#oh fuck i meant beatrice sparks sorry
Text
I think I figured out a while ago that the part of being raised Evangelical Christian that fucked me up the most was the aspect that your thoughts are constantly being monitered by god. A close 2nd was the very commonly expressed idea that giving your life to god would make you very happy, with the underlying idea that if you were unhappy then god did not love you.
#it's hard to explain but i feel like my early teen years were a constant cycle of 'giving my life to christ'#and failing to live up to it (because i remained unhappy and looked at material to do with sex mainly)#interesting sidebar- we don't really have Beatrix Sparks books in the uk but i have become kind of fascinated by them#due to listening to a lot of podcasts about them#oh fuck i meant beatrice sparks sorry#anyway it seems like her books follow a similar cycle of ambiguously or explicitely mormon characters#constantly doing sinful things followed by a return to the fold followed by another backslide etc on and on#i'm not mormon clearly but that cycle seems very familiar#also the characters are all teenagers and all the things they are interested in doing are 'sins'#some of which are portrayed as fun and attractive to do! so yeah#god i still remember the fucking christian rock concerts followed by the 'are you REALLY given to christ?' guilt ridden talk#fuck me :(#it's hard to shake off these damaging ideas especially as evangelical christianity massively rewards credulousness
3 notes
·
View notes
Note
for the wn prompts: avatrice, beatrice gets injured
It was bound to happen eventually. The odds of it never happening was...well, probably really high. Or low. Ava wasn’t a hundred per cent clear on how odds worked - gambling wasn’t exactly high on the to-do list in the orphanage - but she knew that for them to keep fighting wraiths and possessed people and a devil? Maybe? it would take a literal miracle for none of them ever to be hurt. Badly hurt. Ava was the halo bearer, which maybe meant that she was god’s warrior, or maybe just given a little boost to deal with the wraiths; it definitely didn’t mean that she had a direct line to the big man upstairs.
Didn’t mean she wasn’t trying.
Didn’t mean she wasn’t hoping.
‘Hey.’
Mary called to her quietly, dragging Ava’s attention sharply back into her own body. She didn’t seem to need a response, and if she had any questions or rebukes for Ava, she didn’t speak them.
‘Mind if I join you?’
Correction. One question.
Ava shrugged. Folded her hands into the soft fabric of her hoodie. Mary took it as permission and started forwards. It took a minute of concentrated effort to get to where Ava had hidden herself--she couldn’t phase through the heavy pews that had been shoved aside to make room for the training mats, but she could climb over them and she did exactly that before pulling herself up into place above them, into the shallow stone niche that held a gilded image of some saint or another. She sat heavily, stretched out her leg with a relieved sigh, and made herself comfortable; leaving her legs dangling down the wall, boot tapping against the wooden back of the pew, she simply sat and waited, seeming content. Mary didn’t say anything more. After a few minutes, Ava found it was easy to forget she was there.
Ava shifted, leaned against the stone wall. The grit of the masonry pressed into her temple, her hairline. Her attention drifted and sensations ran together, mixed and faded. Rough, chilled stone. Heavy, useless fingers. The tacky feeling of long-dried liquid over her hand, her wrist.
Dozens of candles sat in sconces or held in the tall iron candelabra. They burned low but constant and gave the space a warm light and the kind of hazy, smoky quality of a dream. Ava could see the edge of the training mats was distinct before they bled away into grey nothing. She could see the sheen of polish on the squared arm of a pew, and the glint of gold here and there around the room as various items and frames caught the light and held it, little specks of light like fireflies or fairies. Nothing really had any heft, any substance; not out there, and certainly not where Ava had hidden herself, above the floor and below the roof. Caught halfway between. Her eyes stung--from the candles, no doubt, no other reason. They drifted skyward. Darkness clung to the ceiling. The cornices grew monstrous, their designs at once softened by the dark and transformed, unfamiliar, though Ava had spent many Sunday mornings staring up at them in lieu of paying attention to Mass. Shadows pooled in the vaulting ceiling and where the arches dipped below that darkness, Ava saw the notching spine of a serpentine monster.
A heavy coat draped around her shoulders. Ava shrugged it off with a sudden, fierce move.
‘You’ll get a chill, Ava.’ Mary lifted the coat, tried to tuck it around her again.
‘Stop,’ Ava snapped. Her voice was hoarse and itched in her throat. ‘I don’t care.’
