#lot of feels for this fanfic

[emberfaye]

You know what?

I love you, fics that take months to update. I click on the newest chapter and have no memory of this place and get to go back some chapters and rediscover how much i love everything about this story.

I love you, fics that take years to update. I think of you fondly, and know your names, go search for you and see an update from this year and scream, diving in uncaring of any missed details (i will finish the update and read you in reverse because this is a treat you have bestowed)

I love you, fics that probably will never update again. Thank you for being a roman empire for my mind, thank you for teaching me about the ephemeral fandom experience, for inspiring a thousand million what if-s, for being a comfort read and a nostalgia read and a reread.

I love you fic writers, who jump into projects and stories with enthusiasm. I love you when you succeed in pumping out those chapters and that love doesn't go away when you stop.

I love you fic writers who post and then get in your own head and never feel confident enough to update, whether it's at all or whether it's just that one story.

I love you fic writers, who have a fandom or media hurt you to the point of abandoning or having a hard time with their WIPs.

I love you fic writers, who lose interest or have life changes or illness or bad memory. Thank you for being part of the fandom, a core part of the fandom. Thank you for the time spent in the fandom.

I love you, fic writers who try out something new and then stop. You're so valid.

I love you, WIP fics that may or may not ever get finished. Thank you for brightening my day in the way only you could have.

[ultravioletbrit]

“lipstick” - Jegulus microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - 280 words

 

“You lying, cheating bastard!” Regulus yells from down the hall.

“What did you do?” Remus asks.

“Probably nothing.” James shrugs as Regulus storms into the kitchen.

“Probably nothing!?” Regulus yells. “Care to explain what this is?” He throws a shirt at James.

“The shirt I wore last night.” James says casually.  

“Right. And why are there lipstick marks and mascara streaks on the collar?” Still yelling as he rips the shirt back out of James’ hands.

James points behind Regulus to a hungover Sirius who’s passed out at the kitchen table with smeared lipstick and mascara on his face.

“Right. That makes sense. Thank you.” He says sternly and stomps back out of the kitchen muttering something about ‘oil based’ and ‘a bitch to clean.’

“What was that?” Remus asks with wide eyes.

“Healthy communication.” James says with another shrug.

“That was healthy?”

“Oh yeah, normally he shuts down, won’t talk to me for days and often locks me out of the bedroom without telling me what’s wrong.” James starts telling him as Regulus walks back into the kitchen looking for something under the sink. “Plus, he knows I’d never actually cheat, probably just needed a bit of reassurance and this way he can ask without feeling too vulnerable.” He finishes as Regulus stands up.

“And you like it when I’m a little mean to you.” He tells James and kisses him on the cheek.

“And that.” James says as Regulus gives Remus a pointed ‘so there’ look and saunters out of the kitchen again.

“God, he’s dramatic.” Remus mumbles.

“Mooooonnnnyyyy!! My head huuuurrrts!!!” Sirius whines from the table and James raises an eyebrow at Remus.  

“What? I didn’t say mine wasn’t dramatic.”

[wanologic]

Danny wakes up. It feels different now that he’s older. Now that he’s both more and less than he was. He starts mornings out floaty, his edges indistinct, bleeding into his surroundings. He’s hyper-aware of the tentative strings connecting him to life, the blood pumping sluggishly through his veins, the breath expanding the lungs within his chest. 

He yawns. A stretch.

His brain feels like an old computer booting up, each process coming online in a slow, methodical order. Neurons firing, electric pulses traveling up and down the webbed network of sinew tangled through his skeleton. He feels the pressure of atmosphere on his skin, the floor under his feet.

It’s weird. Not uncomfortable, just strange. It’s been years, but it’s never been easy to come to terms with the new awareness of his physicality, the control he could exert over its expression and shape. What once was instinctual, settled, now flows through his fingers like water, rising and falling with the rhythm of his chest. He would say that he’s just tired, that he’s never been a morning person, but the simmer of dawn and the infinite thrumming energy beneath his skin beg to differ.

He makes his way to the bathroom. He might have walked, but probably not, he can’t be sure. It doesn’t matter. There are only friends here. He’s safe. Home.

The routine of the morning is grounding. Always the same. Jazz says it should help. That it can all become instinctual again, through enough repetition. Danny isn’t so sure.

He takes his time putting together his outfit, picking accessories and being mindful of the way it all fits against him. His body might be a projection, something just to the left of real, but clothes are normal, socks, rings, a watch. He can feel normal like this. 

Another stretch. 

He wants to scream.

He makes his way down to the shared living space. He’s grateful that he’s not crammed into a tiny apartment with strangers, that he’s allowed both the time and space to be what he is. Sam’s parents may not be the most accommodating, but this is worth every glare and snide, underhanded comment he’s had to put up with for the better part of the past decade.

He knows what comes next, but his stomach rolls in his gut. He should have something solid, go through the remaining motions of self-care, even if it’s a bowl of cereal and a piece of fruit. 

He grimaces and grabs a less-than-pleasant nutritional shake from the fridge. They’re supposed to be back up, an addition-to rather than in-replacement-of, but it’s early and he can’t bring himself to care. He finds himself on the roof, with the chilled bite of the morning and the chalky pseudo-chocolate flavor of his breakfast on his tongue.

He longs to shed this husk, to leave the weight of his flesh behind and see what the sunrise looks like from ten thousand feet. But it’s a Tuesday and he has an 8am. He wants equally to be the college student he is, to sit with his peers and bring numbers to their algorithmic conclusions—to describe the world around him in a way that makes sense, in a way that’s objectively true. One day he might even be able to describe what happened to him in a neat little equation. 

He breathes in and out, feeling heavy in his body. This is nice too, he supposes. He shuts his eyes and feels the brunt of the morning sun peek over the neighboring apartment complex. When he hears his friends shuffling about in their own morning fugue states, he sinks back inside. 

Tucker just about jumps out of his skin when he turns around, eyes half closed, to see Danny dressed and ready, silent, and much too close behind him.

Laughter peels through the house as Danny is chased through the halls and somehow he feels human.

[hipsternumbertwo]

Some things never change 🤞

[seagreenstardust]

I cannot believe the canon bkdk dynamic though.

Katsuki, completely whipped, 100% on board to spend the rest of his life with Izuku, living the dream as heroes.

