#anyways I gotta go buy some more post-its and such

[niconiconwo]

If someone brought me out I'd demand a coffee date at Staples or OfficeDepot.

My best bro and I used to get shitfaced in the parking lot of a HomeDepot and then wander around looking at fixtures and appliances. It's shit like that is the best time, fuck restaurants and overrated bullshit like that.

[aeide-thea]

poäng appreciation post 💛

[dzozef]

depression so bad it got my dad who doesnt believe in mental health telling me that i should go back to therapy

[bibleofficial]

didn’t see her movie but she so me

[farfromstrange]

Weed Cookies | Matt Murdock x F!Reader

PART 3 of The Vault

See this post for more information on my Valentine's Day Special & Follower Celebration, but these fics can be read separately!

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Karen receives a box of cookies from one of their clients. Foggy and Matt take a bite. Even with his heightened senses though, Matt doesn't realize what's wrong with the cookies before he's absolutely wasted, and you have to babysit him. Yes, they were edibles.

Warnings: Fluff, faint hints at S3 depressed!Matt and suicidal ideations, attempt at humor, crack fic, accidental drug use, for the sake of this fic we are going to pretend that the edibles were made well enough for Mister I-Know-Everything to miss it

Word Count: 3.4k

A/n: I wrote this after watching the episode of Grey's Anatomy with the Weed Cookies. I took some behaviorisms from my own experiences and exaggerated them a little to fit the vibe of this fic. I scraped parts of this and once again adjusted them because this was even more poorly written before than it is now, and I added the Nelson, Murdock & Page Season 3 narrative again because that's now the running theme of this event. Anyway, if you choose to consume edibles, stay safe! (Also, I'm just copying and pasting my usual tag lists. if anyone wants to be added for this event, do let me know)

“We just got cookies from Ms. Lebowsky next door,” Karen announces happily when she enters the office, balancing the transparent Tupperware in one hand and her handbag in the other. 

“She told me to thank you for helping her get out of that hellhole,” she says. Her eyes crinkle in the corners as a mischievous grin takes over her face. “There’s plenty for all four of us. Although she did mention Matt a few more times.”

“Ms. Lebowsky?” Foggy asks. He stands in the doorway of his office, holding a freshly brewed coffee. “Isn’t she the elderly lady we helped last week?”

“Yeah, that’s her. I think she has a crush on Matt.” 

He rolls his eyes. “Of course, she does. Who doesn’t? Not that I do, but—well, you get the gist.” The blood rushes to his cheeks, and Karen giggles in response.

From the office on the left, Matt’s voice rings out, “We just did our jobs,” he says. “She made us cookies, dude!” Foggy inspects the box on Karen’s desk. “They’re chocolate chip cookies. Our favorite. See what good looks can buy you?”

Matt chuckles, his fingers tracing the Braille indentations in the documents that are starting to form a mountain before him. “I think we got them because we’re good lawyers, Foggy.”

“Yeah, right. No way! That woman was smitten the second she came in. I really gotta get that blind thing going. I mean, she’s way too old for you, but come on! You’re in a serious committed relationship, and women still come piling at your door. It’s not fair.”

The way he whines like a little kid who has just been denied his favorite candy makes Karen laugh at his antics, and even Matt can’t help but join in. No matter how stressed he is, and how badly he wants to focus, Foggy never fails to lighten the mood.

Ever since moving offices, things have been going well for the trio. 

When Matt met you, he was at his lowest. You helped him climb out of a dark hole that was threatening to swallow him whole after losing Elektra and almost losing everything he worked so hard for to Wilson Fisk. Thanks to you, he found the will to fight again. You brought him back to life.

He wanted to die. He hated himself for the longest time after the building collapsed and forever took the first woman he ever loved down with its ruins, but then you came into his life, and you didn’t care about his baggage. You were far too good for him, but that didn’t matter to you. 

He fell for you hard and fast, and maybe the timing was a little off because what he needed was therapy and not someone new to get attached to. Still, if you hadn’t pulled him back to his feet and encouraged him to fight back against Fisk, saving his friendship with the people he cares most about in the process, he would have never made it far enough to get therapy.

Matt trusts you with his life because he feels like he owes it to you, but he also loves you more than anything. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to him. You’re his soulmate, and he couldn’t be happier.

