06-26-2022, 12:11 AM
★ leave this here run your morning bath in seafoam ♡
//hiii thank u for reading this!! i just wanna say cw for abuse mention, alcoholism mention, death, gore (minor).
also wanna say that this takes place like, abt a year or so ago.
Axel had always been so, so kind. His eyes were always soft, a smile always present. He was a kind soul, that much was evident. He always was so polite, no matter where he was, what was happening, and he was as gentle as can be. Of course, it wasn't always like that. As a teenager, he was so full of a silent, festering rage, that one could have said he was terrifying in those years. He always seemed to loom, his brows furrowed, young eyes heavy with such frustrations of his childhood.
They always stated that Vesania was the unstable one.
Axel rolled his sleeves up as he worked on his motorcycle, a new hobby he picked up upon finding said vehicle. It was worse for wear when he found it, rusted and falling apart inside this shed that was in shambles. He had accidentally tripped, hands outstretched, and he had hit the shed. The whole thing toppled before it fell over, leaving a large cloud of dust that left Axel coughing and waving it away. When everything settled, he noticed wheels, and he pulled the whole thing out. Due to it missing many pieces and already having been falling apart itself, it was easy to drag out of the mess, easy to pull right out and take a good look at it.
He worked on that thing day and night, working on the pieces that were missing, repairing the rust and the dents. It clearly wouldn't be able to work, as there were no fuel, nothing to be able to make this thing purr like it used to, but it would have been lovely to see it in its prime. Axel tinkered away, standing up and wiping his forehead when he heard his brother call for him. It was yet again another day and night that passed, the candle that lit up his work was snuffed out and he wouldn't see the motorcycle until the next day.
It wasn't unusual to see Axel without the ungodly amount of metal in his arms, or to hear the clanging and occasional curse from their garage. It was very much not uncommon to see oil smeared on Axel's face, to see his shirt all sweaty and to see him bandaging a wound he gained from this motorcycle. This seemed like second nature to him, able to identify the different pieces and how exactly to fix rust and dents. He had done this before, of course--his own motorcycle, which he now doubted he'd ever get to see again, was like this.
Axel was great at these types of projects, having turned to them when his frustrations grew too high. He had to find somewhere to work, he was old enough by the time his father had really started going downhill. He worked, but only when his father was away, and he was sure to return home before his dad could. He biked to and from, and always made sure to hide his money when he got it. His father never knew about his job for the longest time, but his secret was spilled one night when Henry had his hand raised to his mother. She sobbed, told him, and Axel's quite anger erupted into something much more. Something physical. Something harmful.
It wasn't like the night of the fire, a night that neither Ves nor Axel were over, but it was close enough, perhaps. Henry had marched down the hall, slammed the door open to their bedroom and he started interrogating Axel, all the while Phoebe, in the hall, cried and begged for Henry to leave them alone. That quiet rage bubbled and Axel, having newfound strength from working with heavy machinery at said job, slammed his hands right into Henry and forced him to stumble back into the hallway.
Henry was angry, but Axel was worse. He continued to shove Henry, until he finally knocked his father to the floor. He stood above him, and for a moment he felt confident in seeing the fear in his father's eyes. He would rule the day his father bowed to him. Henry left the boys alone for a few days afterwards, but he returned to his usual business. Axel was just coming home from work when the night the fire happened. It all happened so fast, he didn't even know what started first--the stray flame spitting at the spill of alcohol, or his father, crumpling down the steps. He stood, frozen, as Ves screamed from the top of the stairs.
Axel hadn't seen his mother since then. He remembered grabbing Ves and pushing him outside into the front yard. It had been years since the poor boy had been out there. He stumbled and fell into the long, overgrown grass, turning and watching with Axel as the old house burst into flames, the smoke thick and heavy. There was something that clicked in the older brother's head the second he could hear the sirens in the distance. He grabbed his younger brother, dragged him to the garage, and shoved him into the truck. Axel started it, the truck sputtering, and they drove off.
They had never returned to the house, either. They refused to. There were nights where the eldest felt at peace, thinking that perhaps the house was burned to the ground. He often dreamed it so, of nothing left but his bike standing amongst the wreck. That was the closure Axel had, and it was all he needed. He didn't wish for anything else. He never bothered to ask Ves what he thought happened to the house, figuring that he probably didn't even remember it.
