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lunaticereh · 7 months

Text

{ 104 }

the price of a lie.

lies of p.

pinocchio x reader

warnings: unedited and a self indulgent mess.

{ how many lies would you tell to be human? }

truth be told, pinocchio never understood what it truly meant to be human.

his journey throughout krat was no easy task, for surrounding him were enemies who wanted nothing more than to witness his demise; automatons who held such deep contempt for him and his goals, being just as deadly as the plague that wracked through the city.

with each challenge that he faced, he was forced to play the role of a real boy, acting as though he desired nothing more than for his lies to become a reality someday. even though he knew that being human was seen as a good thing, he didn't really understand it. when asked about it, his father often told pinocchio that he was the key to saving humanity; that it was due to pinocchio being geppetto's creation that he held him in such high regard- that this was something only he could do.

but it was difficult for pinocchio. he felt as though the weight of the world had been placed on his shoulder, and he was forced to navigate through such a dark world entirely on his own while given little to no motivation. despite how he wasn't quite human yet, there seemed to be a looming weight within his chest, one that filled him with an inexplicable emotion.

the feeling was so great that he couldn't help but dwell on it, the curiosity of it all spilling over that he had to ask sophia about it.

"that emotion you are describing sounds a great deal like dread." he recalls sophia telling him one late evening when he was last seeking refuge at hotel krat. her graceful figure seemed to float along the marble floors, voice ever so gentle as her slender fingertips ran along the oakwood shelves, exploring the spines of the various books settled within it.

she hums, not quite facing him, yet pinocchio knew that she was simply deep in thought. "it is not strange for you to feel this way, after all, we are asking a lot of you at this very moment."

"however," her gentle laughter makes pinocchio finally meet her gaze, seeing her smile as she reassures him, "how you decide to move forward and continue your journey is entirely up to you. and truly, i have faith in you- we all do."

sophia stops herself from speaking further then, her gaze becoming a bit more solemn as she clasps her hands together. she steps closer to him, the skirt of her blue gown swaying back and forth with her movements when she settles herself before him. her gaze was unwavering, placing her hand on pinocchio's shoulder as she tells him:

"but it won't be easy... you must have a strong conviction in order to become what you truly desire. so, tell me..."

just how far would you go to truly be human?

pinocchio hears sophia's words echoing within him, the cogs in his mind whirring as he fought to find the right words to say. could he really tell her of how numb he felt? would she understand if he spoke to her, finally telling her that single phrase i don't know?

instead of being truthful with her, pinocchio found that he could not get the words out; the silence was deafening, and despite how no words had been spoken or exchanged, the pain in sophia's gaze said it all.

as if taking pinocchio's unspoken words as his answer, she simply nods at him before letting him go, leaving him feeling numb.

if pinocchio were to be honest with himself, the puppet simply felt... empty at the thought of being human. he felt no innate desire to become one, and only felt such desires simply because he was told to.

the lies he tells were only made to put up a façade; one that he was meant to uphold if he were to ever survive the dangers that were seen all across krat. he never had a reason, nor felt the true desire to become real-

but that all seemed to change one fateful moment, when he came into contact with a human-

when he came into contact with you.

it was raining that day, the downpour causing the cobblestone streets to become slick. puddles surrounded the city as pinocchio could feel his own clothes becoming wet from the rain. his shoes made splashes all across the roads when gemini's voice became panicked.

"whoa, b-bad news, buddy! i sense a group of rogue automatons just a few blocks away. maybe we should retreat for now? you seem unprepared, and you were only meant to be out here to do recon."

pinocchio ignores gemini's advice, simply sharpening his rapier with his legion arm as he stepped forward, eyes narrowing when he sees a figure coming towards him, seeing you running to him. he stops walking, watching as your footsteps pound against the streets as gasps escapes from your parted lips. you were dressed in a tattered shirt with torn pants, and your shoes were so worn and torn that they nearly made you slip and fall into the slick streets.

when you finally see him, you let out a sigh of relief all while reaching out to him with your hands, "p-please, you've got to help me!"

he takes note of the way your heart raced from within your chest and how wisps of smoke seemed to escape from your parted lips due to how cold it was. the constant thumpthumpthump heard from the confines of your chest intrigued pinocchio a great deal, and he was uncertain why his curiosity was so piqued by you.

