#ah. asbestos

[astronnova]

my wilt and scatter predictions for @unofficialadamtaurus s fic

[bunnygirlheart]

@fishing-lesbian-catgirl

More Asbestos!

Thanks everyone for participating in the poll! What an absolutely wild last minute turnaround, and also a close race!

[professionallyhomosexual]

Please shower me with adoration for my art I need attention

[agarthanguide]

im obsessed with all the new bells hells art you made, but especially imogen!

are there any aspects of the design/process that were a favorite of yours? (like the moon motifs, as an example)

Ah thanks for giving me this opportunity!

So in my dad’s office, he has a glass-fronted bookcase. My parents got it when they bought a furnished Victorian mansion in 1980 (don’t be jealous- the walls were filled with asbestos, it had no electrical wiring upstairs, and all the paint was lead.) So this bookcase was magical, to me. It was never locked, but it had a key in it all the time with a red silk tassel. Anyway, inside this bookcase was a copy of the book The Discoverers, which is a history of science. And printed on the spine was The Flammarion Engraving-

This is my personal definition of magic. Of celestial motif. Of the firmament. Of the concept of discovery.

So of course I pitched it to Laura. It started much punchier, and with a stronger likeness, but I hope the concept is still there.

So yeah. Easily my favorite part. Thanks s-o much for asking, and for the kind words!

[axl-ion]

Mercs and their pain tolerance/reaction to pain or wounds:

Scout:

He can tolerate pain pretty well since fighting 7 older borthers + living where he does taught him to at least keep his mind off the pain. He can get pretty uncomfortably vulnerable when hurt, but he knows the dangers of untreated wounds. It's only when it's really really bad that he hides. He doesn't want to burden anyone if he thinks he'll be a burden. The old teaching of "if you're gravely injured, pick a hidden place and pray that God will have mercy on you" from the streets is too hard forr him to shake off.

Soldier:

He's very resilient to pain and doesn't have much reaction. He's been through worse and also he's got great amount of nerve damage so.

Pyro:

It's hard to tell how Pyro handles pain as... Pyro is the most protected member of the team when it comes to how they are dressed. The thick layer of asbestos filled coat and whatever he has under it essentially acts as an armour. It's not like she can't get hurt, it's just hard to cause Pyro physical pain. If someone happens to harm Pyro however, he usually treats it themselves or goes to Engie's dispenser or Medic when he's got his medigun out.

Engineer:

You'll definitely know when Engineer is in pain. It's not because he complains or he whines about it. It's because that "AH SWEET MOTHER OF - IRENE!" is very hard to miss. However, Engie will definitely not go to the medbay when hurt. No, he'll continue doing whatever he was. You would have to blow a hole through his skull to make him take Ibuprofen. But also he's got his dispenser so he doesn't have much motivation to go to Medic. Usually he's only there for a general check-up or when he's physically dragged there.

Demoman:

Tavish is a lot of times too drunk to notice physical pain. He may have piranha eating his arm and he won't notice. Pretty sure just like Soldier he's got nerve damage. But when he's sober-ish and at his senses depending on the pain level, he'll either take care of it himself or go to Medic. He's the most responsible one when it comes to taking care of his injuries actually. He disinfects the injury area, doesn't put cotton or tissues in it, uses bandages or pieces of cloth.

Heavy:

Doesn't have an audible reaction to pain. He learned not to. He also had trouble to be open about his pain, partially also due to high tolerance to it, partially because of the mentality around it that prevailed since the darker times. If he really needs to scream of pain he bites his clothes or hand. He doesn't want people to see he's hurt. It's dangerous. It's a scary feeling, but he masks it. Mikhail will treat his wounds himself, but if it's severe he'll go to Medic. Heavy is slowly learning to open up when he's in pain at least to Medic and won't go around with self treated injuries that aren't healing properly for days like he used to.

Medic:

Via self experimentations he managed to become very resilient to pain. Sore muscles, wounds, he doesn't feel it much. Tooth ache is something he can't deal with tho. He has extracted his own wisdom teeth a long time ago, but sometimes they just ache. And it grinds his gears. But he always treats his wonds quickly, properly and precisely, even have done surgery on himself. Besides Engineer and Heavy, he doesn't trust anyone to manipulate with his injuries.

Sniper:

Mick rather avoids pain, but he's not a wimp. Growing up in a society with super powered Australians does things to a guy. When he's hurt, he doesn't just stop, he'll try to get away. Gain his distance and fight from there. He does try to treat his wounds before running, but it's not always guaranteed and it's not rare for him to get dirt into his wounds (he got a tetanus shot if it was a thing). He's also definitely stuffing his wounds with cotton or tissues which drives Medic nuts. He also doesn't usually come to Medic unless he's a bloody mess or the wound isn't healing as it should be.

Spy:

He's very resilient and has resistance to a lot of poisons, but also there are pains he can't deal with without some sort of cream or ointment like sore joints after successful job. He's getting old afterall. He's actually already got measurements for a knee brace if it ever comes to it. But he usually avoids situations where he'll get wounded, as he hates getting blood on his suit. When he does tho, he'll treat it properly, usually with on hand bandages, but there were times where he improvised and used something like leaves to stop the bleeding. Doesn't have the best judgement as to wound severity and there were times where he was hurt pretty bad and didn't tell Medic.

[delightfullyodd]

Oh to be a beautiful princess who is in a lotus eater machine!

We are about to enter some virtual reality!

So some ideas what might be going on in here.

Judging by the poster it's certainly a big fat brick in the vegetable garden of Disney, I'm sure.

Princess is dreaming a dream. In which she lives in a beautiful kingdom, or a forest at least, surrounded by her animal friends. Dreamer must dream or the world will end. Or her world will end.

What is worse, because if she wakes up, I doubt she is going to react well to reality.

Is she a prisoner? Is she willingly in this? Is she a human or some sort of artificial intelligence or just horror from beyond the stars?

We don't know yet (and speculating is fun). But one we can say for sure: Dreamer Must Dream OR ELSE.

Now, what does all this has to do with mushrooms?

Ah, Blue Lung Blues reminded me of two things:

Black lung disease also known as anthracosis. BLD, also known as coal workers' pneumoconiosis, or simply black lung, is an occupational type of pneumoconiosis caused by long-term inhalation and deposition of coal dust in the lungs and the consequent lung tissue's reaction to its presence. It is common in coal miners and others who work with coal. It is similar to both silicosis from inhaling silica dust and asbestosis from inhaling asbestos dust. Inhaled coal dust progressively builds up in the lungs and leads to inflammation, fibrosis, and in worse cases, necrosis. In short - NOT FUN AT ALL.

