#i worked on two wips today

[utterlyazriel]

would ya believe it i may have finished chappie nine it's a christmas miracle !

[wikiangela]

tease tidbit tuesday/wip wednesday

tagged by @thewolvesof1998 @theotherbuckley @tizniz @diazsdimples @dangerpronebuddie @spotsandsocks @exhuastedpigeon @underwaterninja13 - tagging y'all back for wip wednesday 💖💖

doing two in one bc it's technically wednesday already idc lol - started a new wip I mentioned before (inspired by this video lol) and rn I'm rewriting what I wrote yesterday bc the past two days words were not wording and I hated everything I wrote, but I think I'm happy with it now haha I hope I'll manage to write it like I want to bc it's sooo good in my head istg haha

(wasn't gonna post until i have more but i need validation before i drive myself crazy over this lol)

___

It started as a random idea, more like a throwaway thought, really. Tommy was just checking the weather for the next few days – his hot pilot boyfriend always likes to be prepared – while they were hanging out, and he casually mentioned that “it’s gonna be nice on Saturday, perfect barbecue weather,” which got Buck to mention how they often have family barbecues at Bobby and Athena’s. Somehow, the conversation spiraled, and Buck’s not sure who threw out a more concrete idea, but here they are now, standing side by side in Tommy’s kitchen, preparing food – Buck’s currently slicing veggies for a salad, while Tommy takes care of the meat – for the barbecue where they invited way too many people than Tommy’s backyard can probably fit. It really is nice weather, the sliding door leading from the kitchen to the backyard open and letting in warm sunshine and a soft breeze that makes the air feel cooler. They work in pleasant silence, the only sound is quiet music playing from the speaker, and Buck can’t help a fond smile when he hears his boyfriend hum along, so off-key Buck’s not sure he even knows the song, but it’s still adorable.

The silence is disrupted by the doorbell ringing, and before Tommy can even move, Buck is dropping the knife on the cutting board, wiping his hands, and sprinting towards the door, shouting an “I got it!” over his shoulder. He’s followed by an echo of Tommy’s fondly amused chuckles. So he’s a little excited, sue him – they haven’t had a family day like this in a while, and there was only one he brought Tommy to, all of their schedules not so easy to align. And today his whole family will be here, including their spouses and children, and Tommy invited a couple of his friends and their families, too, and it’ll be just a big, loud, chaotic get-together that he’s hosting with his boyfriend. Buck never hosted one of these before, and he’s really enjoying it so far, and he just wants everyone to have fun.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @thebravebitch @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck

@eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life

@diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @weewootruck @loveyouanyway

@spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove

@nmcggg @rogerzsteven @hippolotamus @bidisasterevankinard @giddyupbuck

@sunshinediaz @honestlydarkprincess @911-on-abc @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings

@buddieswhvre @fortheloveofbuddie @your-catfish-friend

@daffi-990 @hoodie-buck @aroeddiediaz

[that-was-anticlimactic]

see a world so beautiful and strange (spinning off somewhere)

“Why? Why are you suppressing?”

“Because I can't tic,” Alya whispered, fingernails digging into the skin on her arm. “I know Tourette’s isn’t exactly uncommon, but it’s part of my identity as Alya Césaire. It can’t be a part of Rena Rouge, too. Someone could figure out who I am and then…”

And then she’d have to give up the coolest thing that’s ever happened to her, give up living her dreams.

[or, alya is suppresses as rena rogue in order to protect her identity, but neither ladybug nor trixx will let her hurt herself like that]

🦊2,345 words | alya-centric, alya & ladybug friendship🦊

happy tourette's awareness month!!!

[wetcatspellcaster]

work-fic balance seems to be.

4.30-6.00 (1.5hrs after clocking out): i am beyond exhausted. i am a burned out husk. I will never know creativity or productivity, ever again. i will waste my evening, and then my life. capitalism has killed off my ability to write.

8pm: get hit by the most intense urge to write, unlike anything i've ever felt before in my life.

10pm-onwards: the sexual tension between me, the wip document, and my newly scheduled bedtime.

