hadriel_logs | Event Log: End of Arc 2

Entry tags:

Event Log: End of Arc 2

Who: All characters
What: The event log for the End of Arc 2
Where: All over the city
When: November 25th-December 12th
Warnings: A full-scale battle, including character death, NPC death, and various other ways to suffer

It was bound to happen. The Null warned you, after all, and this has been building for awhile - and now it's here. First comes the initial attack, the agents of the Null attacking Hope's temple. Then, an SOS, warning the city of what's happened: a betrayal, and Hope being injured. Luckily for everyone, thanks to the actions of his guards Hope survives the attack. Unluckily, his attacker, the goddess Delight, escapes and lets the Null in.

Flooding into the cave, the Null will attack anyone who they believe is resisting them. They'll destroy buildings and deploy dangerous crowd control weapons, in addition to their sheer strength and speed. Confusion empties the monsters in the tunnels into the city, to help distract the Null. Some gods fight, others provide safe havens, but everyone is in danger.

After about a week and a half of the attack, Fear summons enough power to teleport the city. This stops any new Null from arriving through the tunnels, but the remaining Null must be hunted down and destroyed, or else they'll signal their location to the rest of their species. The danger will lessen as Null are taken out, but things won't really be safe until Fear moves the city again, so don't get too comfortable.

What will you do? Run and hide? Fight? Help the fighters? Turn on the gods yourself? Whatever you do, it's time to make a decision.

► This log covers November 25th-December 12th.
► Feel free to make your own logs, as well
► Please tag headers of threads with content warnings where they apply
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!
► If you get taken out by the Null, please let us know here.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[It's risky, coming back here. Harlan's apartment is eerily quiet without Hayden and John Frusciante banging around, but they're safe in Delmar's bunker, and Harlan doesn't want to risk drawing the Null to them by holing up there too. All the laying low he did this month turned out to be a massive waste of time--he got all of one Ice Storm in under the radar before the swarms started to target him, too. Whatever. It's better this way. At least he can defend himself.

He made sure to re-up the Alarm on the bunker before calling it a night, at least. His apartment is further away than he'd like, but fuck, he wants to sleep in his own bed for a night. He needs it. He's been largely running on cat naps he manages to sneak when there's a lull in the fighting. He's been running on his emergency reserves for his magic for, what, two days? Three? He's lost track of how long they've been at this. The fact that that doesn't bother him more is an indication of how much he needs this break.

He should eat something, probably. Real food would be a game changer too, but he doesn't have the energy to be hungry. They can worry about fueling up in the morning. Or, well, it's basically already morning if the slightly less dim cave lighting is anything to go by.

At least Michael is with him. They make a good team, even if most of the teamwork is being done by the Visitor. He's still counting it. Their efforts are making a dent, maybe.

Once they stagger into his apartment, he tosses his jacket onto a chair and leans against the wall, thinking. His couch looks amazing right now? But if he gives in, he'll never move again. The whole point was the bed.

...Which he only has one of, come to think of it. His eyes flick to Michael. Uh. Is it too soon? Should he offer to take Hayden's room, maybe, or...?

God, whatever, he only has the stamina for one thought at a time, and there's another thing that's more pressing.]

Should I blow more magic on an Alarm for us or save it in case we get ambushed? I've got, uh, fuck, maybe one more Dimension Door in me. [And that's pushing it.]

[Michael is not long for the waking world himself. He's in that hollowed-out stage of exhaustion that just moves around on autopilot, barely coherent enough to make decisions and certainly not present enough to make dire ones. Which is the reason he stopped trying to doctor people between forays into the field; his hands aren't anywhere near steady enough for stitches.

He feels like he's getting better at this whole Visitor thing, though. Assuming that is a thing that he can get better at. It comes easier now, and for the first time, he feels like they have a united goal. Even when they're not fighting, he finds himself relying on its instincts to keep him alive, falling back on it when he's too tired to think. It isn't bothering him as much, merely expressing its excitement instead of making demands, like it knows they're on the same page already. Maybe that should worry him, but he doesn't have the energy.

Luckily, the Visitor never seems to get tired. He's always thought that was one of the reasons it went quiet after a kill, but apparently not. As long as they know there are still Null in the city, it doesn't seem like it'll need rest anytime soon. He, on the other and, feels like he's about to die.]