Izuku, completely oblivious to his own worth, oblivious to how Katsuki really feels about him now, just so oblivious to it all.

[sotvtaughtmehowtofeel]

Want to write a comment on AO3 but don’t know how? Lemme help! Choose as many of these prompts as you like:

1. What was your favorite part?

2. How did it make you feel? Did you laugh out loud? Did you cry? What parts made you feel something?

3. What emotion were you left with when you finished the chapter?

4. Did any particular lines stick out to you? Which ones?

5. Did something remind you of something from the source material? Talk about that!

6. Did anything surprise you?

7. Did anything stand out to you?

I know some people get anxious writing comments but I PROMISE YOU you will make the writer’s day! Even if you just pick one of these things to elaborate on in your comment, the writer will appreciate it! If you write a long comment, the writer will remember it for ages!!

YOU CAN WRITE THE BEST COMMENT SOMEONE HAS EVER GOTTEN!! I believe in you!! 💜 please feel free to reach out if you have any questions or doubts!

[spaceman-earthgirl]

they say time heals all wounds

Agatha wants to see Rio. Which is a drastic change from wanting to kill her a few days ago, but here she is.

She’s spent the last few hundred years avoiding Rio, hating her, but she doesn’t quite hate her anymore.

Agatha’s not quite sure how she knows, but she can feel Rio somehow, knows exactly where she is.

One moment she’s thinking about her and then next minute Rio is there. She’s standing on the side of the road, watching a car crash, watching as people panic and even Agatha can tell it doesn’t look good.

Agatha knows Rio is waiting, knows it’s someone’s time.

Agatha floats towards Rio, and then when she realises she hasn’t been noticed she has a fun idea.

“Boo!”

Agatha relishes in the way Rio jumps, the way Rio’s glare in her direction turns to surprise when she realises Agatha shouldn’t be here.

“You’re a ghost.”

“I know,” Agatha laughs. She does a spin in the air. She was upset in the beginning but she’s been having fun.

“I hate ghosts.”

Agatha grins this time. “I know.”

Rio rolls her eyes, turning back to the scene in front of her. “What are you doing here?”

“Billy was sleeping and I was bored. And I wanted to see you,” Agatha adds after a moment.

The myriad of emotions that flicker across Rio’s face are entertaining. Rio has always been easy to read, and Agatha sees it all now. The surprise that she’s with Billy, which turns into a knowing look, like she knew Agatha would end up with him. Then the surprise and confusion that Agatha wanted to see her.

Agatha can see that Rio doesn’t quite trust her words, doesn’t quite believe she really is here to see her. Like Agatha has some hidden agenda, like she’s up to something.

Which with her track record is a fair assumption.

But not this time.

Rio picks one part of Agatha’s words to focus on, the part she already knows about.

The easy part.

“You’re still with Billy?”

“We’re a coven, aren’t we? No witch left behind, or whatever it is.”

Rio laughs, her eyes lighter than Agatha has seen in a long time. Something cracks in her chest, something she’s going to ignore.

“So, what’s going on there?” Agatha asks, nodding to the accident in front of them.

It’s an obvious ploy to change the subject, but Rio lets her.

“There’s an old man, he lost control while driving. He’s not going to make it despite the paramedic’s best efforts.”

Agatha sees it, the moment the man dies, his ghost appearing. She’s never seen this part before.

Rio nods towards the scene. “Well, that’s my cue.”

“Have fun with Grandpa.”

Rio rolls her eyes but salutes.

Agatha hasn’t felt like this in a long time.

read the rest on ao3 or under the cut

—

Agatha knows exactly where Rio is the next time she tries to find her too.

Rio jumps again when Agatha appears next to her, and this time there’s only a glare that Rio sends her way.

“Don’t do that.”

“You’re surprised there’s a ghost in a cemetery?”

Rio shoots her another look. At least that hasn’t changed.

“What are you doing here?”

“Can’t a girl visit Death from time to time without an explanation?”

“You never do anything without thinking it through,” Rio points out, which also hasn’t changed. Rio knows her, always sees through whatever she is doing.

“Well, I’m a ghost, isn’t this where I belong now?”

Rio rolls her eyes, amusement clear in her look.

“You do make a very attractive ghost, by the way. This is a good look on you,” Rio says, waving her hand, indicating Agatha’s whole body.

Agatha flushes from head to toe, or at least she would if she could flush. It still makes her feel warm.

“What can I say,” she says, flourishing her hands. “I can make anything work.”

Rio goes to shove Agatha, realising last minute that she can’t, that Agatha is a ghost. She doesn’t stop her hands fast enough though, and to the surprise of them both, instead of Rio’s hands going straight through her, her hands make contact and Agatha is jostled to the side.

“What the hell?” Rio asks, looking down at her hands.

“I don’t know, that’s your department,” Agatha says, righting herself, just as surprised as Rio is. She’s touched things before as a ghost, but it takes a lot of concentration and is only for a short period of time. She wasn’t even thinking about it this time.

Rio pokes her arm, hard.

“Ow,” Agatha says, annoyed as she rubs her arm. “What was that for?”

Rio is frowning. “Just…checking.”

Rio’s hand returns to the spot she’d poked, but this time her hand soothes over the spot.

Agatha can feel it, the touch solid and warm.

“Well,” Rio says, eyebrow quirking. “That’s interesting.”

Agatha shakes off her hand, both the look and touch too much. “Yeah, well, just because you can, it doesn’t mean you can touch me.”

Rio holds up her hands in surrender, and Agatha suddenly wants them back on her. She’s missed Rio’s touch.

“Billy found his brother,” Agatha says, changing the subject.

Again, Rio lets her. “Don’t tell me that, you know they shouldn’t exist.”

“You won’t hurt them,” Agatha says.

Rio softens. “No, I won’t.”

She knows Rio won’t. She knows Rio would never do anything to hurt her. Not again.

She can see how much she’s hurt Rio too, and it’s suddenly too much again.

But Agatha can’t help it, she’s the one that reaches out this time, feels solid skin as her finger caresses Rio’s jaw.

“Until next time,” Agatha says, vanishing before Rio can say anything.

—

Agatha finds Rio people watching.

The street is crowded: people walking, people driving, people stopping in to look at shops or sitting outside crowded cafes and restaurants.

“Is someone going to die?” Agatha asks by way of greeting. She almost hopes the answer is yes. She misses watching Rio work.

