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sapphicmsmarvel · 3 days

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Azriel: baby blanket

Azriel had never had a baby blanket.

When you found this out, it made you so sad you started crying (you were on your period which didn’t help the emotions).

You were talking with Feyre and Cassian. Feyre mentioned how she found Rhysands baby blanket in their closet and couldn’t get over how cute it was.

“It has bats! It was so cute.”

“Oh yeah, Rhys’ mom made me one with swords on it.” Cassian sipped his beer.

“And Az?” You asked.

“Az what?” He quirked an eyebrow.

“What was on Az’s?” You asked, tilting your head.

“Huh.” Cassian thought. “I don't think he ever got one.”

“What? Why?” Your heart was shattering for your husband and mate.

“When he joined the family, he was in his preteens. A little old for a baby blanket. I joined when I was a bit younger so I think that’s why I got one.” He titled his head as he thought. “He might’ve had one when he was with his blood relatives, but I doubt they let him have any comfort.” He grimaced.

You teared up. “Rhys’ mom never made one for him?”

“No, just because he was a bit older.” Cassian shrugged.

You frowned, “I wouldn’t think of it either if I were her I just…” Your lip wobbled. “He deserves it.”

“Aw shit.” Cassian got up and went to your other side. “I forgot you were on your cycle.”

“Shut up.” You cried, swatting his arm. Which he wrapped around you and pulled you to his chest.

“He’s okay, sweetheart. He’s a big boy.” He kissed your temple.

“Everybody deserves a baby blanket. I still have mine.” You bit your lip and sniffed. “I need to make Az one. He deserves it!”

Feyre touched your shoulder. “I think Rhys still has fabric his mother owned.”

“Can you ask? I wanna make it and include the woman that took him in.” You frowned, “and find some way to include his mother.”

“Of course.” Feyre said. She also kissed your temple.

Feyre later asked Rhys, who absolutely let you have some fabric. That way the blanket was from both you and Rhys’ mom. You reached out to Azriel’s mother, who helped you learn to sew. You spent hours with her. You loved doing this so you could give Azriel something meaningful, then it was better since his mother helped you learn.

You did a few practice runs with random squares of fabric that weren't the special kind. Just to make sure you didn’t fuck up the actual project.

You picked out a soft fabric he loves because it doesn’t cause sensory issues. You chose if in his siphon blue with stars on it.

When he came home after you had finished it, he was concerned because you looked like you were up to something.

It didn’t help that you had made his favorite foods plus dessert (since you wouldn’t let him eat you for dessert with your cycle going on, which he doesn’t care either way for the record).

Then after dinner, you made him sit on the couch and close his eyes for a surprise. “And I forbid your shadows being sent out! So don't send them!” You yelled as you ran up the stairs to grab the surprise.

“Yes, love.” As if they’d listen to him over you in this case. Plus, he’s never seen you so excited. So no, he wasn’t going to ruin it.

He heard your giggling as you walked down the steps and couldn’t help his own tiny chuckle. He heard the crinkling of a bag as well.

“Okay, open your eyes baby.” You said. He opened his eyes to see his love smiling wide and her eyes twinkling.

She handed it to him, he could feel that it was hefty. He took the tissue paper out and threw it at you, which you giggled at as it hit you.

Then he saw the most beautiful blanket there. He pulled it out. It was a deep, rich navy blue. Sparkling with the night sky.

“Did you make this?” He whispered, his heart was already filled because his love gave him something.

You nodded and that caused his heart to overflow.

“I love it but what’d I do to deserve it?”

“Just be you.” You said. Then he saw the tears start in your eyes. “Gods, this stupid cycle. The amount of times I cried making it.” You wiped your face.

“Cassian told me you’d never had a baby blanket. And everybody deserves that bit of comfort. I’m sorry if this seems silly I just-“ Your lip wobbled. “I wanted you to have it.”

“Oh baby.” Azriel cooed. Which was weird, because he was one of the most feared warriors cooing over his period-ridden wife. “C’mere.” He set the blanket down, and pulled you into his lap. Your thick thighs cradling his muscular ones.

You fit perfectly in his lap. He then grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around you both. For a baby blanket, it was quite large. You worked so hard. He loved it so fucking much.

“I’m sorry this is your gift and I can’t stop crying.” You let out a wet laugh. “Gods, the amount of times your mother teased me for crying.” You sniffed.