‘Ava,’
‘Just leave me alone.’
‘Like you left Beatrice alone?’
The comment stung. Ava’s eyes itched. She lifted an unwieldy fist, rubbed at them. The pressure didn’t help at all and suddenly hot tears were spilling down her cheeks. Child, was her first thought, acidic. I’m fucking cold, was the second. Unbidden, startled. The tears felt almost scorching as they rolled down chilled skin and Ava shivered.
‘You should be with her,’ Mary said. She was right, of course. She usually was. Ava closed her eyes. ‘How would you like it if you got hurt and woke up to-’ Mary stopped.
‘Remembered I died, didn’t you?’
Mary grunted. ‘Maybe. But it sucked, didn’t it? Waking up alone?’
Ava hadn’t woken up alone, of course. But she didn’t see the need to tell Mary that. She closed her eyes, tried to sink into the comforting distance she had made for herself here, but red and smoke and heat flashed across the closed black of her eyes and she jerked them open.
‘It doesn’t help her to sit up here alone and feel sorry for yourself.’
‘It doesn’t help her when I’m there either,’ Ava muttered.
‘Oh c’mon Ava, you know that’s not true.’
‘I can’t help her. I’m useless. I can’t heal her, I can’t wake her up. The least I could’ve done was get shot in her place-’ Her words stopped, captured and muffled in Mary’s palm, which was set firmly across her mouth.
‘I know you’re upset. I get it, believe me. But our plan was a good plan and you were exactly where you were supposed to be, and the fact that Beatrice got hurt - that wasn’t your fault. That was just shitty luck. Okay?’
‘But-’ The word was muffled still and Ava narrowed her eyes. Licked Mary’s hand and glared when she didn’t so much as blink.
‘I said, okay?’
Ava’s glare didn’t diminish at all. She struggled, Mary easily swatting away her hands, but finally she twisted her head and bit down on the fleshy part of Mary’s palm; pulling her hand away with a quiet curse, Mary wiped it against her pants. She prodded the bite, tilting her hand to see if Ava had left a mark.
Ava didn’t say okay.
Mary took one look at her face; whatever she saw there made her sigh. She turned in the little space they shared and wrapped an arm around Ava’s shoulders. She was warm, very warm, and though Ava tried not to, she sunk into that warmth, that reassuring presence and pressure, and gripped Mary with both hands.
‘It’s not your fault, Ava,’ she said again, much more quietly this time. ‘He’s the one with the gun. He fired, not you. You didn’t do this to her.’
‘But I didn’t stop it. And I can’t heal her. I’m useless, I’m - selfish,’ she spat.
‘And you’re here, hiding away with your precious feelings instead of being there for Beatrice.’ Ava jerked. The words stung, and she knew that they were true. ‘She wants you there. Fuck, she needs you there. Toughen up, hold her hand, tell her she looks pretty even though she’s been through a fucking field surgery. There’ll be time enough to feel sorry for yourself later,’ Mary promised.
‘Has she - ‘ Ava cleared her throat. Forced her words out stronger. ‘Has she asked for me?’
‘She’s still asleep, I think.’ Mary nudged her shoulder into Ava’s. ‘She won’t know you ran if you get back there before she wakes up.’
//
The machines beeped and whirred and sighed. Lights blinked and things moved and clicked and beeped some more. Ava hated them. She’d always hated the machines--she’d been hooked up to enough in her life--but now they were crowding Beatrice’s bed and Ava hated them with renewed passion. She hated them with all of her attention, and didn’t spare any to be afraid for the very pale girl laid out on the bed. It was narrow and she was tucked in tight enough to strangle. Ava hooked her fingers into the spot where the bedsheets were anchored and tugged them, watched them loosen a fraction.
Then, she returned her hand to where it had been hovering for the past half hour. Immediately beside Beatrice’s hand. Delicate, fine-boned. Bruised and scraped. She had had some time to look. Okay, to stare. Maybe.
Ava’s own hand was fine. Healed within seconds. It wasn’t fair.
She brushed the tip of her pinkie against Beatrice’s, felt the familiar unfurling of warmth between her shoulder blades. Curling her hand into a fist, pulling her fingers away from Beatrice, the warmth faded.
