epidemiology | ( open ) you'll believe in something

Entry tags:

( open ) you'll believe in something

CHARACTERS: Giorno Giovanna & OPEN
DATE: January 12 thru 27
WARNINGS: None offhand, will warn in subject lines if anything comes up
SUMMARY: A celebration of the new year, featuring weaponry, mostly.

( a ) press one for the money

[Since the New Year, Giorno has not been sleeping well. He wouldn't complain about this, mind you: the turn into January brought him a gift that he's more than happy about, but the unfortunate side effect of this gift is night terrors in triplicate.]

[As usual, his response to exhaustion is an incredibly rigid schedule. It might surprise those familiar with his more drastic behavior in Perdition's Rest that, when he has the opportunity to create a routine, Giorno does so and sticks to it as though his life depends on it. For example: he is always up and to the squidge park by nine, eight-thirty if he can manage it, with a cup of coffee in his hand and looking as though he stepped out of the pages of Vogue.]

[His interest in the squidge park is twofold: one, Peter asked him to help. Two, it seems like the sort of thing that Bruno would enjoy. Giorno's devotion to Bruno's memory is near-fanatical at the best of times, which these are not; it's aloe on an unhealing wound to attend to the not-yet-hatched squidges, although there is admittedly not much to do yet. Sometimes he reads to the squidges, mostly from terribly dry biology texts or, notably, from Machiavelli's The Prince, or memorized passages of Les Miserables; sometimes he sings snatches of late-nineties pop music, or hums Miles Davis, because he doesn't know any lullabies. Sometimes he just watches them, monitoring their life signs with Gold Experience and breathing in time with them, quite close to being in a trance.]

[Not for long, though. A few minutes, maybe, and he's back to shimmying around to "Wannabe" and dropping flower crowns onto the tops of the eggs.]

( b ) press two for the dream

[There are so many books in this library. The first time he saw it, Giorno nearly passed out from delight--and it was even more dangerous when he saw the nature of the contents, truth be told. A cross-section of literature and history and science from across worlds--well, there's not much better, really, in his opinion. Except for Napoli.]

[So he spends a good amount of his afternoon in the library every day. He's made a space for himself, whether the librarians like it or not, a space with the chairs arranged just how he likes it and a spot for his notes. Of which he has many. They are in an arcane shorthand, comprising an odd array of topics, all in survey form: as much information from as many universes on these topics that Giorno can find. The effects of unrestricted drug trades on working-class families; varying types of interdimensional economies; botany and biology, particularly arthropod and similar in nature; tales, whether historical or fictional, of political upheaval.]

[He has charts. Big charts. Sometimes, to make room on the table, he tapes some up to the shelves. He rarely watches where he's going, because he has immediately categorized this library as his. So he's quite likely to bump into other patrons and--not apologize, to be honest. Just give a sunny smile and a wave and get back to what he's doing.]

Mm, if you're going to be here a while, there are snacks on the second-to-bottom shelf of the left bookcase over here.

[--well, and that.]

( c ) get ready for something

[And here, in the corner of the courtyard farthest away from the stables, is where Giorno spends the earliest part of his evening. Before dinner, always; he wants to be sharp, leaning into accuracy, when he practices, because he is using a weapon that he must honor, and he doesn't half-ass honor.]

[The weapon in question is a Beretta Stampede, unremarkable despite the flinty reverence with which he carries it. The first thing he does, always, is clean it, not once or twice but three times. He does it expertly and with religious devotion. He takes it apart, he cleans it, he loads it, and then--he doesn't fire. Not quite yet.]

[Bullets are in short supply. His first few shots, to calibrate, are always a little bit unusual. Instead of using bullets, he holds, well, something between his first and second fingers. Sometimes a coin, sometimes a button, sometimes . . . It doesn't matter. What matters is, between his fingers it twists up into a tight bundle of organic material, dense and burly and aerodynamic. It is, or was, or could be monkshood in origin. Monkshood for chivalry, and he shoots it viciously into the wood target he's set up across the courtyard.]

[He shoots his makeshift bullets until the tension starts leaving his shoulders. Then, when the frustration's bled away a little, he sighs and picks up the Beretta.]

[His aim isn't perfect. But it's a hell of a lot better than a first-timer's would be, which might make one wonder.]