“My mother?” He froze.

“I went and visited her a lot these past few months. She taught me how to sew. We had lots of tea and talked about you.” You teased. “I loved seeing her so much.” You whispered.

His heart was bursting. You spent time with his mother, his mother who you loved to see.

“Baby, this is beautiful. You’re so talented.” He kissed your forehead. “I can’t believe you made me a baby blanket. Thank you.”

He never even thought that he’d want one. Now, the only way anybody would get it out of his hands would be if he were dead.

“Where did you find this fabric?” He asked. It was beautiful. As if the night sky itself was woven into it. And so soft on his skin.

“Rhys’ mother.” You sniffed again.

He snapped his head to you, confused. You smiled. “I asked Rhys if there was any fabric left from her. Then I actually embroidered your mothers signature in the corner, with her guidance. So,” You shrugged. “It’s from all three of us.”

“The three most important women in my life.” He murmured.

He brought you into a kiss that told a thousand words. “Thank you.” His voice broke off. “I can’t even begin to think of how to repay this.”

“That’s the thing Az. You don't have to. I’m your wife, I am honored to give you something so special.” You whispered, clutching his face.

“You didn’t just give it. You made it. You make me so happy, my love.” He brought you in for another kiss.

After that night, you kept catching him snuggling the blanket. He wouldn’t travel with it, it was his prized possession. It never left your house. All your family knew about it was that you made him a blanket.

Then, for away missions. You made him a travel size one.

Then for his birthday. A tinier matching one. Only with your signature in the corner opposite his mothers.

And, an embroidered baby footprint.

#acotar #acofas #acomaf #acowar #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #azriel x reader fluff

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helvegen-s · 17 hours

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Rage, rage | three

prologue | one | two | three |

Pairing: Azriel x Hybern!Princess!OC

Summary: Nimue was a gift for the King of Hybern. His shining jewel, the perfect heir. However, she is clear about who the villain of the story is. When she saves her father's enemies from a tragic end, she realizes that now it's the Cauldron who has a gift for her: a mate.

Warnings: heavy injures, description of injuries, blood, violence, weapons, bad language, english not being my first language

They look at each other, adrenaline boiling and screaming in everyone's veins. Nimue doesn't take her eyes off Rhysand, but she feels everyone looking at her.

She feels naked, unprotected.

She blinks to get used to all that light. She had never seen so much light and it's beautiful.

Her senses come to life as she lets go of Rhysand's hand, which she had unknowingly been clinging to. She breathes over and over, trying to calm herself, but involuntarily she begins to tremble.

What has she done, what has she done, what has she done.

Father is going to kill her.

Amidst her frenzy of thoughts, Rhysand starts barking orders. She doesn't hear them well, only scattered words: healer, help, house.

Nimue glimpses a huge house to her right, and realizes she has brought them all to the courtyard of a mansion. Around her, everyone seems to spring into action.

The blonde female runs into the house, and seconds later comes out accompanied by another woman, shorter and slighter. She can't tell if she's fae or a creature. When Nimue and her lock eyes, it's like they're looking in a mirror. Both frown but decide to ignore each other.

For Nimue, it's as if everything is happening in slow motion: when she wants to realize, there's another person there, attending to the two injured Ilyrian. A glow emanates from her hands, its warmth reaching the princess's face. A healer, she supposes. She had never seen one.

She fights against her own panic, trying to get used to all the hustle and bustle and all those sounds. The birds flying above her head, the sunlight, the smell of the sea, the smell of pine and cedar, the voices around her, the poor Ilyrian screaming in pain...

She lowers her gaze, and without thinking, she starts speaking: "I can help."

Everyone looks at her again, judging her. They scan her from head to toe.

The two females who were thrown into the Cauldron are to her left, crying and hugging the one who was with Rhysand. Are they sisters? They looked so much alike...

"I can help," she repeats, this time firmer. She starts walking and sees how Rhysand prepares to attack her, "I can heal both of them, if you let me."

She analyzes the High Lord's face, and sees how little by little he is giving in. No one articulates any words, with a simple nod of the male's head, he grants her permission. He has nothing more to lose.

