𝖲𝗁𝖺𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖢𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 9
a/n: hi guys! sorry for the wait, ive been swamped with school and work and I honestly have been rewriting this chapter. Trying to do us some justice. Enjoy!
Despite your protests, Alfred had insisted the group stay for dinner. “It would be unforgivable,” he said firmly, “to let you leave Gotham without at least one proper meal in this house.”
So here you were, sitting at the long oak dining table that looked like it had been carved to host kings. The firelight flickered off crystal glasses and silver cutlery. Yuji gawked openly, Nobara looked like she was already planning which set of candlesticks she could smuggle home, and Megumi sat stiffly, unimpressed but very aware of the tension hanging over the room.
The dining hall was the same as you remembered: too big, too polished, too quiet. A table that could seat thirty but rarely saw more than five. The chandeliers glowed warmly overhead, the polished silverware gleamed in neat alignment, and Alfred had gone to absurd lengths to prepare a spread worthy of royalty.
You sat near the middle with Yuji, Nobara, and Megumi clustered close like a shield. Gojo lounged two chairs down, spinning his wine glass as though he were at some chic gala rather than sitting in the middle of a family battlefield.
At the far end of the table sat Bruce, silent and unmoving, Damian at his right, Tim on his left. The empty space between you felt like a chasm.
Alfred tried, bless him. He moved quietly, serving dishes with steady hands and gentle smiles. “Roast beef, just as you liked it, Miss Y/N. Mashed potatoes for the young master Itadori. And tea for everyone after, of course.”
Yuji perked up instantly. “Thanks, Alfred! You’re the best!”
Alfred smiled faintly. “A title I do not deserve, Master Itadori, but one I will humbly accept.”
For a moment, there was lightness, until Yuji, ever the talker, leaned over and asked, “So… what was Y/N like as a kid? Bet she was, like, super cute and annoying, huh?”
Nobara smirked. “Still is.”
You shot her a glare, but Alfred’s eyes softened. “She was bright. Curious about everything. Brave, too, though I don’t think she ever realized it. Always asking questions far too big for her age. And when Master Jason came along, she trailed after him endlessly.”
The mention of Jason made your chest tighten. You stabbed at your plate to keep your hands from shaking. “Don’t sugarcoat it, Alfred. I wasn’t brave. I was just being strung along”.
The words landed heavy, dragging the room into silence.
And that was when footsteps echoed in the hall.
Dick entered, his presence filling the room effortlessly, followed by what you could only assume were more orphans Bruce had decided to adopt. Whose names would you learn were, Cassandra silent at his side, Duke following with steady confidence, and Stephanie bringing a half smile that seemed to dare you to comment.
“Oh, fantastic,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. “Look at that. More of Gotham’s lost children brought home to roost. What is this now, Bruce? A dozen? Two dozen? When’s the cutoff?”
Stephanie raised her brows. “Wow. She’s feisty.”
“She’s always been like that,” Dick said gently, though his eyes lingered on you with something more complicated.
You leaned back in your chair, arms crossed. “Feisty? No. Honest. Maybe start raising the kids you already had before adopting new ones.”
Bruce’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
Alfred moved quickly to redirect. “More carrots, Master Damian? Stephanie? Cassandra? Duke?”
But it was too late, the tension had already sunk in like a blade.
Tim, perhaps trying to break the tension, spoke softly.
“Jason used to complain about these dinners too. Said Alfred always forced him to eat his vegetables.”
The name snapped your temper like dry wood.
“Don’t.” Your voice cut through the dining room before anyone could breathe. “Don’t you dare say his name like you knew him. Like you have the right.”
Tim’s mouth shut with an audible click, guilt flashing across his face.
“Hey,” Dick said quickly, leaning forward, palms open in a half peace gesture. “Ease up. He was just talking.”
“He shouldn’t be talking at all,” you fired back, heat sharp in your chest. “He wasn’t there.”
“Neither were you every second,” Dick shot back before he could stop himself, voice sharpening. “You didn’t corner the market on Jason.”
You snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. “Oh, so now you’re defending Tim just ‘cause you love playing the big brother hero?”
“I’m defending him because he didn’t do anything wrong!” Dick’s tone cracked with frustration now. “You’re swinging at everyone just because you’re angry.”
“And what? You’re suddenly the expert on how I’m supposed to feel?” Your laugh was sharp, humorless. “You think you get to tell me how to grieve?”
