My First F/o Was Furina/Elysia These Ppl Dont Know What To Want

happy anaxa day!!

HAHAHDJSHDJAHDJSH…

💔💔💔💔

angst, 1.2K words, gn!reader, 3.1 quest spoilers

“..I love you,”

“Oh my god are you dying”

Anaxagoras narrows his eyes at your reply to his rather vulnerable confession.

“I take it back.” He mutters with the click of his tongue.

You turn to face him fully, straightening from your hunched position at the unfamiliar wooden desk. The room was a temporary space Aglaea had arranged for you and your husband.

It’d been fourteen days since the devastating fall of the grove.

Luckily your husband was able to save many lives, it came with a cost, a cost that nearly killed him. You hadn’t exactly been thrilled to hear that news—from him of all people—delivered with the same kind of dismissiveness he might use to comment on the weather!

“…I love you too,” you slowly reply

He’s not looking at you now, his gaze is almost avoidant, you note.

Ever since he returned from the grove, something had shifted. He wasn’t hesitant per se—just…more deliberate, Like he was measuring every word before handing it to you

But what made hearing “I love you” from Anaxagoras so strange wasn’t just the words—it was the fact that he literally never said them

He wasn’t an affectionate person. Not physically nor verbally.

—Not that he couldn’t be. But the only times Anaxa ever said those three words were when the two of you had been parted for more time than he liked.

He’s just too emotionally constipated.

Though he’s very good at praise and giving a loving touch when you need it.

You continue to stare down the man sat stiffly on the new bed. It’s odd to see Anaxa being hesitant. Especially around you.

“..You like Ohkema?” He said, taking a quick glance over to you. His forearms rested on his thighs and his fingers clasped together.

You pause, brows creasing. You’re not sure what he’s getting at. “I do, I miss home though,” You answer honestly. You really did miss home, everything was so perfect there. It’s good as gone now though.

“You’d be okay with staying here?”

“I mean there isn’t really anywhere else to go,” you snort

“So if something happened to me, you’d stay here?”

Your brow furrows deeper.

Anaxa’s eyes are locked on the floor, elbows still braced on his knees—but his fingers have tightened, knuckles pale.

“What do you mean ‘if something happened’? What kind of something?” You firmly demand his answer

“Hypothetically,” “Anaxagoras,” “Just answer me,”

You scoff, licking your lips slightly. “Yes I would stay, Anaxa,”

He nods softly, “Good.”

Your knee starts bouncing against the wooden floor. You don’t even notice it at first. You know something’s wrong. You can feel it curling tight inside your stomach.

“You nearly died two weeks ago,” you snap with a chuckle, voice light but bitter. “What, did you find a new way to finish the job?”

Anaxa is silent.

It was a joke.

You swallow hard as his eye finally meet yours—far too steady for your liking.

His expression blank, unreadable—but it tells you everything you never wanted to know.

Your stomach twists.

You slowly begin to shake your head, there’s no way.

“Shut up,” you blurt out“You aren’t funny, shut up,”

“I’m not joking,” he says, finally.

The indifference in his voice claws at you. You shoot up from the chair, the legs screeching harshly against the floor. Your heart pounding so hard you can hear it. “You’re not funny. That’s not funny,” you snap, voice high.

He chews the inside of his cheek, eye following you. A part of him wants to reach for you—hold you, say something that softens the blow. The other part knows there’s nothing he can do. Nothing that will make this easier.

“What—wh—When?!” you stammer, your fingers twitching in the air like you’re trying to grab the answer before it disappears. “When, Anaxa?!”

“In one system hour,”

“Tomorrow?!”

He twiddles his thumbs. “Yes.” And he says it like it’s nothing.

You’re not getting more time. You’re just getting a countdown.

“You’re telling me now?” you rasp, the words scraping out of your throat. “Like this?”

Anaxa’s hands flex slowly, fingers uncurling only to clench again. His jaw is tight. and his lips are sealed.

He doesn’t try to reach for you. doesn’t say your name. You don’t know if you want him too or not.

You shake your head and turn away, the sudden urge to get away overtaking you.

You leave the room, stepping into the ever-bright, empty hall. You speed walk down the path to wherever your feet will take you.

You don’t know where you’re going. You don’t care. You just need to outrun the truth—at least for a little while.

