#sea creature cw

[flownintothesun]

                            ⋆ ✰ ⋆ ─── for @wehavefoundthestars ; a chance encounter.

        𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐍𝐎 𝐂𝐎𝐀𝐓 — but Marin finds that she doesn’t entirely mind. It’s one of those rare, stolen away kinds of moments that she wouldn’t replace for the world. Almost always, there is something to do, somewhere to be — and she is meant to act accordingly. Here, she is no one but this tiny and insignificant being, under the starry night sky. She had admired them once, the stars — delighting in the way they burn so brightly from so far. They so rarely shine in London, she’s found — even though they’re far enough out of the city. Often it rains, and when it doesn’t rain, there’s still the looming threat of it in the clouds overhead, gray and falling into line with the rest of the world in black and white. Even the circus tents match the color scheme; but then, this isn’t any other circus.

       Luther Prescott is a man of wealth — and all of the luxuries that wealth can afford him. He’s built this circus as an art exhibit — not something for children; but rather, a place one can go to witness real magic, diluted to seem as though it’s just lighting and choreography. A trick of the mind. But it’s beautiful nevertheless. Never mind of course that the mythical theme in his shows is because those in his service are mythical creatures. Marin hadn’t known that she had siren blood before meeting her....boss? Investor? Boyfriend? Whatever it is that he thinks that she is. In any case, Luther had been wealthy enough to free her from Dominik — but though her cage is bigger now, it is still simply that. If Luther weren’t out of town, she wouldn’t be spared moments like this — listening to footfalls on the snow, one pair moving closer than the rest as she watches the steam of her breath hit the air.

        Within the circus, she spins on her aerial hoop in beautiful, mesmerizing acts where she sings, transfixes the audience until they all feel happy and vaguely drunk (a party trick that Luther uses to his advantage) — and at the end of her spins and swings, she plummets into a large tank of saltwater and transforms into what she’s apparently always been — different — with the added bonus of a tail. She has legs now though, and she bunches them up as she sits up on the bench to make room. Luther doesn’t like her talking to people. But then — Luther isn’t here. “An adventurer come to brave the cold with me?” she teases gently, the glitter of her makeup shining in the moonlight.

[flownintothesun]

      𝐖𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐘  𝐈𝐒  𝐒𝐎𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐃  𝐓𝐎  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐄  —  sea  salt  and  rain,  sea  salt  and  rain,  together  they  form  an  ocean  full  of  the  world’s  tears.  The  ocean’s  sorrow  damns  men  to  lose  themselves  within  her  wrath.  Not  today.  Muscles  flex  as  he  heaves  at  the  helm  —  muscles  straining  and  tight  in  his  arms.  Black  veins  pull  tight  like  vines  in  his  forearms,  stretch  up  his  shoulders.  He  is  not  afraid  of  what  lies  in  wait  beneath  the  murky  water.  He  only  fears  what  becomes  of  him  when  he  moves  too  close  to  magic.  What  the  others  might  think  were  they  to  see  him.  There  are  no  such  thing  as  good  and  bad  monsters.  Only  monsters.  Only  the  things  of  nightmares.  Humans  react  to  fear  in  one  way.

          Lightning  hits  the  water  just  beside  the  Arcady,  sets  her  rocking.

          He  wants  to  fight  and  he  wants  to  beg  for  these  creatures  to  speak  plainly  the  answer  to  his  suffering.  But  they  will  not.  Magic  is  not  forthcoming,  and  never  has  been.  That  is  how  it  protects  itself.  How  it  guards  its  secrets.

           A  tentacle  rises  from  the  deep  —  too  big  to  belong  to  an  octopus.  The  sirens  hiss  its  name,  and  one  by  one  splash  into  the  water  below.  The  creature  follows,  slithering  into  the  depths  as  Westley  watches  on,  unafraid.  Sun  rays  cast  through  angry  skies  and  shine  spotlights  on  a  gray  ocean  to  match  his  stormy  eyes.  The  pressure  behind  the  wheel  eases,  and  in  time,  nearly  disappears.  He  should  have  captured  one  of  them  —  but  he  never  does.  Could  not  abide  their  torture,  though  they  torment  him  endlessly.  He  will  hear  their  song  taunting  him  for  all  his  days  —  like  a  sea  shanty  that  wakes  you  in  the  morning,  and  lulls  you  to  sleep  at  night.