( d | sonia ) that you've never seen

[He made a princess a promise, a while back. One keeps one's promises, when one is Giorno Giovanna--or at least, one keeps one's promises to princesses, because one knows that both Trish Una and Bruno Buccellati would haunt one's dreams over the rudeness of not doing that, otherwise.]

[So it's not long after New Year's that he grabs his (second, extra) knife and heads down to the courtyard once again, first shooting Sonia a message.]

Buon giorno, signorina ♥ If you have time this morning, I'd love to teach you how to use that knife I gave you. Lunch after? Wear something comfortable that you don't mind getting dirty. --GG

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[ She hadn't actually been sure if he'd forgotten, but she's been lucky enough to run into Arima in the training room, and Julius had been free shortly after her post so she'd had a little training (nothing to truly get her on the right path, but a warm up perhaps) to start. She's glad to hear from him though, whether it be about this or something else. Her reply comes quickly after. ]

Buona giornata, of course I have the time. [ Even if she had planned to do something else, she'd make the space. ] Where shall I meet you?

[ Comfortable might not be the most possible, but she has shorts she got back in PR which is probably better than wearing a skirt for this... and she does pull on her uniform jacket just in case. ]

[He lights up when he gets her message, leaning against the courtyard wall. Then again, he always lights up when he hears from Sonia. Or sees her. Sonia is important.]

The courtyard! There's a good open space to practice. And I don't like the training room much.

[ She doesn't waste much time here either, quickly getting ready to go out, sending messages at the same time. She pulls her hair up and ties it (which is where at least five or ten minutes goes, sorry Giorno she has a Lot of it. ]

Please bear with me, I will be there shortly!

[ She's still rushing around to ensure she's truly ready, but her journey to the courtyard doesn't take too long. She waves and smiles widely once she spots him. ]

Salve!

[Big hair is the truest burden of all. Even if it takes her a bit, he brightens up when he sees her, wiggling his fingers.]

Salve, ciao, buon giorno, Sonia. You're excited to fight, hm?

[He can relate to that. He is always excited to fight.]

[ It truly is. She has friends help her sometimes yet it's hard to imagine cutting it off either. ]

Ah, it may be more accurate to say I am excited to learn.

[ Her hand moves to rest over her heart. ] And it is always a pleasure to spend time with you too, of course.

[Oh no. That's so charming. He . . . also puts his hand over his heart, struck.]

I'm not going to be able to teach you anything if you keep being so sweet to me. I'll be emotionally compromised.

[ It actually makes her laugh, something soft rather than loud but a laugh nonetheless. ]

Then I will be in trouble, will I not? Shall we start in that case?

[ Admittedly, the library's rarely his first stop back in Oska, but sooner or later it becomes a stop when there's reading up to be done on their next port of call. There's something in the atmosphere, the hushed voices and the soundproofing of the walls full of tomes, that makes for some sort of productivity superfuel. Or maybe it's just a Pavlovian response born of only setting foot in the place when he'd been up to his ears in homework back in school. ]

[ Either way, here he is. And this is new. Looking for a spot of his own, it's hard to miss the great manmade alcove taking up the comfiest of chairs in the hall. Geez, what nerd decided to nest here? Before Sigma's able to produce much more commentary, mental or verbal, he's getting bumped in the elbow by a passing curler-haired... teenager. Scurrying back into his fortress of geekitude with even more reference materials. Like some kind of dweeby magpie. ]

Huh. [ It's not the lack of pleasantries that takes him aback by far, it's the snacks. Sure enough. There they are. The absentminded noise that had escaped him regroups into a laugh of a grin. Honestly this looks like a setup some TV criminal law genius would put together in a week-long montage. Does this kid sleep here? ] You sure don't waste time, do you?

Why would I waste time?

[This before he even turns to look at the speaker. It's almost definitely a joke, but he interprets it totally seriously. He hates wasting time. He wants to get things done.]

[But then.]

[Then Giorno looks over his shoulder and sees who it is and smiles immediately. Because: He Knows Who This Is. This is Sigma. He hasn't spoken to Sigma himself, but he knows who he is, because Sigma Is Ramir's Cat Owning Boyfriend. Thus: noteworthy.]

Oh. Hello, there. How are you, Sigma? Would you like something to eat?

[Giorno, you are being so creepy. So, so unsettling.]

I mean, Oska's usually where we catch a break.