‘I’m really sorry,’ she croaked, speaking for the first time. She shot a look toward the machines, which beeped their steady beeps and blinked their steady blinks and Beatrice did not wake. She continued. ‘It should have been me, I’m really sorry. And I’m sorry for running. Mary said she won’t tell. Lilith and Camila, I’m not sure if they realised. They probably did. They might tell. Not sure why they would but it’s possible, I guess. I’m rambling now. Sorry. I just - I thought you should know that I’m sorry. That you got shot, and that I ran away. If it counts for anything, I did come back. I mean, Mary came after me and told me I was being selfish and thinking about my own feelings, which is true. But I came back. And it had only been a few hours, which I feel is a huge improvement over being gone two weeks.’
One of the machines clicked and sighed and fell silent once more.
‘The surgeon doesn’t think you’ll wake up tonight but she does think you’ll wake up, which is, y’know, good. Better than good. Really good.’ Ava grimaced. Beatrice wasn’t even listening, why was she rambling? And so poorly?
Taking a moment, Ava sucked in a deep breath, and uncurled her hand. Set the tips of her fingers against the unblemished side of Beatrice’s wrist. The warmth washed across her back again and Ava sighed, feeling a bit of her discomfort burn away with it. She brought her legs up to press against the side of Beatrice’s bed, tucked herself sideways in the uncomfortable chair so that she could look at her friend’s face; dark hair had come loose from her typical bun and Ava’s fingers swept up, up her arm and over her shoulder and over the swell of her cheek to tuck it behind her ear. The movement sent a spark up Ava’s fingers and she jerked them away from Beatrice. Too much, her mind screamed. Too little, her heart said with an awkward too-fast thump.
‘Uh.’ Ava cleared her throat. Brought her hands back closer to herself, so she would be tempted. The shadows outside the window swirled, a grey wind blowing morning in across the mountains. ‘I didn’t run away for no reason,’ she confessed. ‘I just needed a moment to talk to the big guy. I figure he owes me a favour or twenty and I hoped - ‘ Ava blinked quickly, trying to dismiss the prickle of tears as they returned. ‘I had hoped maybe one of the other halo-bearers would show up and help me. Tell me what to do. If I could do something. But no one showed up. Not until Mary, anyway. She told me to come back to you right away, no nonsense.’ Ava tilted her head to the side. Shared a smile with Beatrice, who did not smile back. Eyes closed. ‘Maybe that was a sign,’ Ava suggested. ‘I don’t really believe in them but I guess Mary is as good as any other. And I can yell at god from right here. Well, not yell, I think the surgeon would send me away if I did but I can think about it really loudly in my head.’
She looked to Beatrice again, then, and her expression shifted. Sitting up a little taller in her seat, Ava inched her hand forward until it lay over Beatrice’s wrist. She hooked her fingers so that the steady beat of Beatrice’s pulse drummed against them and promised, quietly,
‘I’ll get better at not running. I’ll get so good I’ll be stuck to your side. You’ll get sick of me pretty soon,’ Ava told Beatrice with a smile, ‘but I’ll be there.’
76 notes
·
View notes
Text
In Sickness and Hell
Synopsis: Sickness never bothered Lucifer until it got ahold of Chloe.
Ao3 link
Rating: T
Notes: Oh my god guys I'm so sorry it's taken me this long!!! I've been super busy with my health, family health, vacation, and about 5 million other things, but I did it! A big shoutout to my beta because I deprive her of sleep about 5 days of the week. This was thrown in in a rush so be sure to check my paragraphing! ALSO SPECIAL NOTE: THERE IS ONLY ONE CHAPTER TO GO!
Chapter Number: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9
Dan always had had a few choice words to describe Lucifer Morningstar. Egotistical, pretentious, asshole; really the list went on. But he’d always supposed there was more to the club owner than just shallow smiles and mindless sex. Sometimes he would catch when his charming smiles twisted into ugly snarls or how his eyes bubbled with more than lust. There was something about the man that just seemed off. Dan wasn’t sure what exactly made him feel that way, but there was certainly more to him than he liked to let on.
Watching Lucifer talk to the nurse outside of Chloe’s room all but proved Dan’s theory.
He stood as he normally did; with a type of stiff-backed elegance that only came from cold, old money childhoods. Except there was nothing elegant and expensive about the scene at all.