Anaxa sighs.

“You’re not running after them?”

“What good would that do”

Cerces lowered her head in disapproval.

“I didn’t know you were this cowardly. Had I known, perhaps I would’ve thought twice before choosing you.”

Anaxa exhales sharply through his nose, but he doesn’t look up. “Too late for that.”

She sighs. “You couldn’t have given them more time to prepare?” Her gaze flickered over to him.

He leans forward, resting his face in his hands, “I told them now to spare the shock of my execution tomorrow,” he says, voice calm and measured—already having calculated the outcome.

“They’d no doubt interrupt the performance the moment they hear I’d be put to death.” He says lightly, a grin curling softly on his lips.

There’s absolutely no way you’d sit still through that. And he loves you for it.

“And why have my final days be steeped in misplaced mourning?”

Cerces thinks over his words. “What good is early grief? It wouldn’t have stopped anything. Only made the coming days harder.”

She falls quiet for a while, weighing both sides of the tragedy.

“Sweet thing they are,” She murmurs. Anaxa’s expressionless face returns. Cerces glances sidelong at him. “They’ll be alright.”

His gaze drops further. Anaxa nods softly. “Of course they will. They’re not weak,” he says, but quieter now, “they’ll carry on,”

She’s silent, her hands folded over one another as she wanders over to the closed window. “I feel for them,“

“They wouldn’t want your pity,” he replies quietly, his voice rough.

Cerces doesn’t turn back immediately, but her tone softens.

“Not pity. Understanding.”

Anaxa slowly turns the ring adorning his finger, then glances up briefly. “I’ve asked Phainon to watch over them in case anything ever happens to me, he will keep them safe. cared for. Should they ever need anything,”

Cerces doesn’t answer. She just watches as he straightens his posture, the light brushing along the edges of his thin frame.

“You really don’t have much time, Anaxagoras,”

He nods once, then rises up.

“I know.”

And then, without hesitation, he walks out—not toward the person he’d choose in another life, but toward the death he’s already shaken hands with.

A/N: for the love of skibidi toilet if you read this please comment/reblog 🙏 I want positive feedback 💔 I’m like a puppy that needs praise okay 💔 (constructive criticism is fine be nice tho or I’ll block u🫵) MLIST

Nanaxa tag list: @deaddmoth (last paragraph I thought of you n rev writing it lmao) @average-scara-fan <3

WHERE DO YOU GET ALL YOUR FURINA GIFS ??!!! they make your posts so pretty, it makes me wanna slap my own favs on everything i post

I actually just search “furina” and scroll until I find one that fits the post!!!

AUGH ALSO THANK YOU <33

also do it!! Its your own blog LOL

I’ll be talking about “Ugh my day is shit” and there is dancing furina below so

heheheh.. tag games..

AUGHHHHHH MY PINTEREST KNOWS ME SO WELL? its almost scary lol

tags.. heheheh.. @merlucide @amberheavendremurr @cyber0angel99 @derocatem @sweet-comatose @ladymothbeth (no pressure!!!)

starting a tag game cause, why not? 🤍

how does pinterest sees you?

flower, pantone, actor, singer and couple!

🏷 @rambosgirl , @elflutter , @pinkbowslutt , @darryiciouscious , @lastchr1stmas , @gingersforeverbox , @h-harleybaby .

this was unneeded but they ate him up I fear

I would LOVEEE to read yall’s rambling about your f/o’s or even favorite characters!!! LET ME SEE!!

reblog this to give your mutuals permission to gush about their f/o in your inbox !!!

beautiful work💥💥💥

Imagine drawing more anaxa, wouldnt it be great 🤞

pick your poison‼️‼️

reblogs are appreciated here 💥 💥

hii hello so um I cried and you need to pay for my therapy session

thank you💔💔💔

In every life

Pairing: Anaxa/f!reader

Summary: A sorrowful and tender fable of two divine beings caught in the slow ache of a love destined for another lifetime. You and Anaxa share a fleeting night of intimacy- quiet, gentle, and heartbreakingly human. As your bodies remember what your soul knows, you both hope that in the next life, the memory of the thousand nighs spent together follows you into the next life

c.w! grief, sensual intimacy and nudity (non nsfw), body insecurity, implied illness, mortality n reincarnation, bittersweet, no beta read we die like anaxa

A/N: omg idk what compelled me to write this... I'm actually gonna be releasing an anaxa series but it's more angsty and he has no eq in that series (alr posted it on ao3 tho)

In every life, I find you. And every time, I lose you.

