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Fandom The Tournament || Hogwarts

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Maree

Salty human

588882

The occupants of the great hall sat in nervous anticipation, chatting quietly amongst themselves. For instead of their beloved headmistress, a man sat in her seat. She had fallen ill at the end of last year, causing her to retire. Still, the idea of some strange foreign man taking her place felt wrong. Due to this rumours were swirling around the tables. “I heard that he killed a group of muggles but there was no proof so they couldn’t send him to Azkaban,” A Slytherin girl with pink hair told her friends beside her.

Once the dishes were cleared in preparation for dessert Edgar rose to his feet, stepping in front of the podium. He tapped the mic attachment with his finger causing horrible feedback to echo through the hall. “Ahem, Is this thing on? Whose idea was it to use this muggle invention anyways,” he spoke, trying to figure out how it worked. One of the professors, a young female joined his side. She said something to him that wasn’t picked up before gesturing for him to talk. “It Is on? Alright. So I just speak into it? But how does it? Okay. Got it.” he spoke once again, turning to the crowd.

“For the first years, Welcome. For the returning students, Welcome back. As some of you may already know. I am Edgar Butterworth, the new headmaster here at Hogwarts.” he paused for a moment like he was expecting applause but none came. He seemed to glower at the students but it was quickly replaced by a smile. “Two words, Eternal glory” he smirked, stepping out from behind the podium and standing in front of it.

Edgar held his hands out to the crowd, still expecting some kind of reaction from them. British teenagers were obviously much harder to impress than he was used to. “The Triwizard Tournament, a competition that promises eternal glory for the victor. Three extremely dangerous tasks stand between the champions and their prize. For the past seventy-six years, the great challenge had been discontinued. All because of a few deaths, blasphemy really,” he explained, flashing the students what he considered a charming smile. “As your new headmaster of Hogwarts Witchcraft and Wizardry. I Headmaster Butterworth am happy to announce that we will be reinstating the Triwizard Tournament.”

There was silence for a few moments as his words sunk in. The majority of the hall burst into applause. He held his hand up to silence the room. “This Tournament isn’t going to be like anything that has been done before. It will be solely Hogwarts students, Three champions will be chosen from each individual house to work as a team. Which makes this a competition between houses” he announced causing even louder cheers from the crowd. The only thing Hogwarts students liked more than winning was winning over the other houses. “The Goblet of fire will be set up for those who wish to enter. Until then, in celebration of this great event curfew has been pushed back by two hours and so has classes tomorrow. Good luck to all who choose to enter and may the strong survive,” he said, raising his glass to the crowd.

There was one thing for certain; This would be a year to never forget. But for now, the students had a chance to relax before the dark cloud forming was overhead. Will they share one last pumpkin juice? Roast jumbo marshmallows by the wizard bonfire one last time? For the upcoming days could hold unknown terrors and familiar faces may be gone by tomorrow. Maybe take some dessert for the road, they’ll need it.

erzulie erzulie Arrt Saunders Arrt Saunders vinn vinn AI10100 AI10100 Stardust Galaxy Stardust Galaxy chou chou deianeira deianeira M Mintt Lizy Lizy dimensional dimensional
 

  • f9e015acbb39318dc36c3469c730af59.jpg

    Anastasia Greengrass
    Interactions:
    Maree Maree erzulie erzulie
    Mentions:

    Anastasia was among the students who waited for their new headmaster to introduce himself. She had gotten word that the Headmistress had gotten ill before, of course, considering her condition. It was better for her to know who was going to be privy of her condition. But still, she knew nothing of this man aside from the fact that he was a foreigner - a foreigner who had never step a single foot inside Hogwarts before. Her eyes flitted towards her friend who made a comment under her breath about the headmaster. Quite a heavy rumor. She turned her eyes back to the headmaster. She would reserve judgement for much later.

    The feedback from the mic caused Anastasia to nearly jump from her seat as one hand went to her ear. It had only been a week since she had transformed and while she wasn't as sensitive - nor nearly as impatient - it was decidedly not pleasant. Nevertheless, she composed herself quickly but her hand was under her sleeve - picking on a new bandage from the last transformation. There were a couple more but this was the easiest one she could access. It was a horrid habit that she had picked up in the last year ever since her bandages had increased in number. By Merlin's beard, the least lycanthropy could give her was some improved healing for all the trouble she goes through for it!