Uh, save it. We'd probably hear them break the door down anyway. [Probably.

Michael feels better having Harlan here, not just during the fighting, but during the lull, too. It's nice knowing that the person looking out for him is someone he trusts, someone who definitely cares whether or not he survives intact. It's nice not feeling like he has to deal with all of this bullshit by himself. He can't help but notice it's also made him a little less likely to be reckless.]

Should I, um. [He's finally bothered to think about where they are, even if he hasn't bothered taking off his own jacket yet. He's been sleeping in it anyway.] Should I take the couch... ?

[He nods, turning to actually lock the door for once. Look at him, caring about their safety and stuff. Casting another spell right now would probably mean he'd pass out where he stands, anyway.

Speaking of passing out...]

No way. You're sleeping in a bed. I know that's an unfathomable luxury for you, but you need it. [They both do, but that's implied.] We, uh, it'd be safer to, y'know, stay close... Just in case.

[It's a weird feeling, actually, to know he would feel more at ease in the same bed as another person. Usually what he wants doesn't line up with what he feels comfortable with, but his exhaustion coupled with his worry that something will happen to Michael if he lets his guard down is actually doing him a favor tonight.]

Fuck, we should shower too while we have a chance. [He doesn't want to sleep when he's all battle crusty.

...Actually, wait, that transition made his shower comment potentially awkward.] You can go first if you want.

[Harlan has a good point, about the bed thing. If they're in the same room, it'll make it easier to play defense or escape. But that also means sleeping in the same bed, which... alright, it's a little nerve-wracking, he won't lie to himself on this, but also: he's too tired to care about the implications, and it'll be nice having someone literally at his back. It'll feel safer, he thinks, especially if it's Harlan, and that way he won't have to worry about him as much.]

Yeah, you're right. Bedroom it is.

[And then the option of showers come up and after the correction that they are not, in fact, meant to do this together, (which would be way too big of a step to take right this minute,) he realizes that oh god he would love a shower, actually. He's covered in dirt and dust and blood, (not all of it his,) not to mention sweat and who knows what else. Plus he aches everywhere, both from the constant action and the bone-deep exhaustion.]

Thanks, yeah, shower. [Wow, that was coherent. He scrubs a hand over his face.] I mean- you know what I mean.

[He takes the offer to go first, too tired to argue, and stumbles off in the direction of Harlan's bathroom.]

[On any other day, Harlan might question Michael's willingness to just roll with this. It's a pretty big step in the relationship. For them, anyway. Maybe not for other people. But tonight, it hardly registers because it's the most logical option. He's too tired to overthink it right now, anyway.

Michael heads off to the bathroom, and Harlan... doesn't know what to do with himself. He hangs around in the entryway until he hears the shower turn on. Oh, right, Michael doesn't have clothes to change into. He shuffles into his bedroom to unearth some pajamas for the both of them, but as he's digging through a drawer, he realizes his shirt is ripped. And wet. Uh?

When Michael emerges from the bathroom, he'll find a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants in a neat pile in front of the door. He'll also find Harlan sitting at the kitchen table, shirtless and attempting to stitch up a nasty gash in his side, just under his ribcage. His self-stitching is usually at least passable, but he's fighting an awkward angle and his hands are shaking, so he's doing more harm than good at the moment. That's what he gets for taking such shit care of himself over the past couple of days. Ugh, this is the last thing he wanted to deal with right now.

He's too busy playing back alley doctor to notice that Michael's done in the bathroom.]

[It's very tempting to just fall asleep in the shower, because it's warm and the water is nice. But also, tubs are uncomfortable sleeping places, even by Michael's standards, and standing is kind of painful. Rationality eventually wins out.

In the meantime, he manages to discover a whole host of cuts and bruises. Nothing serious, but being unconscious in a warzone has clearly taken a toll. Maybe he'll grab some bandages from the clinic tomorrow, but probably not. Those supplies won't last forever.

When he's done, he suddenly realizes that he didn't swing by his place for clothes. And he... kind of doesn't want to put the ones he was just wearing back on. After a few minutes of minor panic and internal debate, he cracks the bathroom door open to see if Harlan has some spares, but there's already some lying there on the floor. He awkwardly slides an arm out, groping around until he's able to snatch them up and slither back into the bathroom with them.