[finalgirlsamwinchester]

like, ultimately, spn could never actually break the cycle of abuse and familial violence, bc to truly break the cycle would've required its writers to have the radical imaginary to look beyond the status quo. the show just reifies the idea of a paternal authority over the world. god dies but he has to be replaced you see, but it's okay, it's someone better now. family is hell but now family is also heaven.

[anothermonikan]

I should probably draw more canon complacent GabV1el stuff but I do think it's cute when they cuddle and go on little funny dates sorry. Yeah I know their whole thing is fighting and whatever but. machine and angel kisssy?? ever consider that??

[hardly-an-escape]

skin | surprise | "You want me and you know it." • 794 words • Smurch fill list

tags: human AU, coffeeshop AU, storage room blowjobs, right in front of the scones, the pining is mutual they're just idiots

“A crop top, Hob? Really?”

“It’s called fashion, sweetie. Look it up.”

Morpheus dumped a bag of beans into the industrial grinder and hit the button, wincing at the noise. He hated opening. He was emphatically not a morning person.

His coworker Hob, on the other hand, was both a morning person and a seemingly incurable optimist. He loved his job, loved their customers, loved trying new things. Including, apparently, very fashion-forward clothing choices for six o’clock in the morning on a cloudy Tuesday.

Morpheus did not like customers, or small talk, or new things, or much of anything about his job aside from dialing in the espresso machine and baking scones. Coffee and baking were predictable. Reliable. There were rules, and if you followed the rules, good things resulted. He appreciated that.

And he appreciated Hob. He appreciated his coworker quite a lot, in fact; perhaps more than was reasonable for a professional setting. He especially appreciated the extra skin on display as Hob stood on tiptoe, his colorful cropped T-shirt riding up as he stretched high to write the special of the day on the chalkboard.

“I am merely pointing out,” Morpheus said, shutting off the grinder, “that it may not be the most appropriate choice for work.”

“Uh huh. And I am merely pointing out,” said Hob over his shoulder, “that you want me and you know it.”

“I think you – what?” Morpheus’s mouth snapped shut as Hob’s actual words registered.

“You want to fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

He turned to face Morpheus and leaned against the counter. The space they were inhabiting, between the espresso machine and the cash register, suddenly felt very small.

Morpheus opened his mouth to protest. Nothing came out. He closed it again.

“And… if I said…” he licked his lips nervously and Hob’s eyes darted down to catch the movement. “If I said you… weren’t wrong?”

Hob pushed himself off the counter and took a step toward him.

“Then I’d probably say…” His voice was low and teasing and sent a thrill down Morpheus’s back. “I’d say there’s a big, mostly empty storage room downstairs. And I’d say that the front door is still locked and we don’t actually open for another twenty five minutes.” He took another step, until they were standing practically toe to toe. “And then I’d ask if I could kiss you.”

Morpheus answered by leaning forward, grabbing a handful of the shirt that had apparently started all this, and pressing his mouth to Hob’s. The kiss was fierce and messy and weeks of longing and not-so-thoroughly tamped-down arousal bubbled under his skin like hot coffee.

Five minutes later they were in the downstairs storage room, and Morpheus’s cock was so deep down Hob’s throat that he thought he might die.

“Why – didn’t you say something – sooner?” he gasped, then immediately regretted the question when Hob pulled off him to answer. His eyes were a little glassy and a thin strand of drool connected his bottom lip to the tip of Morpheus’s prick, which a distant semi-functional part of Morpheus’s brain filed away as the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

“Why didn’t you?” asked Hob hoarsely. “I know you’ve been staring at my arse since Easter at least. I thought I was being pretty damn flirty.”

“I…” Morpheus didn’t know what to say. I’m shy and awkward and everything makes me uncomfortable while you seem to swim through life with the grace of an otter was probably too much. I didn’t think you were flirting with me because you kind of flirt with everybody, likewise. How am I supposed to have a conversation or open the shop in eighteen minutes when all I can think about is the sight of your lips around my cock and all I want to do is come in your mouth and drag you down with me and smell of you for days was a serious contender. “I don’t know.”

His hips twitched forward of their own accord and Hob smiled with those glossy, spit-wet lips.

“Well,” he said, and leaned back in, dragging a deliberate tongue slowly along the hard, needy length of Morpheus’s prick, a wide swipe from root to tip that drew a surprised and whimpering fuck from his mouth. “Why don’t you think about that for a minute while I’m down here?”