    It seems like the headmaster had gotten the hang of the 'baffling' muggle technology which was the microphone and began his speech. There had been a shift in his face when none of the students had clapped at him announcing himself to be the headmaster. Truthfully, Anastasia felt that it was more because everyone was still far too stunned with the replacement. But he continued on. Headmaster Butterworth - at least there was a name to the face now. But what had given other students energy was the next announcement.

    A Triwizard Tournament - but within Hogwarts only. It had been so long since the last one due to the deaths that had transpired in the last one. Everyone cheered and gave applause. Anastasia had given her own polite applause for it - but something was brewing in her head. Surely the headmaster would schedule the trials away from the full moon. They had two werewolves who were eligible for the tournament and Anastasia was sure that Guinevere would not hesitate to put her own name inside the Goblet of Fire and urge her and Gabriella to join as well. Anastasia would love the challenge. She just hoped that her problem wouldn't actually be a problem.


    "So, Triwizard Tournament hm?" Anastasia voiced out once she and the other two had slipped out. "It seems like a fun challenge. It's extremely dangerous, yes, but that's what makes it exciting no?" She let out a giggle. She wondered if Professor Blackwater would let something slip when they're working together. Her professor had swung by the week before summer ended to gather the magical creatures they would need to sneak in. It was... against the rules yes but Anastasia was deemed to have some privileges. Especially when they penned it under 'club activities'. Anastasia made a glance around, trying to see if she could catch anyone from the other Houses in her sights. "Oh, Gwen, shall we visit the magical creatures first? I haven't had the chance to."

 

Aldrian Bexler
Location: Great Hall
Mood: Inspired
Interactions: n/a
With: n/a
Tags:


Bex found himself up and walking, his feet moving to their own beat rather than being entirely controlled by him. He finished off the crust of the Treacle Tart he'd been eating and removed his robes. Anyone who knew him knew that he rarely wore the heavy material, opting for the school regulated cardigan and tie. He slung the weighted thing over his shoulder and looked upward with awe.

The fabled Goblet of Fire hovered in place within a chalk circle. Harmless enough but anyone who knew their school's background knew why it was in place. A few had begun to flock toward the area, placing their names in the goblet. Bex decided if he was going to enter the tournament then he might as well do it with style.

He wrote his name on a piece of paper then began folding it into a paper flower. He then lifted his hand and let the paper soar out of his touch and into the the flaming cup with a subtle 'whoosh'.

"Well, that's that." Bex murmered, his fingers crossed and hoping for the best.
codedbycrucialstar
 

image0.gif

“Intelligence without ambition is a bird without wings”

Gabriella wasn’t so sure about this new Headmaster. It wasn’t that she particularly liked McGonagall, but she was familiar and she was fair for the most part. The new Headmaster was someone she didn’t know, she’d never heard of him in passing or during her time out of Hogwarts until recently. She made it her goal to at least know the names of the notable families in Wizarding society. She knew all of the families that belonged to the sacred twenty-eight and most of the minor families as well. Information was a very valuable thing to have after all. Gabriella listened to Guinevere as she gossiped. “How ironic, given his muggle last name.” She spoke softly.

Gabriella stroked Imperia’s fur as she listened to Butterworth speak of the Triwizard Tournament. Clearly the deaths caused by the tournament meant little to him, from the way he spoke and the fact that it was being brought back. Gabriella could understand the appeal but not so much that she’d want to join herself. There were plenty of other ways of showing her greatness to the world. Though she was sure that Guinevere would want to enter and in turn urge Anastasia and herself to join her.

Once his speech was over Gabriella stood and left with her friends. Imperia walked beside her, tall and proud as ever. “Glory holds little appeal to me. I don’t need some competition to show others what I’m made of.” She stated casually. When Anastasia mentioned visiting the magical creatures already she wasn’t so surprised. The girl was a hoarder, the number of animals she owned was proof of that.


mentions:
with: Anastasia AI10100 AI10100 ,Quinevere Maree Maree

codedbycrucialstar | hidden scroll
 
"ainslie macmillan. . . .

NlYQHHl.jpg
T
he blare of the Hogwarts Express as it pulled into its destination was deafening.