"pino, this is bad, the enemies are right in front of you!"

without saying a word to you, pinocchio places you directly behind him, shielding you from the automatons. he watches the rogue puppets with thick oil escaping from their porcelain lips, staining at their skin as heavy grunts and groans were heard from them. their movements were slow, dragging their feet along the slick streets. pinocchio held no concern when it came to defeating them and shielding you from the dangers that they pose.

using the speed and grace he had developed from his past battles, he manages to take down the rogue group of automatons with ease. his rapier slices through them as he dodges their attacks with great succession. within what seemed like seconds, they all collapse in a pile of broken limbs, the rain already beginning to turn their bodies into rust.

he faces you once more, seeing you wrap your arms around your chest, your eyes wide with wonder. "t-that was amazing! and goodness, y-you are also an automaton? i truly thought you were real! simply a young man taking a stroll across krat! well, actually, that would be quite crazy, since humans like me would definitely struggle surviving here!"

pinocchio listens to you and the way you excitedly spoke to him. it was here that he learns of your name, how you were not originally from krat and had simply traveled here to learn about the city's accomplishments with automatons. you spoke highly about your dreams and how you wished to be a master engineer like geppetto.

"that is my father." pinocchio wasn't sure why he felt the need to tell you of this simple fact. something about you seemed...bright. so achingly bright that it made his chest feel this strange tightness. the fact that you were all alone in this dangerous world made pinocchio wish to help you- to shield and protect you from it.

he watches as your eyes widen in response. "you're kidding, that's amazing!"

"yup, it sure is! master geppetto is a genius, and i along with everyone else agree that pinocchio is his greatest creation!" gemini chimes in, further adding to your excitement.

"then that means-"

"you may come with me." pinocchio softly tells you without a hint of hesitation, simply holding his hand out for you to take. your features appear surprised once more before turning a bit sheepish a mere moments later. "i-i don't know. i don't wish to intrude, but...krat has become a living nightmare since the plague hit. i was a bit foolish in coming here so...so unprepared. "

"hey listen, your only hope of survival is to follow pinocchio here. if you stay out here, you're gonna be made into mincemeat for sure." gemini continues to urge you to follow pinocchio, "he can take you to geppetto. and who knows? maybe you can work as his assistant along with eugénie."

throughout it all, pinocchio never stops keeping his hand outreached for you to take. as gemini's voice slowly softens before becoming silent, he could see your eyes shining with excitement and happiness once more. with a sigh, pinocchio watches you as you step forward and call out his name for the first time. "pinocchio, right?"

he feels himself shiver a bit upon hearing the way you call out to him. giving you a simple nod, he extends his hand out even more to you, to which you finally take. the warmth that came from the palm of your hand was what pinocchio initially feels, his fingertips lightly grazing against your wrist as he felt the pulse along with the warmth that radiated off of it.

there was a sudden surge felt within his chest, one that pushes him forward as he ends up interlocking the fingertips of his non-legion hand with yours, pulling you along as he safely lead you out of the city and towards his sanctuary found within hotel krat.

and it didn't take long for you to find a new home within his found family. as predicted by gemini, his father welcomed you with open arms, along with eugénie. you were a fast learner, and offered many insights to both of them when it came to optimizing pinocchio's legion arm.

pinocchio wasn't sure why your presence instilled something so profound within him. he has had his fair share of communicating with humans. he was close to his father, and he enjoyed listening to eugénie prattle on about the modifications she has made to his legion arm.

but interacting with you sparked something deep from within him. each day he returned to hotel krat, he found himself basking in your smiles and the sound of your voice as you told him about your day all while asking pinocchio about his own adventures.

he never tired of hearing your voice, and how your warmth seemed to permeate at the air before seeping into him. and it was while he was in your presence that he found himself regretting that he could not feel your warmth nor share it with you. pinocchio's body was cold, being carved by the richest wood and sewn together with metal. his glass eyes were incapable of reflecting the same emotions that you showed each time you met his curious gaze, and that part bothered him greatly.

that was the first time pinocchio felt a great sense of regret at not being truly human.

he wanted to bask in the rain and feel the cold droplets against his skin and dance in it with you;

he wanted to share cups of hot chocolate with you and be able to lick away the cream that decorates your lips;

but more so than that, he wanted these feelings he was beginning to feel to come into fruition and have a true, beating heart.