She kneels beside the one with the shattered wings and begins to do what she does with herself and the wounds she has ever suffered: with her magic, she grasps every little nerve ending, every small piece of skin. She pulls them and threads them, weaves them, joins them and separates them as if making a tapestry. So little by little, she shapes the wings of that Ilyrian. It's all pure instinct, what her nature dictates to her.

Father always told her she was his Goddess of Destruction, but Nimue knew deep down that she was capable of fixing, of healing, of bringin good to the world.

Under everyone's watchful eyes, she was piece by piece, shred by shred, joining and repairing the broken wings of that male. When she reached the bones, she simply imagined how they should have originally been: she ordered them to return to their form, to be soldered, and they obediently complied.

With a final grunt from the male, Nimue finished her work. But before she could get up, he grabbed her arm:

"Thank you," he whispered. Nimue is stunned. Thank you?

Had anyone ever thanked her for anything? Had anyone shown her gratitude?

No, her real doubt wasn't that. Had she ever done anything worthy of others' gratitude?

She swallowed her fear and terror, kneeling on the ground. She watched as the male limped away from her and enveloped the blonde female in a hug, how he squeezed her tightly as they both cried on each other's shoulders.

She was so, so lost. Where was she? What was happening around her?

"What a miracle of a girl," the healer whispered. Standing between Rhysand and the slighter female, the more aged-looking woman never took her eyes off her, "You are a Cauldron's blessing. When you're done, I'll need you to teach me how you do that. You are a–"

"Silence, Madja," Rhysand's voice resonates under her feet and in the very mountain, as if he had spoken those words inside Nimue's skull. She shrinks, intimidated. That's the power of a High Lord, "Now him. Heal him.”

She looks away from Rhysand and sets her gaze on the last remaining male.

Kneeling on the ground beneath him is a pool of his own blood and something that seems to be shadows, moving frenetically back and forth. She had never seen anything like it, those... beings, moving around the man. Nimue hears faint noises that she can't quite understand.

Behind her, she feels a presence moving. Rhysand looks down at her, those violet eyes so deep that Nimue feels hypnotized, "Don't just stand there gaping and do what you did to Cassian. Now. Or I'll cut off your head, you filthy Hybern rat."

She nods, and when she turns back to the winged male, he looks back at her. His amber eyes follow every small movement she makes: from the slight tremble of her lower lip to the way she raises her hand.

When he tries to speak, a trickle of blood runs down his lip to his chin, "Touch me and I'll cut off your hands, traitor."

Nimue trembles.

What the hell is she doing? Where has she gotten herself into?

Before she knows it, two streaks of water run down her cheeks. Is she crying? She had never cried before, what a strange sensation.

Her gaze travels to the hands of the male in front of her. He grips a beautiful black dagger, its tip directly aimed at Nimue's chest.

She swallows hard and, in a quick motion, grabs the arrow he has lodged in his chest and pulls it out with all her strength. She has been so fast that the male collapses forward, falling on top of her.

Rhysand and the healer, Madja, take care of getting him off her, and when Nimue tries to touch him again, the High Lord growls at her, "I told you to heal him, not to open up the damn hole in his chest further."

By pure instinct, Nimue snarls back at him, "I am healing him, you idiot. Back off."

Where she found the courage, she doesn't know. But they obey her, and she gets back to work.

The male is lying on his back on the ground, and Nimue places her hand on his chest, where the arrow was previously lodged. She begins to weave again, slowly, thread by thread.

Her gaze rests on his face, which, with closed eyes, lets out the occasional groan between his teeth.

Azriel feels like his chest is on fire. He feels the edges of the wound burning, he feels combustion from within. He takes gulps of air as he struggles not to lose consciousness, and blinded by the pain, he reaches his hand into the air and grabs onto the first thing he finds.

Nimue startles when his hand grabs her elbow, but she lets it be, the touch of his glove is a new, pleasant, and different sensation. She looks back at his face, and in a low voice, she speaks to him, "I'm almost done. Just making sure there's no trace of the poison that the arrow was coated with."

Azriel lets out a growl. He couldn't care less about the explanations. He just wants it to be over already.

The pain reaches the core of his bones and he opens his eyes abruptly, looking at the girl in front of him.

What is that?

Around her, he sees a thread, a small golden rope encircling her: it descends down her shoulders and arms, caresses her wrists and fingers, and wherever her skin meets his, he sees how the thread enters his own body.

Is he hallucinating?

Hasn't he had enough with the arrow between his ribs, that now the poison is making him hallucinate?