Black mold. Now, black mold is typically referred to two species of mold. First is Aspergillus niger and second is Stachybotrys chartarum. First is know to survive in extreme conditions, including space stations. Second on the other hand is often found in water-damaged buildings. Hard to say anything about water damage at the moment, but A. niger is pathogenic. Aspergillosis is a fungal infection caused by spores of indoor and outdoor Aspergillus mold species. Aspergillosis infection customarily occurs in people with compromised immune systems or pre-existing lung conditions like asthma and cystic fibrosis. Types of aspergillosis include allergic bronchopulmonary aspergillosis (ABPA), allergic aspergillus sinusitis, azole-resistant aspergillus fumigatus, cutaneous (skin) aspergillosis, and chronic pulmonary aspergillosis.

Fungi in the skull and Keep Out sign are kinda concerning in this light, you know.

Also, blue-ish looks can be cause by too much silver. Argentosis turns people blue inside out.

Starsnuff might either be a drug or a band or both. Also I see certainly see a connection to snuff movies. You know, ones where people are supposedly are killed for real on camera? We have a sci-fi horror here, so everything is possible.

[spidey-official]

you ever eat asbestos.

ah. i feel like i shouldn't answer this

[uncaaj]

Fanfic - Trouble on Pack Street CHAPTER 1: What's In the Box? (Zootopia)

PROLOGUE | chapter 1 | CHAPTER 2 | More coming soon...

READ NOW ON AO3!

A fox was waiting inside Judy Hopps’ apartment when she opened the door. The cool evening light from the window shone upon the scarlet tod, who was presently crouched over a cardboard box in the middle of her pitifully small studio. He leaned in and sniffed at it curiously, not even raising his head to see who was at the door.

Normally, Judy would be on the phone to the cops about a home invasion, if not for two facts. One, she was the cops. Two, the invader was dressed in a lime Pawaiian print shirt and tan khakis, the oh so tacky trademark of one Nick Wilde, Judy’s best friend. And he was also the cops.

“Y’know,” said Judy, borrowing some of her mother’s tone, “any other bunny would be wondering why there’s a fox in an apartment that’s not his, sniffing at a mysterious box.”

“I think you kicked that ‘any other bunny’ schtick to the curb long ago, Fluff," said Nick, not breaking eye contact with the box. “And I told you I was comin’.” He jumped to another side of the box, his striped tie waving back and forth with the action.

Judy dug her phone from her pocket and at the top of her notifications, there was the proverbial permit- 

“dropping by, bringing box”

Judy rolled her eyes and dropped her phone into the basket to her left. “I know, ‘been doin’ this since I was a kid.’ Shield your eyes.” She shut the door and flicked on a light switch.

As the fixture above erupted to life, Nick’s tail straightened and he raised his hands to his face. “Oh, curse my nocturnal ways, she blinded me with science!” They shared a laugh between them before Nick’s eyes adjusted to the brightened room and they fell once more upon the box.

Judy sauntered over to what had captured her police partner’s attention so completely. “So what’s in the big, bad box?” she asked.

Nick tapped upon it with his index claw three times. A dull thud sounded that was typical of cardboardus storagus. He leaned his slender frame back as if it would vault into the air and attack them, but it stayed put. “No clue," he said, "Mom dropped it off this morning with a note.”

Nick drew a folded yellow sticky note from his shirt pocket and held it out to Judy, still mesmerized in his gaze. Taking the note, she unfurled it and took in Mrs. Wilde’s charming penmanship:

“Found this while spring cleaning and figured I’d give back what’s yours. ❤️ u, Mom.”

Judy bent down and drew a finger across the top of the box. “And you have no idea what’s in here?” she said, studying the dust bunny born upon it.

“I took all my stuff with me when I moved out. The important stuff, anyway.” Nick took a long, deep sniff of the box and suddenly, his nose crinkled and his eyes watered. He threw his head back and buried it in his elbow with the force of a loud sneeze. “Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat, “I’m allergic to eau du attic- dander, mildew and stale dreams.”

Judy watched the dust bunny float away upon the breeze of the air conditioner. “At least there’s no asbestos,” she remarked before snapping her fingers. “I’ll get a knife and we’ll crack this baby open!”

As she turned away, Nick held out his hand as if to stop traffic. “Ah bu bu buh!”Judy halted in her tracks and turned back to him. “Let’s treat this with some reverence here. I could be revealing a side to Nick Wilde that even he forgot about.” Judy’s foot started to tap upon the floor, the mark of her waning patience. “Besides…” Nick continued, gesturing with his other hand to his pawtips. “Trimmed as they are, these are still nature’s best box cutters.”

Judy huffed and returned to the box. “Does seeing me keel over from suspense give you a weird kick or something?”

Nick’s grin grew wider. “It does. 100%.” With that, he poked his claw through the plastic tape and drew it along the ridge, slicing through with barely any effort. Judy placed her hands on her knees as Nick dug his paw under the box flap and wrenched one open, then the other.

Nick and Judy gasped in unison. Revealed to the pair was a neatly folded forest green shirt with crisp brown buttons. Red embroidery along the top of the chest pocket spelled out “Nicholas Wilde.”

“Is this…?” said Judy lightly.

Nick lifted the shirt out by the collar and as it unfolded itself into full view, it all made sense. Vivid memories from a simpler time were unlocked in his mind, memories of a simpler optimism that was easy to understand, and he was only now gaining back. “Guess I left some kithood heirlooms behind,” he confirmed with a warm, nostalgic smile.

Judy approached slowly and took hold of the sleeve, rubbing the crisp cotton between her fingers. The only creases on the uniform were from the careful folds the shirt had been entombed in, the mark of a uniform only worn once before being packed away along with the associated trauma.

“The way I see it now,” said Nick, a gravity in his voice that didn’t often appear, “I might not’ve met you if I hadn’t gone to that meeting, and Nick from a year ago would slap me silly for saying that. You hear that, Ranger shirt? You found your pack.”

Judy begged her voice not to warble with emotion as she asked, “When did the cynical city fox get to be so sentimental?”

Nick answered her question with a question. “Can I blame you for that too, Carrots?”

Judy wore pride across her face. “You can lock me up for that.”