it was a yearning that pinocchio felt growing inside him, getting stronger and deeper with each passing day. each time you walk by him, his gaze would ultimately follow you. the longing that he felt was certainly becoming more evident, and an almost knowing smile would grace sophia's features each time she witnesses your interactions with pinocchio.

with a newfound passion, pinocchio continues his journey, now believing his lies of being human each time he uttered them while exploring the city of krat- allowing the thoughts of you to push him forward.

and it was with these thoughts of you plaguing his mind that he returns back home from his exploration around krat. the night was at its peak, with hotel krat remaining silent as evident of its inactivity. pinocchio was the only one still awake at this time, and he found himself wandering aimlessly around the library, unable to rest.

his fingers run across the spines of the books, yet he felt no desire to read any of them. as his eyes scan the various titles, he was aware of the familiar sound that never fails to bring him comfort.

thumpthumpthump...

his ears pick up the gentle pitter patter of your heart, its slow beats alerting him of your sleeping state. yet despite how he knew that you were resting, pinocchio couldn't stop his footsteps from moving forward. he allows the sounds of your heartbeat to lead him away from the library, his steps echoing throughout the marble flooring of the hallways.

as if running on instinct alone, he does not stop his movements until he reaches the front of your room. like a moth being drawn to a flame, pinocchio lifts his hand, pressing it against the door as he pushes it aside and steps within your bedroom.

his eyes adjust to the dim lighting of the room within seconds as he moves forward. he follows the sounds of your breathing and ends up standing before your bed. it is here that he sees you curled up against the sheets, your hair splayed across your pillow as you cling to your blankets. pinocchio allows his eyes to trail over to your chest, becoming mesmerized by the gentle rise and fall of it.

unconsciously, he reaches out to you, allowing his hand to brush back the strands of your hair. upon feeling his cold hand against your skin, you wince in your sleep before letting out a soft groan. pinocchio simply stiffens in response, not even attempting to move his hand away from you even when you slowly began to awaken.

"huh? pinocchio?" you sat up in bed, forcing pinocchio to remove his hand away from your cheek. "what are you doing here?"

pinocchio knew that the right thing to do in this situation was to simply apologize for waking you up, yet no words seemed to come out properly from his parted lips. "i...i..."

yet miraculously, you seemed to inherently understand him. "it's alright, you can't sleep, right?" wordlessly, you scoot over on your bed, making room for pinocchio to settle beside you. "come on, it's alright, you can stay here, with me."

his hands began to itch with a sudden urge, a pinprick of desire that seemed to grow as your smile was all he could see. following along with this strange emotion, pinocchio lets out a tiny thank you in response to your kindness before laying in bed with you.

not wanting you to fall off the bed, he wraps his arms around your form, bringing you closer to him as you let out a gasp. he says your name in yet another soft whisper, adjusting himself so that his ear was pressed against your chest.

"p-pinocchio?" your voice had risen a few octaves, and he could hear the way your heart began to beat faster in response to his touch.

"ssh...just let me...let me listen to your heart beat- listen to what makes you human." pinocchio's voice began to take on a richer tone, being filled with wonder as he closed his eyes and listened to the steady beat of your heart.

thumpthumpthump...

how far would you go to be human?

how many lies would you tell?

in this moment, with you by his side, pinocchio knew that he would tell an infinite amount of lies-

for if he could become human and share his heartbeat with yours, than what greater bliss could possibly exist for him?

a.n. - so a new lies of p trailer just dropped, and i find myself falling for pinocchio all over again 🥹

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

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lunaticereh · 7 months

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Intrigued With You

I ii iii iiii

Yandere! Pinocchio x Fem! Mechanic! Reader

Warnings: Slight mental breakdown (?), mention death of a minor character, vomit, implied depression, paranoia, mentioned violence and death, unhealthy coping methods, blood, I THINK implied toxic familial relationship(s), just to be safe.

This blog contains dark content.

Disclaimer: contents/lore may differ from the game.

Minors/blank/blogs that don’t reblog/interact with fics and fanart dni.

Idk the word count cuz I forgot to check lmao.

Overall story summary: Your uncle’s puppet takes a bit too much of an interest in you: in which your body finally gave out in this chapter.

It does not speak. Nor does it move, staying as still as a doll would. But it is not a doll, it is a puppet that was worked on for a great while. And it was that very puppet that was staring at you with glassy blue eyes. It reminds you of a curious cat, round features narrowing into confusion.