Lucifer’s clothes were heavily creased and stained. The boot print on his chest and bruises on his jaw that Dan had been so proud of earlier, now seemed to sneer at him in disgust. A sharp kick of regret drove through his stomach.
The bruises were too purple, the dirt stain too prominent for Dan to be proud. What he had done wasn’t justice, it was brutality.
He scoffed at his mounting shame. What the fuck was wrong with him? When had he begun to tolerate and feel pity for Lucifer Morningstar?
From his spot around the corner, Dan studied the shadows under the club owner’s eyes. They weren’t dark and sickly like he would have thought, but more subtle and haunting instead. A passerby wouldn’t have noticed them, the hospital staff might not even notice them, but Dan did. And for some reason they unsettled him.
But that wasn’t what tripped Dan up the most about the situation, because clinging to Lucifer’s waist was none other than Trixie.
His long musician fingers tapped out melodies on the top of her head, in a way that a stranger might think it as endearing.
But Dan wasn’t a stranger and the motion just seemed out of place for a man who believed dogs and children were one in the same. Still, Dan watched as Lucifer let Trixie press her cheek against his hip and squeeze him tighter than what would be classified as polite.
A shudder ran up his spine and Dan finally made his way towards them. Honestly, the whole thing was so surreal that it made him feel like he was in a parallel universe.
As he neared the group, he caught snatches of the nurse’s speech.
“--s Decker is receiving blood and extra electrolytes just to make sure she’ll remain stable. The nurses believe the shock was caused by a mixture of fatigue, prior blood loss, and some sort of severe stress. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you Mr. Morningstar?” the nurse asked him almost accusingly.
Before Dan could stop himself, the question tumbled from his mouth. “Chloe went into shock?”
The nurse turned with bland amusement painting his features, to look at Dan. “Yes Miss Decker went into shock about twenty minutes ago. Fortunately it was an easy fix and she should be stable now,” he glanced from Dan to Lucifer. Dan didn’t miss the way his eyes traced the path from his bandaged hand to the bruises that stained Lucifer’s skin.
“As I was just asking Mr. Morningstar, do you know of any kind of stress Miss Decker could have had between 9AM and 12PM?”
Lucifer shifted his empty stare from the nurse to him and Dan couldn’t help but get another chill.
“Panic attack. Mid morning.”
Even though the words were meant for the nurse, he caught the double meaning.
The nurse was oblivious to the threat, of course, and scribbled it down on a bleached white note pad. He gave his required send off with forced cheer, but not before making note to tell them both that as soon as her IV finished, Chloe could be released. Without another word, he disappeared into the mass of medical staff, leaving Dan alone with Lucifer and Trixie.
They stared each other down for a few tense moments until Trixie interrupted it.
“Daddy can we stay here?”
Dan tore his gaze from Lucifer’s and to his daughter. She still clung to the other man like a lifeline. Her hands twisted into the expensive fabric of his shirt, adding new pathways to the roadmap of older wrinkles.
“No baby. Look I know you want to make sure Mommy is okay but I’m sure Lucifer wants to get some rest too.”
Trixie’s face twisted into a pout and refused to let Lucifer go. “Please?”
There was a tiny pang of jealousy that rang in Dan’s chest at the sight of his daughter clinging to another man. No amount of newfound respect for Lucifer could ever make that jealousy go away. Trixie was his daughter. He loved her so much. It was supposed to be his job to protect her, but lately all he seemed to do was hurt her.
“Trix,” he said, sterner this time.
“No.”
Lucifer laid his palm flat on her head. “Darling as much as I love seeing you rebel against your paternal figure, your father is right.”
“But what about you? Maze said you don’t look like you feel good,” she turned to look at Dan again, “Daddy, Lucifer’s sick too. We can’t leave him here.”
Lucifer sighed. Dan could tell his patience was wearing thin.
He tried to cajole her again. “Lucifer is only going to get better if you let go, honey. He can’t get better if you won’t let him go anywhere.”
“Daddy we're at the hospital, they can help Lucifer,” she said, rolling her eyes, “but if we leave he'll be all alone! Nobody should be alone when they’re sick.”
Lucifer was about to open his mouth when a familiar shadow silenced him with a hand on his shoulder: Maze.
A spark of recognition flashed behind Dan’s eyelids.
“You,” he accused.
Maze raised her brows in amusement. “Me?”