“Heh, maybe later.” Nick reached into his back pocket and pulled out the kerchief that had made that pocket home. With a twist of his wrist, he reunited the red cloth with the collar it was made for, and laid the shirt gently on Judy’s lilac bedspread. “For now,” he remarked, wiping his paws upon each other, “what say we dig for some treasure?”

Judy had already buried her head in the box, with only half of her ears sticking out of the opening. Nick thought it was super cute, but he wouldn’t say that out loud. “Ooh, CDs!” she exclaimed, pulling her and a stack of plastic cases out. “I haven’t seen these in years!”

“Must be some bands I listened to in school,” said Nick, before smoothing his head fur back and crossing his arms. “I warn you, I was a bad boy.”

Judy sifted through the album covers and confirmed Nick’s statement. “Splashing Pumpkins, Stoat Temple Pilots, Guns ’n Rodents?” Judy said with a chuckle. “I can see the leather and sunglasses now.”

Nick squatted once again to peer into the box as Judy read the back of a CD. “I left the leather behind, Carrots. The sunglasses, though- Whoa!” Alarm bells sounded in Nick’s brain as he spotted a particular CD he’d forgotten about and before he could think rationally, he fell upon the box top, covering the contents from view with his entire torso.

“Nick!” Judy exclaimed at the tod’s extreme and lightning-quick reaction. His eyes were wide and the inside of his ears were tinged with pink. “What are you doing?”

Nick cleared his throat and his calm, cool demeanor returned, eyes half-lidded and smile smug. “Oh, look at the time! Shouldn’t you be in bed, young lady?”

That shifty misdirection used to work on her but practice made perfect her intolerance for it. “Nice try, Slick. What’cha hiding?” She grabbed Nick’s arm and tried to pull him off. The fox was pretending to be an anvil upon the box, and he was just as effective by not budging an inch.

“Nothing,” said, his voice a timbre higher than usual. “Just the usual Dr. Sneuss books. Seen one, seen ‘em all!”

“Very funny. We’re almost done!” Judy grunted, now resorting to pushing Nick off of his perch.

Nick remained as steadfast a lump as he could. “If I tell you, you promise not to laugh?” he said.

Judy was putting her back into it now and could feel her effort being rewarded. “Nick, I promise!”

Nick doubted he could remain for much longer. Judy was beginning to tip him. “A-and you promise I won’t hear about it from Wolford tomorrow?”

“Ranger’s honor,” she strained with a final heave before Nick splayed out onto the floor and the box flipped onto its side with him.

Scrambling up to his knees, he overturned the box upon its spilling contents, hiding them from view. “Don’t play with the Junior Ranger vows, Carrots,” Nick implored, his outstretched finger punctuating his words, “You’re entering solemn territory here.”

Judy groaned half-jokingly. “Nick, I promise you whatever childhood guilty pleasure you’re hiding isn’t worth this, but I’ll guard it with my life, on my badge.”

Nick leaned in towards Judy, eyes narrowing. “Say that again, pretend I’m Chief Buffalo Butt.”

Judy straightened her posture and saluted the fox. “On my badge, sir.”

“Good work, Hopps,” said Nick in his best Chief Bogo voice. She wasn’t going to let this go so it was time to rip the bandage off. With a deep breath in and out, he said in his normal voice, “You win. I’ll tell ya.”

“Yeah? What is it?”

“There was a time, brief, mind you, when I was into…” With a gulp, Nick lifted the box and tossed it to the side to reveal a pile of colorful merchandise. Silence hung between them as Judy watched the pile spread out onto the floor.

There were ticket stubs, three CDs, some teenage magazines and plenty of postcards and posters. The commonality between every item was the same five handsome canines looking at the camera longingly, wearing only the best clothes that deserved to be left in the era they came from. Her eyes shifted around as she took in the sight and her nose twitched. Her mind’s eye was immediately transported back to a certain era long since laid dormant.

“Pack Street Boys?” asked Judy, no discernible tone affecting her voice.

“Yup, Pack Street Boys,” Nick answered in kind. Judy picked up a CD and studied it without a word, turning it over in her hands. The canines were standing in all-white outfits, coral blue streaks emerging from a white ball of light behind them. “Millennium” in a futuristic font graced the center.

The growing gnawing in Nick’s stomach threatened to break his poker face. “…Fluff?”

Judy looked at him, her face unreadable. “That’s all?”

“Uh, yeah, that’s all.”

After a moment, she broke the tension. “That’s actually super cute.” Judy’s face turned into a sly smile as Nick stammered and threw his arms into wild gestures. The bunny giggled, knowing that was far from the reaction he was expecting, and that the fox formerly known as Slick Nick was so rarely tongue-tied like this.

“S-so, I’m not allowed to call you that, but you get a free pass on me?” he exclaimed. “That’s so unfair!”

“It’s a rabbit thing,” she said, cocking her hip and holding out the CD. “I’ll take it back if you tell me how a Fur Fighters kid finds his way to the Pack Street Boys.”

Nick rolled his eyes, snatching it from her. “It wasn’t hard, they were everywhere, but I did have help, Carrots. I…dated a vixen in high school who was super into them and she hooked me in too, not that I let any of my classmates find out.”

“That’s a hustle I’m not even sure you could pull off,” Judy sassed.

Nick leaned in. “And you know this how?”

“Personal experience. In high school. With my sister’s boyfriend.” Judy crouched down to investigate the rest of the merch. “That’s a story for another time.”

Nick hopped up on the bed and set the CD next to him. “Well, Fluff, for some guys, the thin veil of masculinity they project is all they have. Now I’m not saying I'm like your sister’s boyfriend, but I like to keep mine intact-“

Judy squealed as he waved two posters in Nick’s face. The fox yipped and fell  back at the sudden intrusion in his personal space. “You had tour posters?!” she yelled, “Plural?! This is awesome!”

Nick could feel the cold sweat gather along every inch of his back. “Aaaaaand the veil is torn.”

“Dramatic much?” Judy asked, tugging Nick upright and off her bed by his arm. “Liking a boy band is not a crime, Nick. Heck, I was into them back then too.”

Nick rubbed the back of his neck. “You, who they were specifically marketed to?”

“I liked ‘em, foxy!”

Both Nick and Judy startled themselves off their feet at the piercing voice of Judy’s neighbor through the wall. Nick clutched at his heart as Judy tried to catch her breath. “Bucky!” she said, “how…nice of you to join us.”