The puppet then slowly moves its head left to right, checking the surroundings. The sight it’s met with is a cluttered room, with puppet parts scattered throughout, and the smell of grease thick. Could it even smell? Feel the plushness of the chair it was currently resting in, or how ticklish the hair must be at the nape of its neck? Or was it as bleak as every other puppet before a personality was programmed into it, unless it was faithed to be scrapped?

Creak

The gears are turning too harsh inside it. Loud enough to hear, yet the body does not look like it’s on the verge of overheating. Everything comes to a halt once it turns its head forward, gaze landing on you once more.

Sweat forms and slides down your temple. Hot, cold, hot, cold – you feel both at once, a cool breeze biting at your exposed skin. Your clothes feel too hot, the scent of musk strong underneath your nose. Gulping down a scream, your wobbly legs manage to keep up. You resist the urge to fall to the floor like a disregarded ragdoll.

Your purpose is not done yet.

One step, another, and it takes you an odd number to get back to the table. Your hands grasp the edge of it, your legs weak and knees on the verge of knocking against each other. Breathe. Just. Breathe.

“Ah… It is a… it is a pleasure to met you. Can you understand me? Nod your head or use your voice, it doesn’t matter.” You sound steadier than you feel. Several seconds pass before the puppet nods its head, slowly and uncertain. You try to think of it as a newborn – something that barely came to ‘life’ – and like all the puppets, this one will be clumsy and will need a hand to hold before everything becomes natural to it.

But it won’t be your hand.

“Right. That’s good, excellent even.” You’re clapping lightly by reflex. Autopilot is taking over. “Now, I have a few things I need to… hm, what’s the word… test you on. However!”

Slowly, like a scared animal, you back away, turning your back towards it and making way towards the door. You look over your shoulder, neither a frown nor smile on your face. It feels like a line. Turning the doorknob, you talk again.

“I left the materials outside. Truthfully, I did not think you would come on. It wasn’t the first time I put in the ‘heart,’ and it was because of that I thought you would remain well, off. Do you mind waiting here? Just for a bit.”

You give it the illusion of choice. Regardless, you would still leave. But you would rather walk out calmly than run out like a mad man. The puppet doesn’t make any attempt to get up. Looks up at the ceiling before down at you again, the eyes far too innocent, yet blank. How could the two exist within it?

A sour-bitter taste starts to form in your mouth. Your glands feel tight. Slick.

The puppet nods its head after observing you for a bit. Your heart leaps with joy, but bursts with fright the moment you close the door with a “I’ll be right back.”

There is a tree several feet in front of your uncle’s personal workshop. Years ago, when you first joined hands with him, you would often sit underneath it. Hugged your parents by it. Read books using the trunk as a backrest. Kissed Howard underneath it.

Carve your names with a heart. And it is this same tree where you place a hand on the trunk to support yourself. The taste of bile was always bitter. And it was always slimy and uncomfortable whenever it builds up.

“Ugh”

Up goes your lunch, wheezing with every convulsion. Nails digging into the tree bark, the wood digs into your flesh, underneath the nails. You’re going to have splinters. More comes up and you’re barely breathing by the time your body decides it was enough.

“Fuck…,” heaving, you wipe your mouth with your sleeve. You should change, you think, supporting yourself with your free hand still on the tree. Everything feels heavy, and everything feels dizzy. You fucked up big time. Too big to giggle and say, ‘sorry uncle,’ and get away with it. You could have ruined the puppet.

The puppet could have also ruined you. In short, you fucked up. You should have kept your hands to yourself. Frustration at bay. Mind at ‘ease,’ no matter how forced it was. Fake it until you make it. Maybe you weren’t capable of that.

“Haah… fuck, why did I do that?” lifting your head, you look ahead – a tight street where it was annoying to get in. Twists and turns, hidden corners; a good place to hide something precious. But a horrible spot to run from. Especially when everything looked the same, from the buildings to even the stupid posters, both encouraging and protesting against the puppets.

Krat was starting to become a city of repetition. Dull.

Sluggishly, you look over your shoulder, to where the shop was behind you. The door was still closed. The puppet was probably – hopefully – inside. On that stupid red plush chair, surrounded by disregarded parts and paperwork that needed to be filled out. You wonder if it could read.