Rio doesn’t look Agatha’s way, but she doesn’t miss the way Rio’s shoulders relax slightly with Agatha by her side.

“Not here,” Rio answers.

They stand in silence, just watching. Agatha isn’t sure what Rio is seeing but it’s kind of nice, the bustling crowd. It makes her forget for a moment that she’s not a part of the world any more.

But then Agatha gets bored, and what’s a bored ghost to do if not annoy others?

She sticks her foot out, making it solid, tripping the next person who walks by. It’s a young man and he stumbles, but unfortunately manages to right himself without actually falling over.

Agatha purses her lips. “Damn.”

Rio is trying not to smile when Agatha glances her way.

Ok, so maybe she was just doing it to get a reaction out of her.

“You never stop, do you?”

Agatha laughs. “Life’s boring otherwise.” She pauses. “Or death is anyway.”

“Are you calling me boring?” Rio shoots back, with a suggestive tilt of her eyebrow.

“Never,” Agatha grins.

Agatha sticks out her foot again but Rio grabs her wrist, and the touch distracts her so much that the person she’d been aiming to trip walks right through her foot.

Agatha can see that Rio is just as confused about how she can touch her, but others can’t.

“I never asked, how did this happen?” Rio asks, keeping hold of her wrist.

It makes Agatha feel uneasy in the best possible way.

“This?”

“How did you become a ghost?” Rio clarifies.

“I don’t know,” Agatha says, because it’s true, she’s not quite sure. “One moment I was...” Agatha trails off when she realises what she was about to say. 

Kissing you.

But even if Agatha doesn’t say it, Rio hears it. Agatha knows she does because Rio glances down at her mouth and Agatha has to swallow down all the feelings it brings up before she continues.

“And the next moment you and Billy were gone, and I was like this.”

The moment feels suddenly charged, Rio still holding her wrist, so Agatha breaks the moment, even if she can’t bring herself to break the contact.

She’s hated her for so long, but she doesn’t hate her anymore. She sees it now, Rio was just doing her job, it wasn’t her choice to take Nicky.

“Maybe I did it just because I know how much you hate ghosts.”

Rio rolls her eyes. “You would become a ghost out of spite.”

“You know me,” Agatha grins. “I love a bit of spite.”

“I have to go, duty calls,” Rio suddenly says, looking as disappointed by the interruption as Agatha feels.

Rio squeezes her wrist and then is gone, Agatha left wondering what’s going on between them.

She fell in love with death a long time ago. She realises now she never fell out of it.

—

Agatha may be a ghost, but that doesn’t mean she has changed that much. Which means she’s very happy to kill the odd witch here and there, just for the power.

And maybe a little bit because she knows a dead body means Rio will show up.

So that’s how Rio finds her, standing over the body of a witch she’s just killed.

“What’s going on?” Rio asks, a smirk on her face.

Agatha shrugs, it’s pretty obvious exactly what she’s done.

It almost feels just like old times.

Except old times didn’t include the ghost of the witch she’s just killed appearing in front of her.

“Oops,” Agatha laughs, taking a step backwards as the ghost turns angrily towards her. “Well, in my defence, you deserved it,” Agatha says, addressing the ghost. That’s not true, but they all know that.

Rio steps between them and Agatha feels that warmth again, that annoying feeling of gratitude as Rio protects her. Not that she needs the protection, but it’s nice all the same.

Rio shoots her a look over her shoulder and Agatha gets the message loud and clear.

Leave. Now.

There’s no heat in the gaze, Rio still just looks amused.

Agatha blows her a kiss, excitement still thrumming through her from the kill (and Rio’s look) before she vanishes.

It really is just like old times.

—

Agatha is surprised when she goes looking for Rio and finds her not far away.

Rio doesn’t startle anymore when Agatha appears, she just shoots her a smile as Agatha takes a seat on the stoop outside her old house in Westview.

“What are you doing here?” Agatha asks, though there’s not a lot of reasons Rio could be here.

“Just thinking.”

Rio’s eyes flash to hers and Agatha sees the unspoken end of the sentence.

“Just thinking about you.”

 It makes Agatha’s chest crack and spill, like it hasn’t in a long time. She’d forgotten what this felt like, to actually feel, and to have someone love her in return.

Agatha reaches out, takes Rio’s hand, threads their fingers together and brings Rio’s hand to rest in her lap.

Rio looks up with such a hopeful look that it reminds Agatha of the way they used to be, the fun they used to have.

“I’ve missed you,” Rio says and Agatha sees it again, how much she hurt Rio, how much damage they’ve both done to each other.

Rio wasn’t lying when she’d called Agatha her scar, because Rio is hers too, a permanent mark that she’d tried to erase with time and hate, but never quite could.

“You can’t kill a ghost, right?” Agatha asks, leaning into Rio, into her space, where she never wants to leave again.

“Not this way,” Rio says, leaning in too and then their lips meet and it’s nothing like last time. 

This kiss is soft at first, Agatha can feel how tentative Rio is, like she’s worried Agatha is going to vanish again.

Even though as a ghost, she’s very good at that, she’s not going to do that again. She doesn’t want to. All she wants is Rio.

So screw tentative, she’s missed this for years, and needs Rio back.

The kiss turns heated, Agatha gripping Rio like she’s the one that might disappear.

“I’ve missed you too, my love,” Agatha mumbles into the kiss, knows what the name words does to Rio. She holds Rio close as she says her next words too. “I’m sorry.”

Rio pulls away, looking amused. “I never thought I’d hear those words coming from you.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Can I get used to this?” Rio asks, trailing her hand down Agatha’s side. “You’re not going to vanish on me again?”

Agatha can hear the real fear in her words.

No one thinks Death feels fear, but Agatha knows better.

Agatha rests her forehead against Rio’s, shuts her eyes, and even though she doesn’t have a heart, it feels like she does, like it’s beating just for Rio.

“Never.”

She means it.

[ryegarden]

it's election day I can be a little political as a treat. if you still purchase or publicly consume or create harry potter media or content, donate to a UK based trans person and sit with your morals for a bit. Both major political parties ran a campaign stoking a culture war against trans people because of Rowlings ideology and funding. Every time you line her pockets - and that includes by consuming and creating fan content publicly, thus proliferating the enjoyment of hp (because even if you don't spend money on it, you are making it acceptable for people who do spend) - you contribute directly, personally, to British trans kids dying early. I don't care if it's important to you - I wore a ravenclaw scarf to school well into my teens, and then I found out Rowling was a terf (and all the antisemitic shit in the books) and every piece of harry potter merchandise got stuffed in a box at the back of my wardrobe. It turns out, when the author of your favourite book is best buddies with the MP of your constituency and they talk about trans people like you're dirt on the bottom of their shoes, it sours the experience a little.