Then he sucked him all the way back down and Morpheus couldn’t think about anything for quite a long while.

There was an angry comment on the shop’s Facebook page later that day, all about how they’d been half an hour late to open that morning, with no note left on the door or anything. But neither Morpheus nor Hob could bring themselves to care.

[codename-adler]

i’m thinking today is TSC read day

[hplonesomeart]

Going to post this small snippet spoiler for another SMG4 animatic I’m cooking up for viewing pleasure (and also simply because these characters are slowly seeping into my subconscious. As we speak Mr. Puzzles is directing my actions so that I can push his name into stardom with “gloriously animated content” HE’S KEEPING ME HOSTAGE HELP /J)

IT’S NOT FINISHED IT’S A POTENTIAL WORK IN PROGRESS

I love musicals and Mr. Puzzles strikes me as a theater nerd so I figured Hairspray (song being Welcome to the 60’s) was a good fit, plus wouldn’t it be fun to see Meggy try and help him along to start a redemption arch? Like how could they not carry a bit of sentimentality over the time spent together? I feel like her resilient passive aggressive energy pairs well with how he can be stubborn sometimes too…she can give him the push (or more like a well-intentioned shove) he needs to get his act together and give it another try! Because a part of me feels like he would want to regress into unhealthy past habits after facing so many defeats at the hands of SMG4 crew; shut himself in solitude and stare at a screen. So think the animatic would start with that scene and then lead into the musical number :D

[shitouttabuck]

fuck it friday

tagged by @rewritetheending @jeeyuns @giddyupbuck @try-set-me-on-fire @leothil @housewifebuck @buckactuallys @alyxmastershipper thank you pals! have a single i-love-you-like-a-dog dog joke mwah

Eddie scrunches his face up. “If I sleep now, I won’t sleep later.” Buck laughs. “Yes, you will. You say this every day, and then forty minutes after you take your meds you’re basically comatose.” “Not with this lowered dosage,” Eddie grumbles, but he closes his book anyway. “Your parents land tonight, right? Tomorrow’ll be pretty full-on, if you’re seeing them,” Buck reminds him, squeezing one of his ankles gently. “Plus, this way I can swing by the store with Chris, get some groceries if you’re having them over? If you come with I’ll have to make you wait in the car.” Eddie glares at him balefully. “I’m not a dog.” “Hey, you left me in the car all the time after my leg got crushed,” Buck protests. “Yeah, well, you couldn’t fucking walk at all. And I always left a window cracked,” Eddie says. “I don’t think pushing a shopping trolley for fifteen minutes is going to incapacitate me, Buck.” “I don’t know,” Buck singsongs, “I know your son, and that trolley’s going to be stuffed with his body weight’s worth of tamale fillings if he knows his abuela’s coming over. And that means you’re gonna want to see Mariana, which adds at least an extra half an hour to this little excursion, if you take into account the four weeks of gossip you’ll want to catch up on.” “We don’t gossip,” Eddie huffs. “You can’t add an arbitrary half-hour based on gossiping that doesn’t happen.” “I’m not judging, Eddie,” Buck tells him seriously, “but my calculations are never wrong.”

tagging @onward--upward @diazblunt @athenagranted @zahlibeth @clusterbuck @forthewolves @anxieteandbiscuits @colonoscopys @transboybuckley if you have anything 💓

[forcedhesitation]

*wheeze* slowly, but surely, working on art of them all

[that-was-anticlimactic]

if i loved you like i'm capable of

Chuuya stared at him, eyes wide before bursting into laughter. “Phah! Dazai was right—you are high-strung!” they cackled, slapping their knee with their hand.

“I am not high-strung!” Kunikida argued. “Unlike you, I actually have a set of ideals and morals that I strive to live by. If that makes me high-strung to the world, then so be it. At least I have those to fall back on.”

“Hm,” Chuuya hummed, all traces of laughter vanishing within seconds. Although their chests were practically touching, they somehow managed to stalk even closer. They hooked a finger around Kunikida’s collar and pulled him down, ignoring his indignant squawk and red skin.

“You seem pretty high-strung to me, even without all your ideals. Looks like you could use a break, pretty boy.”