What would happen if you just… ran?

Your uncle would find you, certainly. Maybe he would kill you. Or send you back to your parents, disappointment in their eyes once they find out about your sudden appearance. Or maybe Lorenzini Venigni – a man you only met but once – would put you in debt one way or another?

He was your uncle’s friend, after all.

Maybe the puppet would go to find you and rip you apart. The puppet this, the puppet that, it’s now sitting ‘awake’ and ‘alive,’ in the workshop. You were with it alone. No-one would come running in this part of town.

You suddenly feel sick again.

“Mm, I’m sorry it took me so long.” You feel like a professor, with children’s books bundled up in your arms as you let the door shut closed. Two more bags hung by their handles on your arm. Sweaty and slightly out of breath, there’s strands of hair sticking to your face. Your ponytail was a mess, and you could smell the sweat.

Your eyes were dropping, and body felt heavy. It took effort to even stand.

The sun was barely setting, and your uncle still wasn’t back. You also took an hour running around town to buy these last minute ‘supplies.’

It jolts to life, lifting its head, tilting it next once it notices your exhausted state and scrambled appearance. Its gaze then lands on the items you’re carrying, like it didn’t notice them before. It probably didn’t. It probably thought you had left for good. And you wish you did.

“I just… mm, I just wanted to see if you could,” you draw out, placing everything on the table with a ‘plop.’ “If you could read. And maybe write. Of course, if you don’t want to, then by no means do you need to do these… things.”

Selecting a book at random, you flip through the thick pages and large word formats. It had pictures to go alongside it, showing what was taking place in the text. Does this count as making fun of it? Now that you think about it, was the puppet even programed to read…?

Hell, could it even write?

Heat creeps up your neck like ants the closer you get to the puppet. It shuffles in place, adjusting itself. Your fingers twitch when you hand the book over… only to look at its left arm. Or rather, where the left arm should be. There was nothing there. You look behind you to see the arm on the table.

Oh. Right. You forgot about that.

Everything felt heavy and unsteady.

“…” you could offer to read the book to it. But if you do, then won’t it look like you’re trying to bond with it? It could use the arm it has, surely, right? But what if it keeps dropping the book? Oh, and the writing, you’re not sure which hand –

“Okay, how about this? Let me push the table – can you hold this for a bit? – closer to you.” scuff marks are left behind as the table squeaks against the floor. The puppet merely looks on, almost as though it could tell you didn’t want its help. You should consider that a good thing. But it makes everything feel worse.

Your arms are strained but the table is close enough to where the puppet can lean on it without trouble. “Thank you,” you take the book from its grasp gently, “and, here we go. I’m going to place this here…”

You lay the book on the table. With your permission (a nod when it looks at you) the puppet traces the cover. Whether it could feel the texture, or read the words, something caught its attention. It blinks just like a human before looking at you again.

Insects crawl up your skin, eating away at your flesh. A cold sweat spreads throughout your body, hairs standing on edge. The bitterness is forming on your tongue again, foot tapping harshly and rapidly. It’s louder than your heartbeat, drumming in your ear as your blood rushes through every tunnel within.

Despite everything, you were starting to feel… drained past the point of simple tiredness.

“Are you able to read… Hm, do you know what ‘reading’ means?” The foot tapping increases the longer you speak to it. Stay near it. It nods its head, and you feel a tiny bit of relief. Because it means you don’t have to baby it completely. Hopefully not at all.

Your uncle could do all he wants.

… you said you were not going to hold its hand, but isn’t that what you’re doing? Your brain is starting to turn into mush. Maybe just once wouldn’t hurt. Right?

“Okay, good. Can you read this, please?”

Summer’s Fair, was the title of the book. It was a small book, but the pages were thick. A sun, wildflowers with a pretty woman in yellow were engraved on the cover. Leatherback, you think. Secondhand, used but greatly cared for and perhaps even loved by the pervious owner.

You almost feel bad for putting it to use like this. For this.

The puppet takes its time inspecting it. Gently yet clumsily, it goes through the pages, trying its best not to rip the pages. With a boyish and innocent appearance, you could almost find it cute. But you don’t, you can’t, and you won’t. Because it is a puppet, and puppets unnerve you.