Read a better book. Do better by british trans folks

[senseofnewness]

Can you tell me your headcanons about Patrick and Art size 😶‍🌫️?

size headcanons [nsfw]

sorry this turned into a full dick inspection, call me a DICKtective

Art

He has an average size dick, let’s give him credit, it’s more like on the high percentile of average.

It’s girthy AND long. Like, it’s a nice handful. It gets the job done just right.

He is cut. It was done right after birth for hygienic reasons. The tip of his cock is the same shade of light pink as his nipples.

Art has small fuzzy balls. They’re not hairy because he does shave but it has some kind of blond peach fuzz. I don’t want to baby him but they’re adorable.

He is entirely bare. Not a single hair on display. He spends time in the shower spreading his nair cream all over his groin and crack. He thinks he looks bigger without hairs.

Maybe Art doesn't cum a lot, quantity wise, but he can cum on demand. That boy needs no time recovery time whatsoever. He can just get back at it.

Patrick

This is canon, he has a big dick. Tashi said it, I take her words for it.

It’s not that long, not a third arm type of shit, but it’s VERY girthy. A big boy that stretches you out real good.

I know he is canonically jewish but I think he was late for his circumcision and it got canceled. I don’t know if it’s because I know what Josh’s cock looks like but Patrick Zweig is uncut to me. When uncovered, the head of his cock is a dark shade of blush pink.

Patrick has big breeder balls, I don’t make the rules. He needs a big sack to stock up all that cum. It’s covered with quite a bit of hair.

Speaking of hairs, Patrick Zweig does not shave his crotch, he trims it when the hairs get too long. But he forgets most of the time because his hairs grow so fast. You will mostly meet him when it’s long and messy than when it’s freshly cut.

He cums buckets. But it quickly gets fewer with each round. It takes him some time to fully reload.

[quillium]

Two kinds of comments and replies on ao3:

1.

commentor: nice fic

author replying: Hello you have done me the greatest of services. The kindest of compassions hast been received from thine good hand. May you be blessed into the coming days, for you have blessed me and mine.

2.

commentor: This tore into my ribcage and you hold my still-beating heart in your hands. I loved the thematic strength of this story--the persistent symbolism within is everything, actually. Your characterization was so on point, I adored the specific choices you made to cement not only the dynamics and show the effect on others but also the further the plot in a logical manner--

author replying: lol thx <3

[buff-muffin]

Thinkem bout a modern AU where Ace and Sabo obviously being two or three years older in school, were experiencing things years before Luffy would. Things like prom, grad and all that. But because he could COME to these events they did their best to get him envolved as much as possible so he wouldn’t feel left out. And when years rolled around, Ace and Sabo are well into collage each on different sides of the country. They still come down to help pick out an outfit for him and be there for his graduation. After all he was there for them.

Jus…

Luffy manages to graduate by the skin of his teeth and a LOT of work from all of the east blue gang. No teacher thought he would make it and it really was a moment of celebration. And as Luffy takes that paper thingy, and looks over the crowd. He thinks if only for a moment, no one is there. Gramps is Busy, Makino is running the bar, Dadan and the others of the Share house all have jobs they gotta go to.

Then all of a sudden he hears the loudest cheers in an almost quiet room. And there are his brothers, Dadan trying to wrestle them down and Makino laughing with Woop Slap. His brothers from schools hours away. His brothers who are in collage and following there dreams. His brothers are here just like they promised three years ago when they graduated. Completely forgetting to thank the teacher, he runs down the steps and Usopp has to stop him from going to them right away since there were still other students. So the rest of the ceremony he’s sitting on his chair like he’s going to explode quietly whispering to all them “ My brothers are here!! They made it!!” And all of them can’t even be mad cause Luffy deserves it for all the effort he puts in

[loosethreadsofyoursoul]

how does it feel? to know that because of fandom, we get to create infinite universes in which our favourite characters find each other and love each other over and over again?

[pizzaqueen]

A snippet from a future fic I'll probably never write, where Steve is a widower with two teenage kids, and he and Eddie randomly meet up, rekindling their old flame. This is when they've been together a while:

“Thank you,” Steve says, coming up behind Eddie at the bathroom sink.

Eddie pauses, catching Steve's eye in the mirror. “What for?” he asks, mouth foamy with toothpaste.

Steve slips his hands along Eddie's hips, hooks his chin over Eddie's shoulder. “For loving my kids.”

“You don't—” Toothpaste dribbles down Eddie's chin and he stoops to spit what's left in his mouth into the sink, gathering his hair to one side. He rinses his mouth out, wipes his face with a towel, then turns to Steve. “You don't have to thank me for that. Of course I love them.”

“Not everyone I've dated has.”

“They're idiots.” Eddie grabs the hem of Steve's shirt, pulling him close. “I mean, first of all, they're part of you, and I don't think I could love you and not love them. But...” He trails off, a small smile tilting his lips. “They're amazing kids.”

Pride swells in Steve's chest; he slides his arms around Eddie's waist and says, “They are.”

“And I'm pretty damn honored I get to be part of their lives,” Eddie says, “so thank you,” and he butts his head gently against Steve's.

Steve huffs and slides his hands up Eddie's back, pulling him into a tight embrace. “I love you.” He presses a kiss to Eddie's neck.

“I love you too.”

“And they both love you as well.”

Eddie lets out a shuddering breath. Steve knows how nervous Eddie was, when they started dating, that he wouldn't be welcomed, but it's almost like he's always been part of their family now. “Good to know,"”Eddie says.

Steve holds Eddie a little tighter. All those years ago, back in Hawkins, when they ended things, Steve thought he'd never see Eddie again. But here they are, together—a family—and Steve's never letting him go this time.

[feyreswaterybowels]

⭒The Silent One⭒

#2 Azriel x Fem!OC

⭒Part 1⭒Part 2⭒Part 3⭒Part 4⭒

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: Cassandra decides to join the IC for dinner. Things feel weird and wrong but also…safe and comfortable. She opens up to them about her past traumas and gets to know more about them.