[ Although for some people this... is a break. They haven't really had any fine literature or reference material for the past couple months, have they. Anyway, the recognition on the other's face is lost on him for a moment, food's always a little distracting. Sure, he ate not too long ago, but he might as well have a second stomach for offered food. ]

Yeah, if you're— [ There we go. He stops short, brow furrowed, as he turns his eyes back on Giorno. He doesn't know this kid, this is definitely a kid he'd know if he knew. But this... this happens sometimes. Granted it hasn't happened in a good long while, but it happens to him. ]

[ That doesn't make it any less weird. ]

Uh— Wait, sorry, have we met before?

[It sure doesn't make it any less weird. Giorno laughs a little behind his hand, which probably also doesn't help.]

Not officially. I just know of you. You got the best blanket.

[A statement that totally makes sense and isn't weird. Anyway--Giorno starts fishing around in the snack area and comes up with: some crackers, some cookies, and a pudding cup, which he generously slides across the table.]

You're Ramir's boyfriend. You didn't say how you were, you know. Does that mean you're not well? It's really impossible to say with Americans.

[ It sure doesn't help. That's like textbook villain behavior. ]

[ Anyway, there's a long instance of frowning here before there's two statements to click together. Right, Ramir's great blanket heist of 20XX, she'd gone and shared those. And he had gotten the objectively best one. He'll accept the offerings with an idle word of thanks, settling down across from the kid and going straight for the pudding cup. ]

Oh. Yeah, fine. Great, actually. [ Right, he had missed that. But that's what Giorno gets for being weird and disarming. What's being American got to do with it! Stop jumping topics so fast!! Stay on this one, it's a good one. ] And— yeah, she's my girlfriend. Why, she talk about me a lot or something? All good, right?

She does. And yes, it's all good.

[A beat.]

Mostly good. All fond, anyway. If she gives you the best blanket, that's a very high mark of favor.

Also she likes your cat a lot. Maybe better than you.

[ Ramir looks a little out of place in a library. She wanders with her hands pocketed and a single book tucked under one arm, preemptively frowning like she expects someone to pop out of a shelf and chase her out. Her image for the last few years, after all, has not really been conducive to looking like she belongs in a house of learning.

She brightens the instant she spots Giorno, opting to stand solidly where she was when she spotted him and just sort of watch him run into her. Whatever, she's solid and solidly planted, and he can do it if he wants to bounce off. ]

Oh shit, snacks. That's what this library's missing. What kind'd you get? [ She's immediately way more into the snacks than the books, and heading over to see for herself even as she asks. ]

[Oh, it's Ramir. Ramir is so good to bounce off of, he thinks, looking up at her with a smile. What a sturdy person.]

Um. A lot! Cookies and crackers and pudding and there is some fruit in there also. With an ice pack.

[. . .]

You can't have the strawberries, those are reserved. The cantaloupe is fair game, though.

[ She drops to a crouch at the shelf in question, transferring her book to sit on a knee — a book of elemental magics, from the cover. ]

Nice. I bet the librarians are big fans of this, sticking food on the shelves. [ She has the idea Giorno would do it anyway, regardless of what librarians thought. She plucks up a few cookies and a cut of cantaloupe and looks satisfied with herself. ]

So what're you in for, huh?

[ though this is technically her fourth stay in oska, this is, perhaps, the first time olivia has actually found the "downtime" between missions to be... rather relaxing. there are no dangerous simulations to pass, no extra three months to catch up on, no terrible time bugs to overcome. this time, if anything, she has only the storm of her mind and her heart to weather out, and while some days she feels as if she can never break past the surface to breathe again, there are other days that feel just a little easier to wade through.

days like these, where she can turn a handful of idle hours towards a favorite pastime. while these squidge eggs are not nearly as interactive and excitable as the squidges themselves, she still delights in the chance to take each one up in her arms and gently sway to the soft tunes of the lullaby she hums in the quiet space between them. true, it is not anywhere near the songs or the dances she would perform on stage, but there is a different sort of reward in this. she cannot help but think what sapphire would think if he could see her now, sharing the very same lullaby she'd sung to him, those many months ago on zeta-12...

so caught up in her song and dance that she doesn't even notice giorno until it is much too late, caught mid-twirl as she happens upon him mid-wannabe. she pauses in her shock, then glances down at the colorful trail he's left behind. ]

Oh, [ she says, lips splitting into a wide, warm smile. ] What a lovely garden you've made...!