But humans do too, these days. Shaking your head, you wait until it is done with its little field trip. It flips to the first page, and its attention is fully on the words written on it. Slowly, you walk away, and bring a stool over to sit near the table. Near, but not at. Because if you sat at the table, it would imply you were willing to do more than this.

The only thing stopping you from turning it off was the puppet itself. Ignoring the fact it resembled a young man, it was a puppet. Metal like material, or steel, or whatever it was made from. A human man would be stronger than you. But a full-sized puppet? You had even less of a chance of getting away if it decided it didn’t like what you were doing.

It could easily snap your neck if you even try to sneak behind it. And the arms – they look like they’re meant for combat. Maybe the puppet knows how to fight. It’s probably been programed into it. A nice little detail you were kept in the dark about if it was proven to be true.

What was the purpose of this puppet? Calling it ‘son,’ only to obsess over it. Creating it into an image you could not comprehend. A mockery of the dead. A mockery of the puppet itself.

His grief was understandable. You would feel the same if your child was taken away from you just like that. A child you didn’t spend time with yet loved with all your heart –

But this puppet was not his son. It would never be. To replace a human, a loved one was…

“… may I see what page you’re on?” Polite, and not as stiff as you thought you would sound. It slides the book over to you. It’s near the edge and after taking a glance, you push it back. It starts reading again, and you’re met with nothing but harsh silence. The ticking of the clock, the flipping of the pages, your heartbeat, the gears inside of it moving –

It’s all white noise. Like a buzzing fly, settling into your head. Everything feels fuzzy, but prickly too, poking at you. It stings. Teeth shattering pain that courses through your body. It’s deep inside, unable to soothe the pain. You rub your head with your fingers.

It does little to help. When you look at the puppet again, you notice that it is looking at you from the corner of its eye – not at the book. When its gaze meets yours, it quickly goes back to reading. Heart drops, head aches too much, harder to think. Now that you finally had some time to ‘rest,’ you realize how fatigued your body was.

You needed some fresh air.

Before the room fully turns black, the dots decorating your vision get larger. When was the last time you had a sip of water today? Or proper sleep? Not those thirty-minute naps you would take three times a day.

Your eyes were probably dark, and face unhealthy. Nap. Yes, you should take a nap.

But the puppet…

The puppet…

The…

…puppet…

… there’s a dull pain pounding at your head.

… did something fall?

… there’s a shuffling of clothes.

…. Your body feels a little less heavy now.

… but the surface against your head was still firm, more than human skin.

… when you finally manage to open your eyes, you’re met with the hazy sight of a boyish face. Pretty eyes that are a color they shouldn’t be. Too blue. The hair was too fluffy, but the freckles looked familiar. Just like the portrait hanging in your uncle’s house.

…. And it looked less frustrated, less lonely like that little boy waiting for his father to return home. You wish you could have met that little boy. That little boy he’s so overwhelmed by feelings of regret and grief drowning him in the dark depts of the ocean.

… Maybe if you met that little boy then…

No. Nothing would have changed. Because you did not have a purpose then. You did not know Krat until a year later, did not know how puppets worked or how the parts looked. You did not know who was who, and…

When he returned with Howard, there was blood on the floor.

There was blood on the floor, and your body was being cradled in the single arm of his masterpiece.

hate to be that person, but please reblog fanfiction and fanart in general. While i am always greateful that people comment and reblog my own stuff, it is a bit disheartening to see blogs who follow/interact who have only one or two posts that were dated from last year, or not having any reblogs or content from fandoms, especially the ones i am in interact. It is not a just 'me' problem. I have seen many bring this up too, and even had a few mutual deactivate because of it, and honestly, it is stuff like that that makes me want to not contuine running this account. But with all of the recent comments and even reblogs, it rekindled my inspriation.

However, i am not saying to do that on every fic. Just some, at the very least and often enough, if that makes sense.

But from here on out, if you ask to be tag (and don't have anything on your blog that relates to what i said above), or spam like my posts without even reblogging one or just commenting, then there is a higher chance of being blocked. leave a comment, reblog, interact with your favorite creators, not just me. It helps a lot.

I am extremely grateful and happy for the people who do comment and reblog (Insert heart, on laptop)

Tag list: @ijustreblogstuff-i-like @chiofany @quzbea @cute-angi @nealcaffrey2129 @connorsoddsock @rositabluemoon @shiro-from-cafeberry @sunnyhascome

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