        ...were  he  to  throw  himself  into  the  sea,  would  she  whisper  to  him  at  last?  

           Werthers  shrugs  “T’ain’t  happened  yet,  laddie!”  he  howls  as  ocean  spray  pours  in.  “Though  I  reckon  you  might  be  talkin��  loud  for  the  next  few  to  hear  yourself.”  Werthers  himself  yells  to  be  heard,  spit  dribbling  into  a  strawberry  blonde  beard.  “So  —  you’re  loyal  to  the  captain,”  he  ponders,  a  bit  more  quietly.  It’s  a  thought  tinged  with  the  doubt  that  anything  lasts  forever  —  and  maybe  the  hope  that  this  won’t.  “Westley  is  a  good  lad  —  but  you’d  be  wise  to  head  back  to  land  before  sea  legs  are  all  you’ll  ever  know.  There  are  more  dangerous  things  at  sea  than  simple  siren  song.”  

Once again he pulls at the cuff that holds him hostage. He wants to go and see what kind of creature produced this melody. Want is not the right word it's more like he's a magnet that gets pulled into their direction without even wanting to because he vaguely remembers Westley telling him they are dangerous, to stay here in the warmth of his quarters while he went to deal with whatever was out there. It's a struggle inside of him that only gets interrupted when Werthers speaks up again.

He doesn't bother denying it because it's clear the other male can see right through him and then the ship launches them forward and he lands back in the pile of blankets that had been draped on top of him earlier. If Elio wasn't so distracted by the sounds that were still trying to lure him outside he would have argued back that love isn't a spell. It's not something that could be controlled, that he does know things about their Captain.

Instead of saying any of that he simply stares at the man like he lost his mind, to pick this moment to discuss any of this with him while they are clearly in danger. He feels something trickle from his ear, hand reaches out to touch it, it feels sticky and when he pulls his hand back it's covered in blood. "What even?" He questions staring down at his hand only then noticing that Weathers his ear seems to be doing the same thing. "Are we going to lose our hearing?"

[coulsonlives]

This is an ocean sunfish skeleton, you're welcome

[fishyfishyfishtimes]

Daily fish fact #760

Russell’s oarfish!

These fish are capable of self-amputation. Adult and older juvenile Russell’s oarfish frequently have a part of their tail missing, ranging from just the very tip to up to the fish’s abdomen. The lost parts never grow back, and the oarfish may be able to perform self-amputation several times in their life.

[chocolatepyrusart]

Swim at Your Own Risk

[flownintothesun]

      "𝐘𝐎𝐔  𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐒𝐄𝐀,"  she  speaks  warmly,  almost  fondly  as  she  looks  up  at  him,  the  sea  itself  reflected  in  her  eyes.  “I  think  it’s  brave,”  she  murmurs,  the  sound  of  her  voice  foreign  in  a  place  like  this  —  hailing  from  much  further  north  where  the  seas  are  cold  and  gray.  Her  knees  give  a  tentative  wobble  in  an  attempt  to  lock  as  she  moves  them.  She  will  get  used  to  life  on  land  —  but  for  now,  getting  here  has  her  shaking  on  the  relatively  unfamiliar  appendages.  She  catches  herself  with  a  hand  on  his  chest,  shaking  her  head,  “To  love  that  which  cannot  be  understood.  I’ll  be  all  right.  I’m  stronger  than  I  look.”