Warnings/Tags: mentions physical and visual sexual abuse in the recent past. describes physical violence. trauma. mute character. slow burn. protective!azriel. protective!IC.

Authors Note: All reblogs, likes and comments are welcome, appreciated and encouraged! Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for the next part! Regular italics are inter thoughts while bold italics are her communicating with other people mentally.

⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆

“Relax,” Nuala cooed as she helped Cassandra ease into the large bath, warm and floral scented.

Cassandra had never been in a bath like this. Only one suited for regular fae without wings. They had been cramped and uncomfortable and nearly impossible to bathe everywhere without hurting a wing. But this bath? It was huge and could easily fit multiple people with and without wings. It stretched all the way to one of those glassless windows where the water spilled over in a soothing stream.

She leaned back when Nuala prompted, letting her wings float in the water. It was so nice the way they felt so weightless. Nuala tilted her head back and their eyes met as she cupped her hands with water and poured it over Cassandra’s white hair. She lathered it with a nice smelling soap, massaging at her scalp.

It was difficult to lay there and relax while someone else washed her hair. It reminded her of the mistress, how when she bathed her and washed her hair it was rushed and rough and…and when she washed her hair like this she would sometimes push her head under the water and hold her there—

Cassandra bolted up with a gasp, hands coming up to wipe away the water that fell down from her hair and over her face, chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. She whirled around, wide eyes catching Nuala’s, trying to desperately apologize for what she had done. The female just shook her head gently.

“It’s okay,” She said, “would you like to be left alone for a moment?”

Cassandra considered this, she both wanted to be alone and have someone else around. But she nods her head. Cerridwen walked in then, a stack of something in her hand.

“Clothes for you,” she said, sitting the stack on a shelf across the room. “We will be back but if you finish with your bath and wish to dress before we return the clothes will be here.”

Cassandra nods. She doesn’t know what else to do, but the females seem to understand, offering her small nods in return before leaving the room—the heavy door closing as they leave the bedroom the bedroom.

She sinks down in the water once she’s sure she’s alone. So much has changed in such a short time and she’s still not sure if this is all real. These people…they could change any moment. Drag her from this huge room and throw her into a prison cell and use her for whatever they pleased.

Turning in the water she pushed herself towards the other end of the tub, the one that waterfalls over the edge. What she sees there takes her breath away, an audible gasp leaving her lips.

The first thing she notices is all the lights, it looked exactly like the painting she saw with Morrigan. There was so much to look at. But what she really wanted to see was the beautiful sight above that. The night sky. The thousands of stars twinkling above, surrounding a bright moon.

She could have cried looking at the sight. But not because she felt sad, she felt safe. Comfortable. Content. Like this was where she was meant to be.

Eventually she did get out of the bath, drying herself off with the fluffy white towel that was unnaturally warm. She stopped in front of the mirror, surprised at her own reflection. She looked so different from the last time she actually saw herself. Her skin that was once a golden caramel color was lighter and ashen, dark circles under her green eyes. Her white hair slicked back with water was thinner than when it used to fall in thick ringlets as a girl. Her rib cage and hip bones protruding in a way they always had but wished they hadn’t. She had wanted a thicker, fuller body like the girls she saw at the pleasure houses. A strong body like her mothers used to be. A body that could hold up her wings and maybe one day…fly.

She had gotten dressed before Nuala and Cerridwen returned. The clothes weren’t like anything she’d ever worn before. Cream colored pants that were lined with a fuzzy material that was softer than anything she’d ever worn before. The top was a matching cream, flowy top with sleeves that stopped at her elbows and buttoned up the back to accommodate her wings. The shoes were white, flat and slipped on her feet easily.

She chose not to attend dinner that night. She wasn’t sure she could stomach any food. The twins looked disappointed. Her decision had been made to gauge how she would be treated if she didn’t have dinner with this high lord male.

She didn’t leave her room the following day either.

Or the day after that.

No one bothered her. No one came to drag her from the room kicking and screaming. No one beat on the door or called her horrible names. No one held her down or forced the food into her mouth. In fact no one except Nuala and Cerridwen came to her room at all.

And when they came they would bring a small tray of food, she only ever drank the tea and ate the biscuit and left everything else. She didn’t want to take too much before knowing if she was expected to do something in return.

When she finally felt safe enough she agreed to dinner on her fourth night. Nuala bathed her again. She couldn’t help the panic that overcame her once again as the female washed her hair but she cooed at her, soothingly before getting up and leaving her to finish alone as she had the first night.

Cerridwen took on fixing her hair, drying and styling it into waves that fell over her shoulders. Once she was done and dressed Nuala put a cream on her face and spritzed her with something that smelled sweet.

When they were done she felt like a different person. She felt clean. Comfortable. Alive.

There wasn’t much time to dwell on her feelings of finally leaving the room before Nuala and Cerridwen pulled her up and escorted her down the maze of hallways.

“Just two doors down, you’ll find the dining room,” Cerridwen pointed down the hall with a small smile. Cassandra wanted to ask why they weren’t also joining but when she turned to face them they were just gone as if they disappeared into thin air.

⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆

Walking into the dining room was a weird feeling. Cassandra didn’t feel like she belonged there. In the fancy room, with a huge table filled with foods…foods she had never seen before. The four people she had met three days ago—and another she hadn’t met, all sat around the table talking in hushed whispers.

Azriel was the first to look over. His eyes met hers and offered her a small smile. “Cassandra,” his deep voice greeted.

“I’m glad you decided to join us this evening, please come sit,” Rhysand said, standing and motioning to the empty seat next to him, where Azriel would be on her other side—Morrigan in front of her and Cassian next to her. The other female at the opposite end of the table from Rhysand.

Cassandra hesitated for only a moment before walking over and realizing that the chair was designed to accommodate wings. She wouldn’t have to sit at some weird angle to be comfortable. Her eyes meet Azriel’s, the gentle look on his face a comfort she needed. He stood from his spot, sliding the chair out and gesturing for her to sit.

She felt eyes on her as she scanned all of the food in front of her. She had never seen so much food.

“I trust everything went okay the last few days?” Rhysand asked as he took his own seat once again.

“I freaked out a little when Nuala was washing my hair…” Cassandra admitted, shoulders hunching in embarrassment.