“Lots of guys like Pack Street Boys! Ask Pronk!”

“I liked 85 Degrees, you dunce!” shouted the other Oryx-Antlerson.

“You say that to be different. I know the truth!” Bucky countered.

“What? That you can’t tell real singers from some pretty boys?”

“Oh, shut up!”

“No, YOU shut up!”

Nick knew he couldn’t hide the flabbergasted sag on his features. A year on the straight and narrow tended to do that to all good small-time con-mammals who relied on masking their true feelings for the sake of the hustle.

He turned to Judy, eyes widening. “And you deal with this every night?”

“At this point, I can’t fall asleep without it.”

“The city’s corrupted you, bunny.”

The two returned to their feet as Bucky and Pronk’s bickering easily slid into the background. “Thanks for sharing that with me, Nick,” said Judy.

“Thanks for not being weird about it,” said Nick, beginning to bring order to the mess they made of the box’s contents. “Interest didn’t last, though, probably just like Pack Street.”

Judy paused. “Huh?”

“Didn’t all those boy bands fizzle out, Fluff?”

Judy took Nick’s arm again and led him to her desk. “Nick Wilde, I’m about to blow your mind.” She ran to her phone and looked up a video on the trip back to her desk. Finding it on ZooTube, she propped the phone upon the desk lamp so they could both see.

Nick’s ear twitched as he read the title of the video: “Pack Street Boys Live DNA Tour Sept 16, 2017.”

“Huh,” he said, eyebrow raised in surprise, “Pack Street’s back, are they?”

“Back?” Judy asked as the crowd on the other side of the phone roared, “They never left!”

+++

Judy and Nick were the last ones into the ZPD’s bullpen the next morning. The harsh fluorescent lighting above them was a stark contrast to the warm welcoming tones of Precinct One’s cavernous atrium lobby, but the lively chatter of all the other officers seated inside more than made up for it.

Judy had a skip in her step as they made their way to the front. “Ready to make the world a better place, partner?” she said.

Nick looked down at her through his mirror aviators. “I’ll tell ya when I reach the bottom of my Snarlbucks.”

“Venti’s for the big guys, Wilde,” came the gruff voice of officer Grizzoli. “Hope I won’t see you bouncing off the walls today.”

“That’s nothing!” said Judy as they took their shared seat in front of the dark-colored podium. “Usually he has a double shot in it.”

Nick gave her a look as Grizzoli and a few other officers laughed as much as they could for how early in the morning it was.

Suddenly, everyone in attendance was drawn to alertness by the cry of officer Higgins. “TEN-HUT!”

The door to the right swung open and Chief Bogo entered the bullpen to the thunderous roars of all officers present. The sturdily-built cape buffalo was dressed in the same crisp blue uniform as his subordinates but carried with him an unshakeable authority that no one else could match. The animalistic shouting and pounding of the desks tapered off somewhat as he stepped behind the podium and set a manilla folder upon it.

“Alright, shut it!” he commanded for good measure, and the officers quieted and returned to their seats. Bogo removed his reading glasses from his collar and set them upon his snout. “For once,” he addressed to his cops, “the city has been rather quiet lately, but don’t take that as an excuse to rest on your laurels. Each of you is a bastion of peace and order in Zootopia, so I expect you all to keep a sharp eye and ear out. Now, assignments…” Bogo opened the folder and took out the first page. “Fangmeyer, Delgato, you’ve got the Rainforest District. Take extra-strength ponchos today. Grizzoli, Snarlov? Tundratown. McHorn and Wolfard, detective Simms has work for you both.” His eyes drew down to the two officers directly opposite him. “Hopps, Wilde?”

Judy straightened her posture and Nick moved his shades to the top of his head, giving the chief their full attention.

“You’ve been specially requested to report to Zootennial Stadium at 0900 for a special assignment.” He rolled his eyes before dragging his next words out. “NDAs are in place per the client’s request, so the details are here for you.” Bogo took the manila folder in his hand and gently tossed it upon their desk. The fox and bunny followed it with curious eyes as it landed in front of them. “If I hear about this from anyone, parking duty for a month. If I hear about it from Clawhauser…” Bogo narrowed his eyes at the two cops in front of him. “I take your badges from your cold, lifeless bodies.”

Nick and Judy shrunk back and gulped simultaneously. Whether or not the chief was serious, they didn’t want to find out.

“Right, that’s all,” the chief concluded. “Hit the streets!”

The reverent silence was immediately replaced by chairs squealing and bodies hustling toward the door, off to their duties for the day.

+++

“Special assignment?” Nick questioned as they made their way across the atrium to the garage. “Wanna bet he’s blowing smoke up our tails?”

“You’ll lose, Nick,” said Judy, sauntering ahead to shoulder the metal door open. “Whoever we’re dealing with really cares about security.”

Nick turned the file over and shrugged as the two approached the cruiser marked Z-240. “Unless it’s the mayor and another city-crumbling conspiracy, I’m not holding my breath.”

Judy hopped in with one effortless jump. “Taking this job seriously isn’t too much to ask, Nick.”

Once inside with doors promptly shut tight, Nick set the file on the center console between them. “That’s what you’re here for,” he said with a grin.

Judy scoffed, sticking her tongue out at him. She grabbed the file with both paws and studied their instructions. “You have been specially requested to be the security detail at an important press conference for the PACK STREET BOYS!” Her voice rose into a high squeal as she read the name and excitement boiled over.

Nick’s face sunk into bewilderment. “Am…am I being punk’d? Are you in on this, Carrots?”

“See for yourself!” Judy slapped the sheet of paper against his chest and balled her fists up in anticipation. “I don’t believe this! We’re actually gonna meet them! This is already the best day ever!”

Nick nodded slowly. Rediscovering a long lost phase of his youth and then working security for the epicenter of that moment in time? What could Nick say about it? “It’s…a day, I’ll give you that much.” Settling his eyes onto the paper, he wondered about their contact while Judy chattered about how her younger self would kick her in jealousy. “Production Manager Ms. Amber Whiting-” Nick read then choked. “WHAT?!”

Judy yelped in surprise. “Nick, what the heck?”

Without addressing her, Nick hastily threw the paper upon the console and pawed around for the provided pictures. He flipped through them frantically until he revealed the soft slender face of an arctic vixen with only the collar of her pantsuit visible. “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle…”

“I’ll…disregard that borderline offensive statement,” Judy dismissed, placing paws on her hips. “What’s got your tail in a twist?”