A couple minutes later, Michael emerges, yawning, still trying to dry out his hair with a towel. He basically immediately spots Harlan's makeshift doctoring, deciding to ignore the fact that he's shirtless for the moment on the grounds that there are slightly more pressing concerns.

Namely, that atrocious stitching job.]

Hey, you want me to, um. [He gestures vaguely in the general direction of Harlan's torso.] I can help with that.

[Harlan's not sure if he's just stuck in exhaustion tunnel vision or if Michael is secretly a world-class thief, but either way, Michael's stealth is through the roof right now and suddenly he's talking and Harlan starts, ripping out the stitch he was working on. Ow. He swears under his breath and gives up.

On the one hand, Michael would definitely do a better job than he's doing currently. Even someone without medical training would, really. If nothing else, it'll be faster, and he'd like to expedite this process so he can go try not to fall asleep in the shower, too.

On the other hand, touching. Michael's going to have to get handsy to close the wound. Harlan's not opposed to the idea, exactly, but he's not sure that he'll be able to handle it. Wanting something and being able to handle something aren't always the same thing in his experience.

He spends a moment weighing the pros and cons before deciding fuck it, he's too tired to think through his decisions. He may as well try. Maybe Michael can get a few stitches in before Harlan strokes out, at least.]

Uh... Yeah, that, uh. [He's already shorting out. Cool. He stares at the suture in his hand for a moment before setting it on the table and leaning back against the chair. One hand grips his thigh, just in case, and the other... He's not sure what to do with? He leaves his arm sort of awkwardly hovering in the air so Michael can get a better look at his side.]

That'd be... Thanks. [He swallows. Michael knows, right? He doesn't have to explain himself. He meant to explain himself, to tell Michael what the fuck his problem is, but there hasn't been a good time and now it's weird. He should explain. This is embarrassing.] I'm, um, kind of a shitty patient, though. Sorry.

[Michael's not particularly observant most of the time, at least when it comes to his periphery. He doesn't notice things happening around him because he's too focused on what's in front of him. That, and the constant noise in his head doesn't exactly help. But his brain is relatively quiet, and Harlan's never really been in his periphery, so there are things that even Michael has noticed.

The way Harlan positions himself to be just out of reach, the way he doesn't shake hands or pat people on the back. The multiple layers, even indoors. Michael doesn't know why, but he definitely knows. Which is going to make this tricky.

He doesn't rush him, but tries to approach casually, crouching down to get a better look. This seems like the work of one of the Null's laser cutter things, the flesh burnt at the edges. It's not going to heal nicely, even with proper stitches, but this will definitely be better than leaving it open to the elements.]

You can probably just... put your arm on the table, I guess. [He takes up the suture and tries to clear the fog out of his head enough to concentrate. This should be easy. He can do stitches in his sleep (or close to it). It's like, the one thing in med school he was ridiculously good at. He balls his left hand up for a second to try and make the fingers not-cold.]

I'm gonna start now, okay? [Is this the first time he will have touched Harlan? Besides that potted plant incident, anyway. That's weird to think about somehow. Whatever, focus. He very gently places his fingertips on the edges of the wound to hold it closed.]

[Harlan obediently lays his arm on the table. It's a strange position, but he's trying (and failing) not to think about this too much. It's worse if he gets in his head about it. It's just Michael. Michael is helping. This is a utility.

But this is his fingers on Harlan's middle, on bare skin. They've never even shared so much as a high five and now this. This is intimate even by normal standards. Right? It has to be.

The warning helps, but Harlan still flinches when Michael brushes him. He huffs out a breath through his nose and grits his teeth, angry with himself, but then, he's fine. Oh.]

Sorry. It's, uh. [This is stupid.] That tickles.

[Also his heart is racing, but it's mostly the sensitivity that's done him in this time. He braces again, determined to keep still.]

[Michael snorts. He was worried there for a second, not sure how bad this was going to be for either of them, but Harlan's keeping it together. So far, so good. But there's no need to make this take any longer than necessary, so he gets to work.]

Alright, here comes the not fun part.

[Without further preamble, he pushes the needle in and starts stitching. It takes him a couple to get in stride, but muscle memory has his back on this one. Still, it's going to be a couple minutes. Maybe he should talk or something? Make this less awkward? Though usually his talking makes things more awkward. Oh well.]