Nelson & Murdock added Karen to their permanent repertoire. With her, things are flowing much more smoothly, and they’re actually making money now. They’re expensive, as Foggy likes to say it. Matt’s friends are just as happy as he is, giving him hope for the future.

“Hey,” Foggy snaps him out of his trance, “Earth to Murdock.”

Matt blinks behind his glasses, his fingers halting their frantic movements along the paper. “While I don’t disagree with what you’re saying,” he says, “please don’t let my girlfriend hear you say that women are piling at my door.”

Karen snorts. “Trust me, Matt. She knows,” she says.

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t remind her of that.”

“My lips are sealed. Foggy?”

He sighs, once again dramatically. “As long as you don’t sleep with them, you have nothing to fear, my friend.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” says Matt. “The one I’m sleeping with is incomparable.”

Foggy grimaces. “Oh, dude. Gross! You know, God made conscious thought as a mechanism for humans to know when to shut up.”

“To be fair, ninety percent of the population don’t know how to use that mechanism,” Karen jumps to Matt’s defense.

As he laughs, he takes a whiff of the air surrounding their new baked goods. Matt can smell the sweet chocolate of the cookies, and somewhat of a herbal essence, but he can’t quite pinpoint why the scent seems so familiar. 

Karen walks around her desk to drop her bag and her coat. “So, do guys want a cookie?” she asks, swiftly changing the subject.

“I’ll take one,” Foggy is quick to answer.

Matt nods from his desk. “I’ll try one, too.”

The innocent decision to indulge in a sweet treat soon comes back to bite them in the ass though. Heavily.

When Matt first bit into the cookie, he didn’t think there was anything wrong with it. It tasted like chocolate mixed with basil, sugar, honey, and the kind of flour Ms. Lebowsky used, but he didn’t find much else wrong with it. Perhaps if he hadn’t allowed himself to get distracted by his phone calling out your name and the sweetest text he could have possibly received this early in the morning from the love of his life, he would have noticed that something tasted off about these cookies. And that what he believed to have been basil as a secret ingredient was something else entirely.

When lunchtime finally rolls around, you drop everything you were doing before and make your way to Matt’s office. You always spend lunch together. It’s your favorite time of the day. For an hour, you can forget the stress of your workplace and focus on him. He’s your safe haven. Your home. You crave to memorize his features anew every day so that you will have something to carry around with you when he has to work a bit longer, or when he goes out at night and his Daredevil duties drag on beyond what he planned. 

You need to be with him as much as possible because you’re scared that your happiness will shatter on a white cloth, and you will be forced to move on—you can’t imagine losing him. You dedicated your life to loving him, and the thought of ever losing that privilege kills you. 

On your way out, your phone vibrates in your pocket. You smile, thinking that it’s Matt, but when Karen’s number pops up on your screen, you frown. 

‘We have a problem,’ she texted you. Without context. 

All the alarms in your head start blaring, and you start to walk a little faster. You start imagining all possible scenarios. When you ask Karen what’s going on, she doesn’t even reply. What if someone got hurt? What if something happened to Matt? You almost lost him once; you can’t go through that again. 

You burst into the new office space that your friends share a few minutes later, your chest heaving and sweat dripping down your pulsating temples. You’re ready to fight whoever dared to hurt the man you love, or possibly threaten your friends, or both, but when you look up and see your darling boyfriend with his cheek pressed against one of the leaves on their gigantic office plant as if the overgrown Calathea were the coziest pillow he has ever touched, you understand why Karen texted you that you—both you and her—have a problem. A big one, too, judging by the looks of it.

“What is going on here?” you ask the dreaded question, shutting the door behind you.

Only then do you notice Karen to your right in Foggy’s office, trying to get him off of his office chair. He’s belting the chorus of Defying Gravity at the top of his lungs, and he’s got a broom clutched tightly in his right hand.

Oh boy. Your wide eyes drift to Karen’s desk in the middle of the room. As soon as you see the chocolate cookies inside the Tupperware, it slowly begins to dawn on you.

You’re not sure which is worse: Matt cradling a houseplant with his glasses discarded and the first three buttons of his dress shirt undone as he’s coated in sweat, or Foggy singing one of Broadway’s greatest ballads so off-key that the Calathea is starting to wither.