       She  wonders  why  he’d  stopped  speaking,  tilts  her  head  in  curiosity  but  presses  him  no  further  for  now.  “I’m  quite  fond  of  the  stars,”  she  tells  him  something  true.  There  are  places  where  the  sea  is  nearly  still  and  there  are  about  a  million  stars  as  far  as  the  eye  can  see.  When  they  reflect  upon  the  still  water,  it  almost  seems  as  though  no  matter  where  you  are,  you’re  falling  into  the  sky.  That  maybe,  somewhere,  someone  is  making  a  wish  upon  you.  She’s  had  many  wishes  in  her  time  —  but  her  messengers  have  not  deigned  to  deliver  them  for  her  as  they  shoot  across  the  sky  at  night  —  probably  much  more  important  places  to  be.  Marin  doesn’t  know  the  business  of  stars.   

        “The  best  place  to  see  them  is  out  at  sea.  I’m  afraid  my  indulgence  cost  my  ship  dearly,”  she  frowns.  One  foot  in  front  of  the  next,  she  wills  her  legs  to  move,  bare  feet  wobbling  as  she  makes  her  way  with  him  to  his  bedroom.  “What  is  it  that  you  sail  for?  Adventure,  treasure?  Fishing?  Trade?  To  catch  pirates?  Or  is  it  to  have  stories  to  tell?”  Her  mother  used  to  tell  her  stories  of  the  sea,  and  of  land  —  she  used  to  sing  them  though  she  was  no  siren.  Marin  sings  them  now  at  Ursula's  bidding.  Her  mother  would  be  so  disappointed  at  what  she's  become. 

Ged  a  sheòl  mi  air  m'  aineol, Cha  laigh  smalan  air  mi'  inntinn, Ged  a  sheòl  mi  air  m'  aineol.

       Without  thinking  much  of  it,  Marin  begins  to  hum  a  song  that  they  used  to  sing  in  their  village  by  the  sea  —  before  everything  fell  apart  and  changed.  Her  voice  is  sweet  as  birdsong,  and  although  the  song  she  hums  is  a  more  lighthearted  shanty,  the  melody  is  expertly  crafted  into  a  million  small  pieces  that  weave  together  like  a  story,  like  a  thread  that  wraps  around  all  who  hear  it.  Her  throat  warms,  as  though  she  is  back  in  Scotland  with  her  mother,  a  young  thing  with  no  worries  and  a  cup  of  cocoa  in  her  hands  to  soothe  her  against  the  howl  of  winter.  She  remembers  the  taste  of  cinnamon  on  her  tongue,  though  it’s  nothing  but  a  memory.  The  song  stops,  and  the  warmth  dies.  The  guards  had  been  intentionally...  distracted.  Not  this  one.  She  thinks  that  she  likes  him  too  much  to  put  him  under  her  spell.

'I’m  afraid  you’ve  let  trouble  in  through  the  door' he tries to make sense of these words, what she could mean by them. the door would have been carefully guarded at such an hour and surely the guards on duty would not have let anything even verging on trouble get through. his head shakes gently, an attempt to soothe whatever worry she was voicing, "the guards would have taken care of that." it was clear she'd been through quite the ordeal, perhaps she knew not what she was saying. an understandable affliction. 

eric is stricken by a chill that courses through his entire body as she leans into him. he can only imagine how much worse it was for her, and in that moment he wishes he had something, a blanket or robe, to offer her for warmth. but she had accepted his offer to find a place to rest and in doing so he could get her to a place where he'd have such things to offer. "apologies are not necessary," a soft smile appearing on his lips, "as a sailor myself, i know how disorienting that can feel." his arm them moves around her, offering more stability and comfort. she was safe here, he wanted convey that. "after you've gotten some rest and recovered a bit, i would love to hear about it— if you're willing, of course. hearing a tale of such adventure, especially one with such a harrowing conclusion could not be passed up. but right now, taking care of this mystery guest, making her comfortable were much more important. 

"i'm going to bring you to my bed chamber— it's close and i would like to avoid waking my mother or gri— well, anyone. are you alright to walk? you can lean on me as much as you'd like." with that he takes a tentative step, testing the waters so to speak. if she were too tired or wobbly to walk, he would find another way to get her to warmth. he'd carry her himself it that is what it took. he was not about to let her suffer any more, not on his watch. 