He slowly turned to face Judy and showed her the photo, his bewilderment turned to resigned shock. “Carrots, you remember that vixen I told you about last night? The one who got me into Pack Street?”

Judy took the photo from him. “Yeah, what about her?”

Nick slumped in his seat. “She’s one of our contacts. She works for ‘em!”

Judy’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. “Oh, wow.”

“Now you see what I’m wrestling with here,” said Nick with a sigh.

Judy peered at her partner, then at the photo once more before placing it back in the file and moving the folder to the dash. “Come on, Nick! Sure, she’s your ex and you probably haven’t seen each other in years, but it won’t be that awkward. I mean, it’s not like you dumped her at the prom or anything, right?” Judy inserted the car key, expecting another trademark Nick snark but when none came, her hand froze where it was.

“Right?” she repeated.

Turning back to Nick, she saw him rubbing the bridge of his nose. He could not hide the guilt across his snout with his usual unbothered demeanor. Judy chuckled in amazement as her paw turned the key on its own. The engine rumbled and roared to life as she too leaned back in her seat. “I can’t believe it.”

“What, Carrots?” Nick asked in a tiny voice. “That fate is a cruel mistress?”

Judy released the parking brake and smirked at Nick, a reflection of his own patented demeanor. “I can’t believe I’m driving you to your funeral.”

Nick loosed a pained groan as Judy pulled out of their space and into the light of the morning.

[firewoodfigs]

any royai headcanons? :)

hi anon!! I'm SO sorry it took me forever to respond, but ah thank you for the ask--this is especially fun now since ao3 is down, much to everyone's dismay!!

I should preface this by saying I've just been writing fic and hardly engaging with canon material LMAO so I unfortunately only have paltry crumbs to offer at this point but there have been so many interesting h/cs going around, and it's always fun to see the fandom coming back to life again :)

some completely random and bizarre royai headcanons (this is more crack than anything else because I have about two brain cells left):

roy is a simp

riza is a simp

roy loves shrimps (and also loves peeling them for riza because he is a simp)

riza forces him to finish his vegetables

they are each other's emergency contacts

they 100% got it on before the promised day. how else could they have been so agile after literally sustaining life-threatening injuries???

roy is a generally reckless driver but drives with extra caution whenever riza is on board as passenger princess bcs that's his precious cargo right there

riza has a nifty collection of his shirts that she routinely wears as PJs (back to point no. 2)

roy has a burgeoning collection of dog toys bcs he was the asian dad who claimed he didn't want a pet but is obviously deeply in love with the dog

riza would make breakfast first for the dog and give roy crumbs and roy would be like aww yea that's fair (also "that's my wife")

riza is secretly an amazing singer and roy is always looking for ways to sneak in karaoke sessions during team bonding activities

but nobody wants to go for karaoke because roy is tone-deaf and deadass cannot sing. when he's drunk he just raps and that gets everyone on their knees begging for mercy

roy was very excited when riza started growing her hair out because he's always dreamed of getting to braid it with his own two hands, yadayada

riza on the other hand adores it when roy rolls his sleeves up

tldr they are both thirsty and in need of something more than a drink or two

riza fell in love first but would sooner die than admit it

riza decided to pick up xingese while in the countryside so that she could listen to the songs and read the poems that roy enjoys in secret

roy on the other hand really loves buying first edition copies of poetry books for riza. i'm sure he's also loaded so no biggie (apart from the possible mesothelioma but honestly first editions are worth inhaling some asbestos or whatever for)

roy's nickname is tailor swift because he's really good at sewing and has made riza more than one dress

roy's black coat is gucci

[mvshortcut]

If this is a weird question, feel free to delete, but in the midst of trying to follow all the Maren/Milk Divorce/Marriage drama lore, I have to ask: why is your nemesis a turkey and how is he (or she or it, does the turkey even have a name? idk...) involved in this? Do you and this particular turkey have a deep complicated backstory of betrayal and hate that has been building to this fight or did you and the turkey just see each other one day and declare yourselves enemies?

I attempted to tell the abridged version of this tale. I really did.

The long and short of it is, despite going to college in a relatively urban environment, I have been haunted and stalked and vexed day and night by a gang of turkeys. Yes, a gang of wild turkeys that live in the city. No, I don't understand it either. They're like oversized pigeons at this point.

The turkeys have been a background presence in my college experience for some time. But, towards the end of last semester, I became aware that the turkeys appeared to be honing in on me specifically.

It started with one turkey, whom I have dubbed Victorian Maiden Turkey because the turkey looks very ill for some reason? very grey and scrawny and rumpled feathers and constantly seems confused about where she is and what is going on. She looks like a fainting waif of a Victorian maiden that needs to be sent to the seaside for her health, where she will magically be cured by the sun and fresh air. (No relation to the fact that she's been moved out of her city home, which is at least composed of 35% asbestos.)

ANYWAYS. so. Victorian Maiden Turkey seemed to like. follow me when I went to class? or at least wait for me? I had a long walk to class, and it was kind of through a residential area, and she'd just be like. hiding out in someone's driveway, staring at me as I walked past? On the way home from class I walked an entirely different route through a different part of town, and she was there too? (I know it's the same turkey because, again, none of the others resemble sickly waifs.) She was literally hiding in the bushes waiting for me to go past. I only noticed her, in fact, because I nearly tripped over her.

This continued for the next couple weeks. I kept running into this turkey, along with a few others, in different parts of town, going to class or the store or on my walks. I spoke to friends and my roommate and none of them reported being tailed by turkeys all over town. Only me. My roommate and my mom both agreed with me that there was only one possible explanation: someone had put out a hit from the turkey mafia on me, and this turkey was sent to scope out the scene and learn my routines, waiting for the best opportunity to strike.

Now, I’m getting nervous because the end of the semester is fast approaching. If these turkeys are gonna make a move, they’re gonna have to do it soon, right? Mentally I’m counting down the days until I can get the hell outta dodge. My days are numbered. And, on top of fearing for my life, I still have to study for finals, since I don’t believe any of my professors will accept “I’m being stalked by the turkey mafia” as an excuse.

Sunday. Last day before finals week begins. Trying to entice myself to push through the home stretch, I grab my picnic blanket, pick up some Chipotle, and bring my work to the park. First big mistake on my part - big open area. No shelter. No witnesses.