“That’s okay, no need to be upset. You’ve been through a lot, it’s expected. Nuala and Cerridwen are understanding and won’t hold it against you. You have my word on that.”

She wanted to say thank you again but didn’t feel it was appropriate. She didn’t know what else to say so she nodded her head and looked towards that other female, freezing as she looked into glowing silver eyes. She had never seen anything so…beautiful and terrifying at the same time.

A snort to her side caught her attention and she looked at Rhysand.

“Sorry, I just heard that,” Rhysand said, Cassandra’s eyebrows pulled together before realization dawned on her. The comment about the other female… “Amren.” Rhys supply’s the name.

She looks back to the female, to those eyes that make her not want to look away.

“Hello, girl,” She greets, and it’s not a terrifying rumble, but a genuine greeting.

Cassandra offers a small smile, feeling a draw to the small female. No one else spoke so she reached for a plate but before her fingers could even graze it, it filled with food before her eyes. She blinked at it in shock, looking to Rhysand to see if he had done it.

There was a small smile on his lips as he shook his head.

“The house is enchanted, it does what it pleases. You wanted food so it filled your plate for you,” Azriel spoke, she looked over at him then back at the plate.

Oh, wow. She thought…the food had even been diced into smaller pieces as she had told Rhysand. Her eyes fell on the wine glass in front of her—she wouldn’t drink it, couldn’t, so she looked at Azriel again then around the room. Water. And just like that, a glass of water appeared in front of her.

Cassandra felt the corners of her mouth twitch up, eyes meeting Azriel’s again then Rhysands before she grabbed the glass of water.

⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆

“It’s pretty awesome, right?” Cassian spoke, his long hair that had been pulled back earlier now fell to his shoulders.

Cassandra nodded in answer, sitting her glass back on the table. Rhys took his seat, grabbing his wine glass, silently observing the female as she reached for her fork.

“I’ve never had this much food before…”

Rhys isn’t surprised but he’s not expecting the words and they make his heart hurt.

“Eat as much as you’d like,” Rhys says warmly, watching as she scoops up some warm potatoes and brings them to her lips.

“Mm” she hums, eyes closing. “That’s so good!” Rhys doesn’t answer, he can tell she’s not speaking to him consciously, she’s just thinking, not a single mental shield to protect her fragile mind.

It’s the next bite that wipes the small mine from all the faces. No longer an exploratory bite but a ravenous one. One after another, eating quickly and without restraint. Eating in a way that meant she had been starving, had never had an adequate food supply, had never been allowed to eat more than what was given.

She didn’t speak and neither did they. None of them would tell her to stop or slow down, all having been there at some point in their lives. They had all known that hunger at one point or another. So they let her eat. And drink. And eat some more.

Potatoes. Greens. Fruit. Meat. Bread. A plate appeared next to her holding a slice of cake and she ate that too—she had never had cake before but no one else at the table knew that.

It’s only when her plate is empty that anyone speaks up. It’s Cassian that asks, “How do you feel you’re settling in?” It’s an attempt to bring about a conversation without making her uncomfortable.

Cassandra takes a slow sip of water, breathing deeply as she does before looking at Rhysand who nods in confirmation that he’ll give her answer.

“Honestly…I feel more comfortable here than I have ever felt anywhere else.”

“That’s wonderful! We want you to be as comfortable as possible,” Morrigan chimes in, excited as if she’d been waiting to talk to Cassandra for the past three days. “When we didn’t see you for three days we were worried—well I was. The boys wanted to give you some space.”

“I didn’t know what was expected of me,” she says, Rhysand repeats her and she’s met with confused frowns. “That’s why I stayed away, didn’t eat much. I didn’t know if anything would be…expected of me in return if I did.”

“You have no debt to us, Cassandra. Nothing is expected of you,” Rhysand speaks, his voice firm but gentle. “If you wish to come to dinner you eat your fill until you’re satisfied. If you need clothes you wear what you like and it’s yours to keep. Nothing will ever be taken or held against you as punishment of any kind.”

Cassandra blinks at him, feels the wetness in her eyes as she nods. There’s just one nagging question in her mind, one she needs an answer to before she gets too comfortable.

“Why am I here then?” She asks, setting her fork down on a freshly filled plate, half as full as before.

Rhysand lets out a sigh before telling the others what she’d asked.

“You are here because I received word from one of Azriel’s spies—I’ll give you a more in depth explanation on what that means at another time—that pleasure houses in my court were buying and selling females against their will,” Rhysand begins to explain. “See we have many pleasure houses in Velaris but it has always been law that consent is the main requirement for anyone involved. Those who work or visit have to be there because they want to be there.”

“So, when we got word this law had been broken, Rhys sent us out to patrol the pleasure houses,” Azriel said, drawing her attention to him, “he needed solid proof of the law being broken before he could step in. Cassian and I, we saw you there. Scared. Frightened. Clearly not there of your own free will and didn’t feel it was safe for you to stay there.”

Cassandra looked at him, taking in the shadows swirling around him. His kind hazel eyes, the blue siphons glowing on his scarred hands. Remembered how when her eyes first landed on him on the other side of those bars she had been absolutely terrified of him.

“What about the…Mistress?” She asked turning away from Azriel to look at Rhysand.

“You no longer have to call her mistress, her name is Kamari. She is still here in our cells, she’s not been harmed. We are working to gather some intel from her. Who her bosses are, where they are buying the females and any other information we can get from her. She’s been cooperative in giving us the information we need to stop this from happening to any other females,” Rhysand said, eying the female in front of him before looking to his second in command.

“Do you have any information that may help us, girl? Anything we could use against that female to get more information?” Amren asks, fixing her smoky eyes on the female.

Cassandra was quiet for a moment, thinking. Trying to piece together everything she could remember. She looks up and nods her head. Everyone seemed to sit a little straighter, their full attention on her alone.

“My father is the one who sold me to a male named Vale. Blue skin, a long deep scar across his face, black eyes…mean and very strong—”

Rhysand hold his hand up, relaying the information to Azriel and you watch curiously as one of his shadows darts away and out of a window.

“Cassandra, do you mind if I open up a channel for everyone to hear what you say to me? It will help us find these people,” Rhysand asks, she doesn’t need to think before she nodded. She wanted to help in any way she could. Help any girls going through what she did and stopping more from going through it.

“Please, continue,” Rhysand encouraged.