Stretching widely, Ainslie Macmillan let out a yawn before getting up. Just outside the window of her carriage was the castle that served as her home for the better part of the year. She smiled widely to herself, taking in the ambiance and aura that Hogwarts was famous for. She was already excited to start classes, to visit with friends not yet spoken to, to play quidditch, and, most of all, tend to her plants. Even with the many reassurances of Professor Taylor that she'd keep them in good hands, it was always such a pain to part with her dearly-cultivated herbs come summertime.

Ainslie was able to snag her trunk before too many people had gotten off of the train. Many of the students were too caught up in visiting with their friends to rush, and thus she managed to slip her way through with ease.

The Great Hall looked the same as she had left it last May. Glistening candles floated through the air, seemingly held up like puppets with strings, and the 'open' ceiling showed the gorgeous stars just above the castle. Truly, Ainslie believed this room to be her favorite of all, second only to maybe the greenhouses. She took her place at the Hufflepuff table, quietly visiting with a few of the younger students, almost all of whom looked just excited to be here as she was.

However, a glance up at the High Table made Ainslie do a double take. She had known of Headmistress McGonagall's ill health---it was common knowledge by now---but it was something else entirely to see a strange figure taking her place.

He fumbled with an odd invention momentarily before another professor managed to assist him. Must be muggle, Ainslie thought to herself, I've got no clue what that is.

The strange man introduced himself as Edgar Butterworth, and he began stumbling into what seemed to be a speech, although it certainly wasn't conventional by any means. Similarly, the topic of his address was also rather out of place; the Triwizard Tournament would be returning to Hogwarts.

Ainslie frowned slightly. The last Tournament had ended in Voldemort and the Death Eaters regaining their grip on the wizard community as a whole. And although the Dark Lord was long gone, vanquished by Harry Potter all those years ago, the tragedy of the Second Wizarding War was still a healing wound to many. Hell, her grandfather had been at Hogwarts when the Death Eaters attacked.

As he explained the new rules of the tournament, Ainslie felt her frown increase exponentially. She didn't like this in the slightest. Wasn't the whole point of the Triwizard Tournament to promote inner-school unity and healthy competition? Kind of defeats the purpose if only Hogwarts students can compete.

Still, this was by no means her decision. While she certainly wouldn't have reinstated this reckless and deadly game, Ainslie was not a professor or the headmaster. This was out of her control, and it was probably best to just go with it.

Maybe putting her name in that damn goblet wasn't so bad after all. It wasn't really like she would be chosen, right? After all, her dorm-mates would probably throw a right fit if she didn't go along with them. 'Eternal Glory' wasn't really something on her mind, but it's not like she was opposed to such a concept.

But the Tournament will likely include dangerous situations; it has in the previous years. Ainslie shivered slightly. She could keep a cool head, but trying to get her to duel was a lost cause. She utterly hated conflict, and the danger that came from spells like that was part of the entire reason that she had fallen out with a particular friend in the past.

It's probably best to sleep on it, Ainslie thought to herself. Making rash decisions is the fastest way to get yourself killed. So instead of making her way up to the Goblet like many other of-age students were already doing, Ainslie simply poured herself a glass of pumpkin juice and dug into her supper. Well, even if everything seems to be changing, the food is still good!

mentions: donovan ( vinn vinn ) | interactions: n/a, open​
. . . . sixth year hufflepuff"

codedbycrucialstar | hidden scroll

The blare of the Hogwarts Express as it pulled into its destination was deafening.

Stretching widely, Ainslie Macmillan let out a yawn before getting up. Just outside the window of her carriage was the castle that served as her home for the better part of the year. She smiled widely to herself, taking in the ambiance and aura that Hogwarts was famous for. She was already excited to start classes, to visit with friends not yet spoken to, to play quidditch, and, most of all, tend to her plants. Even with the many reassurances of Professor Taylor that she'd keep them in good hands, it was always such a pain to part with her dearly-cultivated herbs come summertime.

Ainslie was able to snag her trunk before too many people had gotten off of the train. Many of the students were too caught up in visiting with their friends to rush, and thus she managed to slip her way through with ease.