Behind the girl, he sees Rhysand, Amren, Cassian, Mor, even damn Madja. He sees how in slow motion their brows furrow, he sees how they lean forward, looking puzzled at something that makes Azriel scared.

"What's going on?" he asks agitated. He tries to sit up on his elbows, but although the pain has already diminished, it still doesn't let him breathe properly, "What are you all looking at like that?"

Nimue furrows her brows as she pushes the man back to the ground so he stays still. She frowns, as she begins to feel something on her fingertips...

Something is not right.

The sensation travels up her forearm and shoulder, and settles in her chest. There inside, like a caged bird, that sensation starts tumbling, back and forth, faster and faster.

She removes her hand from the man's chest and he sits up in front of her, like a spring.

Azriel feels like he's going to explode. What has that witch put inside him? What kind of magic has she used on him?

"What the hell have you done to me?" he shouts. Azriel brings a hand to his chest when that pressure keeps growing.

Nimue mimics him, feeling like her chest is going to burst.

What has she done? Has she made a mistake? Perhaps her magic has betrayed her now for the first time...

She's hyperventilating, and when she feels that, indeed, she's going to explode like a firework, she looks into the eyes of the male in front of her.

And then everything suddenly calms down.

They stare at each other, stunned, not knowing what to say. Their breaths come together, equally fast and choppy.

And when their bodies stop vibrating and calm down, she feels it there.

There's something, something pulling her towards...

Towards him.

Azriel jumps to his feet, as if they hadn't just removed a poisoned arrow from his chest or he hadn't just lost liters and liters of blood. He finds Truth Teller in its usual place and with a practiced motion after years and years of battles, he grabs the girl by the collar of her clothes and lifts her up like a feather. The dagger rests comfortably against her neck, and she does nothing but look back at him, wide-eyed.

"Azriel!" Rhysand shouts. He ignores his High Lord, although every fiber of his being tells him to obey him, "Azriel, let her go!"

Then, Nimue comes to her senses. With a practiced movement, the winged male is kneeling on the ground again. The pretty black dagger is now in her hand, while with the other she pulls back his hair.

Azriel doesn't know when all this happened. He just knows that he blinked and now he's the prey. He clings to the girl's hand pulling his hair and tries to break free, but he can't understand how such a small woman can have the strength of a thousand men.

"Now I'm going to let go of you and you're not going to attack me. Understood?" She utters each word slowly, as if speaking in another language.

Nimue takes a step back, releasing the dagger, which falls to the ground with a dull thud.

Azriel stands up, and in a leap, he's next to Rhysand in an attack position.

Before Nimue, everyone present is on high alert. Some in attack position, others simply ready for whatever may happen.

The first to speak is Azriel, with the same accusatory tone as before, "What have you done to me? Undo it." He's trembling, and Nimue can't tell if it's from fear or from the pure rage she sees in his face.

Even if she wanted to, she couldn't undo it, because she herself doesn't know what has happened.

What is that pulling her? What is that feeling in her chest, an anchor dragging her toward that winged male?

Everyone remains silent, looking at each other.

However, it's Rhysand who speaks first, the voice of reason in a desperate situation, "Let's all calm down."

Because he doesn't know if he's the only one who sees it, who feels it. That sudden change in the air. It smells like cedar and mist, like Azriel. But if he pays attention, he smells the sea salt and the sweetness of poison in the air. The scent that the girl in front of them emits. It's intoxicating and chilling at the same time. He couldn't say.

What he can say, however, is what he sees crystal clear. Azriel's essence, mixed with that of the unknown girl. He sees how both mingle in the air.

And then, Rhysand would swear that he stopped hearing Azriel's heartbeat next to him.

"My mate," his friend whispers. His face, a complete expression of surprise, something that the Shadow Singer rarely showed, "She's my mate.”