“The male, Vale, had bought other females. He kept me me in a dark room under his home with three other females. He—he raped one of the girls many time but not me or the other two girls. He said he would get more money for us if we stayed…untouched.” Cassandra’s stomach rolled at the memories. Nauseated, remembering the cries of that poor girl every time that man came down stairs and hurt her. She could see the anger in the eyes that surrounded her, could practically feel it radiating from them. Their fists and jaws clenched tightly, wings rigid and shoulders taunt. But she continued.

“I stayed there for a few months before he took me to that…pleasure house? I’m not sure what happened to the other girls. I think he may have kept the one he raped.”

“Do you know their names?” Cassian asks and she’s nods. How could she ever forget them?

“Seera, Juno and Neema. I believe Seera and Juno were sister but I’m not completely sure. We tried not to talk too much because it made the male very angry,” She took a deep breath, trying not to remember the time he had nearly crushed her throat for merely asking to use the bathroom.

Unbeknownst to her she had sent that mental image to them who were seething with anger at what this poor girl had gone through.

“Once I was at that place I was introduced to Miss—I was introduced to Kamari,” She continued, needing to get away from the memories of that male. “She was in charge of my training. She stripped me naked, told me I would never own a pair of clothes again. That I was to be naked and ready for any male to take me whenever they pleased. I was to learn things that would…please these males. Anytime I refused I was beaten. So, for months I watched other females pleasure males in many ways. But only watched. They said—she said I would be sold for a lot of money for being untouched. That whoever paid the most could do whatever they wanted to me. When I saw the two of you I thought—” She swallowed thickly eyes shooting between Azriel and Cassian. “I though you were going to—”

Her voice cracks and she looks away. Morrigan pushes out of her chair, walking around the table. “Can I hug you?” She asks.

All Cassandra can do is nod letting Morrigan wrap strong arms around her. Hugging her tightly. Holding her in a way that reminded her of her mother before she died. After a moment Morrigan pulls away offering a napkin to wipe her eyes.

“Cassandra, dear, we can be done for today if it’s too much to continue,” Rhysand offers gently.

She nods gently, feeling as if maybe she wasn’t much help at all. The rest of dinner is spent in silence, Cassandra hunched into herself while the other four fae think about killing everyone who hurt this innocent girl and many more.

⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆

It’s later that evening when Cassandra slips from her room. The stone floor is cold under her feet and the satin nightgown doesn’t do much to keep the cold from her skin so she tucks her wings around her body.

She makes her way to the roof of the house, a training area the twins had told her was up here—they had also told her it was the best place to view the stars.

It’s a breathtaking sight. The wind whips her hair around as she walks to the edge. The lively city sparkling below while the endless sky shines above. Beautiful. She sighs gazing at the sight of the silver moon and tapestry of stars.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be up here at this time,” Cassandra spins around, sighing in relief when she spotted Azriel, she hadn’t heard him come out at all.

“Sorry, I couldn’t sleep. I always loved looking at the stars,” She said, grateful Rhys had made it to where she could communicate—at least with the few people here.

Azriel gives her a lopsided smile that makes her heart stutter. “No need to apologize, that's why I’m out here too. The night sky has always been…soothing.”

She turns back to the ledge as he walks closer.

“You know, my father he was ashamed to have children with wings,” Cassandra said, as Azriel watched her from the side, her white hair shining in the moonlight—those green eyes glowing again. “He kept us locked away, and didn't want anyone to see us. My mother had her wings taken when she was a teenager. She said normally they just clipped them but her father was especially cruel and completely took hers away. Well, when my father was drunk enough or didn’t come home some evening my mother would bring us out and let us look at the stars, she taught us the constellations. And I got to see Starfall with her only one time before she died. It was…the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. After she died I never saw the stars again—not until the night you and Cassian took me away from that horrible place.”

Azriel did his best to simmer his anger, to clutch his shadows tightly that so badly wanted to reach out and comfort the female—to wipe away the glistening tears on her cheeks. She looks over at him then and he looks up at the sky so as not to reach out for her.

“Your mother seems like a lovely woman,” He says, hoping the opportunity to talk about her mother may make her feel better.

The smile that came over her face wasn’t what he was expecting. The way it lit up her face had his shadows singing in his ear. Beautiful. She’s beautiful.

She wiped her cheeks with one hand and nodded.

“She was amazing. She tried to protect us from him but she was just as afraid of him as we were. She didn’t know how to get out. But she took care of us. She was still young when she died—he says she died from taking some kind of herbs, that she took her own life. But I—I always believed he did it.” Azriel took in a shuttery breath.

“I’m sorry,” He said, struggling to find the words to comfort her.

“Me, too. I wish I could have protected her the way she protected me. But now she’s up there with the stars looking over us. Watching me, I think she would be happy I got out. I just hope I can help protect someone else the way I should have protected her.” She folded her arms across her chest and turned away from the ledge. “I think I’ll try to get some sleep. Goodnight, Azriel.”

Azriel watched her walk away. Night gown blowing in the wind, the beautiful broken girl disappearing into the shadows.

tag list: @aelinwya @starlightandsouls @fullmoon-94 @aetherl0l @caticorn61 @lilah-asteria @blackgirlmagicforever @div94

[gingerteawrites]

Undeserving - Where the shadow of the past looms over Diluc’s present

A/N: I'm baaaaaack. This one has been in the works for a minute, and has taken on many different forms, but here I grace you with a work about my OG Genshin husband. Please enjoy and let me know what you think! Not beta read

Content: ANGSTTTT, Husband Diluc, relationship troubles.

Word count: 1.5K

Diluc Ragvindr had convinced himself that the last thing he wanted on this earth was to start a family. The tale of his own being torn apart would never not be a sore wound, one that incessantly throbbed, one that he believed would never heal.

The idea of being ripped away from any sort of attachment was repulsive, as was the possibility of growing estranged from loved ones. Familial bonds were simply too sensitive of a topic. Too painful of an ache.

You on the other hand, had always dreamed of the wonders of marriage. Of a sacred contract of love and care. And after years of timid courting, Diluc did what he thought would never be possible. He gave into the new, selfish desires of your company. Of an attachment to you. Of what he could be WITH you.

Diluc got married to you, the love of his life. Something he felt was simultaneously the best and worse thing he could ever have done. It did not take too long for him to become consumed with dread of history repeating himself. The potential of all the failings of this new attachment loomed over him like shadows of the abyss.