The Great Hall looked the same as she had left it last May. Glistening candles floated through the air, seemingly held up like puppets with strings, and the 'open' ceiling showed the gorgeous stars just above the castle. Truly, Ainslie believed this room to be her favorite of all, second only to maybe the greenhouses. She took her place at the Hufflepuff table, quietly visiting with a few of the younger students, almost all of whom looked just excited to be here as she was.

However, a glance up at the High Table made Ainslie do a double take. She had known of Headmistress McGonagall's ill health---it was common knowledge by now---but it was something else entirely to see a strange figure taking her place.

He fumbled with an odd invention momentarily before another professor managed to assist him. Must be muggle, Ainslie thought to herself, I've got no clue what that is.

The strange man introduced himself as Edgar Butterworth, and he began stumbling into what seemed to be a speech, although it certainly wasn't conventional by any means. Similarly, the topic of his address was also rather out of place; the Triwizard Tournament would be returning to Hogwarts.

Ainslie frowned slightly. The last Tournament had ended in Voldemort and the Death Eaters regaining their grip on the wizard community as a whole. And although the Dark Lord was long gone, vanquished by Harry Potter all those years ago, the tragedy of the Second Wizarding War was still a healing wound to many. Hell, her grandfather had been at Hogwarts when the Death Eaters attacked.

As he explained the new rules of the tournament, Ainslie felt her frown increase exponentially. She didn't like this in the slightest. Wasn't the whole point of the Triwizard Tournament to promote inner-school unity and healthy competition? Kind of defeats the purpose if only Hogwarts students can compete.

Still, this was by no means her decision. While she certainly wouldn't have reinstated this reckless and deadly game, Ainslie was not a professor or the headmaster. This was out of her control, and it was probably best to just go with it.

Maybe putting her name in that damn goblet wasn't so bad after all. It wasn't really like she would be chosen, right? After all, her dorm-mates would probably throw a right fit if she didn't go along with them. 'Eternal Glory' wasn't really something on her mind, but it's not like she was opposed to such a concept.

But the Tournament will likely include dangerous situations; it has in the previous years. Ainslie shivered slightly. She could keep a cool head, but trying to get her to duel was a lost cause. She utterly hated conflict, and the danger that came from spells like that was part of the entire reason that she had fallen out with a particular friend in the past.

It's probably best to sleep on it, Ainslie thought to herself. Making rash decisions is the fastest way to get yourself killed. So instead of making her way up to the Goblet like many other of-age students were already doing, Ainslie simply poured herself a glass of pumpkin juice and dug into her supper. Well, even if everything seems to be changing, the food is still good!

mentions: donovan ( vinn vinn ) | interactions: n/a, open
 
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ARCLEVES

RAVENCLAW
WISDOM AND WIT











― Orpheus Arcleves
▌TAGGED: Maree Maree .
“Ravenclaws, keep to the left and follow your prefects. We certainly don’t want to lose anyone on the first day - not like last year.”

The one hundred and forty-two staircases of Hogwarts, some wide and sweeping, some narrow and rickety, and some with a vanishing step halfway up, groaned as the swarm of students poured out of the Great Hall. Filled to the brim with delicious food, the witches and wizards of Hogwarts climbed the Grand Staircase, each House journeying along a different route as the creaking structures moved mischievously from left-to-right and from up-to-down. Chitter-chatter, bold as tides that burst their bounds, echoed through the castle, the youngest students gleefully enthralled by the hundreds and hundreds of portraits, the subjects of which were moving merrily from frame to frame to keep an eye on the newest arrivals.

Standing by the bottom-most step of the fourth flight, Orpheus smiled brightly and ushered some of the first-years towards the correct stairwell. The students sorted into Ravenclaw seemed relatively pleasant: some had an air of studious seriousness, which would be tempered by the sociality; some a bright-eyed look of excitement, which he hoped would never be lost; and some a more fearful expression that faded with a little encouragement from Orpheus. That said, no Welcoming Night would be complete without one or two first-year misadventures. Three Ravenclaws had almost taken the adjoining series of steps were it not for Orpheus’ redirection, which, after a few turns and twists, would have led them straight to the darkest depths of the dungeon, and Orpheus had already rescued a Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff from a gloomy gap that appeared halfway up the third flight. He took each mishap in his stride however, his friendliness and benignity warming the shadowy corridors. Meeting new students was one of Orpheus’ favourite things to do during the start-of-term feast.