The room was quiet save for the hum of the lamp—a dim glow painting flickers across the stone walls. Anaxa sat first, his back to the cool headboard, long strands of pale green hair uncoiling like ribbons as he tilted his head, watching you settle beside him. Your hand wandered, light as breath, across the bare skin of his chest. Your fingertips bruyoud the eight-pointed teal star at its center, the galaxy within it pulsing faintly like a heartbeat.

He didn’t flinch. You never did either. You both had long since abandoned the need for fear around each other. The faintest smile tugged at your lips as you trailed over the branching veins of light snaking from the void of his left eye, hidden beneath the eyepatch. Your voice barely a whisper, "You shouldn't stick your hand in there."

"That was one time," Anaxa muttered dryly, the corner of his mouth lifting. He leaned back, letting the silence stretch again. "Are you going to—"

"No," you muttered. "I want to etch our bodies into our souls, so in the next life, I can still feel your touch when I close my eyes."

A pause. His breath caught. Then slowly, he moved, calloused hand finding your thigh as he helped you shift, guiding you with a reverence that was almost laughable for beings like them. You watched him, watching you, his ponytail sprawling out against the pillow. Your thumb gently bruyoud his lips.

He gasped softly. So did you. It was the most human you both had ever been.

You squeezed his bicep, not large but firm enough. "May I take off your jacket?"

He nodded. Both your movements were unhurried. He slipped it from his arms and tossed it onto the table with casual grace. The sleeveless black shirt he wore clung to his build. You stared at him, your fingers curling slightly in awe. He waited, then asked, "Are you going to say something or keep looking?"

"I'm thinking," you replied. "How do you still look like a storm held in flesh?"

He huffed, amused. "You always had a way with words."

"I had a way with knowledge. I don't know much anymore. Just feelings."

He reached for your hand, threading their fingers together. "Then tell me what you feel."

You leaned in, laying your cheek against his shoulder. "Like dying won’t be so terrible."

The lamp buzzed. Your shadows merged on the wall like two forgotten gods seeking warmth. you kissed his neck, soft and slow, tasting the skin that held centuries of silence. His hand found the back of your head, his grip gentle.

you chuckled, fingers ghosting along his chest. "You're not romancing me like mortals do."

"We aren't mortals," Anaxa said simply.

You borh ssipped from warm tea left half-finished on the table. When you placed your lips to the rim of his cup, he didn’t stop you. You both have shared blood before. This was far less intimate.

You unbuttoned your tunic slowly, deliberately. Not rushed. Not out of boredom. The black veins spidering across your torso were visible now. They reached your stomach.

"The veins have spread," you murmured.

His hand traced over them absently, his thumb dragging over the jagged paths. you flinched slightly—not from pain, but the youer tenderness of his touch.

"Sorry," you whispered. "I indulged too much last week. I figured we won’t get to eat delicacies when we die."

Your smile was self-deprecating. "My chest has grown. My figure too. More fat. More scars."

He didn’t answer with poetry. He wasn’t made for that. His fingers continued to trace, up from your stomach to your ribs, pausing just over your heart.

"You’re more beautiful than the gods who parade themselves for worship. Aphrodite would envy you."

you laughed quietly. "You flatter me. I've walked among humans long enough to hear that this body is distasteful. Too many flaws."

"Then they were fools." His tone was firm. "I see you through the lens of godhood, not lust. If we had time to do this again, I would never hesitate. Your body will feel the same in every life."

Your heart skipped. you exhaled sharply. Your blouse rested on the bed. "I still have scabs. Is it not unsightly?"

He sighed, long and low. "Not at all."

you almost cried.

He cupped your chest, reverent, not lewd. As if holding something sacred. "Beautiful," he said, not just about your body. It was about you, all of you. Just you.

Your voice was watery. "Being around those scoundrels makes me insecure."

"Then stay here," he said simply. "Lean closer."

You did. Both gods sat together, bare-skinned under the veil of night, looking out the window.

You, who had forgotten so much, leaned into the sound of his voice as he recounted your old favorites—peculiar facts about human society, stories about forgotten traditions and past lives. you smiled. you hadn’t known, but he remembered.