Memories of glances over his shoulder, dark tinted windshields, and paranoia flooded his mind. The whole time it was just Maze. She was his shadow that afternoon in the precinct; watching. He suppressed a shiver.
“You stalked me all afternoon, what the f--” he saw his daughter’s eyes widen, “ freak,” he quickly amended.
“What a valiant save, Daniel,” Lucifer muttered sarcastically.
Dan ignored him, but he couldn’t help the crashing wave of relief the remark brought. He would take snarky asshole Lucifer over solemn, unnerving Lucifer any day. There was something reassuring about the way the robotic respect was slowly changing back into his purposefully annoying personality. It was weird; Dan never thought he would miss basically anything that Lucifer ever did.
Maze shrugged from her spot at Lucifer’s side. “I’m impressed that you noticed in the first place, I wasn’t even topless.”
“Why in God’s name were you following me?” he asked in utter disbelief.
Lucifer carded a hand through his hair in annoyance “Saying things in his name isn’t going to get your bloody answer any faster, you know. His name isn’t some premium code.”
Maze barked out a sardonic giggle.
To Dan’s slight horror, Trixie joined in.
Dan was not the religious type. His parents were strict Catholics and ever since he was eighteen he’d always held a small kernel of resentment for all of the forced mass sessions. But that did not mean that he needed Lucifer’s own traumatic experiences rubbing off on Trixie; it was bad enough that his parents frowned upon Chloe’s atheism. He didn’t need Trixie going to Nana’s house and telling her that she was best friends with Satan.
Oh God, Dan could just hear the wine glass dropping out of his mother’s hand now.
Maze gave one last snort before sobering up. “Anyway I came out to tell you that Chloe’s awake.”
Immediately, all humor drained from Lucifer’s eyes. His shoulders strained with an invisible weight and the remaining mirth seemed to drain away.
Trixie, on the other hand, lit up like a Christmas tree. She smiled slyly up at Maze, who returned it with one of her own wolfish grins.
Finally, Trixie pulled away from Lucifer and both him and Dan let out a breath neither of them knew they were holding.
Immediately, one of Lucifer’s tics took over and he began smoothing out the creases in his shirt. Apparently it took more than exhaustion to shake that level of OCD.
Trixie sighed dramatically and tugged on Lucifer’s wrist impatiently.
“Beatrice--” he said, clearly caught off guard.
“Come on you’re taking too long,” she whined and tried to pull him in the direction of Chloe’s room.
He offered a few weak protests, but ultimately allowed himself to be swept away by the seven year old, leaving Maze and Dan alone in the hall.
Maze grinned and arched a mocking brow at him.
Dan glanced around. “What?”
The bartender just shrugged, “Nothing, just wondered if you were getting your panties in a twist over Lucifer and Chloe again.”
“Why would I do that?”
Maze glanced at his bandaged hand and gave him a look.
Dan covered it with his other hand. “Look,” he said defensively, “I got mad the first time--”
“And the second, and the third--”
He glared at her and continued with a little more force, “--but I don’t hate the guy.”
Maze crossed her arms and looked him over. “Could have fooled me.”
Seeing how the conversation was going to end, Dan scoffed and brushed past her and stepped into Chloe’s room.
The scene he walked into stopped Dan in his tracks.
Lucifer hovered around the foot of the bed, his hands fiddling with his cuffs as he paced back and forth.
“You’re certain you’re all right?” he asked timidly.
Chloe sat propped up on the bed with Trixie pressed into her side.
“Lucifer, come on you know the answer to that.”
He took an uneasy step closer to her. “Humor me Detective.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m fine, alright? It was just shock, it happens to everyone.”
The rest of the conversation fell on deaf ears. Dan stood stupefied. Lucifer Morningstar did not do quiet. He did not act soft and he certainly had never been described as timid.
His shoulders were slumped, the perfect posture seemingly thrown out the window.
It was all too surreal for Dan when he realized that in some way or another Lucifer had always been like this. Maybe not to this degree, but the traces of it now stood out in his mind.
Before, Dan didn’t have a word for the emotion that he often saw in Lucifer’s eyes. He’d always passed it off as something simple, like lust or annoyance, but now he knew that it was far from that.
Whether he liked it or not, Lucifer Morningstar cared for Chloe Decker. And for some reason, Dan was okay with that. It was as if the proverbial glass had finally shattered.