Ghosts and legends were always talking points as they trudged towards Ravenclaw Tower, but the main topic of conversation between Orpheus and the first-years was inevitably the Triwizard Tournament. Headmaster Butterworth’s announcement had invigorated, for one reason or another, everyone at dinner, initiating a flood of unanswered questions speculated by people who know little or nothing at all about the upcoming tournament. Orpheus, despite giving Butterworth the benefit of the nervous doubt, was not impressed by the new Headmaster. He imagined that butter itself wouldn’t melt in Butterworth’s mouth, and he didn’t carry himself with the same dignity and determination that proceeded Headmistress McGonagall. The only reason anyone was talking about him in a positive light was because of his announcement; without it, he would’ve been ignored by everyone except the prefects, who would’ve listened merely out of a sense of duty.

The revival of the Tournament was definitely unexpected. Orpheus had no idea that Hogwarts was planning such an extravagance, nor that the Ministry of Magic would ever condone the contest. There had not been a competition of the sort in many, many moons, and Orpheus was amazed that such a dangerous event was being re-introduced. Call it unbridled curiosity, but Orpheus wondered whether McGonagall had any say in the Tournament or whether Butterworth had taken it upon himself to re-instate the trial of enteral glory. The Tournament was renowned worldwide for being extremely hazardous: champions had died while competing and the tourney had been discontinued twice due to the extraordinarily high death toll, which flew in the face of Headmistress McGonagall’s ethos.

Nevertheless, Orpheus was somewhat excited about the Tournament. It was novel, prestigiously unprecedented and prodigiously unparalleled. There would no doubt be countless puzzles, riddles, conundrums to solve, as well as mysteries and secrets to uncover. He couldn’t deny that a part of him was intrigued by the prospect of the Tournament, although the mortal reputation was off-putting.

His thoughts were interrupted by a high-pitched sound of complaint.

“Are we nearly there yet?”

Orpheus, looking back over his shoulder, chuckled at the sight of the red-faced, wheezy boy at the back of the group: “We’re nearly there. Just keep going - it’s only a few more floors.”

Glancing down the stairs, to make sure no one had ventured astray, he spotted a trio of Slytherins slipping out of the Great Hall. He would normally not have paid Slytherins much attention but in the middle of the group was Anastasia Greengrass, whom Orpheus had been in contact with throughout the summer. Although, they’d sent messages by owl, they hadn’t seen one another in a few months. She looked well. Especially for the time that was in it. His potion must have worked well. Although, for an instant, he though he could see the off-white colour of a bandage. He paused for a moment, telling the first-years to continue up the stairs as he tracked the Slytherins across the hall. In that reprieve, his eyes accidentally found those of Guinevere Nott. He suddenly wished that they hadn’t.

A green mess cascaded down upon him and sloshed his robes, a bilious sludge of grime and goop that clung like wrapsnare to his hair and skin. He shut his eyes firmly, and attempted to wipe at his face with the palms of his hands. The magic, however, didn’t stop: no matter what he did, the nauseous ooze kept flowing. A cold sensation rippled down his spine as the jinx took hold. The first-years by his side burst into fits of laughter, pointing at their irritated, yet amusing, prefect.

“Excuse me, guys,” Orpheus said with a laugh, slipping past to look into one of the portraits.

“Glorious heavens, Master Arcleves,” the figure in the painting screeched, “What happened?”

“Nothing, Lady Pomp,” Orpheus said, hiding his frustration impeccably. “Just a little prank.”

“A prank? How distasteful. Such shenanigans should never place in the corridor.”

“It’s just a little bit of fun, no harm done.”

“I disagree. You look ghastly.”

Orpheus pulled his wand from his back pocket and drew a circle in the air. The liquid ooze stopped flowing, and, with a flick of his wrist, he could open his eyes properly once more.

As he did, he found himself looking at his own greenified reflection in Lady Pomp’s handmirror, which she had so kindly pressed against the frame of her portrait. He sighed heavily. In a viridescent scrawl, the letters ’N-E-R-D’ were written across his forehead. If he hadn’t been the unfortunate subject of another prank, he would’ve appreciated the skill behind the compound jinx.

“Are you okay?”

Orpheus spun around at the sound of the familiar voice, a huge smile on his lips.