Second big mistake: I wear sneakers with laces. I remove my shoes and socks and spread out on my blanket under a tree to better enjoy the warm day. Chekhov is cocking his gun as we speak.

So. As an unsuspecting naive college student, I get straight to work enjoying my Chipotle and ignoring my studying. Then, just as the “ah shit, finals start tomorrow” reality begins to settle in and I finally buckle down on my work, I hear a rustling from over yonder.

Emerging from someone’s driveway and entering the park is—a turkey. Not Victorian Maiden Turkey—he looks entirely too well-fed. In fact he’s a rather hefty-looking fellow. The turkey slowly wends his way over to me; and, as I’ve seen turkeys several times around the city before, I assume we’re cool and proceed to ignore him.

Except—the turkey keeps approaching. We’re gonna call him Turkey Number One. (In the moment, I did not call him “Turkey Number One” for the same reasons that people in the early 1900’s didn’t call The Great War “World War I,” but we’ll get to that later.)

Turkey Number One continues to approach. As he approaches, he gradually becomes larger by puffing himself up. At some moments he simply seems interested in investigating me and my Chipotle and my water bottle. But at other times he begins to make a variety of unhappy turkey noises, but refrains from outright gobbling at me thus far. At this point he’s within 6-10 feet of me. Mildly annoyed—why is this turkey going to act all huffy at me if he’s the one choosing to invade my space? When he has a whole park’s worth of space in which to ignore me?—I stand up, grab my laptop, and make to step away from my blanket for a moment to let the turkey cool off for a moment.

Now, here's where Chekhov begins to chuckle ominously at me from the audience. Remember how I took my shoes off earlier? Well, as I now discover, the tree above me produces some rather sharp variety of seeds, which will easily stab the bottom of my feet if I attempt to step on them without shoes. The whole ground is covered in these seeds.

Not a problem, right? 

Think again, Milk. The turkey is impatient and unhappy with me bending down to tie my shoes. As soon as I stoop down, he begins to approach my blanket, gobbling furiously at full volume and fluffing up his feathers. He backs off when I stand up, but every time I attempt to bend to put my shoes on, he resumes his approach.

Okay. This is fine. It’s gonna be just fine. I mean, I’m actively texting good-byes to my friends and mother and roommate, but it’s gonna work out just fine.

And to be honest? It does. Turkey #1 and I go back and forth for a few minutes. He begins to calm down, seems unsure of whether to perform a mating dance at my water bottle or not. Eventually he decides against it and takes his leave and I, with a sigh of relief, resume studying, thinking that the ordeal is over.

The ordeal is not over.

About an hour later, Turkey Number 1 returns from a different angle of the park. And—he’s brought his girlfriend this time, Turkey Number 2! (She is also well-fed and bears no relation to Victorian Maiden Turkey.) I’m still unclear as to whether Turkey Number 1 wanted me to meet his girlfriend, or if he thought I was encroaching on his territory/relationship and was like, “See? I have a girlfriend, man! Back off!” yada yada.

All in all, the second wave goes rather smoothly. Turkey Number 1 is all puff and no bite. Turkey Number 2 is visibly embarrassed by the antics of her boyfriend’s posturing (I’m not a bird behavioral expert but I recognize The Expression. It is universal). She occupies herself with eating seeds for a few minutes, I have some more Chipotle, Turkey Number 1 gradually cools off—it’s nice. After a moment Turkeys Number 1 and 2 exit the park and I, once again, return to my studying.

Lulled into a false sense of security by the last turkey visit, I don’t bat an eye when Turkeys Number 1 and 2 return to the park an hour later. They were fine last time, right? No big deal.

Then, over the horizon, a challenger approaches.

At long last, my friends, allow me to introduce you to my nemesis. Turkey Number 3 is the largest turkey I’ve seen in my life, though I believe he’s at least 80% ruffled feathers and air. And he is mad.

To be perfectly honest I’m still not sure what he was mad at. I believe it was a combination of 1.) mad at Turkey 1 for having a girlfriend he wanted, 2.) mad at me for invading what I now realize is clearly His Park, or 3.) mad at me for being a potential challenger for Turkey 2, which. Isn’t actually his girlfriend. She’s Turkey 1’s girlfriend. But it’s whatever, yknow? 

(My mom has offered a potential fourth explanation, which is that Turkey 3 viewed ME as a potential turkey girlfriend, despite the fact that I am neither a girl nor a girlfriend nor a turkey nor a turkey girlfriend, or any combination of these. My mother believes he was attempting to woo me through impressive displays of force. I have henceforth refused to entertain my mother’s suggestion for my own sanity.)

So. Despite attempting to rationally and calmly explain to Turkey 3, my soon-to-be nemesis, that I am not interested in stealing anyone’s turkey girlfriend, he refuses to be placated. He puffs up larger than I thought possible for a turkey and charges directly at my blanket. Not only does he make deafening enraged gobbling noises that can certainly be heard halfway across the city, he also emits a variety of enraged puffing and huffing and squawking noises. Did you guys know that turkeys can extend all of their feathers at once, creating a “blast-off” sound effect that simultaneously propels them forwards? Neat, right? I didn’t know that either! 

Now I do.

Having failed on Potential Reason Turkey Is Mad Number 3, I move to Potential Reason Turkey is Mad Number Two. I attempt to explain, again calmly and rationally, that if the turkey will just allow me a moment to put on my shoes so I don’t stab my feet on the seeds and roll up my blanket, I will gladly vacate his park. 

Despite clearly wanting me to leave, Turkey 3 resists my each and every attempt to do so. He maintains a respectful 6-foot social distancing if I remain standing. The second I bend down and reach for my shoes, however, he puffs and gobbles and charges at me. And so I straighten up, my nemesis backs off, and the cycle repeats. 

Friends. My absolute bastard of a newfound nemesis holds me hostage there for thirty minutes like this. And he’s good at it, too. Sometimes he’ll give me false hope too, wander off to fight Turkey Number 1 for his girlfriend’s hand/wing (said girlfriend is still munching seeds off the ground, clearly disgusted with them both.) I’ll take advantage of his distraction, bend down and reach for my shoes—and my nemesis will come charging out from behind a tree or materialize out of thin air, squawking and gobbling and puffing with the force of a thousand suns. (I still have no idea how he knew when I was reaching for my shoes. He must’ve had some ingrained sort of nemesis-sense.)