“I’m saying you don’t get to burn down everyone at the table!” Dick snapped, leaning in now. “We all lost him.”
Something in you twisted, hot and bitter. “Shut it, Dink.” The disgust on his name stung him. “You don’t get to lecture me when you’ve spent years pretending everything’s fine.”
Dick flinched , not just from the name but the hit behind it. His jaw locked. “Pretending? You think that’s what I’ve been doing?” His voice dropped, low and angry now. “I held this family together when everything blew apart. Someone had to.”
“That wasn’t for me,” you said, voice trembling but cutting. “Don’t act like it was.”
The table went quiet. Until Cassandra broke it like a blade through glass.
“You think you’re the only one who lost him?” Her voice was low, but every word landed heavy. She looked straight at you, then flicked her gaze toward Bruce and Dick. “Jason tore them apart too. Bruce. Dick. You just… don’t see it.”
Your head snapped toward her, fury sparking fast.“Back off,” you spat. “Who the hell even are you? Just because Bruce Wayne decided one child soldier wasn’t enough and dragged another stray into this mess doesn’t mean you get to weigh in on this. Stay out of it.”
Cass didn’t flinch. She just held your glare, calm but unyielding. “Because someone has to say it.”
Dick looked caught between stepping in and staying silent. Bruce stayed motionless at the end of the table, hands curling slow and tight.
Damian, finally looking up from his plate, frowned at the charged silence. “Why are you people still fighting about this? Why are you all acting like Todd’s still dead? He’s alive. Just too stubborn to come home.”
The air froze. You didn’t look up; Dick stared down at his plate; Bruce stayed stone still but radiated something heavy and unspoken.
Damian glanced between everyone, confusion flickering into unease as the weight in the room sank in deeper.
Your fork clattered against porcelain. The breath caught hard in your throat. “…What the hell did you just say?”
Damian’s brow furrowed. “What?”
Your eyes widened, heart hammering so hard it hurt. “What… what do you mean he’s alive?” The words scraped out of you, raw and disbelieving. “Jason’s alive? And no one—no one thought to tell me?”
Bruce finally lifted his gaze from the table. His face was carved from stone, but something flickered there, guilt, maybe, or exhaustion too deep to name. When he spoke, his voice was low and rough.
“He came back,” Bruce said, the simple words heavy as lead. “Years ago. It wasn’t… simple. He didn’t come home. He didn’t want to.” His eyes stayed fixed on you, unreadable but pained. “He’s been alive, but he made it clear he didn’t want to be found. Or… didn’t want us.”
Your breath caught somewhere between a sob and a gasp. “And you just… kept that from me?”
Bruce’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. “I thought it was better this way. Safer for you. Jason’s path hasn’t been… one you’d want to walk.”
For a moment, the table was silent except for the hum of the house around you.
You sat there, trembling, the air too thin to breathe.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Tim lowered his head. Dick’s expression crumpled with guilt. Stephanie and Duke exchanged uneasy glances. Cassandra’s eyes softened, but she didn’t speak.
Bruce… Bruce just sat there, jaw locked, gaze dark.
Rage clawed through your chest, hot and merciless. “You let me mourn him. You let me believe he was gone. You let me bury the only person who ever made me feel like I mattered.”
Your voice cracked, breaking open, but the fury kept spilling. “I thought I was crazy—seeing his ghost in every alley, every nightmare. I thought my grief was the curse. And all this time, he was alive?”
No one moved. No one spoke.
You shoved your chair back, the screech of wood on marble cutting through the silence. “Screw you guys. You’re monsters,” you spat, voice shaking. “All of you.”
Damian’s frown deepened, his mouth opening as though to argue, but you didn’t give him the chance. You stormed out of the dining hall, the doors slamming behind you so hard the chandelier rattled.
The trio scrambled after you. Yuji looking stricken, Nobara seething on your behalf, Megumi silent but grim. Gojo rose last, strolling casually toward the door, but not before glancing back at Bruce.
His grin was sharp, merciless. “You really are good at breaking your kids, huh?”
Bruce said nothing. He couldn’t.
And the silence that followed was louder than your rage
The cold Gotham air hit you like a slap when you burst through the manor doors. You barely made it to the garden before your legs buckled, rage and grief twisting too tightly inside your chest. You sank onto the damp stone bench, your breath shuddering, hands clawing at your arms as if you could hold yourself together by force.