[He should have noticed her, probably. But he doesn't, because--because he's thinking of a thousand other things. Bruno and Trish and Napoli and what these babies will be like when they hatch, if they'll be happy, what that will make them like as they grow. He's caught up in his own little touches, and he doesn't notice Olivia until he turns and there she is.]

[The first thing out of her mouth is joy. It makes him ache a little with happiness and smile in return.]

Oh. Thank you! I'm sorry I almost bumped into you, I--

[His fingers twitch in an indefinite gesture beside his ear.]

I was elsewhere. You were singing. . . . You sing to them too?

[ her expression softens to something empathetic when he attempts to explain himself. even without the use of her powers, she has a sense of that feeling. getting so lost within your mind that everything else seems to blur to something dull and colorless. ]

Their hatched selves seemed to enjoy it well enough back on their home planet, [ she responds after a nod. carefully, she stoops down to switch out the egg in her arms, not wanting to neglect attention on any of the other eggs for too long. ]

Though I'm afraid my song didn't sound nearly as fun as yours.

Did they? Mm, that's what Peter said--that they like to be talked to. Or he thinks they do . . .

[Peter is sweet. While Giorno isn't sure there's any scientific basis to the idea that they like being sung to, it's a nice idea, and he likes the sentiment, so--he's doing it. He brightens again at the mention of the song.]

It's a song a friend of mine loves. I think she'd like the babies, so it seemed appropriate.

[While this is considered downtime for most, everything here is really new and exciting for Maya, so she's out exploring and getting used to her new terrain. She's not really sure how she feels about being conscripted to this.... whatever this is supposed to be, but maybe while she's here she can train, and return to Nick a full-fledged spirit medium, having fought dinosaurs and with time-fu under her belt.]

[(That's definitely a thing)]

[But so far, she hasn't fought any dinosaurs, learned any mystical time martial arts, of even trained. Actually, the place she's most recently stumbled upon seems to be some kind of daycare for.... eggs (?), complete with someone already here, singing strange but catchy pop songs and giving the eggs flowercrowns. Aww.]

Wow....

[Maya's eyes go wide and round as she stares between the dancing, singing, Giorno, and the eggs]

Did you lay all of these eggs?!

[What a completely logical conclusion to jump to]

[It's totally logical. And also pretty startling. Giorno turned to look at her when he heard that big, astonished wow, so fortunately he doesn't drop the egg at the next part, but. It's a near thing.]

Um.

[Um?]

[Slowly, he shakes his head.]

N-ooooo . . . I'm human, I can't lay eggs.

[For what it's worth, this is a totally genuine response and he is not making fun of her. It seemed important to clarify that he is, in fact, human, given that, well. There's no way to know on sight, sometimes.]

They're squidge eggs, apparently.

[Look, whether or not he's human, if he wants to lay eggs, Maya's not about to judge. Maybe]

Oh, okay! So you're just here to sit on them until they hatch?

[Maya, no. It's hard to tell whether she's joking or serious, but she does seem to be pretty cheerful, despite the near drop thanks to her sudden appearance and antics.]

Sure, but... What's a squidge?

[She's so new it's probably painfully obvious]

What? No. People are too heavy to sit on eggs, the shells don't have the structural integrity to support such large animals without hollow bones.

[Oh god, Maya triggered Nerd Mode.]

Um, they're little aliens. Or, various sized aliens, but these ones are little. Because they're eggs, which will then be babies. [help]

[stop mansplaining your motherly instincts to her, Giorno]

[But he does bring up a good point; they are very small eggs]

So what are you gonna do? Put them on your lap and rub them? Tape them to your chest?

[But a hushed awe falls over her as he explains. She's still adjusting, so 'alien babies' is still pretty weird to her, overactive imagination and all, but one thing's for sure sure:]

Wow.... that's really kind of you to adopt all of these aliens. But are you really to be a single mama? How are you gonna feed them?

I--

[That is. Actually a good question. He blanks briefly, looking to the side as if Peter is going to appear and answer this question.]

I'm actually not sure. I'm helping out Peter--Peter Parker. He knows more about them than I do. So I'm not actually positive what they eat when they hatch. Alien food?