Now, you might be asking, Milk, how on earth did you escape? Did you pull off some clever and daring maneuver? No. It was because someone else happened to be stupider than I was. 

We’ll call him Baseball Cap Guy. Baseball Cap Guy enters the park, sees the turkeys, and decides it’s a really smart idea to attempt to PET Turkey Number Two on the head.

That went about as well as you would expect. 

Turkey Numbers 1 and 3 immediately put aside their differences to tag team Baseball Cap Guy. Inspirational, really. Turkey Number 2 resumes eating berries and seeds, supremely unbothered and supremely disgusted.

And I, Milk, take advantage of the commotion to jam my shoes onto my feet, snatch up my blanket, and hightail it out of the park. I use the remaining 5% of my battery to inform my mother and friends and roommate that I have not, in fact, been murdered by the turkey mafia. Then I made straight for home, hoping against hope that Victorian Maiden Turkey wasn’t tailing me or hiding behind a bush waiting to trip me and suchlike.

Now, it would be easy to think that the Baseball Cap Guy was an absolute idiot for trying to pet a wild turkey. I’m not saying that’s an incorrect conclusion. However, there was a point during the first wave where Turkey Number One was approached by an older lady on her afternoon power walk. I was hoping against hope I wasn’t about to watch a sweet old lady get mauled by a turkey. She, delighted, whips open her phone and begins to coo—actually coo— at the bird like she’s his auntie, like ohh, what a handsome little man you are! Your feathers are so soft—and how puffy you are, mister! and all that.

And—Turkey Number 1 absolutely eats that up. He struts back and forth, posing for her and clucking at her and letting her take her fill of photos for a solid 5 minutes.

So. My current hypothesis is that there is a Continuum of Turkey Vibes, ranging from Old Lady (preen for photoshoot) to Milk (???) to Baseball Cap Guy (attack on sight).

And uh. That’s the story, folks. I survived finals, returned home unscathed, and have spent the summer anticipating a rematch. I’ve also spent some time reflecting—it’s strange, having a nemesis. I’ve always wanted a nemesis. I didn’t quite picture them as a turkey, per say, but for some reason it just feels right, yknow? I think we’re compatible. I both dread and oddly look forward to our next meeting.

You’ll be pleased to know that the first thing I did upon returning to school this fall was go back to the park, ya know, like a fool. The first trip was pretty quiet. I introduced Turkey Number Two and some of her besties to my mom. I went back once to study at the park. That time, I met no less than 12 turkeys, many of which were little turklings. I think I introduced them to my mom, so I get to meet the family now? Unsure. Anyways. 

I also witnessed a man, with a golden retriever and a turkey sitting side-by-side in front of him. The man tossed dog treats one after another to the golden retriever and to the turkey. (Spoiler alert: this one ended with a pack of five turkeys chasing the man and his dog down the street once he ran out of treats.)

Fun fact! Did you know turkeys can fly? No, really—not just “hold themselves aloft for short distances” but like “fly up into extremely tall trees, making a colossal ruckus as they beat their wings rapidly and gobble and yell?”

Anyways, once it was growing quite dark and impossible to make out anything other than the silhouettes of no less than five gigantic birds looming high in the branches above me, ready to launch themselves directly on top of my head at a moment’s notice, I decided it was time to exit the park for the evening.

I still haven’t run into my nemesis yet. That’s okay—I think I’m beginning to infiltrate the turkey ranks a bit. And I know he hasn’t forgotten about me. He’s just out there, biding his time.

Please admire these photographs of my nemesis as well as his magnificent ass. Thank you for your time.

[sayitalianolearns]

Diary entry 665

오늘 아침은 꿈을 꾸고 있었는데 이 꿈에서 늦어라고 생각했고 시간을 보기 위해 일어났엉요. 난 진짜 미쳤나 봐요. 그리고 늦지 않았어요… 6시 45분이었어요. 8시에 일어나야 했어요. 진짜… 날씨가 좋아요. 운동한 다음에 일광욕을 했어요 조금.

song of the day

random/p.s./italian

oggi due cose simpatiche: 1- furgoncino parcheggiato tutto zozzo e pieno di terra; sul lunotto posteriore qualcuno ha scritto: "lavami please!!" come da tradizione. risposta del proprietario: "al momento non mi interessa". mi ha fatto molto ridere.

2- cerco di eliminare un po' di email-spam. arrivo a una e mi chiedo "ma io perché mi sono iscritta a questa newsletter?" leggo la riga sotto <uni en iso..., malattie asbesto...> "ah già, la mia scorsa vita".

[professionallyhomosexual]

Working on some Spooneater & Asbestos Hands art. Proportions hate me :(

[mousegard]

in the latest aria chapter, we find out what happens when you teach fucked up unethical spells to a magical girl's girlfriend!

also edelgard gets a smartphone and picks up a new hobby

Episode 3: Mirror Darkly

Hibiki and Miku adjust to new circumstances. Millaarc worries for her family. Edelgard picks up a new hobby. Kronya seeks revenge.

That was Dorothea’s cue to laugh. “Please, Hubie, you’re not still embarrassed, are you? Edie thinks your songs are delightful.” “Oh, please.” “No, she does! I asked her the other day. She even says they’re ‘cool.’” “Hmph.” “Anyway, doesn’t Bikky sound a lot like Edie?” “Their voices couldn’t be more different.” “I mean besides that, and you know it. I just wonder if… maybe Edie looks at her and wonders.” “Wonders what?” “What she might’ve been like if not for…” Dorothea made an aimless gesture with her hand. “The war, the Flame Emperor, Those Who Slither in the Dark.” “Who knows? It’s futile to dwell on such things as lives that could have been. What would Lady Edelgard’s life be like if she had grown up like Miss Tachibana? One might as well wonder what my life would have been like had I been born a daughter of House Vestra.” “Oh… if you had, you might’ve ended up something like poor Miku.” Heidrun couldn’t help but chuckle at least a little at the mental image of Tachibana Hibiki as Edelgard and Kohinata Miku as herself—she had certainly seen the same on that night the girl had come up to her and meekly asked her for magic lessons. They both had their suns, radiant and scorching, and the burdens of their own powerlessness weighing heavy on their shoulders. She crossed her arms over her chest. “And what do you mean by that, pray tell? Ah, I believe I recall your exact words—‘Just another servant suffering from unrequited love for their mistress?’” “And I don’t think Bikky even realizes it,” Dorothea sighed, craning her neck and lifting her gaze skyward. “Well?” she asked. “Well, what?” “Bikky’s your comrade! Aren’t you going to come to her poor friend’s defense? Say something like, ‘ah, how dare you imply I would think of her as nothing but a drooling simpleton plagued with unrequited love?’” “Why would I?” Heidrun asked. “You’re slipping, Dorothea. Your insults are becoming less coherent. I fear it might be something in this world’s atmosphere—lead, or asbestos, or microplastics.”