My boss used to get mad at me when I first started at the morgue. She used to tell me I was wasting time on making the stitches right. "You're not trying to save lives, just make sure the organs don't fall out on the way to the funeral home," or something like that.

[Wow this was a mistake. He should not have brought this up.]

Yeah, okay, that's probably the wrong story for right now. Sorry.

[Harlan has given himself stitches on more than one occasion, and he's always liked the not fun part. It hurts, not all that much compared to the thing he's fixing, and he likes the pain, anyway. Some of it. He likes the feel of his skin being pulled back together. He's never liked needles much. That feeling is more uncomfortable than painful.

It's weird, being stitched up by another person. Michael is much gentler than Harlan would be with himself. He's worried, at first, that he's holding back, trying to go easy in order to spare him the discomfort, but the stitches hold. Of course they do. He does a much better job than Harlan has ever managed. He doesn't need to fuss and yank.

But Harlan kind of wants him to, he realizes. The pain helps to calm him down, which in turn makes all of this feel a little nice. It makes him want to touch Michael back.]

Don't apologize. [He says it on reflex. Wait, Michael said something. A story? He's been staring at Michael's hands. Watching him work is hypnotic.

It takes a moment, but the words eventually catch up to him. He laughs.] So nowadays do you do the stitches her way or your way?

[The awkward silence between his stupid story and Harlan's response makes Michael want to disappear into the floor, but that laughter fixes it. He breathes a little sigh of relief.]

Uh, her way I guess. I mean, she's right. The mortician's just gonna have to undo it all anyway. [He shrugs, trying to keep the gesture small so that he doesn't move his hands wrong.] I'm not doing it her way right now, though. Hopefully no one's going to just undo this.

[So don't go get lasered again immediately please.

Michael keeps working, quick and efficient. When he's done, he gives the suture a final tug to make sure everything is secure, then ties it off with a proper square knot. And then realizes he didn't bring anything over to cut it with. Cool.

He reaches for where his back pocket is supposed to be, but duh, he's wearing sweatpants. His knife is still in the bathroom. He doesn't see another one in his immediate vicinity, and he is way too tired to go find one while he leaves a needle dangling from Harlan's side. So without giving it much more thought than convenience, Michael leans in and uses his teeth.]

[You overestimate his self control, Michael. As if he's not gonna be picking at these stitches in like five minutes.]

Fair, I guess. Sounds to me like it shouldn't matter either way if a mortician is gonna end up with your sloppy seconds, so you may as well do 'em how you want.

[This is the hill he has chosen to die on, apparently. Be yourself, M&M!!!

But then Michael ducks down and his mouth is so close to skin that Harlan can feel him breathing. He inhales sharply on reflex, but the it's over before he can figure out how to react. Holy shit.

It's probably not that big of a deal, right? He was just cutting the, uh, thing. Stitches. Whatever they're called. Even if the action was meant to mean more than that, it's not like they aren't an established... Thing. Because they are. Probably. He really should've gotten a confirmation on that. He's pretty sure they are? But he can't help but question his own judgment. It's clear, but it could be clearer.

Anyway, he shakes off the mental shock and touches a hand to the stitches. It stings, but he doesn't mind.]

Thanks. This is, uh, a hell of a lot better than I could've done. [So he'll do his best not to pick at them. They're already itchy, though. He hopes that's just because he's still super gross and hasn't had his turn in the shower yet.

He should go do that.

...

Fuck.]

Hey, are we together? [This seems like a good time to blurt that out.]

[It's not until he leans back that Michael realizes what he just did. That was, uh. Oh god. It takes conscious effort to resist putting his hands over his face and willing himself to die. He doesn't even remember what Harlan asked him before, and he's in no position to formulate an answer.

Putting your mouth on someone is definitely a hair past the "maybe we will sleep chastely in the same room tonight" stage, and while, okay, he didn't actually put his mouth on Harlan, it was close enough.

God, what was he thinking? He wasn't, and that is the entire problem. Harlan doesn't like to be touched, the stitches must've been bad enough, what made him think that sticking his face on him was a good idea?

But Harlan doesn't freak out or anything. Instead he just thanks Michael and then- Oh. That sure is a question.]

I- yeah. We are. Aren't we?

[He guesses he sort of took that for granted after the confession and the dinner and everything. Should he have not done that?]