Taglist:

@lilah-asteria @agentsofsheilds @leptitlu @just-here-reading @glitterypirateduck @donttellthecats

A/N:I really hope you are all enjoying it. Every kind of support is greatly appreciated, and thank you so much to those who already support it!! If you want to be added to the taglist, just let me know 🥰

#azriel x you #azriel x oc #azriel imagine #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel acotar #acotar fic #acotar fanfiction #acotar #rhysand #cassian #azriel fanfic #azriel fic

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imustbenuts · 2 days

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im free from yakuza kiwami 2. fuck the writing in this one. this was a complete mess of pulling from the most popular generic east asian drama tropes at the time of 2006 and having it be handled by a super inexperienced writer at the helm.

i went from having no expectations, got somewhat surprised, only to end up downing alcohol and laughing hysterically before the credits rolled. so that should set the mood for how i feel about this one. thought vomit under the cut, a lot of info dump about culture incoming

yakuza kiwami 2 is pure heterosexual east asian romance bullshit.

im gonna just. describe as best as i can what i know and remember from the general media coming out from the 90s to the 2010s in around this part of the world before i just start explaining why i think this story is a mess.

so. 2 parts i swear is responsible for this rubbish.

1) East Asian Beauty Standard

the general consensus for a beautiful feminine woman AT THE TIME in this sphere is the following

be willowy thin (fat = lazy and ugly)

have black hair that ISNT short (dyed = too much individuality, too much WESTERN INDIVIDUALISM, gasp how dare!)

fair skinned (bc dark = she works in the fields and is from a lower class)

young. if you heard of the term "Christmas Cake" in japan context, yeah. (ie women over age of 25 are undesirable)

be educated and refined, bc that indicates class and femininity (failing this means shes vulgar and gasp like a barbarian)

be submissive to her male peers in the sense that her authority cannot override his at least in public (for the sake of his face)

dresses feminine and not like a man (trousers and jeans are man-ish. traditional clothing, skirts and dresses are preferred. the further back the stronger this sentiment is.)

incidentally, theres a lot of classism tied to this EABS due to sinocentric culture influences. it has to do with the chinese court system and how korea and japan copied it and a lot of the culture wholesale but. anyway. thats like over 1000 years of history in there thats not really worth detouring to rn.

and also, the worth of a man is sometimes (not always) upheld by how classy and feminine this wife of his is. as of 2024 though, this line of thought is still around in the more conservative pockets. also, the education might not matter as much these days as how deep her and her parents' pockets and wealth are.

moving on.

2) media tropes

so. off the top of my head.

if you wanted a popular romance drama in this time period, the popular offerings no matter where you looked tended to offer the same flavors of tropes.

the woman always has dark hair, is fair skinned, thin and younger than her male love interest. ive never seen this broken or subverted in my time absorbing via osmosis the dramas playing on local tv growing up in the early 2000s.

everything else about her can be subverted though. sometimes she can wear fancy pants or have short hair to indicate her strong individualism. BUT, her personality no matter how strong it begins, no matter how her intro begins will 99% of the time encounter an effect where catching feelings turns her into a meek loyal woman to her love interest.

bc she cant override his authority in this culture context.

at worst, she becomes highly irrational and even hysterical in the dramas when bad things happen. this includes things like love triangle, or a fallout of family business, drama, plot or whatever. she would cry and sometimes even die.

see: sawamura yumi. sayama kaoru.

meanwhile, the male love interest can be anything. ive seen middle aged guys to young good looking upcoming actors playing the lead, with looks varying from haggardly okay to young and handsome. it. really depends on the genre.

depending on what specific country it came from, the drama would have the male either grow, become manlier (by learning honor ig), become stupid in the name of love, but he rarely if ever actually dies. the woman effectively becomes yoshi for mario to lauch off on when they're crossing a chasm

the romance is forced. a lot of the BIG LOVE SPARK ie kissing happens in tense moments bc it builds drama, but in reality comes too fucking close to sexual assault (some of the old jackie chan movies does this iirc for slapstick even)

see: sayama getting kissed right after handling her biological father's ashes less than 24 hours ago and admitting to kiryu that shes scared. this scene right fucking here.

bc in general, the scriptwriters for popular dramas tended to be guys themselves and tended to write more human dudes. and the women in the stories are reflective of the ideal societal expectation at the time: being a Refined Housewife.

so her character development is often headed in the direction of marriage and being a stay at home mom.

if it sounds a little like tradwife bullshit, it is.