[or, kenji, chuuya, & kunikida have a sleepover & bad flirting ensues]

🛏 7,045 words | kunichuu & kenji 🛏

a gift for my beloved @zukkaoru because they had to listen to me complain about writer's bock for two months straight, they wanted more kunicuu, their kunichuu spam yesterday inspired this, & bc i'm biased & love them <333

[flickering-nightfall]

[knifebaby3000]

[superfluouskeys]

wip actually wednesday! ♥

I was certainly not tagged by non-tumblr-user @menzosarres in my personal favorite form of social media, being snapchatted a tumblr post, but anyway, I have chosen to bother you all with more original thing because it's been awhile and also I want to and it makes me happy :) I'm also sharing two snippets bc see above :) and also the sections are related but my transitional sections in this part are a bit of a mess rn LOL.

I really need a better sorting system this is starting to become egregious.

part 1 || part 2 || part 3 || part 4

I'm doing a cop-out and saying if you want to do the thing pls feel free to consider yourself tagged!

==

“Back already, Sister?”

Tamsin startles.  Althea turns with poise and grace.  The owner of the voice is not nearly so imposing in her stature as Althea, but no less regal in her countenance.  Her flaxen hair is arranged delicately around her shoulders, accentuating the delicate shape of her face.  She wears a dress of deep red that appears to Tamsin a bit more fashionable than what Althea prefers, fitted at the waist and flared out down to her ankles.

“Sister Maren,” Althea nods cordially.  “There was an unexpected development.”

Maren’s sharp eyes fall upon Tamsin.  “So I see.”

“May I introduce Tamsin of Godsplace?” says Althea.

Tamsin glances nervously between them.  “Uh.  Pleased to meet you.”

She attempts a surpassingly awkward curtsey.  Maren’s thin-lipped smile exudes haughty derision.

“Yes,” says Maren.  “A pleasure, I’m sure.”

“So, as you can see, I’ll need to take her to get settled in and find someone who’s available to initiate her.”

Maren hums, a short, affected sound.  “I can teach her,” she says, with a sharp-eyed glance toward Tamsin, “if you want it done properly.”

Althea laughs.  “I think I’d prefer that our newest student survive her first week.”

Maren’s brow twitches in subtle annoyance at the jab.  “Suit yourself,” she says primly.  “But don’t come crying to me when Sister Helie teaches her whatever it is she’s calling proper form these days.”

“Did you need something, Maren?” Althea asks her evenly.

Maren scoffs.  “And here I thought I was coming to greet an old friend,” she replies mildly.  “Yes, as it happens, but I didn’t know you’d have company.  Come and find me, when you can spare the time.”

She turns to leave without waiting for an answer, her red skirts twirling dramatically around her.  Before she gets very far, though, she stops abruptly and turns back toward Tamsin.  “Oh, and,” she begins, and then curtseys low, curling her hand into a fist somewhere near her heart.  “Well come and well met, little sister.”

Tamsin watches her go in stunned silence.

“Well,” says Althea, with muted amusement.  “What a welcome.  Let’s get you settled, shall we?”

She sets off with surety, and Tamsin is left to scramble after her.

“Is she really a teacher?” Tamsin wonders, for lack of a better way to begin.  Tamsin does not have much experience with teachers, but the small handful of schoolteachers in Godsplace are all kind, if somewhat harried women, all but one among them (who but recently began as a sort of apprentice) much older and married with children.

Tamsin supposes Maren could be much older than she appears, but she certainly doesn’t have the air of patience Tamsin would expect from a teacher.  Tamsin wonders if teachers are very different here at the Academy.

“You doubt her suitability?” Althea wonders, still with that lilt of amusement about her voice.

“Oh, no, I only—“

“It’s understandable, but I assure you Sister Maren is an excellent teacher, and has an excellent heart besides.  Her style, however, is…not for the faint of heart, shall we say.”

“That was sort of what I was wondering about,” says Tamsin.

“Oh, you’ll see soon enough,” says Althea. 

==

Whatever Tamsin is expecting, Teacher Helie is not it.  She is noticeably slight of frame, particularly set against Althea, not quite plump but with an air of softness about her, and the silvery blonde of her hair and eyelashes gives her the look of one lightly dusted with the morning dew.  She greets Tamsin in the same way Maren did, except that it is not the same at all.  The curtsey, the gesture, and the words all bear the conviction of deepest sincerity.