Yuji was the first to catch up, skidding to a halt, panic in his eyes. “Hey—hey, it’s okay—no, it’s not okay, but you’re not alone, okay?” He crouched in front of you, his hands hovering helplessly, not sure if he should touch you.
Nobara didn’t hesitate. She sat beside you and draped her arm firmly around your shoulders, pulling you into her. “Breathe, idiot,” she muttered, but her voice was softer than you’d ever heard it. “We’re here. Don’t let those bastards see you like this.”
Megumi stood a step back, silent as always, but his fists were clenched at his sides. His gaze never left you, sharp and protective, like he was daring anyone else to come out and try to hurt you again.
Gojo arrived last, strolling as if the world hadn’t just shattered. But when he saw you trembling between Yuji and Nobara, his easy grin faltered. He stepped closer, crouched low, and rested a hand lightly atop your head.
“Let it out, kid,” he said, quiet in a way only you ever heard from him. “Don’t swallow it down. That’s how curses fester.”
And for the first time in years, you broke.
A ragged sob tore out of you, one after another, until your whole body shook with it. Yuji murmured soft encouragement, Nobara rubbed circles into your arm, Megumi turned his head to give you space, and Gojo simply stayed, steady, unshakable.
Back in the dining hall, the silence was heavy, suffocating. The sound of the doors slamming still echoed in the air.
Damian sat rigid, confused at the storm he’d unleashed. Tim had his head bowed, shame written across his features. Stephanie and Duke fidgeted uncomfortably, and Cassandra’s dark eyes lingered on Bruce like she was weighing every fracture in him.
Dick was the first to speak. His voice was low, sharp. “You didn’t tell her. You let her believe Jason was dead. For years.”
Bruce didn’t look up from his clenched fists on the table. His voice was gravel. “I thought it was easier. Cleaner. She was already gone. What good would it have done to drag her back into this life with him?”
Dick’s jaw tightened. “No. What you mean is it was easier for you.”
Bruce flinched. The truth of it hung in the air.
For years, he had told himself he had made the right choice, that pushing you away, keeping secrets, burying grief was all to protect you. But the image of your face when Damian revealed Jason’s survival… that betrayal, that broken fury, he couldn’t run from it.
And for once, the mask cracked. His voice, rough and low, slipped out before he could stop it. “I failed her. I failed them all.”
No one argued. No one disagreed.
Because at that moment, even Batman knew it was true.
You slammed the door behind you when you entered the hotel room, the sound rattling the frame. Your chest was still heaving, your eyes raw from crying, your hands shaking as you stripped off your coat and threw it over the chair.
Yuji lingered awkwardly by the minibar, clearly wanting to help but unsure how. “Do you want water? Or food? I can, uh, order-”
“Shut up, Itadori,” Nobara snapped, not at him, but on your behalf. She tugged you toward the bed and pushed you down gently. “You don’t need to say anything. Just sit.”
Megumi dropped into the chair opposite, elbows on his knees, watching you quietly. “You’re not wrong for being angry. Don’t let them make you think you are.”
Your throat burned. You buried your face in your hands. “I thought he was dead. I carried that for years. And they all knew. They all knew.”
Gojo leaned against the wall by the window, hands in his pockets. For once, he wasn’t teasing, wasn’t smirking. His blindfold caught the glow of Gotham’s neon. “You don’t owe them forgiveness. Not Bruce. Not the others. Alfred, maybe, but the rest? They made their choice.”
You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms. “I’m never going back there. Not the manor. Not to them.”
The silence was heavy, until a cruel chuckle rippled through the air, not in your head this time, but out loud.
Yuji stiffened instantly, dread flashing across his face. Sukuna’s little annoying mouth once again had popped onto his cheek. Nobara’s hand shot to the hammer hidden in her bag, and Megumi’s shadows twitched, half-summoned.
Sukuna’s voice filled the room, dripping with mockery. “All those tears, all that fury, for some second rate vigilante? What a waste. You carry grief like a child clutching a broken toy.”
Your stomach dropped. “Sukuna stop.”
He ignored you, his tone sharp and amused. “Do you think they’ll all come back to you if you cry hard enough? Maybe that Jason brat will crawl out of his grave and pat your head again. Or maybe these three fools will die next, and you can add more names to your list of ghosts.”
“Shut up!” you snapped, standing, your hands shaking.