"You're still running your mouth," you teased.

"You’re still listening," he shot back.

As he continued, you giggled, unbuttoning his black tunic. His skin was warm under her fingers.

"You look less terrifying in the lamp’s glow and the midnight’s dusk," you said thoughtfully.

He chuckled—really chuckled—for the first time in years. His head tilted.

You reached up, tugging lightly at his eyepatch. He hesitated, then slowly removed it.

You stared into the void where his left eye should have been, where the galaxy spiraled within. "What a beautiful sight to see," you whispered.

He rolled his eyes, though only one remained.

Anaxa sighed. He paused, searching your face. Then, with that familiar slowness, he snaked his hand around your waist and pulled you in.

"Come here," he said, shifting to sit upright. You leaned into him, and you both turned to gaze at the window, the moonlight tracing your profiles.

You stared ahead, and he began to recount things you'd once loved once more—small human facts, details of society. "You used to love the story of the woman who mapped the stars by memory. Remember her?"

You nodded, smiling wistfully. "I remember her heart more than her name."

He went on, listing facts you'd forgotten. You giggled softly, thumbing the clasp of his black tunic. You unbuttoned it as he rambled on about societal structures collapsing under romantic revolutions.

"You still have bite," he said, amused.

"I’ve been among mortals for millennia. I think some of it stuck."

You tugged gently at the corner of his eyepatch. He stilled. Slowly, he removed it. The void of his left eye stared back—galactic, cracked, eternal.

"What a beautiful sight to see," you whispered.

He rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. "You're ridiculous."

"You look less terrifying in the lamp’s glow."

He laughed—really laughed. Not sharp, not scathing, but soft. Like air warming stone.

"May I kiss you?" You asked.

Anaxa hesitated, exhaled slowly, then gently drew your close with a hand to the back of your head.

You both breathed each other in, your foreheads pressed together. You leaned in further, brushing your lips against his collarbone, then bit gently into the skin, leaving a small mark. He winced, barely, but didn’t stop you. Why would he?

You pulled back, studying him. "You always let me do what I want."

"Because you know how to ask."

Your fingers cupped his cheek. His hair, green and lit faintly by the lamp, spilled over his shoulders. You thumbed his bottom lip.

"You're so kissable," she said.

He raised an eyebrow. "That’s... unexpectedly human."

"We’re being unexpectedly human tonight."

You leaned in again, leaving kisses along the mark you made. Each movement was deliberate—no rush, no demand. Just touch.

He exhaled as if letting go of centuries. His hands moved slowly down her waist, fingers curling lightly over your thigh, adjusting your position with wordless care.

"I’ve missed this," you whispered.

"This?"

"Being held like this—by you."

he said nothing, but the way he tucked your hair behind your ear was answer enough.

And when you leaned over him again, he looked at you like you were something sacred.

You don’t even notice the first tear until it kisses the corner of your mouth—salt on your lips, grief in your throat. It just spills. Quietly, without warning. The kind of crying that creeps in, soft and shivering, the way twilight fades into night without a sound. Your shoulders tremble before you even realize you’re holding tension in them. You blink again, and suddenly your cheeks are slick, your breath hitching. You’re sobbing, but not loudly. Not violently. It’s soft. So painfully soft. Like the ache has been waiting all this time for the right moment to bloom.

And Anaxa is still there, his fingers already wrapped between yours. Clumsily, almost hesitantly. He’s never been good at this—comfort, vulnerability, skin that isn’t armor. But he doesn’t pull away. He holds on tighter.

Your warm skin brushes against his chest, your forehead pressing into the crook of his neck as your body folds in, seeking him as though there is nothing else in the world. And to him, there isn't.

He isn’t poetic. He doesn’t know the right words for sorrow. But his voice rumbles low, a whisper carved in stone. “It’s not the end.”

You shake your head slowly, trying to breathe through the sobs. It’s hard. It hurts. Gods weren’t meant to cry like this. But you, god of humanities, god of people and kindness and stories—you do. You cry like you’ve lived among mortals too long. And maybe you have.

“There’ll be another life,” Anaxa murmurs. “We’ll all be free, someday.”

