THE GANGSEY
what a strange constellation they all were
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THE GANGSEY
what a strange constellation they all were

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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favorite ships: blue and gansey; the raven cycle series - maggie stiefvater
“When Ronan thought of Gansey, he thought of moving into Monmouth Manufacturing, of nights spent in companionable insomnia, of a summer searching for a king, of Gansey asking the Gray Man for his life. Brothers.”
@stiefvaternet event 4: favorite relationship (2/2)
↳ ronan lynch & richard gansey iii
“They had been a two-headed creature for so long, Ronan-and-Gansey. He couldn’t say it, though. There were a thousand reasons why he couldn’t say it. “While I’m gone”, Gansey said, pausing, “dream me the world. Something new for every night.”
what is the raven cycle about? // insp

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@palmettofoxesnet second event | minor characters | Matt Boyd
“No, but really,” Nicky said, looking wide-eyed at Neil. “What happened?” “Neil hit Riko,” Matt said. “It was beautiful.” “What?” Nicky squawked. “Not fair! I missed it! Go do it again. Or not,” he added quickly when Wymack leveled a death glare at him. “You can’t blame a guy for dreaming, right, Coach?” “Shut up.”
Catherine II. Empress and Autocrat of All the Russias
Catherine II (2 May [O.S. 21 April] 1729 – 17 November [O.S. 6 November] 1796), also known as Catherine the Great, born Princess Sophie of Anhalt-Zerbst, was Empress of Russia from 1762 until 1796, the country's longest-ruling female leader and arguably its most renowned, regardless of gender. She came to power following a coup d'état when her husband, Peter III, was assassinated. Russia was revitalised under her reign, growing larger as well as stronger in military terms and becoming recognised as one of the great powers of Europe.
one. you remember the day you fell in love with a girl full of dreams and sorrows, a girl with tragic eyes and soft hands. you remember the way she wore her too-heavy and too-sharp eyeliner wings to cover up the hollow, sunken circles that came from sleepless nights and crying, and the bruises she always tucked away under long, thick jumpers even in the summer, the discoloured scars that washed the youth right out of her skin. when you walked up to her that sunswept afternoon you didn’t yet understand how much beauty and suffering had in common. not before she told you, with a quivering, lifted chin, that you needn’t waste away trying to fix her, because she wasn’t worth saving anyway.
two. she’s a broken mess of fragile skin and brittle bones, but god, you love her. when she smiles the universe shifts beneath your feet and your heart catches in your throat, tender and aching and full of moonlight. it’s almost as if you’re falling apart but refusing to break completely, letting yourself crack just enough to let the light spill in from the moth-bitten promise blossoming on her lips. it’s these times when you tell yourself you’d split open your ribcage and rip your lungs out for her because the moment her mouth curves at the edges it’s like there’s nothing else in the world that matters but this.
three. at daybreak you held her hand carelessly, and led her past wildflowers and dirt-streaked paths into the sunrise-sweet, dawn lit sky, where raw pinpricks of light blurred your sharp edges with hers until the lines spluttered and broke into a thousand burning tragedies. that morning you learnt to cradle two trembling hearts in your palms like beautiful, weightless daydreams and unravel them, until your heart thrummed in your throat a low, steady rhythm, telling you over and over and over that this is what it meant to finally, finally, come home.
— the art of rebirth | more