[Michael looks like he wants to die, which makes Harlan feel like he wants to die, so both of them just kind of sit there wanting to die for a minute as Harlan's brain buffers a response.]

Yeah, no, I, uh... I figured, just, um.

[Jesus christ, this is ridiculous. The two of them have been out playing hero for days like it's no big deal, but put them alone in a room together and both of them crumble into awkward disasters like they're pre-teens. And where the fuck did all of Harlan's confidence go? He's supposed to be the one who has his shit together. Socially, anyway.

It's stupid and silly and he has to laugh. Fucking look at them.] God, sorry. I guess I'm just tired and off my game. Yeah, we're together.

[And this would be the part where they kiss, right? Mmm. Harlan wishes, but he would probably stroke out. He has a feeling Michael might too. Instead, he gives Michael's shoulder a squeeze. That's a step forward, at least.]

Are you gonna pass out on me if I shower?

[He hopes not, but he stands and heads for the bathroom, anyway. Super not gonna sleep in his own stank again.]

[Harlan laughing means it's okay for him to laugh, and god, of course it is. He's being stupid. They're fine.]

No guarantees on that.

[He says it's like he's sarcastic as he watches Harlan wander off, but really, falling asleep a definite possibility. Michael busies himself trying to clean up the kitchen and wash his hands, and then he's not sure what to do. He just knows he needs to avoid the couch, because if he sits down, he's not getting back up until morning. If even.

Instead he sits back at the table, flipping through the network on his phone, the one thing he did remember to bring out of the bathroom with him. There's a bunch of very stirring speeches, he's sure, but he doesn't need them, and he's too tired to try to offer support or whatever. He's so tired, in fact, that he finds himself putting the phone down and laying his head on his arms on the table. It's super uncomfortable, he's sure he won't fall asleep.

Spoiler alert: he falls asleep.]

[Harlan remembers to bring a change of clothes into the bathroom with him, at least. He fights the same good fight as Michael and has to try really hard not to pass out in the shower. He does stay in there a couple minutes longer than necessary, leaning against the wall to let the hot water lull him into what passes for peacefulness. There's still a war raging outside, but for the moment, within the walls of this apartment, everything is okay. This is the calmest he's felt in days.

Eventually he does muster the strength to turn off the water, but only because of the promise of a bed waiting for him. He emerges from the bathroom wearing pretty much the same thing Michael is wearing. He is a creature of habit.

...And Michael is facedown at the kitchen table. Wow, dude, you had one job. Granted Michael straight up warned him, but still.

Between the shower and how tired he is and how fucking thrilled he is at the prospect of sleeping in a bed, Harlan is feeling especially zen at the moment. He rubs a hand over Michael's shoulders in what he hopes is a gentle, comforting motion.]

Hey, come on. We already agreed to the bed thing and you don't get to weasel out of it.

[He's teasing, but also, hurry the fuck up he's so sleepy.]

[Maybe it's the exhaustion or the fact that he was actually in a good mood before he dozed off, but even though it normally would, the contact doesn't make Michael jump. Instead he just lifts his head slowly, blinking and rubbing at his eyes.]

Right, sorry.

[He stands up, pushing off the table, and then just kind of... stands there. Is he supposed to go first or... ? He should probably let Harlan go first, right? It's his bed.]

[Oh, Michael. Never stop being awkward. Harlan barely notices, though. Michael stands and he's already on his way to the bedroom.

He pushes open the door and, oh, right. JF is still at the bunker with Hayden. Harlan knew that, but he's still disappointed that she's not snoozing on his pillow. He rubs a hand over his face.]

Fuck, I miss my stupid cat.

[But then he crawls into bed without any fanfare. Shit, he should probably charge his phone... But it's all the way in the bathroom... Ughhh. Fuck it. He and Michael told everyone important where they'd be, and his Alarm is still holding on the bunker. If anyone needs them, they can come get them.]

[Michael follows, hesitant at first. That is, until he sees the bed. Then it's like a siren is calling him overboard, and he isn't even remotely tied to the mast. He wants to be asleep so badly.

And yet, once he's slithered under the covers on the other side of the bed, he kind of wants to stay awake a little. Aside from the stitching and that stunt with the thread, this is maybe the most... intimate? he's been with Harlan so far.