He says it like he believes it. Like he’s clinging to the idea because it’s all he has left. “Maybe next time… we’ll just be people. You’ll be helping in some quiet village, healing others. Doing what you’ve always done. You always were better at being kind than the rest of us.”

Your lip trembles. He continues.

“And maybe I’ll just be some dusty academic, hoarding books in a dark office. And you’ll walk in, ask me where the philosophy texts are, and I won’t know why my chest aches when I look at you.”

You laugh wetly, your voice cracking with it. It’s hoarse. Tired. Real.

“I’d dedicate books to you again,” he says, a little softer now, brushing your hair back. “Even if I didn’t remember your name.”

Your arms tighten around him. Your body feels too warm, like grief is boiling under your skin, but he doesn’t let go. His hand slides up your back, pausing when it feels the bumps of old scabs, and then moving carefully—as if each touch is a vow.

“In the next life, you’ll have all the time in the world,” he whispers. “And I’ll watch you eat every delicacy you ever wanted, just to see your face light up. Every bite. I won't judge”

You hiccup through a sob, face still buried in his neck.

“and even if my body’s mortal, even if it forgets, my soul—” He swallows, his voice finally breaking. “—my soul will still love you the same.”

The silence that follows is unbearable.

Until you pull back just enough to look at him, eyes swollen, tears still leaking freely. Your lashes clump together. Your nose is red. And he thinks you’ve never looked more divine.

He lifts his hand and cups your cheek. His skin is rough, but his touch is so gentle. Reverent. As if he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

“Even when you cry,” he says gruffly, “you’re still the most beautiful god I’ve ever known.”

And then, because he can’t help himself—because humor is the only thing keeping him from crying too—he adds, “Though you do soak tunics rather inconveniently.”

A tear-streaked laugh bursts from you, soft and breathless. You sniff and wipe your nose on your sleeve, and he flinches at the very mortal gesture. Then he chuckles.

A real one.

Warm and low and rare.

You lean into his chest again, wrapping your arms around his waist this time. Tighter. Grounded. Like if you hold him close enough, you might carry him into the next life with you.

He closes his eyes, resting his chin on your head.

Neither of you speaks for a while.

But his thumb strokes soft circles on your wrist, and your tears keep falling—quiet, steady, endless.

Anaxa helped you adjust, his hands moving with a strange tenderness for someone so gruff. He shifted beneath you so your cheek could rest against his chest, and your legs tangled between his with a comfort you never thought he’d allow. The feel of his skin against yours was still new, a study in warmth and restraint—your body pressed close, your breath syncing slowly. He exhaled quietly, his hand absentmindedly dragging along the arch of your back.

You felt it in that moment—the weight of time, the fear of endings, the helpless ache of knowing this might be all you had left. Maybe that’s why you did it. You summoned what little energy you still held, gathering the thread of it in your fingertips. The golden light glowed faintly in your palm, flickering like a candle in wind.

Anaxa noticed. “Don’t use up all your power,” he muttered, not lifting his head, but his voice was tight. His hand stilled on your spine. “You need to keep it. Just in case.”

“Hmph,” you replied, nose wrinkling slightly against his skin, though your smile softened the expression. “Too late.” You let the golden glow settle, shaping it slowly, carefully, with everything you remembered from human rituals.

It was a simple ring—no jewel, no carvings, just a smooth band of warmth forged from the last of your divinity. It rested in your palm like a piece of a dream. You stared at it for a while, lips parting slightly as your breath hitched. “Do you know why humans made rings for each other?” you asked quietly.

Anaxa lifted a brow, eyes half-lidded as he tilted his head to glance down. “Of course I do,” he said. His voice was gruff, but the way his thumb resumed tracing your spine betrayed his calm. “Symbol of a vow. Something permanent. Circular. No beginning, no end.”

You grinned faintly. “Exactly,” you whispered, brushing a finger over the curve of the band. “I always liked that part.” You looked up at him again. “Care to indulge with me?”

He scoffed under his breath. “You want to exchange rings like a mortal couple?” he asked, but there was no mockery in his tone—just confusion. Maybe disbelief. Maybe wonder.

“Yes,” you replied simply, without hesitation, though your cheeks burned. “I’ve forgotten a lot. I barely remember proper ceremonies. But I remember this.” Your voice cracked. “I want to remember this.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Anaxa sat up a little, his chest brushing against yours as he reached to take the tiny ring from your palm. His fingers were large, rough, but careful. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

He didn’t speak in verses. Didn’t dress it up in grand gestures or fancy words. He simply took your left hand, held it steady, and slid the ring onto your finger. “There. It’s yours now.”