Yuji’s breathing quickened. “Sukuna, don’t—”
“Or maybe,” Sukuna cut across him, his voice dropping into a hiss that scraped at the edges of the room, “you should admit the truth. You like the pain. You’d rather keep clutching it rather than letting it go.”
Nobara shot to her feet, fury blazing in her eyes. “You bastard-”
Gojo’s hand lifted lazily, stopping her. His voice was cool, cutting. “That’s enough, Sukuna.”
The curse laughed, low and taunting, before fading into silence. The room was still again, but the words he left behind lingered, raw and jagged.
Your fists trembled at your sides, your throat tight. You didn’t want to cry in front of them—not again—but Sukuna’s cruelty had ripped open wounds you weren’t ready to share.
Then Nobara’s hand was on your shoulder, firm. “Ignore him. He wants you broken. Don’t give him the satisfaction.”
Megumi’s voice was low, steady. “He’s wrong. You don’t carry this alone anymore. You have us.”
Yuji swallowed hard, guilt flickering across his face, but his voice was earnest. “We’re not going anywhere. I promise.”
Gojo finally pushed away from the window, crossing the room to ruffle your hair gently. “Don’t let a parasite tell you who you are, kid. You’re stronger than that and stronger than him.”
Your breathing slowed, shaky but steadying as their words anchored you. Sukuna’s laughter still echoed faintly in the back of your mind, but for the first time, it didn’t drown everything else out.
Rain hammered against the cracked windows, the room dim except for the flicker of a desk lamp. Jason sat hunched over a gun laid open on the table, a bottle of whiskey half empty beside him. The Red Hood helmet sat like a silent sentinel, its crimson surface catching the weak glow of the lamp.
He ignored it at first. Another deal. Another contact. Another distraction.
But then he saw the name.
Jason’s hand froze. Slowly, he reached for the phone and opened the message.
She’s here. At the manor. Please, Master Jason come. She believes you dead, and it has broken her more than I can say.
The words blurred for a second as Jason’s pulse spiked, his throat tightening. He pushed back from the desk, the chair screeching against the floor.
“Home,” he muttered under his breath, pacing. His hands shook as he ran them through his hair. “She’s home. She’s-”
He stopped himself, heart hammering, chest aching in a way he hadn’t let it for years.
All this time, all those nights you’d shadowed him around the garage, the dumb nickname you’d given him, the way you’d clung to him like the world would fall apart if he let go. Bruce had let you believe he was still gone.
Jason’s stomach twisted, rage flaring hot. “He didn’t tell her.” His fist slammed into the wall, plaster cracking under the blow. “That bastard didn’t tell her!”
He grabbed his helmet, his jacket, and stalked toward the door, his movements sharp, breath uneven.
The storm hadn’t let up by the time Jason roared up the long, winding drive to Wayne Manor. The motorcycle’s engine cut through the night until he skidded to a stop, gravel spitting under his tires. Helmet under his arm, he stalked up the steps, rage boiling with every step.
The door opened before he could pound on it. Alfred stood there, composed as ever, though his eyes betrayed the flicker of worry.
“Master Jason,” Alfred said, voice steady. “You came.”
“Where is she?” Jason demanded, rain dripping down his face.
Alfred’s mouth tightened. “She’s gone. Left with her companions not long after dinner.”
Jason froze, then shoved past him into the hall, his boots echoing on the polished floor. “Gone? She’s been here for five minutes and you let her leave?”
“It was not my choice,” Alfred said calmly, closing the door behind him.
Jason turned, eyes blazing. “She thought I was still dead, Alfred! Dead! And Bruce—” His voice cracked into a growl. “He let her believe it. For years.”
There was movement at the top of the stairs. Bruce. His figure cast in shadow, Damian peering out behind him, curiosity sharp in his young eyes.
“Jason,” Bruce started, voice low.
“Don’t.” Jason’s voice was raw, shaking with fury. “You don’t get to say my name like we’re good. Like you didn’t wreck her life on top of mine.”
Tim had appeared at the landing too, arms crossed, but silent. Dick moved in from the side hall, tension clear in his frame. The family was gathering, like vultures to carrion.
Jason jabbed a finger toward Bruce, his voice echoing through the cavernous space. “She mourned me. Cried herself sick for years because you couldn’t be bothered to tell her the truth. You made her carry that grief alone, and now she wants nothing to do with you. And you know what?” His jaw clenched, his chest heaving. “I don’t blame her.”