While you enjoyed the newly-wed bliss, the joy of finally being united with your love. Your husband spiraled into more and more agitated thoughts. Yes, this union was something he had wanted. So badly it kept him awake at night. He had wanted to have you for himself. And him for you. But everything he kept inside him created a dangerous brew of dark thoughts that now made him restless.

He tried to hide this all from you. Oh how ashamed he felt. Staying at Angel’s share a little longer than usual, leaving the house before you woke up for sparring exercises, coming up with things to do when you tried to bring him lunch as a surprise.

It all came as a shock to your system. You had always known that Diluc was not openly affectionate, but he had never truly avoided you. Your romance was one of timid touches and whispered sweet words, of acts of service and long evening walks, but never of hiding and silence. It drove you mad.

You tried to be the bigger person and give him space. Afterall, you knew — if only partly— of his family’s woes and him not being used to have someone so close. But after weeks of this game of hide and seek, you had had enough.

One Friday night, with your own spiralling thoughts, you ordered all the house servants to take the weekend off, and waited for Diluc, resolve hard as steel to get through this issue.

When he silently cracked the door open, he jumped at the sight of you, gaze fixed on him with your arms crossed, a single candle on the nightstand illuminating your face.

“Hey,” he greeted quietly, closing the door before he started to take off his coat.

“Hey,” you responded, lips pursed as you watched him. These were the first words you had exchanged all week.

He almsot felt small under your gaze, taking off his outer garments and gloves which he set on his dresser and turned to face you with a sigh.

“I’m sorry I’ve been quite busy recently,” he tried to appease you, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I am exhausted, shall we sleep?”

Your brows furrowed in exasperation, and you unfolded your arms.

“Not so fast Diluc.” He froze at your tone, sharp, cutting through the dry air. “Is that truly all you wish to say?” You asked, feeling yourself growing shaky with all the contained emotions. Confusion. Anger. Fear.

“What…” he turned fully towards you “What do you mean?” he asked hesitantly.

You took in a shaky breath, closing your eyes to calm your nerves. When you reopened them, you noticed your husband’s slightly hunched position, his bangs falling over his eyes. That hair that always reminded you of a warm hearth. Something to grow fond of, now looked dull in the pale candelight. And the sight made your heart ache.

“Diluc please don’t play dumb with me. What is going on?” You ask, leaning towards him “You’re avoiding me.” The words leave a bitter taste in your mouth and your lip curls in distaste.

“Did I do something wrong?” You add after a pause, the sadness breaking through your tone.

“No, no, no, it’s nothing you have done.” He jumps in, guilt gripping at him hearing your pain. It was much easier to rationalize his behavior when all he saw was your sleeping form when he left in the mornings and came back late at night. But now faced with you awake, his chest felt unbelievably tight.

“Then what is it?” You ask, steadying your voice once again.

Diluc sighed, his fingers gripping the sheets beneath him. He then raises his head so his eyes can meet yours, the curtains of his hair falling away from his face, and you see the conflict in his eyes. The pain of something he is keeping locked away in his being.

“Please talk to me.” You whisper, covering his hand with yours.

“I…” he pauses, feeling ashamed of his thoughts. How could he even justify his actions to you. “Maybe… maybe us getting married was a mistake.”

The words pierce through you like a blade, and your entire body stiffens, mouth agape, eyes open wide. You feared your ears betrayed you. “What did you say?” you hear yourself ask.

His hand reached for yours, and you jerked away before he could reach you. His lips opened and closed multiple times, like he was trying to find words.

Recovering from the initial shock of his words, and all you felt was an overwhelming sense of anger bubble out of you. “Is there someone else?” You asked through gritted teeth. The possibility would absolutely obliterate you, but you had to know.

“No, I could never.” He rushed to say again. ”Then what is this about, Diluc!?” You almost yelled, chest heaving. You did not recognize the man standing before you.

“I…” he stammered again, brows downturned, biting his lower lip. “You just deserve someone better.” He spat out, his entire body tense. “You’re just too good for me. And I am sorry it took me until now to realize it. No.” He stopped himself. “I knew all along, but I was selfish.” He shook his head. “I just can’t make this work.” He sucked in a deep breath, his voice growing meek.

Your hands fall against the mattress, fully taking in his words. Words that did nothing to quell your anger, only adding more fuel to it.

“And who made that call?” You ask, loud voice resonating through the room. He looked up at you with wide eyes. “Who decided that huh?” You leaned towards him. “Not me.” You concluded bitterly.

“But.” He says, eyes locked with yours.

“But nothing, Diluc.” You punctuated, voice firm again. “I think you are deserving of me.” You point to yourself. “I love you Diluc. Do you not?”

“Of course I do.” He adds, closing the distance between you two, his fingers finding yours again. “I just don’t want this to end badly. I don’t want us to end badly.” He confesses.

“But don’t you think we’re worth the risk?” You ask, searching his eyes. “Don’t you think that our love is worth trying?” You emphasize.

He looks down at your linked fingers before his gaze returns to you. “I am a weak man. Weaker than I look, certainly. I’m scared of losing you.”

“So you decide to push me away?” You ask in disbelief, to which he stays silent. “Then I refuse to go. We are going to make this work, whether you believe you are strong enough for it or not.” You conclude.

Diluc looks at you, your eyes shining with determination and unshed tears. A testament to your own strenght. An announcement of his own weakness. How could he be Mondstat’s defender, working to uphold the foundation of his city if he could not work for you. The realization sunk into his stomach with a nauseating weight. He was chosing the easy way out. He was hurting you and himself because of fear.

“I am sorry.” He chokes out, pulling you into him, engulfing you in his warmth for a hug. “I really am not deserving of you.” He adds, his voice trembling as he buried his head into your neck.

“Just promise.” You wrap your arms around him “Promise you’ll try.”

He pulls away from you, his hands moving up to hold your cheeks, his eyes burning with new certainty, new determination. “I swear to you.” His thumbs move in circles against your skin, wiping away your tears that have started to fall. “I promise. I stake my life on this. On us.” And he brings his lips to yours to seal this commitment. The past was dark and seemed all-engulfing, but he would not let it overshadow this present with you.

Comment and reblogs are much appreciated :))

[coldarena]

mota uniform studies + a very good boy