It takes Matt much longer than usual to sense your presence in the room. He calls your name, and his lips curl into a bright grin. Even completely out of it, he looks like an angel on earth. 

“Matthew,” you say. You approach him like you would approach a little kid. He’s on his knees, so the analogy isn’t far off. 

“Hi, honey. What’s going on?”

“Sweetheart,” he greets you, and you have never heard this man sound so relaxed. His hazel eyes are red-rimmed and glazed over, but the most obvious change lies in his behavior. 

“Feel that.” He reaches for your hand when you’re close enough for him to smell you, but he misses. “Where are you?” Matt pouts. “I can’t see.”

You want to laugh, but this is not the time. “You are blind, baby,” you remind him. 

“Since when?”

“Over twenty years.”

“Oh.” He finally gets a hold of your hand. The conversation seems to go right over his head. “Feel the power of nature,” he tells you. “It’s so soft.”

You want to drag him away from the potentially dangerous plant if he decides to eat it, but the sight of him is one to behold. He looks downright adorable. 

You have to focus though. You gently pat his hand. “Maybe later,” you say, and then you make your way to Karen’s desk to inspect the cookies.

Behind you, she calls your name. You twirl around. From the looks of it, she managed to get Foggy down from his chair, but he remains singing at the top of his lungs. All the signs point to one thing, and one thing only.

“Did you give my boyfriend weed cookies?” you sound a lot more condescending than you planned to. 

Karen shakes her head. Her face is pale, and she looks just as panicked as you do. “Those are not mine,” she says. 

“But you knew they were edibles?!”

“Of course, I didn’t! I started questioning it when Matt started cuddling the plant because his Braille felt like boobs and he didn't want to cheat on you, so he decided that he needed to touch some grass.” She points to him, exasperated. As if on cue, Matt lets out a happy little sigh.

Your brain struggles to process all of the information at once. “I’m sorry, what?”

“He said that his Braille feels like boobs. I don’t know! I thought he was messing with me until Foggy turned into Elphaba, and that’s when I took a bite and realized there was weed in them,” she says.

You groan, your worried eyes momentarily flicking back to your high boyfriend. High. That’s not a word you thought you would ever associate with him. “How did this happen?” you ask.

“Ms. Lebowsky, the lady next door, we helped her out the other day, and this morning, she gave me these cookies. I called her when these two started acting like idiots—more than usual, anyway. Turns out, she confused them with the ones her niece made for her birthday party tomorrow.”

“Her niece made edibles for her birthday party?”

“Please, don’t ask. I don’t have all the details. I just–”

“It’s fine,” you cut her off. “Just tell me that you’ve got Foggy under control.”

Karen peeks in through the window to his office. “More or less, yeah. You’ve got Matt?”

“Yeah, I’ve got him.”

You have to take care of him. He’s your responsibility. But as calm as he is right now, his heightened senses make the situation a lot more complex than the mere accidental consumption of edibles.

Walking over to him, you try to haul him up. He protests, at first, but then he feels the fabric of your shirt, and he slacks.

Matt wraps his arms around you, burying his face in your neck. “You’re so soft,” he coos. “You smell like honey.”

With his entire weight on you, you have to widen your stance so you won’t fall over. His usually quick reflexes are nonexistent right now; he won’t be able to catch you if you trip, and then you’re both going to get hurt.

“You know what’s even softer?” you ask.

“The plant,” he answers confidently. He sounds like a more careless version of himself. You can’t deny that it does something to you.

“No, silly,” you chuckle softly, “I meant your bed.”

“Oh. But I’m not tired.”

“You’re high.”

He pouts. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.” You stroke his back. “It’s okay. I’m not mad at you.”

He stiffens and relaxes at the same time. You swear you can feel the electricity in his veins as his nerves respond to the feeling of your skin on his. It’s like he’s on fire. Like your touch feels a million times more intense, and he’s being crushed under the weight of it in a way that makes him crave more. 

He squeezes you tighter, trying to get swallowed by you, consumed to the point that you are the same person. The drugs are doing a number on him, and his already heightened sense of feeling has increased tenfold to the point you’re not sure if it’s pleasurable or painful or both. It must be agonizing, yet at the same time there is a high chance that the weed is calming his nerves and dampening his perception to the point he’s taking everything in without the added weight—he’s enjoying the newfound sensations in limbo, and he’s unaffected by it. You wonder how long that is going to last. 