Refined Housewife

(i have massive negative thoughts about this which i KNOW for a fact is a thing bc a lot of these societal culture femininity was impressed on me as a kid in a world where it was already getting increasingly impossible to have 1 spouse be a SAHP. and also i hated the whole thing about giving face to the patriarch of the house when i personally saw so much ego dick measuring from my uncles. anyway understand that this is both a bias an a lived experience, so proceed with that in mind)

there is a problem with the Refined Housewife expectation: education.

in general, education has been a good metric to judge how classy or smart one is in asia's largely on-the-surface meritocracy based culture. people will look at each other's school first and then judge them from there, and pretty hard too.

so everyone regardless of gender will be expected to study super hard. and bc having good test scores and going to good schools looks good for the family's face, parents will often pile on tuition to the child to get them a leg up in life.

bc also no good degree from good school means no future.

but then... the woman is expected to be a housewife. 🙃 meaning... the education, her accomplishments, are kinda... tossed away in this context. put a pin in this.

it wont matter how much she studied or accomplished, bc the expectation is that the woman would marry and obey her husband, and give him face/honor that way. the kids will come eventually bc having kids = being filial to ones parents in this context.

also uh. no, having adopted kids is not thought of as being filial. continuing the bloodline is.

and if you've been paying attention, then yes, ive been skirting around the backbone of sayama kaoru's writing foundations this entire time.

Her story has been butchered so clumsily i cant even...

lets just. ugh.

she fits the EABS standard, her tropes are trying to subvert the expectations of a womanly woman in this context, she has IMPRESSIVE education and career achievements. she works in a male dominated field, and is keenly aware of sexism. she is strong, stronger than her male peers, at least we are told.

by 2006s standards, its still considered a fresh take with those alone in japan. sexism there is its own flavor of crap. (if you noticed ive not spoken about LGBTQ+ stuff at all, its bc how ridiculously BINARY the expectation is at that point in time. it still is today but less so)

however, the writing has this sense of trying to copy the popular tropes at the time while not fully understanding and dissecting them, and ends up butchering sayama's character before the romance even properly began.

i mean, for fucks sake even, sayama and kiryu has a whopping 14 year age gap. when im told these are supposed to be believable people living in japan, this is too big for me to just go 'oh ok!'. and remember the Christmas Cake thing? shes 25. (FUCKING--!!!! !!)

the problem here that i see is the writer trying to apply all of those while trying to play the tropes straight. trying to imitate. trying to make a statement but then finding out theres nothing within yourself to stand by what you want to say and backtracking.

we are told:

sayama is strong yet she goes down with 1 slap by random thugs and needing kiryu to come in and body them. because romance ig.

we are told shes a yakuza hunter but she doesnt scare a single one beyond her introductory scene.

she goes from defiant and bossing kiryu around to getting her actions overridden by kiryu and ryuji, both men, towards the end

her subtext is that shes not feminine and therefore conventionally undesirable, but then kiryu tells her shes actually feminine and therefore desired, as if its all that matters.

she becomes so stricken by grief and freaked out that she runs off solo to deal with ryuji in the most out of left pocket planning ive ever fucking seen.

and then yells as she takes out her police baton to take down the big yakuza dude, drawing attention and turning herself into a hostage.

i know the writing will fumble but i didnt expect it to fumble this bad.

for all the good the surface chemistry kiryu and sayama has, its being undermined by a fundamental failure to understand tropes and then using said tropes as a crutch so much that everything here has become a bloody mess.

this failure of over-relying on tropes without understanding them extends to yumi too. sawamura yumi was young and beautiful, and became the Refined Housewife to the Not-Male-MC and ends up regretting it, and gets killed for it.

her defining trait is that she is beautiful in subtext. thats. thats what the tattoo is. in a world where the tattoo makeths the person, thats what she is and all that she is.

dear lord.

ive read up a bit more on sayama and you know what. good that she chooses her career over kiryu. the romance would have caused both of their characters to explode with the trajectory this was heading in. ffs sayama could have had her own game. she has so MUCH potential.

and also GOOD that the writer is forced to think of kiryu in the position of the Stay At Home Parent for haruka and the orphanage down the line!!! subverting the fucking traditional BS expectation! yes!!!!!

all i got was sayama and kiryu making out before the bomb went off in front of my alcohol and salad while they're like 'eh, haruka will forgive us for dying :')'

and i ran out of alcohol.

sexism? maybe. incompetence? definitely.

hhgrhgrhrghrghrgrhgr wow this got long. ugh. guhhhhhh.

#yakuza #ryu ga gotoku #sayama kaoru #kiryu kazuma #yakuza kiwami 2

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