“Tamsin cannot see the Gift thus far,” Althea tells Helie, “and it’s my impression she still doubts me when I tell her she possesses it at all.”

Tamsin ducks her head, embarrassed, although the words are true.

“Oh, dear,” says Helie gently, reaching out for Tamsin’s hands, “we Forgotten must never bow our heads in shame!”  Her voice matches her countenance, soft and sweet, and with the lilt of an accent Tamsin does not recognize.  When Tamsin takes her hands and looks up, she notices that Helie’s eyes are unusually pale, as though painted with the same brush as her hair and lashes.

Helie smiles kindly and squeezes Tamsin’s hands.  “Every Gift, big or small, is precious,” she says, with the same heart-wrenching conviction as well come and well met.  “And I believe that no Gift is an accident.”  She leans in, almost conspiratorial.  “The Gift wants to be used, you see.  Even the tiniest sliver of magic, in the right hands, may one day take the world by storm.”

“See?  Just as I’ve been saying,” says Althea, pleased, but restrained as ever.  “And with that, I shall leave you in Sister Helie’s capable hands.”  To Tamsin’s surprise, Althea then mimics the greeting the others have bestowed upon her.  Althea’s version is not sarcastic, but neither is it effusive.  Althea makes the gesture seem somehow ordinary, as though it were the way one should always expect to be greeted.  “Well come and well met, little sister,” she says with a regal curtsey.  “If there’s anything you need, your teachers can likely provide it, but nevertheless, please do not hesitate to seek me out.”

“Ah,” Helie sighs musically when Althea closes the door behind her.  “Forgive me for saying so, Tamsin, but you must really have left an impression on Sister Althea.”  She chuckles lightly.  “Normally she doesn’t like to be sought out by anyone.”

Tamsin picks at her skirt self-consciously.  “She could have just been saying that to be polite.”

Helie laughs.  It is a bright, joyful sound.  “Believe me when I tell you, Sister Althea doesn’t 'just say' anything.  And certainly not for the sake of politeness!”

Helie leads her to the front of the classroom, and pushes some of the frontmost desks out of the way.  “Now,” she begins.  “I’m sure Althea’s told you, but just to reiterate, it’s not at all unusual to be unable to see the Gift at first, particularly if you were raised in an environment where magic was not commonplace.”  She taps her temple.  “Our eyes can play tricks on us, you see.  We see what we expect to see, and our very minds are wont to ignore what doesn’t make sense to us.”

Tamsin considers this.  The statement somehow sparks both comfort and anxiety.  She wonders how much of her life she has somehow misremembered.  She wonders if perhaps there were signs that she had the Gift and she simply didn’t have the eyes to see them.  She wonders, with a sudden and intense twinge of remorse, if she could have escaped sooner, or if she’d have even thought to try.

“For those who cannot see, I find it’s best to start with feeling,” Helie continues.  “Now, don’t be discouraged if this doesn’t work right away, either.  Many of us are inclined to ignore what our bodies tell us, too.”

Tamsin lets out a breath of something like laughter.  “You make it sound a bit bleak.”

Helie considers this with a subtle furrowing of her delicate brow.  “Bleak?” she echoes.  “Oh, not at all, dear.  Perhaps you’re thinking of the time you’ve lost?  Wishing you’d realized earlier?”

Tamsin averts her gaze.  “You’ve read my mind, I’m afraid.”

Helie shakes her head.  “Whatever happened in the past, Tamsin, you’ve made it all the way here.  That is no small feat.  Where you are now is already so very different from where you started.  We Forgotten sacrifice much, but what we gain is…immeasurable.”

She holds out her hands, palms upturned, but it feels somehow different than before.  Tamsin watches her for a moment, hesitant, until Helie nods her encouragement.

Tamsin takes her hands.

She looks up, trying and failing to hide her disappointment.  She had expected something to happen.

“Close your eyes,” says Helie.

Tamsin closes her eyes.

“Take a deep breath.”

Tamsin breathes.  Her chest is tight, and she realizes only now that she is trembling.

“Another,” Helie directs.  “Breath by breath, let go of your fear.”