[Peter doesn't appear. Katy, on the other hand, might, shipping furiously in the background]

Oh! I know him! He's my coach!

[She had no idea he was so multi-talented.... egg mama and baseball superstar??]

As long as it's not milk, I guess. We might be in trouble if that happened.

[ It's the noise that draws her attention first. Bullet shots, familiar sounds in her own world, varying types of explosions that let her identify shots by ear. This one sounds like an assault gun bullet, but strangely echoed and spaced out.

Certainly not an assault gun then. She knows better than to expect things to stay constant between worlds. Nevertheless, she is curious - and that curiosity has her stepping into the courtyard, a greatsword in one hand. The fact that she can lift it with one hand easily might stand out, too. ]

Hello, Giorno. Are you training?

[ The question is more of a formality than anything else. He didn't strike her as the type to use a pistol, though. ]

[Fugo knows where Giorno is. Fugo always knows where Giorno is because when they're not together (which is not common, but becoming a little more so as Giorno gets used to the idea that Fugo isn't going to disappear if he's not looking at him) they let each other know where they're going. More than that, he's put Giorno's schedule to memory.

This is the time of day when Giorno goes out to practice shooting. Fugo knows about the Beretta, knows about his limited supply of bullets, knows about Giorno's clever solution to the problem. But he's never come out to shoot with him. Logically speaking, he knows he should; Fugo's familiar with guns, although he's more practiced with automatics, especially revolvers. It would be good to practice with this one, given that their time here is limited. He should offer Giorno what he knows about short-distance shooting.

But looking at that gun, watching Giorno's eerily familiar movements as he takes it apart to clean it in the evening, is like rubbing salt in a still-bleeding wound he's trying to keep hidden under bandages and clothes. So he doesn't come out to watch Giorno practice. They part ways and meet up again for dinner, because the kitchen bothers Fugo yet; physically speaking, all the strong food smells make him feel ill and, psychologically, it unsettles him how there's no one to maintain it.]

[Today, Giorno doesn't contact him at the usual time. Fugo's better than most at keeping track of time in his head. Five minutes trickle into fifteen, which slide into half an hour. At the forty-five minute mark, Fugo stretches in the bedroom that he doesn't sleep in and pushes aside his books and notes on European economics; his neck and shoulders, stiff as usual, pop and crackle when he rolls his neck. He gets up, douses the bright lights, and pulls the open door closed and locks it behind him.

Fifteen minutes later he's outside, looking only a little green around the gils from ducking into the kitchen, with two thermoses (one filled with minestrone, the other with tea) in hand, a couple spoons clinking in his pocket with his usual pens, and a wrapped up loaf of (somewhat unsettlingly so) still-warm bread underneath one arm. Being outside is better, though, even if it's cold. So by the time he makes it to Giorno's little corner of the courtyard, any signs of his previous nausea are gone from his face.]

[Giorno probably already knows he's here. He usually does, even when Fugo doesn't make sure to approach from his peripheral. Still, Fugo waits patiently for him to finish-- watching him shoot, observing his form, and always, always taking mental notes-- firing off his rounds before he calls out, to officially catch his attention.]

Giorno.

[Today . . . Giorno doesn't know Fugo is coming. Doesn't hear him. He should, but he doesn't. He's focused--hyperfocused, overfocused--on the reality of the weapon in his hands.]

[Which is why he's doing this now, like this. Even though it's a waste of bullets, he can't be like this when they get to Woodhurst. He has to be at his best, because Fugo is relying on him. Other people, too, but Fugo especially; he's gotten a second chance to keep his promise, and being distracted by the empty space at his side will only get both of them killed.]

[So he lets himself sink into the feeling of using the Beretta. There are memories in the way his hands move, the leftover lost-limb sensation of callused fingers and thick knuckles under his hands, a sense of safety that he simply doesn't, cannot feel here.]

[And then, there's his name on the air. Fugo's voice. He looks up, refocuses, and sees that the sun has moved in the sky. Slowly, he lowers the gun to the wall beside him and turns to look at Fugo questioningly.]

Ah. I . . . I'm late?

[Fugo shrugs. For once, it's not a gesture to mask his nervousness; the only tension in his shoulders is the sort he carries around with him everywhere. There's more than a touch of concern in his expression; it's not like Giorno to lose track of time like this.]