Axel heaved a sigh when he watched his brother goof around with Twinkie, playing in front of their house. He had one of her toys, dangling it in front of her while the cat swiped at it. She plucked it out of his fingers and dropped to the ground, rolling over and kicking at the toy. Axel smiled. At least Ves had his cat. He looked back down at the motorcycle, twisting one of the bolts he had loosened. The wrench slipped and his knuckles slammed into the engine, a sharp piece of metal digging into his hand and making him curse. He snapped his hand back and looked it over, watching as blood slowly oozed out of the cut and across his hand.
Shakily, Axel stood. He ordered Ves to keep an eye on the motorcycle, told him he'd be back, and he disappeared into the house to wash it up. He used their water to wash out the wound, hissing as he scrubbed it. He had cut himself pretty badly, knowing full well that it would most likely end up getting infected, and he'd have to pay Salem a visit. Axel quietly wrapped his hand and looked up at the mirror, his soft gaze connecting with his reflection. A wall seemed to crumble, his normally peaceful expression shifted to one of such silent frustration that only seemed to bubble closer to the neck of the bottle every day. The last thing he needed was for it to overfill.
Weeks had passed, his hand showing no sign of particularly getting better, but no sign of getting worse. He unwrapped it and cleaned it as much as possible, and sometimes left it to breathe, but the oil of the motorcycle would seep into the bandages. It got to the point where Axel slammed his fist onto the seat of the vehicle. He stood up, unwrapped his wound, and stormed back into the house. He had stopped working on the motorcycle, too busy nursing his wound. It had bothered him, unable to focus his attention on something. His mind frequently wandered, to where his mother's whereabouts were, to what Ves remembered, to what had even happened that night.
Axel had asked his brother to recount what happened, but through hysterics, he couldn't gather anything solidly coherent. Through connecting the dots, the only thing that Axel could gather, was that Ves had pushed him down the stairs. He wouldn't put it past his brother if that is what happened--after all, it wasn't as if months prior, Axel had nearly done the same, had Henry not have moved out of his way. The fire...well, Axel wasn't sure how to explain that. His mother disappearing, too. There was so many mysteries of that night that Axel wanted to learn about, but he chose to keep it to himself.
Maybe he did need proper closure. Maybe he did need more than a dream of his house's state. Axel scowled and rolled over on the couch. He couldn't get comfortable, having decided to come hang out rather than sulk up in his room like he had been. After tossing and turning for a while, he got to his feet. He wasn't just going to lay there and let himself waste away. He stormed out of the house, passing Ves, who was, once again, playing with his cat out front. Ves looked up at him and tilted his head.
"I'm just going for a walk," Axel explained, pointing towards the path across the house. "To the beach, most likely."
Ves nodded and continued on playing, leaving his brother to his devices. Axel copied his brother's nod before he turned and headed down the path. Luckily, they were housed at least somewhat close to the beach. It was nice for the two of them, though Axel hated the beach. He hated the sand, and the smell. His nose wrinkled as he wandered along the shore, holding his shoes in his good hand, wincing as the sand got all over. The water kept crashing into his legs, and before the older brother knew it, having zoned out, he was standing knee-deep in the ocean, staring out, longingly, into the horizon.
He snapped out of it and returned to shore, putting his shoes back on and marching back home. Over the next few days, Axel's hand had healed, and he was immediately out in the garage, tinkering away and fixing up the motorcycle, changing anything that would have rusted over the few months that he had been away. He worked hard.
Axel began to find that the cost for the motorcycle was getting expensive, so he turned to work. He would do anything for money, be it machinery or just some heavy lifting. He'd help out anyone who needed his assistance, no matter the job. If it paid, he would do it. By the time he had enough, not just for his motorcycle, but enough for housing, to feed the two of them, Axel drew back from jobs, unless somebody asked of him. He was getting tired, hardly finding time for himself with how much he worked. He hardly even let his hand properly heal.
It wouldn't be the first time that Axel had done this. He injured himself at work once, but, with the anxiety of his father finding out, he just kept working with his dad regardless. He helped with the truck, and he remembered cutting into his wound even deeper, and leaving a bloody mess all over. Henry was angry, but he was, perhaps, the kindest he had been since Chris' news of his illness. Of course, when he heard of his favourite son dying, Henry turned his frustrations to the older two. Specifically Ves. The anger Axel felt when he could hear his brother sobbing, could see the bruises that were left. Axel wanted to strangle Henry.