Tamsin breathes again.  But another voice echoes in the back of her mind, the man from the Town Square back in Godsplace.  Do you know fear?  How will you find peace?  Burn her, burn her, burn her—

Tamsin staggers back from Helie, heart racing, gasping for air, and with tears in her eyes.  “I’m sorry,” she stammers.  “I’m sorry, I really tried, I—“

“Oh, dear,” Helie soothes, with hands gently patting her arms.  “I see now.  Your power frightens you.”

Tamsin scrubs at her face, but the tears will not stop flowing.  It’s like the whole journey has come crashing back into her all at once, the horror of the screaming girl in the Square, the sorrow at the loss of a dear friend to an archaic tradition, the muted fury at the way her mother treats her, the terror at what would befall her at the whim of Teddy Page, and then--!

And then, perhaps worst of all, the hope!  The horrible, heart-rending hope that someone had come to save her at last, that everything would be different from now on--and the shame, that a nothing and a nobody should dare to want such change for herself, let alone allow herself to have it.

Tamsin covers her face, unable to stop her crying.  Helie continues patting her arms, and she speaks in a soft, soothing tone.  “It’s all right now, Tamsin,” says Helie.  “It always hurts the most before it starts to heal.  And can I tell you something else?”

Again Tamsin attempts to dry her eyes.  She sniffles miserably.  Helie withdraws, and digs a handkerchief out of her pocket, which she offers to Tamsin.

“Some people think foreswearing home and family and all that came before is the hardest part about becoming Forgotten.  And for them, that may be true.  But it’s not just about dedicating yourself to your craft, or to your sisters.”

Helie pats her shoulder again, more firmly this time.  “It’s about letting go,” she says with a smile, “of what is holding you back.”

The gravity of her words stuns Tamsin into a state of calm, and she is able to dry her eyes at last.

“Shall we try again?” Helie asks her.

Tamsin nods.

Helie moves away, back to the center of the space, giving Tamsin room to follow her.  Tamsin watches the way she holds herself, the way she presents her hands to Tamsin, like there is some sort of strength flowing through her arms, even though Helie doesn’t look remotely like the sort of person one would consider physically strong.

Tamsin tries to imitate Helie’s posture, squaring her shoulders and taking a deep breath before she approaches to take Helie’s hands.

“I can see what you’re thinking,” says Helie with a wry smile.  “You don’t want that to happen again.  But it might.”

Tamsin falters.  She withdraws her hands, and so does Helie.

“You have a lot of pain,” says Helie kindly.  “I’d guess it’s pain you barely even knew was there.  It won’t just go away like that.”

“Then…” says Tamsin uncertainly, “what should I do?”

“Let it all in,” says Helie.  Again, she presents her hands.  “The pain, yes.  But also the joy.”

Tamsin nods.  She takes Helie’s hands, and closes her eyes like before.

“Breathe in,” says Helie.  “Feel your fear, your sorrow, your anger.  Then breathe out, and let it go.”

Tamsin breathes in.  It’s like being outside in the dead of winter.  Her chest aches, and she is still trembling.  Dozens of burnings flash before her eyes, each one the same, each one an injustice.  Her cheeks burn with the shame of her namelessness, her ingratitude toward the woman who didn’t have to raise her, even in spite of everything Mrs. Burkow did and said.  Whatever Tamsin imagined in the recesses of her mind, she had always expected to lead an unremarkable existence.

But Tamsin is no longer unremarkable.  And it no longer matters that she has no family and no name.  Tamsin is here because Keeper Althea saw something in her that no one else ever could.  Tamsin is here because she has the Gift, because Althea believes she has the Gift, and so she must have the Gift, because, because—

Tamsin gasps, and she almost withdraws her hands, almost opens her eyes.  She feels…something, like a tingle beneath her hands, like some sort of invisible energy is radiating from Helie’s palms, real enough to touch.  She holds on tighter, as though she could get more of the feeling just by pressing down, but the tingle remains subtle, distant, like the fleeting remnants of a wonderful dream.

“Do you feel it?” Helie whispers, but there is a smile in her voice.  She already knows the answer.

“Yes,” Tamsin breathes.  Again there are tears in her eyes, but she isn’t embarrassed.  These are tears of joy.

[xiuminuwu]

Posting some new cc today🤩🤪