Bruce’s face was stone, but his silence said everything.
Jason shook his head, bitter laughter spilling out. “You don’t get it, do you? You keep collecting kids, throwing them into uniforms, and the moment they stop fitting into your perfect plan, you toss them aside like they never mattered.”
The words hung heavy. Damian’s brow furrowed, confused but clearly unsettled. Tim shifted uncomfortably. Dick flinched but didn’t argue.
Alfred finally stepped forward, his voice sharp. “Enough. This is not the time nor the place for shouting ghosts into the walls.”
Jason’s hands curled into fists, but he swallowed it back, breathing hard. His voice dropped, rough and raw. “Wherever she is… I’ll find her. And I’ll tell her myself. Because she deserves to know the truth, from me. Not from you.”
Helmet clutched under his arm, Jason stormed back toward the door, the slam reverberating through the manor like thunder.
Bruce stood rooted to the stairs, the weight of guilt pressing down harder than any enemy ever had.
The city hummed below, lights flickering against the haze of Gotham’s ever present smog. You sat curled up on the rooftop ledge of the hotel, knees pulled to your chest, staring out at the skyline with hollow eyes.
Gojo found you there, slipping through the roof access door as if he’d known exactly where you’d run. He didn’t speak at first. Just walked over and sat beside you, long legs dangling over the ledge. For a while, the only sound was the distant wail of sirens and the hum of traffic.
“You know,” he finally said, his tone soft, “when I was your age, I used to sit on rooftops too. Pretending the world was smaller from up high. Pretending it couldn’t hurt me if I was looking down on it.”
You sniffed, your chin resting on your knees. “Did it work?”
Gojo chuckled lightly. “Not even a little. But it made me feel less… small. And sometimes that’s enough.”
You turned your head slightly, studying him. “How are you always like this? Like nothing can touch you.”
He tilted his head, his blindfold catching the glow of the city. For once, his smile was faint, almost sad. “Because if I let the world touch me, I’d break. And if I break, then the people who rely on me have nothing left. So, I fake it. I play the clown. And when that doesn’t work, I just keep going anyway.”
Something in his tone, gentle, honest, struck you. You looked away, your voice small. “They let me mourn him, Satoru. For years. And they never told me.”
Gojo didn’t try to spin it, didn’t try to cheer you up with a joke. Instead, he reached out and rested a large, steady hand on your back, rubbing slow circles.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “You deserved better than that.”
The dam cracked, and your shoulders shook. “Why wasn’t I enough? Why didn’t Bruce fight for me?”
Gojo’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t let the anger seep into his voice. “That’s not on you. That’s on him. Some people don’t know how to be parents, Y/N. Some people hide behind excuses instead of doing the hard work. But that doesn’t mean you weren’t worth fighting for. You always were.”
Your breath hitched, tears burning hot. “Then why does it still hurt so much?”
Gojo pulled you into his side, wrapping an arm around you and pressing your head against his shoulder. “Because you loved him. And when the people we love fail us, it cuts the deepest.”
You clung to him, your sobs muffled in the fabric of his jacket.
Gojo stared out at the skyline, his hand steady on your back, his expression hidden behind the blindfold but his thoughts razor-sharp.
She’ll never know this kind of pain again, he swore silently. Not if I can help it. I’ll raise her better. Stronger. Loved. I won’t be another Bruce Wayne. She deserves more than shadows and silence. She deserves a father who sees her.
The vow lodged deep in his chest, unshakable.
He tightened his hold on you just slightly, resting his chin lightly on top of your head. “You’re mine, brat,” he murmured. “And I don’t throw away what’s mine.”
For the first time that night, you let yourself believe it.
The night pressed in thick and wet, Gotham’s neon bleeding into the clouds above. Gojo had been grinning like an idiot all day the next day, excited, unusually focused, because the trail they’d followed had finally tightened into something real: a scent of cursed energy that hadn’t belonged to this city yesterday. Sukuna’s fingerprint, or at least the echo of something attached to him. You could taste the electricity in the air, metallic and bitter, and it thrummed under your skin like a second heartbeat.
“We move quiet,” Gojo murmured, voice low though his grin never left. “We sweep. We find. We stab. That’s the plan.”
