand, according to eyewitness accounts Private Balkan Tours.

The workers demanded that the government restore the favorable working conditions they had before the factory was nationalized. High-ranking party leaders, including Interior Minister Anton Yugov, arrived from Sofia to address the crowd. However, when he attempted to speak, protesters threw stones at him, forcing him to retreat. In response, the militia received orders to open fire on the crowd.

Violence and Repression

The violence escalated quickly. Several strikers were shot dead on the spot, including two women. Approximately 50 others were wounded, and hundreds were arrested. Kiril Dzhavezov, the leader of the strikers, was captured near the railway station and shot dead. The exact number of fatalities remains unclear, as the authorities imposed strict bans on any publicity or discussion of the events.

The Spark of Uprisings in Eastern Europe

The uprising in Plovdiv was not an isolated incident; it was part of a larger wave of unrest across Eastern Europe. The spark that ignited this wave first occurred in 1953 in Stalinallee, in East Berlin. Increased quotas for construction workers were the direct cause of their revolt. Workers from other sectors and ordinary citizens soon joined the protests.

On June 15, 1953, around 80 workers began a protest parade under the slogan “We demand reduced quotas.” As the day went on, hundreds of other workers joined the march. When they reached the trade union house, they found it locked and then headed towards the government building. By lunchtime, thousands had gathered outside, raising both union demands and political slogans such as “Down with the government!” and “Free elections!”

The events in Plovdiv and East Berlin exemplify the growing discontent among workers in communist Eastern Europe during the early 1950s. The protests were driven by legitimate social demands but quickly escalated into political uprisings against oppressive regimes. These incidents highlighted the widespread frustration with government policies and the desire for change, ultimately shaping the political landscape of the region. The bloodshed and repression experienced by the workers serve as a stark reminder of the struggles for rights and freedoms that characterized this turbulent period in history.

#From Social Demands to Political Uprising

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hasyes · 2 months ago

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