[jelliannn]

SOCKEYE SALMON MY BELOVED

[flownintothesun]

 ⋆ ✰ ⋆ ───    ‘  𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮���� 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 ’ (𝐖𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐲)

                          ⋆ ✰ ⋆ ─── 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐪𝐮𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. ( @wehavefoundthestars )

       𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐘 𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐒 𝐓𝐎-𝐀𝐍𝐃-𝐅𝐑𝐎 on the waves — creaking like a ghost ship, lost in the fog. One man cannot steer a ship of this caliber — but Westley supposes it doesn’t matter, in the end. What’s going to happen to him is going to happen to him, and to his ship. Maybe in the end, it’s where they both belong — torn into pieces at the bottom of the sea. Westley can’t for the life of him tell whether the roaring in his ears is his own blood rushing through his body — or whether it’s the sea, angry beneath them. Until this moment, the captain of the Arcady had no idea what he was capable of — and now, he almost wishes he still didn’t. The blood will take hours to clean from the ship — days, even.

       They’d locked Elio away before the mutiny. Westley supposes that was kind of them. Why should the lover suffer for the crimes of the damned? Westley’s seen it in old pirate movies — where the crew turns on the captain — where the sentence is death. He’s been so afraid of that very scenario that he’s changed every couple of years once finding out that he wasn’t what he thought himself to be — wasn’t human. Safer that way — for him, and for them. A bullet in his gut — a knife across his throat, all very dramatic — bleeding out as he’d been thrown into the stinging agony of the sea as shark bait. But it hadn’t been the sharks that had found him.

     By the time the Kraken had deposited him back on the ship, his wounds were already healed — and black vines like ink, like tattoos, had been snaking up his arms, his hair dripping salt water and his eyes that same haunting shade of red. He could remember it if he tried — what came next, the massacre — a mass grave at sea — but he doesn’t want to try, doesn’t want to remember. Just looks at his hands stained with blood — looks at Elio, chained away and spared from that fate. When Westley looks up at his once-lover, his eyes are crimson. They’d been on their way back to Italy, ironically. To rid Elio of his foolish, idealistic notions that Westley could be what he needed him to be. “I am the darkness. Nothing more,” he says, his voice thick and strained from the saltwater. Blood trickles down the steps that lead into the prison. He could let Elio go — but perhaps he’s safer in a cage until Westley decides what to do with him. He can’t go back to civilization now. “I told you to stay away. Is this what you wanted? Is this what you thought you could love?”

[flownintothesun]

     𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐄𝐖 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒, Marin hasn’t been able to help but wonder where innocence goes when it’s lost — and if it’s something that can be retrieved — like a shiny object thrown into the sea. She’s also wondered if she was ever innocent at all. She’s known from a young age that once they take something — it doesn’t seem to come back. She fiddles with the thistle around her neck as she always does when she’s thoughtful — as if it could summon a woman who would have all the answers. She’s grateful for Angus McCarthy for taking her in — it’s just, not a day had passed that she hadn’t wished for her mother — and when going into the arena, she’d thought of how mothers often kiss the forehead of their child when she’s reaped.

      She’s wondered if it was really a gift — to win, that is — or if the message is that life itself is a curse if you dare stand in the Capitol’s presence. Can a girl who has murdered both innocents and grown men be redeemed? Can she take back the stifling feeling of their hands on her, and learn how to not have to breathe through being touched. Fish makes it look so easy  to reach out to friend and foe alike — but Marin’s not naive enough to think that Fish is okay. She’s just better at playing the game — and that makes her more dangerous. As President Snow moves his pieces around their invisible board, more of their own fall off. Fish will be one of the last standing. And it’s almost better to be out of the game before that happens.

      She isn’t as brave as her mother. Her survival instinct speaks to something else — fear, maybe? Fear of what, she couldn’t say. She’s always preferred to feel small, unseen. It’s one of the reasons she loves the ocean so much — and the stars. Fish isn’t like that — but then, maybe that’s why Marin adores her so — her presence is so big and captivating that it’s just like the stars and the ocean — easy to get lost in. Somewhere safe. Though, in reality — the only place less safe than with her hand in Fish Monet’s is perhaps in a rose garden with an old man who thinks he’s God.