He nearly did. His anger boiled over when he was pushing his father. He nearly choked him, then. Nearly wrapped his hands around his father's neck and squeezed the life out of him, if it weren't for Henry pushing his hands away. Axel was so full of ungodly rage, that when Henry sat with Axel at the dining room table--after brushing off several empty, and nearly empty, bottles of beer--and he gently wrapped his hand, that Axel's good hand shot out and he clocked Henry directly in the jaw and ran upstairs.
He had been blessed that his father was sober that day, because he knew, for a fact, he'd not have gotten away with it. Axel, frankly, wouldn't have cared. He would have been fine fighting the motherfucker, he had told Ves after he stormed into their room and slammed the door shut. He had dove into his bed and hid under the covers, and cried. It was a hard day. Every day was a hard day.
And poor Ves.
Poor Ves.
Axel didn't even know where to start with his brother. Oh, Ves. He had become such a good father figure to his brother that, for a while, he forgot that he, himself, was just a child. He was hardly even an adult, and yet, he was a better father to his own brother, than their very father was. Axel had only realized, several years later, when they had met Erin, and Axel opened up to her about their trauma, that he was just a boy. He was just a young kid, who was doing more than their father. Axel grew up too fast.
He never had a childhood. Neither of them.
Axel resented people who had healthy relationships with their parents. Thought, that must be wonderful. Can't imagine how great that is. He always thought, these people don't know.
Axel swore as his hand hit the same spot, digging into the skin again and, once more, making it bleed. Instead, Axel worked through it. He could feel tears, not from the pain, but from the burden of his thoughts. He could feel them, hot and heavy, threatening to spill down his dirty cheeks. He worked, focusing solely on the motorcycle, only to feel like he was losing feeling in his fingers. Finally, Axel slammed his tool down on the ground, and it ricocheted off the cement, hit the motorcycle, and shot back and hit him in the leg. His foot, clad in a boot, slammed the tool to the ground and he stormed out of the garage, slamming the door on his way out.
He didn't know where he was going. He was so full of pent-up anger, of frustration, tears began to pour out of his stormy eyes, his eyebrows scrunched. The folks of the Badlands moved out of his way, side-eyeing this oncoming storm as he seemed to pass through like a tornado. The calm was disrupted as the tempest of a man passed through. The voices of the crowd were so loud, the doors, the animals, the wind. He thought he'd have a meltdown before he even reached the clinic, where Salem was working.
By the time he reached the door, Axel had blacked out. He didn't know where his hands were going, where his feet were. His mind was a blur as he saw faces both up close and very far. Everything was happening at once. He didn't even remember grabbing a hold of one of the near by people standing around, holding them by the shoulders, and slamming his own head as hard as possible directly into their skull. He could hear screaming, could hear the voices rising, but Axel fled.
He woke up in his own home, and when he looked in the mirror, he saw blood stained across his forehead. He washed his face off, noting that it was, in fact, not his own blood. Panic grew in his eyes as he looked up at himself. He had hurt somebody. Badly. Axel's breath hitched, gripping onto the edge of the sink, staring into his own unstable eyes. This is what his father had wanted him to become.
"You are strong, Aksel. Good. You will hurt many. People will cower before you. You will rule." Henry had said, the day after Axel had pushed him to the floor. "You will be my little horror."
"speech"
[url=http://www.bearbonesrp.com/index.php?action=profile;u=6]acrylic//hiii thank u for reading this!! i just wanna say cw for abuse mention, alcoholism mention, death, gore (minor).
also wanna say that this takes place like, abt a year or so ago.
Axel had always been so, so kind. His eyes were always soft, a smile always present. He was a kind soul, that much was evident. He always was so polite, no matter where he was, what was happening, and he was as gentle as can be. Of course, it wasn't always like that. As a teenager, he was so full of a silent, festering rage, that one could have said he was terrifying in those years. He always seemed to loom, his brows furrowed, young eyes heavy with such frustrations of his childhood.
They always stated that Vesania was the unstable one.
Axel rolled his sleeves up as he worked on his motorcycle, a new hobby he picked up upon finding said vehicle. It was worse for wear when he found it, rusted and falling apart inside this shed that was in shambles. He had accidentally tripped, hands outstretched, and he had hit the shed. The whole thing toppled before it fell over, leaving a large cloud of dust that left Axel coughing and waving it away. When everything settled, he noticed wheels, and he pulled the whole thing out. Due to it missing many pieces and already having been falling apart itself, it was easy to drag out of the mess, easy to pull right out and take a good look at it.