After this blew over, Chloe was going to sign the divorce papers. Then he would sign them and that would be it. There would be no argument, no dramatic change of heart. This chapter on their life would be over in the matter of a week. The rings would be taken off and hidden away and slowly the rest of Chloe’s things would disappear from their house. And soon enough their house would turn into his house; wedding pictures swiped off shelves and the dress gone from the closet.
It would be polite smiles over break room coffee and late night cases. They would fall into comfortable silence but at the end of the night, Dan would go home alone and Chloe would go home to Lucifer.
There would be secrets whispered between silk sheets that he would never know and new recipes he’d never taste. Maybe there would eventually be a new ring on her finger; a new last name pasted over his.
Dan would never know because this was where their lives diverged.
And for the first time since the separation, Dan was okay with that.
Lucifer was an ass, but deep down Dan knew he would take care of both Chloe and Trixie.
Maybe that was why he found the strength to clear his throat.
The conversation in the room halted as three sets of eyes turned towards him. Unconsciously, he covered his bandaged hand once more.
“Uh, I’ll stay here if you want to go get her release papers,” he said to Lucifer.
The man in question stopped his pacing and glanced at Chloe. She looked confused, shifting her gaze from him to Dan. Clearly Lucifer had forgotten to mention him.
Silently, Lucifer gave her one final lingering look before squaring his shoulders, giving his cuffs one last tug, and heading for the door. Before he disappeared completely, he turned back towards Dan with a small, thoughtful smile.
“Thank you.”
Dan just nodded, knowing that somehow, he’d made the right decision.
Turning back to Chloe and Trixie, he sighed.
Trixie gave him one of her bright gap-filled smiles but the guarded expression Chloe had worn since Dan had come in hadn’t left her face.
He offered her a bitter smile that she didn’t return.
With the same precise steps Lucifer had worn into the linoleum, Dan made his way over to Chloe’s bedside.
Her blue eyes were still misty with sleep, but the question sat plainly in them. The last time she had seen him, he was a punch away from being escorted out of the hospital. She had every right to be questioning him.
“Hi,” she finally said, letting her questioning tone bleed through.
Dan couldn’t stop his smile from falling, “I’m sorry.”
Chloe’s frown deepened and she patted Trixie’s arm. “Trix-babe would you go see where Maze put your backpack?”
“ Mommy,” she whined, clearly not forgetting the last time she’d left the room.
Dan tried to step in once more. “Daddy just needs to talk with Mommy for a minute, okay? It’s going to be boring anyway, I bet Maze is way cooler.” He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
Dan watched as his daughter crawled from the bed with a heavy pout and didn’t say another word until she was out of sight.
“Dan look if you’re here to give me more shit--”
“I’m letting Lucifer take you home.” It took everything he had to keep his voice low.
“What?” All of the fire in her words had vanished.
Dan drew in a deep breath.
“Chloe I know we thought that maybe the separation would help us--help me, ” he amended, “But it didn’t did it? I love you but we can’t keep doing this. It’s not good for us and it’s definitely not good for Trix. I feel like if we don’t stop it now--” his words caught in his throat, “we’ll just end up hating each other. I care about you too much to let us get that bad.”
Chloe’s eyes were wide, “Dan--”
“I wasn’t there. I was never there when I should have been, I know. That’s why I’m letting you go. After this blows over I’ll sign the divorce papers, I’ll move on. And that starts with letting Lucifer sign you out. I think he’s a dick, but he’s a dick who tore himself apart to take care of you. Hell, even now I wasn’t here when I should have been. So Chloe,” Dan’s voice broke, “I love you, but that will never be enough to fix us.”
Chloe sat speechless, unshed tears glimmering in her eyes.
Finally, she gave a stiff nod, “I think I’m ready to let you go too.”
With shaking hands, Dan pulled his ex wife into a tight embrace, placing a chaste kiss on her forehead.
“Bye Chloe,” he whispered into her hair.
“Bye Dan,” she rasped back.
As Dan pulled away, he felt an imaginary door close on the dream that was his marriage and nightmare that was his separation. But not without opening a new door that would lead to his bittersweet future.
19 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
gaybondagelove
Gay Bondage
pieup
aaaaaaa
inglitterypinkink
Pink Academia
fuckyeahthebosshoss
Fuckyeah TheBossHoss
rmengineering5322-blog
R M Engineering