He can't decide if he should face outward, or if he should lay on his back, or what. Would it be weird to face Harlan? It'd be like he's staring at him kind of. Is that weird? He never went to slumber parties as a kid, and his siblings were way too old to share a bed, and anyway that's very different from dating. What did he and Parker do? Honestly, he mostly slept on the couch. God damn it. What's the protocol here?

He feels stupid. This is stupid. He should just relax, it's fine. There's a robot war outside and Harlan likes him even though he's a serial killer. Sleeping arrangements are totally not a deal here.

Michael rolls over to face Harlan and then closes his eyes so it's not as weird.

And then opens them, takes his glasses off, and puts them beside the bed before resettling. Whoops. Now it's even less weird, since he can't entirely make out Harlan's face.]

[Harlan can vaguely sense Michael's fretting, so he just kind of watches his little crisis and tries to bite back a smile. Finally, he settles, and then remembers his glasses, and then resettles. Harlan is stuck facing Michael regardless, given the fresh stitches in his other side.

This is much different than his own prior sleeping-with-another-person experience. He never got around to sleeping with Panna, and James and Annie insisted on keeping him in a death grip through the night. He didn't sleep so much as panic himself into exhaustion, which eventually won over.

Michael doesn't do that, though. Of course he doesn't... which is why Harlan's pretty sure he'd be okay with it if Michael did expect to sleep all cuddled up. He's not about to push it though, just in case he wouldn't be as cool with it as he thinks he would. That's usually how it goes, anyway.

And, like Michael, now that they're laying down, he's not all that tired anymore. This is the first night they've had to themselves since the fighting started, and it'll probably be the last for a while. They should take advantage of that.

For as long as they can stay awake, anyway.]

So let's say the Door opens up and you're allowed to go grab one thing from home to bring back here with you. What do you come back with?

[Hey babe it's small talk o'clock.]

[Michael's not sure what he's expecting. Is Harlan going to fall asleep first? How quick of a sleeper is he? Will they just stare at each other awkwardly until one of them loses this weird game of chicken and turns over? The last thing he's expecting is this exact question. He snorts.]

God, I don't know. Is a gun a stupid answer? A really big EMP? [An assault rifle? Some kind of bomb?] Not that I have either of those in my apartment.

[Hmm he's gonna give this one an actual think. He already has his favorite jacket, and he wouldn't be able to carry his couch. Oh, he knows.]

My 3DS, probably. What about you?

The fuck do you need a gun for? [Guns are overreacted, especially when you've got a skeletal hellbeast lodged in your head that can just do your bidding. Okay, that's not how it works, but still. He's laughing though.

A 3DS is a significantly better answer.]

Shit, I was gonna say my Xbox. I'd need a TV and shit for that though, and that's more than one thing, so guitar it is.

[He'd pick the guitar first anyway. He misses music like whoa.]

Trouble with the 3DS is you only get the game that's in it. What're you playing for the rest of eternity?

[Well when you put it that way.]

Yeah, in retrospect, the gun'd be pretty useless against those things. [Especially when you have a huge bear-monster instead.]

Guitar, though? You play guitar?

[Cute and talented. One of which for sure is more than can be said for Michael.]

I don't remember what I was playing last, but it was probably Animal Crossing. [It's usually Animal Crossing. That or Pokemon.]

Hell yes I play guitar. I've been trying to get my hands on one since I showed up here.

[Man, it's weird that Michael wouldn't know that about him. Everyone he's ever met back home knows he plays guitar. It's unavoidable when you're friends with him.]

Animal Crossing. Jesus. [Figures!! It's somehow a way more appealing game now that Michael has brought it up, though.] I borrowed Kyna's game for like a day and couldn't get into it. It was cute as hell, but I need goals and shit, y'know?

[He yawns midway through the sentence. Apparently the sudden burst of energy he found since laying down with Michael is not strong enough to keep him chatting for very long. He settles into his pillow, closing his eyes because it's easier than fighting to keep them open, but he's not willing to give up yet.]

I like shit like Dark Souls and Skyrim. Handheld shit isn't usually my style, but the Zelda remakes are alright. Pokemon's good too.

[A thing in common!! Probably, anyway. Harlan is breaking up with Michael if he is a filthy supporter of Sun and Moon.]

Event Log: End of Arc 2

dec 1 | closed to michael

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pretend the pen in this icon is not a pen

nope it's a pen what do you think this is fiction???

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