[untitledbandcomic]

UBC#2 - Paid in Exposure (to Asbestos)

{ID - six panel comic titled, 'UBC#2 - Paid in Exposure (to Asbestos)', featuring four characters (Laurie, Kaz, J and KC). Full ID under cut. END ID}

we're not talking about the month between these pages. i said low comittment for a reason. anyway if this happens to you IRL you run ok? yea.

Full ID: Six panel comic featuring Laurie Alistair, Kaz, J and KC, all located within a dingy, run-down club (Dreamscape).

J laughs bashfully and says, "So, uh... When I said this was a new venue... heh." Laurie stares back at J, fingers steepled as he processes. "SO. Let me clarify: You spent ALL your funds on a sign." He points both hands at J and closes his eyes, almost looking like he's praying. In the background, Kaz has stepped in something brown and sticky. They cry out, "LAURIEEE I'm gonna DIE here"

Laurie continues: "And you want Kaz to recoup the costs with a show... tomorrow..." He gestures around to the room, finally snapping slightly and looking stunned and slightly terrified. "HERE?!" J tries to respond, "It'll look BRAND NEW by tomorrow, trust me!"

KC enters the club carrying a large cardboard box. He looks oblivious to the conversation, and carries on a long, loud, non-stop monologue as he enters: "Hey J Babe Where D'You Want The Mould Remover They Didn't Have Enough So I Had To Go To Two Different Stores Your Change's In The Thingy In The Car OH. Also I Think That Maybe That Plumber Was A Crook Because The-" KC finally notices the newcomers and cuts himself off to greet them brightly: "Ah! You guys are the performers, right? Hi! I'm KC!"

END ID

Character Descriptions:

Laurie Alistair (he/she/they) is a tall, broad-shouldered white person with long ginger and grey hair in a ponytail. He has green-grey eyes and thick eyebrows. Here, he wears a brown suit with a matching tie, and a single green earring that dangles from his right ear.

Kaz (she/they) is a short, fat black person with a lavender buzzcut. She has teal eyes and vitiligio in patches over her eyes, top lip, each side of her neck and on her underarms. Here, she wears a short sleeved red leather jacket and matching boots. She wears red headphones with antennae on the cups.

J (he/him) is a tall, thin mixed man with ginger hair under a green beanie, and a matching ginger goatee. He has blue eyes. Here, he wears a tight fit navy turtleneck. He also has a silver ball tongue piercing.

KC (he/him) is a short, muscled white person with white blonde hair cut into a fluffy mullet, with two larger spikes that look like cat ears. He has hazel eyes. Here, he wears a red tracksuit with gold accents, black biker shorts, and a blue vest. He also wears a matching red sweatband.

[aidenlyons]

Aiden doesn't have a whole lot to move in, just a few boxes really. The rest of his furniture won't be delivered until the next day. But he can at least show Tony his new place.

A: Thanks for helping me.

T: What're friends for? This place is pretty sweet. The light is amazing.

A: That's what sold me on it.

T: I hope you're happy here, despite.. everything.

A: I will be.

A: Besides, if it gets to be too much, I'll just crash with you for a few days.

T: Damn straight. I'll make sure to get a sofa with a bed, just in case.

A: Just make sure it's somewhat comfortable, huh?

T: Nah, I'm gonna make you sleep on a lumpy mattress.

T: Seriously, you good?

A: I'm going to be. It's the next chapter. I gotta see where it takes me.

T: Ok. I'm just a phone call away.

A: I know. Go on, get out of here, you'll miss your bus.

A: Call me when you get settled in San Myshuno.

T: I will. Alright, no chick flick moments. Good luck, Aiden.

A: Ok, ok. You too.

With that, Tony returns home for a few days before her own move and Aiden is left to unpack and hopefully meet the rest of his housemates.

It doesn't take long for Aiden to meet some of his new neighbors. The first he meets is Alfonso Wolff who is probably around his age.

"Hey man, I'm Alfonso. My boyfriend and I are at the end of the hall, furthest from you. And speaking of..."

Alfonso introduces him to his boyfriend, Skylar Kilgore. Clearly protective over his boyfriend, but polite.

"Nice to meet you, Aiden. Welcome to the house. Al and I have been here for a year. Jayce is a good landlord, don't worry."

The next one to introduce himself is Kory Saavedra.

"So you're Aiden."

He's a bit unfriendly and for a minute Aiden doesn't understand.

"I'm Kory. I'm on the football team with your ex. Shitty thing you did, man."

Ah. That explains it. Guess Jake needed someone to talk to.

A: I thought football players had to stay in the dorms?

K: That's just first years. Besides, me and my roommate's dorm got shut down. Asbestos or some shit. School put us up here.

A: ... Oh. Sorry.

Aiden clearly isn't going to get along with Kory.

Al: Ah-hah. Sorry, Kory's kinda intense. Think we're just missing Jarod.. in the middle room. Has some job with computers. We don't see much of them.

A: I'll keep that in mind, and I'll try not to annoy any of you.. I'm a pretty quiet person myself, and I'm kind of an artist.

S: Al, you forgot about Kory's roommate, Elias.

Elias? Surely that's a coincidence? Not the Elias that Aiden knows?

A: Elias? Not Elias Anderson?

S: Yeah, you know 'im?

A: Weirdly, yeah. I went to high school with him. He used to live in my apartment building. Small world.

And of course there's Jayce Lockett, their landlord and owner of the house. A firefighter, he keeps an odd schedule and is often gone for days at a time, but they all have his phone number to leave him a message if need be.

Aiden has difficulty in new places. The new sounds, sights. He wakes before dawn the first full night after his furniture is delivered, and stares at his old couch, wondering...

"I hope Jake is sleeping well."

[william-murderface]

CYAN YOU TAKE MEEEEE HIIIIGHERRR🗣️‼️🥵😤

(I’m sorry, the asbestos hasn’t hit my lungs yet)

Ah, I see someone also has an excellent taste in music!!!