He worked on that thing day and night, working on the pieces that were missing, repairing the rust and the dents. It clearly wouldn't be able to work, as there were no fuel, nothing to be able to make this thing purr like it used to, but it would have been lovely to see it in its prime. Axel tinkered away, standing up and wiping his forehead when he heard his brother call for him. It was yet again another day and night that passed, the candle that lit up his work was snuffed out and he wouldn't see the motorcycle until the next day.
It wasn't unusual to see Axel without the ungodly amount of metal in his arms, or to hear the clanging and occasional curse from their garage. It was very much not uncommon to see oil smeared on Axel's face, to see his shirt all sweaty and to see him bandaging a wound he gained from this motorcycle. This seemed like second nature to him, able to identify the different pieces and how exactly to fix rust and dents. He had done this before, of course--his own motorcycle, which he now doubted he'd ever get to see again, was like this.
Axel was great at these types of projects, having turned to them when his frustrations grew too high. He had to find somewhere to work, he was old enough by the time his father had really started going downhill. He worked, but only when his father was away, and he was sure to return home before his dad could. He biked to and from, and always made sure to hide his money when he got it. His father never knew about his job for the longest time, but his secret was spilled one night when Henry had his hand raised to his mother. She sobbed, told him, and Axel's quite anger erupted into something much more. Something physical. Something harmful.
It wasn't like the night of the fire, a night that neither Ves nor Axel were over, but it was close enough, perhaps. Henry had marched down the hall, slammed the door open to their bedroom and he started interrogating Axel, all the while Phoebe, in the hall, cried and begged for Henry to leave them alone. That quiet rage bubbled and Axel, having newfound strength from working with heavy machinery at said job, slammed his hands right into Henry and forced him to stumble back into the hallway.
Henry was angry, but Axel was worse. He continued to shove Henry, until he finally knocked his father to the floor. He stood above him, and for a moment he felt confident in seeing the fear in his father's eyes. He would rule the day his father bowed to him. Henry left the boys alone for a few days afterwards, but he returned to his usual business. Axel was just coming home from work when the night the fire happened. It all happened so fast, he didn't even know what started first--the stray flame spitting at the spill of alcohol, or his father, crumpling down the steps. He stood, frozen, as Ves screamed from the top of the stairs.
Axel hadn't seen his mother since then. He remembered grabbing Ves and pushing him outside into the front yard. It had been years since the poor boy had been out there. He stumbled and fell into the long, overgrown grass, turning and watching with Axel as the old house burst into flames, the smoke thick and heavy. There was something that clicked in the older brother's head the second he could hear the sirens in the distance. He grabbed his younger brother, dragged him to the garage, and shoved him into the truck. Axel started it, the truck sputtering, and they drove off.
They had never returned to the house, either. They refused to. There were nights where the eldest felt at peace, thinking that perhaps the house was burned to the ground. He often dreamed it so, of nothing left but his bike standing amongst the wreck. That was the closure Axel had, and it was all he needed. He didn't wish for anything else. He never bothered to ask Ves what he thought happened to the house, figuring that he probably didn't even remember it.
Axel heaved a sigh when he watched his brother goof around with Twinkie, playing in front of their house. He had one of her toys, dangling it in front of her while the cat swiped at it. She plucked it out of his fingers and dropped to the ground, rolling over and kicking at the toy. Axel smiled. At least Ves had his cat. He looked back down at the motorcycle, twisting one of the bolts he had loosened. The wrench slipped and his knuckles slammed into the engine, a sharp piece of metal digging into his hand and making him curse. He snapped his hand back and looked it over, watching as blood slowly oozed out of the cut and across his hand.
Shakily, Axel stood. He ordered Ves to keep an eye on the motorcycle, told him he'd be back, and he disappeared into the house to wash it up. He used their water to wash out the wound, hissing as he scrubbed it. He had cut himself pretty badly, knowing full well that it would most likely end up getting infected, and he'd have to pay Salem a visit. Axel quietly wrapped his hand and looked up at the mirror, his soft gaze connecting with his reflection. A wall seemed to crumble, his normally peaceful expression shifted to one of such silent frustration that only seemed to bubble closer to the neck of the bottle every day. The last thing he needed was for it to overfill.