You tightened your fingers on Severance and followed the others over the roofs. Yuji’s footsteps were light and eager; Nobara’s boots hit the tiles with a steady cadence; Megumi shadowed the perimeter, eyes hooded and watchful. Gojo drifted like a stray comet, both guardian and gust of wind. You felt oddly calm, honed down to the point, the way you always did when steel met threat.
The first curse slithered out of a blocked gutter like a thought becoming flesh, a hunched, smudged thing that smelled like old fear. You didn’t think. You moved, Severance flashing in a clean arc. The thing dissolved into black snow.
And the memory hit, warm and sudden. Jason sneaking you into the kitchen past midnight, whisper laughing while Alfred pretended not to hear the cookie jar lid clink. You blinked the memory away and kept moving. The city around you was a chorus of small horrors, alleyways heaving with fractured shapes that fed on the worst of people’s nights. Each time you struck, another clean slice of memory slid into place, not from learned nostalgia but like the muscle memory of a life you’d built with him.
A pair of shadow hands lunged at Yuji; he cracked a grin and drove his elbow through its center. Nobara laughed then flung a nail that pinned the screaming thing to the brick. You’d only just separated yourself from the next attacker when another memory warmed you: Jason tackling you onto the garage floor to stop you from falling when you’d tried to climb onto a shelf that was always too high. He’d cursed and cursed and then, softer, had said, “Don’t become a broken wing, kid.” You could still feel the echoes of that warmth, the way his voice had wrapped you like a promise.
Sometimes the remembrance hit in the smallest gestures: his thumb sweeping a strand of hair from his forehead when he was thinking; how he always smelt faintly of smoke and old leather; the ridiculous, ridiculous way he ate sandwiches. With each swing, your longing doubled, folded inward: you wanted more than anything to see him again. Not as a ghost of memory, not as a name thrown around at dinner, him. Whole. Angry. Laughing. Real.
You told yourself it was tactical focus. You told yourself you were doing it for the finger, for the mission. The truth was sharper and simpler, your soul throbbed with a need so physical it ached. The emptiness he had once filled was a hollow that no amount of training could fully cover. Each curse you sliced open peeled that scar back, raw and wanting.
The night’s hunt pulled you through narrow streets, over wet satellite dishes, and through a half collapsed tenement where a cluster of curses had nested like mold. It was here,down a narrow fire escape, breath fogging in the chill, that you found the one that hummed different: not merely hunger but bad intent braided with something older, a small pulse of power that stung like iron against your palm.
The thing saw you and laughed, not a laugh of humor but of a predator tasting confidence. It lunged, and you met it head-on. Severance bit through its chest with a sound like thunder, the shadow cracking like brittle ice. As it dissolved, a ribbon of dark energy flared and you saw it, embedded in the ruin where it had been feeding: a slither of something polished, blackened with age. For a breath, you imagined it was the thing you’d come for.
You reached out before anyone stopped you, eyes locking on the object. It was small. It was wrong. And then footsteps, hard, faster, cracked behind you.
You didn’t have time to think. The world narrowed to sound, the whump of boots, a curse’s final bark, the hiss of dissolving shadow. You spun, and there he was.
Standing at the mouth of the building, helmet in his grip, rain dripping down his jawline. Taller now. Broader. Worn by years you hadn’t shared. But those eyes—those eyes were Jason’s.
Your breath caught, the air gone from your lungs. The world went quiet.
For years you had buried him in your heart, folded his memory into grief so deep it had twisted your soul. And now here he stood—alive, real, staring at you like he was seeing a ghost.
Your throat burned, words clawing upward but failing. All you could do was whisper, soft and breaking, the only truth you had left.
@23xfgg @delusiontown-exe @serenemanifestoscheme @solarisstarrsolomonsbeloved @celesteelysia @time-shardz @iglb12 @stormnightingale @cruzerforce4256 @viorice @demis2955 @bearchermer @pookiedragonfire @the-dumber-scaramouche @sugar-snapp @kiyomisan @firefly983 @khaleesihavilliard @iloveescara @doggyteam2028 @cssammyyarts @dyedscarletletter @breezymoney @diobolicaldinosaur @viorice @frvv @soomxss @exeo130-blog @1abi @lapaufabi @c4xcocoa @bubble579 @not-aya @seanwalbrecht @eli-mayhaveatencats @ghostlyworld @boopsie666 @lazybot
izzy806
2087
kaledo-art
pixelskylines
titsay