I knew where you were. [He holds out one of the thermoses, the one with soup in it.] I brought lunch. We can eat out here, if you'd like to get back to practice when we're done.

[What he would like to do is keep practicing. To fight through the dark, in mourning and memory. But he looks at the gun, at the target, at his hands, at his breath standing in the air. Then he looks at Fugo, then slightly to Fugo's side.]

[He is imagining a girl with short hair, hands on her hips, lips pulled tight in a frown. She takes him to the beach on Sundays. She makes him be a boy, sometimes.]

[Slowly, he shakes his head.]

She'd be angry.

[Another moment, and he blinks. The suspension between worlds is burst like it never was, and he flushes a little. Embarrassed. He chastises himself for not having more composure.]

Excuse me. I mean that I think if you've already had to chase me out here, it's probably not the best idea for me to keep practicing after. But if you'd like to eat out here, we can. Or inside. I don't--want to put you to any more trouble than you've already gone to.

[He doesn't need to ask who Giorno means: he's talking and thinking about Trish, who would have a lot to say about this. Fugo reflects that Trish probably wouldn't have waited any longer than five minutes to call Giorno up on his magitech to chew him out as she made the trip to collect him. This is the one of the things Trish is better at than anyone else-- reminding Giorno that he needs to take care of himself along with the rest of them. Next time, Fugo thinks to himself, he'll send a message earlier.]

At both of us, most likely. [Fugo sighs, the only sign of homesickness that's less for a place and more for the people who aren't here. It's strange. He barely had time to get used to the idea of Trish, his friend, and already he misses her.] ... let's go inside. It's cold out here.

[It's okay, Fugo. We can't all be Trish Una; most of us would crack under the strain. Giorno certainly would. But there's something reassuring about the fact that Fugo clearly knows exactly who he's talking about. It prompts a weak smile, then a nod.]

Okay. I don't want you to get sick.

[Or him, he guesses. But he doesn't get sick nearly as easily as Fugo does.]

[He tucks his gun into its holster, then reaches out and takes Fugo's hand, easy as breathing.]

I don't want you to get sick either. [There's a faint, crooked echo of Giorno's smile, because it feels like an obvious sentiment. Fugo accepts Giorno taking his hand with more ease than he did a few days ago: already, the habit is starting to form. With a little bit of shifting, to make sure the two thermoses are hanging off of his wrists, Fugo offers Giorno the loaf of bread.] Here, help me carry.

[He takes it. Cradles it to his chest, even though that's not a normal and rational thing to do. It makes him feel safe, having something to hold tight in each hand: this loaf of bread, and Fugo.]

[After a moment or two, he leans heavily against Fugo's shoulder, turns and rests his forehead against it before straightening up again.]

I can help. I'm good at helping.

[From experience, Fugo knows he doesn't have very long from the moment Giorno touches down on his shoulder. It's not something that happened often back in Napoli. Only two times, really. (The time when Giorno playfully bumped his shoulder to Fugo's doesn't count. That was a different sort of gesture.) But this has been happening more often in Oska. Fugo thinks it has less to do with him, personally, and more that Giorno doesn't have the shoulder he's looking for.

But, even so: he wants to help, even if he's not sure how to. Fugo knows what Mista would probably do-- but his hands are occupied and he's too uncertain besides to sling one arm over Giorno's shoulders. But there is a gesture that he's been thinking about, that might work if it's not too forward. He knows from experience that there's no time to deliberate; Giorno only allows himself a fleeting moment of comfort. Of weakness, out here in the cold.]

[So, very quickly and very carefully, Fugo tilts his face so his cheek rests on the top of Giorno's head.]

You are. You've helped me a lot. [He glances down at their clasped hands. Another gesture that's more common between worlds than at home. Is this a point where he should squeeze Giorno's hands? For-- reassurance, or something. He doesn't know.] ... come on, let's go back inside.

[Once Giorno has straightened himself up, Fugo turns back towards the castle and tugs him along.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

( open ) you'll believe in something

d ofc uwu

runs into your arms

opens arms for

feel free to not respond if this is too late <3

ssh it's fine!!!

smooch

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b

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feel free to not respond if this is too late <3

gentle gasp

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slams in another B (for booty)

or booby ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

whoa let's keep it pg13 in here

a

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feel free to not respond if this is too late <3

A; I'm... sorry...

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fills in with a c

c

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