Weeks had passed, his hand showing no sign of particularly getting better, but no sign of getting worse. He unwrapped it and cleaned it as much as possible, and sometimes left it to breathe, but the oil of the motorcycle would seep into the bandages. It got to the point where Axel slammed his fist onto the seat of the vehicle. He stood up, unwrapped his wound, and stormed back into the house. He had stopped working on the motorcycle, too busy nursing his wound. It had bothered him, unable to focus his attention on something. His mind frequently wandered, to where his mother's whereabouts were, to what Ves remembered, to what had even happened that night.
Axel had asked his brother to recount what happened, but through hysterics, he couldn't gather anything solidly coherent. Through connecting the dots, the only thing that Axel could gather, was that Ves had pushed him down the stairs. He wouldn't put it past his brother if that is what happened--after all, it wasn't as if months prior, Axel had nearly done the same, had Henry not have moved out of his way. The fire...well, Axel wasn't sure how to explain that. His mother disappearing, too. There was so many mysteries of that night that Axel wanted to learn about, but he chose to keep it to himself.
Maybe he did need proper closure. Maybe he did need more than a dream of his house's state. Axel scowled and rolled over on the couch. He couldn't get comfortable, having decided to come hang out rather than sulk up in his room like he had been. After tossing and turning for a while, he got to his feet. He wasn't just going to lay there and let himself waste away. He stormed out of the house, passing Ves, who was, once again, playing with his cat out front. Ves looked up at him and tilted his head.
"I'm just going for a walk," Axel explained, pointing towards the path across the house. "To the beach, most likely."
Ves nodded and continued on playing, leaving his brother to his devices. Axel copied his brother's nod before he turned and headed down the path. Luckily, they were housed at least somewhat close to the beach. It was nice for the two of them, though Axel hated the beach. He hated the sand, and the smell. His nose wrinkled as he wandered along the shore, holding his shoes in his good hand, wincing as the sand got all over. The water kept crashing into his legs, and before the older brother knew it, having zoned out, he was standing knee-deep in the ocean, staring out, longingly, into the horizon.
He snapped out of it and returned to shore, putting his shoes back on and marching back home. Over the next few days, Axel's hand had healed, and he was immediately out in the garage, tinkering away and fixing up the motorcycle, changing anything that would have rusted over the few months that he had been away. He worked hard.
Axel began to find that the cost for the motorcycle was getting expensive, so he turned to work. He would do anything for money, be it machinery or just some heavy lifting. He'd help out anyone who needed his assistance, no matter the job. If it paid, he would do it. By the time he had enough, not just for his motorcycle, but enough for housing, to feed the two of them, Axel drew back from jobs, unless somebody asked of him. He was getting tired, hardly finding time for himself with how much he worked. He hardly even let his hand properly heal.
It wouldn't be the first time that Axel had done this. He injured himself at work once, but, with the anxiety of his father finding out, he just kept working with his dad regardless. He helped with the truck, and he remembered cutting into his wound even deeper, and leaving a bloody mess all over. Henry was angry, but he was, perhaps, the kindest he had been since Chris' news of his illness. Of course, when he heard of his favourite son dying, Henry turned his frustrations to the older two. Specifically Ves. The anger Axel felt when he could hear his brother sobbing, could see the bruises that were left. Axel wanted to strangle Henry.
He nearly did. His anger boiled over when he was pushing his father. He nearly choked him, then. Nearly wrapped his hands around his father's neck and squeezed the life out of him, if it weren't for Henry pushing his hands away. Axel was so full of ungodly rage, that when Henry sat with Axel at the dining room table--after brushing off several empty, and nearly empty, bottles of beer--and he gently wrapped his hand, that Axel's good hand shot out and he clocked Henry directly in the jaw and ran upstairs.
He had been blessed that his father was sober that day, because he knew, for a fact, he'd not have gotten away with it. Axel, frankly, wouldn't have cared. He would have been fine fighting the motherfucker, he had told Ves after he stormed into their room and slammed the door shut. He had dove into his bed and hid under the covers, and cried. It was a hard day. Every day was a hard day.
And poor Ves.
Poor Ves.