You giggled, shoulders shaking as your smile widened. “That’s all you’re going to say?” you teased, eyes glittering with affection and tears. “No romantic declaration? No elaborate oath?”

He shrugged. “You already know it,” he replied, brushing your hair behind your ear. “What more is there to say?”

Your hand trembled slightly as you mirrored the action, forming a second ring with what little magic remained. This one was silver-white, faintly pulsing with light, like it remembered your touch. You reached for his hand, hesitating only for a moment before sliding it onto his finger.

“For every book you wrote to the stars,” you murmured, “and every word you didn’t know you wrote for me.” You looked up, meeting his gaze. “I vow to read with you. Even in the next life.”

He inhaled slowly, chest rising against yours, then exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for centuries. “You’re ridiculous,” he said softly. “And beautiful.” His thumb brushed under your eye. “And mine.”

There was a quiet that followed—not silence, but something gentler. The wind moved through the open window like a sigh. Somewhere far off, an owl called. The floor creaked with the weight of old wood, and the air smelled of rain that had not yet fallen.

Your tears hadn’t stopped, not really. They just flowed slower now, in a quiet stream along your cheek. Some of them fell onto Anaxa’s skin, warm like molten stardust, sinking into the hollow of his collarbone. He said nothing about it.

He just held you tighter.

Your fingers curled slightly in his hair, his heartbeat steady beneath your palm. The rings glinted faintly in the moonlight—proof of a promise neither of you knew how to keep, but made anyway. That was always the beauty of mortals, wasn’t it?

Even knowing the world ends, they love anyway.

Even knowing their gods may fall, they hope.

You shifted slightly, letting out a shaky breath, and Anaxa helped you resettle, one hand supporting your thigh, the other cupping your back. “Comfortable?” he asked gruffly, though his voice held no edge. Only concern.

You nodded, your chin brushing the top of his sternum. “Better now.” You traced a lazy circle on his chest, fingers dragging slow warmth into his skin. “You make a good pillow.”

He chuckled faintly. “You make a heavy blanket,” he replied. You smacked his shoulder lightly and he laughed again, low and rare.

Your cheek pressed against his heartbeat again, the sound grounding. Like the ticking of a slow, eternal clock. You could fall asleep like this, you realized. You almost wanted to.

“Tell me more about your next life,” you murmured.

He hesitated. “You’ll hate it,” he warned. “It’s boring. Quiet. Peaceful.”

“That sounds perfect,” you whispered.

“I’ll be some forgotten librarian in a coastal town,” he muttered. “No one visits. No one bothers me. I’ll wait for you every Tuesday afternoon at three.” He smiled. “You’ll show up one day. Asking for a book I don’t have.”

You giggled softly. “Then you’ll recommend me something else. Something I didn’t know I needed.”

“And you’ll come back the next week,” he said. “And the week after that.”

You nodded. “Until we fall in love again.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple, so light it almost didn’t touch. “Every life,” he said. “I’ll find you.”

The moonlight shifted, brushing over the curve of your joined hands and the tiny rings now warming your skin. They hummed faintly, almost imperceptibly. You didn’t need to see them to know they were there.

You felt it in your chest. In your breath. In your soul.

Anaxa’s hand resumed its path along your back, and you relaxed fully for the first time in what felt like centuries. You could still feel the magic fading slowly from your body—but this… this was worth it. Even if only for a little longer.

And for the first time in a thousand years, you both were truly human. 

Gods didn’t need to know. The two gods only needed to feel.

And here, in this tiny moment, you both finally did.

In every life, it’s just you.

Notes: what the hell, WHAT THE HELLY? I'm out of my hiatus out of sheer boredom BCS other than studying and learning how to do canva shits, I DO NOTHING. I ALREADY FINISHED THE NEW HSR EVENT AND IM JUST SO BOREDDDD

Written by @khuzena. Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. ♡ 

he’s tired of the gays

he looks delicious himself tho

Not again...

um hi this is a super quick lazy doodle but i think he's so neat

gonna be so honest, i havent played hsr in 6 months but this guy got me back into it