      Perhaps they should put him in the arena. He and his family with twenty four victors. They say may the odds be ever in your favor — but the odds are skewed in theirs. Marin isn’t the revolutionary her mam had been. She doesn’t want to have to fight. She’s a strong enough swimmer but swimming against a current tires one out so very quickly. She sighs. At the very least, it isn’t seen as strange for two victors to be seen together — least of all those from the same district. “Come with me, there’s something I want to show you.”

Fish had swam with great whites once, under her mother's supervision. She remembered the terrible feeling of exhilaration, the sweet, intoxicating fear. How small she had felt, looking into the eyes of raw, brutal nature.

Interacting with President Snow was not unlike that. She had to maintain a certain level of ease, while always knowing a single bite could send her to the bottom of the ocean. Predators did not need much to open their jaws.

But, oh, how exhilarating it all was.

Marin was still right. Even the most skilled swimmers could drown. The ocean was unforgiving and ruthless. Sharks would always be wild animals. Unpredictable. What would happen, if President Snow decided to bite? Would she be turned into an Avox, or worse?

Fish barely noticed how ominous her friend sounded, used by now to a constant world of threats. Each praise and each request always came with a heavy cost around here. Just like swimming with sharks.

"I'm the best swimmer," she boasted with a grin, and if there was the shadow of her past self in the playful words, in the smile that revealed a row of pearly white teeth, it was all still... A facade. Reassuring words, LIES. All to appease Marin, to appease the walls with ears, to appease the madness of the Great White Shark.

I just wish we were home.

Marin's words felt like a slap. Her body betrayed all her attempts at decorum, and she suddenly reached for Marin's hand, holding it tight. From up close, she could smell a bit of the salt in her hair. She still smelled a little bit like home, and Fish felt the impulse to hug her, to press her nose in the black curls of her hair, just to inhale that saline air.

She didn't move, still pressing Marin's hand in hers.

"I wish we were home too," she whispered so low, it was as if she hadn't even spoken. "I miss the ocean, I miss playing in the waves with you."

I miss you. I miss our innocence. I miss a sweeter time, when I never had to share you with anyone else.

[thegirlwholikesstims]

bioluminescence

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divider by @saradika-graphics

[fishyfishyfishtimes]

Daily fish fact #749

Silver spinyfin!

This fish has hardly a reason to be sad: it has the largest amount of rod opsin genes of any vertebrate! An opsin is a protein that is activated when it comes in contact with a certain wavelength of light, they are used in photoreceptor cells and allow us and other animals to see. To revise, two of the most significant types of photoreceptor cells in the eyes of a vertebrate are cones, which allow us to see in colour, and rods, which function in low light and allow us to see in the dark.

For the longest time, it was thought that vertebrates in general have just one type of rod opsin with one gene producing it (most do), but the silver spinyfin, a deep sea fish, is fascinating in that it has 38 genes for rod opsin! It can express 14 of those genes, and this selection of different rod opsins allows the silver spinyfin to see wavelengths between 445 and 520 nanometers, which encompasses much of blue light! In a strange twist, the silver spinyfin can see colour using its rod cells, likely to spot bioluminescence in the deep and dark ocean.

[saturnisscreaming]

Fun fact the sun is a giant anglerfish

[flownintothesun]

     𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 the reverberation of a bell, lingering in the air a little longer than it should. There are little bits and pieces of magic in the world that anyone can sense — it’s just that they’ve forgotten how to look. Everyone’s too caught up in their own lives; and just so, her new companion has so quickly forgotten that theirs had nearly come to an end. It’s funny, the things that humans concern themselves with at the end of the day — each of them the hero in their own story, with their part to play in shaping the future — singularly minded to do so. Unfortunately for them, it isn’t often that perfectly sized or wearable dresses or even trousers and a shirt are tossed into the sea. 

