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Summary
Mama’s body was a map of hard-living, witness to events from decades of fighting and living and aching. There were scars, some white and flat with age, some new enough to shine pink and angry still. There were stretch marks, freckles, callouses from years of hard work, and permanent tan lines from years and years of the same summer routines. Sometimes Barclay got lost staring. To him, it was beautiful.
Series
- Part 8 of Monster Hunting [fics about TAZ Amnesty]
- Part 9 of Whumptober 2019