“Couldn’t be better Cass,” he replied happily. “What do you think of green on me? I was really getting bored of Ravenclaw blue, you know?”


coded by nymphadora. ©
 






SMYTHWICK



GRYFFINDOR
COURAGE AND BRAVERY











Henry Smythwick
TAGGED: N.A.
Henry picked absentmindedly at some Bertie Bott's jelly beans, his keen eyes focused on the new Headmaster as the wizards and witches of Hogwarts flooded out of the Great Hall. Edgar Butterworth looked no more like an appropriate Headmaster than Henry looked like an avid arithmancer - there was very little justification for anything other than a passing grade. His fumblance with Muggle technology was poignant and pitiful. Microphones, even though Muggle-made, were not as difficult to understand as transfiguration. Surely, Henry thought as he chewed on a peppermint-flavoured bean, given that Butterworth was considered worthy enough to follow in Minera McGonagall's footsteps, the amplifying charm was in his magical repertoire. Every Tom, Dick, and Harry knew how to cast sonorous - it was a quick-and-easy charm for schoolchildren. It wouldn't have changed Henry's opinion, but it would've saved some of Butterworth's dignity.

Nevertheless, the Headmaster had regaled his flabbergasted flock with quite the story. The return of the Triwizard Tournament, and the Goblet of Fire, was not to be underestimated. Butterworth may not have looked like a fitting understudy for one of the greatest witches in wizardom but he could certainly worm his way into the history books if he played his cards right and successfully re-instated the Tournament.

Henry was rather interested in the contest. Butterworth's announcement had piqued his attention. He was just disappointed that it wasn't a single person race to the finish. If he put his name in the Goblet of Fire, he understood that he could be chosen as a hero of Gryffindor alongside two other daring, and possibly over-the-top, lionhearts, which wasn't really his cup of tea; but, the challenge and the adventure, and the possible spoils of victory, were strangely compelling. Like a good broom-race, the adrenaline thrill was in the pursuit of conquest. He wouldn't necessarily be a team player - his life was built around solitude and flying solo. But, was beginning to learn to share.

Biting into another ordinary bean, he started to weigh up his choices. Competing in the Tournament would be a trek - the only question was whether the end was worth the effort.


coded by nymphadora. ©
 
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DONOVAN EL
[div class=subtitle]the hand that picks flowers[/div][/div] [div class="content"][div class=scroll]The feedback from the microphone diverted his attention. He recalled his first encounter with the headmistress.

Spectacles. The word was boldly scripted in his thoughts the moment he saw the tabby cat with square markings around its eyes. It was to his relief that he had recognized the feline's identity as he chocked down a string of astonished profanity. It was also to his dismay that the one who had caught him sneaking out past curfew on his first night at Hogwarts was none other than she --- Fuck!

Headmistress McGonagall was never too sparse on docking house points on his behalf. It developed a backwards response of affection that might be called a soft spot for her. Donovan enjoyed her time as the headmistress and it weighed heavy to return without her standing at the podium.


"Donny Boy!" A firm hand gripped him by the shoulder as the hall burst into a cacophony of whoops and cheers. "That madman's bringing back The Triwizard Tournament! That's bloody brilliant!"

There was a round of back slaps, chest bumps and clasping of hands from his surrounding mates. He shared their level of excitement but a sense of foreboding snipped his smile. Like a pack dog, Donovan looked to his quidditch captain to see if she shared the same look of uncertainty. His lips curled into a snarl when he saw her crowned Queen of the Goblet by her fans. Donovan decided to ignore the feeling of doubt. The Triwizard Tournament was back and he was dead set on enjoying it.

As the assembly came to a close, Donovan skipped down the row of Gryffindor tables with his hands shoved down his pocket. He came to a halt when he found the brooding handsome man - Henry Smythwick! His stormy eyes made the fifth year girls swoon!

Sliding into the seat beside his best mate, Donovan plucked a jellybean from Henry's palm and plopped it into his mouth. He instantly spat it out. "Rotten," he wretched. "You really like that stuff?" He looked at him quizzically before breaking into a wide smile. "Bet ya missed this face."





interaction: henry Arrt Saunders Arrt Saunders | mentions: olivia deianeira deianeira
[/div][/div][/div][/div] [div class=credit]云 / YUNN[/div]
 
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