Axel didn't even know where to start with his brother. Oh, Ves. He had become such a good father figure to his brother that, for a while, he forgot that he, himself, was just a child. He was hardly even an adult, and yet, he was a better father to his own brother, than their very father was. Axel had only realized, several years later, when they had met Erin, and Axel opened up to her about their trauma, that he was just a boy. He was just a young kid, who was doing more than their father. Axel grew up too fast.
He never had a childhood. Neither of them.
Axel resented people who had healthy relationships with their parents. Thought, that must be wonderful. Can't imagine how great that is. He always thought, these people don't know.
Axel swore as his hand hit the same spot, digging into the skin again and, once more, making it bleed. Instead, Axel worked through it. He could feel tears, not from the pain, but from the burden of his thoughts. He could feel them, hot and heavy, threatening to spill down his dirty cheeks. He worked, focusing solely on the motorcycle, only to feel like he was losing feeling in his fingers. Finally, Axel slammed his tool down on the ground, and it ricocheted off the cement, hit the motorcycle, and shot back and hit him in the leg. His foot, clad in a boot, slammed the tool to the ground and he stormed out of the garage, slamming the door on his way out.
He didn't know where he was going. He was so full of pent-up anger, of frustration, tears began to pour out of his stormy eyes, his eyebrows scrunched. The folks of the Badlands moved out of his way, side-eyeing this oncoming storm as he seemed to pass through like a tornado. The calm was disrupted as the tempest of a man passed through. The voices of the crowd were so loud, the doors, the animals, the wind. He thought he'd have a meltdown before he even reached the clinic, where Salem was working.
By the time he reached the door, Axel had blacked out. He didn't know where his hands were going, where his feet were. His mind was a blur as he saw faces both up close and very far. Everything was happening at once. He didn't even remember grabbing a hold of one of the near by people standing around, holding them by the shoulders, and slamming his own head as hard as possible directly into their skull. He could hear screaming, could hear the voices rising, but Axel fled.
He woke up in his own home, and when he looked in the mirror, he saw blood stained across his forehead. He washed his face off, noting that it was, in fact, not his own blood. Panic grew in his eyes as he looked up at himself. He had hurt somebody. Badly. Axel's breath hitched, gripping onto the edge of the sink, staring into his own unstable eyes. This is what his father had wanted him to become.
"You are strong, Aksel. Good. You will hurt many. People will cower before you. You will rule." Henry had said, the day after Axel had pushed him to the floor. "You will be my little horror."
"speech"
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[spoiler=//tags — updated ;; 12/06/22]
general
> axel bielschmidt ;; ax, bee
> male;; he/him
> 30 years ;; ages real time ;; march 5th
> badlands ;; former los santos member
physical
> physical health ;; 100%
> minor injuries ;; n/a
> major injuries ;; n/a
> important things to note ;; n/a
appearance
> short, greying blonde hair ; bright blue eyes ; very stocky and muscular ; 6'3" ; 260 lbs
> no body modifications
> usually a grey or yellow sweater ; blue v-neck or light grey crew neck ; khakis ; saddle shoes
> pocket money ; band-aids ; basically a whole first aid kit
> important things to note ;; two scars on his head from cutaneous horns that he had removed
personality
> very warm; level headed ; easily trusted, though guarded on some subjects, very trustworthy ; rule-follower ; parental figure ; love not fighter ; stubborn
> anxiety
> plays with hair
relationships
> pheobe bielschmidt x henry bielschmidt ;; pheobe - m.i.a ; henry - deceased
> henry passed in freak accident
> pheobe went missing at scene of the crime
> ves bielschmidt ; chris bielschmidt ;; ves - alive ; chris - deceased
> chris passed away due to an illness
> bisexual/demisexual ; biromantic
> no known crushes
interaction/confrontation
> medium mentally | medium physically
> non-violent power play allowed
> will not attack/kill/maim/capture without asking the author
> do not kill/maim/capture without asking me (timothy)
> if you want to attack, use [color=red]this colour (red) and underline it
misc importance
> "this is him talking." ;; his speech is coloured
> this is him thinking ;; thoughts are in italics
[/spoiler]
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[b][shadow=#D2B55B,left]❝ use the sleeves of my sweater ,[/shadow]
[shadow=grey,left]LETS HAVE AN ADVENTURE . ❞[/shadow]
- - - - - - - - [shadow=#D2B55B,left]★[/shadow] - - - - - - - -
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