      If she thought that it was safe for a lass to make her own way in the world, and to start as humans are born — naked — perhaps she might have ventured onto shore long ago to remedy the issue at hand. As it is — fish and other sea creatures aren’t so modest. Nevertheless — she gets up, giving a tentative little wobble with her new legs. It reminds her of the stories her Papa would tell her when things were quiet on his haunted ship — about the time he was human, and how when sailors spend so much time out at sea, it takes a little time to find your footing on land. Especially on sand, she thinks. It’s uneven and feels warm on her feet as she makes her way back to the water, standing in it for a moment and focusing her magic inward. 

     She can’t magic herself a dress — of course. There are no creatures that she knows of save for Rumpelstiltskin who has any sort of magic in the arts of making clothes. In lieu of that, she allows a series of fish-like scales to form over all of the bits of her that a human might find offensive — “It’s the best I can do, I’m afraid. There’s a shortage of clothing out on the open sea — unless you’d prefer I take yours.”

      It’s different to breathe fresh air rather than the water — neither better nor worse, just different. She likes the feeling of her hair drying in the sun, the heat of it warm on her skin, which seems perpetually cool. “I would let you think that you’re dreaming — it seems that it would work best that way for us both, except I don’t imagine you’ll be going back the way you came.” Her song should take the edge off, in the end  — they might feel a little inebriated, lighter on their feet and giggly afterward, but she’ll likely be the last thing on their mind once they’re back to shore. Anyone who makes a jump like that has other problems to worry about — things that aren’t a half-siren lass.   

Ely was afraid of people. That was generally true. People always tried talking to them and had these funny judgments if they didn't follow unspoken rules to the letter. No matter how much they tried, they never could stop themselves from breaking those rules. When it came down to speaking with new people, they did their best to be polite. If nobody addressed them then they'd stick to themselves- shrinking inwards and waiting for the shadows in the corner of a room to swallow them up. That would be easier than trying to hold a conversation.

If they had that much fear in relation to regular human people then they couldn't even begin to grasp the feeling prompted by this girl -- fish? Girlfish? There was a word for that, something they'd read about 100 times in stories but the word escaped them now. That was a common occurrence in intense situations like this. They'd reach out into the speech related caverns of their brain and pull back with hands full of water. Anything useful there slipped between their fingers. Regardless of what sort of creature she was, she was still vaguely person like and that was daunting enough.

They nod in response to the question. Yes, getting rid of the tail might help. It would definitely make them feel less disconcerted. At least, that was their thought until she got rid of the tail and they actually saw the consequences of their request. After gawking at her for a good few moments, they quickly push themselves to sit up and covered their eyes with a very soggy sleeve. They force themselves to ignore how their lungs burn at the effort of it.

"Y-yes... yes. I-I know." Ely can't quite tell if she's teasing him or not, "I-... i-it was the uh..."

They scramble over their own words, thoughts going too quickly for their mouth to latch on and spit any out. Eventually, they take a deep breath to calm themselves down.

"I-I'm really sorry but could you uh-... uh.... clothes? G-get some clothes?"

[redcomet-stims]

Requesting Will Curtis from Courtin Cowboys 😁

Alright then! ^^

Content warning: fake gore(?), bones, NSFW source

🌀🦴🩻 Will Curtis (Courtin' Cowboys) stimboard for anon :-)

I hope you like this and I hope this suits him! I personally thought that this characters sounded pretty interesting, and that he also seems somewhat relatable, in a sense ^^; (and NO, I am not talking about anything that would be...morally questionable about him. I mean his general personality 🙏) Oh, and I actually looked a bit at the plot and general idea of the game, and it actually sounds pretty nice, you know? I might look into it more sometime. Anyway, I tried my best to make this and do him justice ^^

Sources:

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[bonezaw]

Jelly Fish at Point Defiance Aquarium & Zoo, Tacoma Washington

[star-dripped-willow]

⋅˚₊‧ଳ jellyfish stimboard ‧₊˚ ⋅

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . 🪼 ݁ hey ! decided to do a jellyfish stim board :3 i really liked the vibe of this one so next i might do an ocean / fish one ^_^

jellyfish are my favorite animals !

๋࣭ ⭑ text : read this blogs dni before interracting

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