After bidding farewell to Karen, wishing her good luck with Foggy who has now reached a point of his high where he’s lying on the floor, demanding to listen to Bohemian Rhapsody and cry over Freddie Mercury. She assures you that she has got it under control, apologizes again, and then sends you on your way.

“Bye, Karen,” Matt says. “You have very nice hair.” His hand tangles in yours, and his face lights up like a Christmas Tree. You managed to convince him to put his glasses on, at least, or he might get irritated. “Never mind,” his voice turns into a pur. 

Usually, you would shiver at his fingers in your hair, tracing the strands and sensually massaging your scalp only he knows how to, but today is not one of those days. You’re still concerned about the effects that the weed might have on him, so you want to be careful, although you’re not sure how much longer you can keep yourself from laughing. 

As you maneuver Matt through the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, his cane hovers above the ground and his arm is hooked around yours. Without you, he would have run off into traffic by now. He has absolutely no spatial awareness anymore. 

Every sound, scent, and texture seems to capture his attention, but there's one sensation in particular that he can't seem to shake: thirst. You’re not even home yet, and you had to stop by a convenience store to get him a bottle of water. He shed his coat, which you are now carrying for him while also guiding him while simultaneously trying not to attract any unwanted attention. 

You can’t help but look at him as though he is your whole world. He is. He is everything to you, even high on edibles he never meant to consume, and acting like a feral toddler. If anything, you are even prouder now that he is yours. 

“Hey,” he whispers, leaning close to you, “do you think fire hydrants taste like licorice?”

You shake your head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Matt, don’t lick the fire hydrant.” 

He pouts. For a moment, you think that you have steered off any possible disaster, but that was only wishful thinking.

Matt’s curiosity knows no bounds, and he’s soon reaching out to touch anything that catches his eye. He runs his fingers along the rough brick foundation of a building, marveling at the texture, and he stops to sniff a flower, declaring, “This is the most beautiful flower I have ever smelled.”

You pluck it for him, and he carries it in the pocket of his coat with a happy smile. 

You’re both exhausted when you finally make it to his apartment. Getting his large frame through the door is one thing, stopping him from tearing the tap off the sink as he desperately searches for liquid with the words, “Water!” is another.

“Okay, okay,” you try to calm him. You grab a bottle from the fridge, open it for him, and force him to take it. “Drink.”

One touch is enough for him to drop it. “It’s cold,” he recoils in agony.

You sigh. “Tap water it is, then.”

You have never seen him down so many glasses of water. He is severely dehydrated and sensitive to changes in temperature. It’s either too hot or too cold, and you’re so glad that Karen texted you when she did.

You manage to get him to the couch with some snacks that he devours within seconds. If he moves one more inch today, you may not be able to catch him again.

His lip twitches. “Chickens don’t have any arms.”

You pause in the process of wrapping him in a blanket, staring blankly ahead at him. “Excuse me?” you ask.

“Chickens don’t have any arms,” Matt states. “Every American citizen has the right to bear arms under the second amendment in the constitution. If an egg was fertilized on US soil, and the chicken hatched there as well, technically, that makes them a citizen of the United States of America, therefore allowing tiny creatures without arms the right to bear arms, but who gives the bears their arms?” 

You’re so flabbergasted that the absurdity of the situation eludes you. The words process only slowly in your mind, and when they do, they cause a wave of confusion to wash over you before it turns into genuine amusement, and it takes every ounce of self-control to keep yourself from laughing at him.

You can pinpoint the exact second the thought escapes his mind and something else replaces it. His hand brushes over the leather couch. “Smooth,” he observes. You haven’t even fully processed his very philosophical question about the animal kingdom before he drops his cheek down on the couch.

The man who has been carrying the weight of the world in bricks on his back for years is finally relaxed; it shouldn’t leave such a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

You kneel in front of him, reaching out to touch his cheek. “Do you need anything?” you ask.

Matt’s gaze is filled with an odd sort of clarity. “Nah. Just you,” he mumbles.

A soft smile tugs at your lips as you brush a sweaty strand of hair away from his forehead. "I'm right here," you reassure him. 

He nods, his eyelids drooping as the effects of the edibles start to take their toll. “Good.” He searches for your hand, and you help him intertwine your fingers. A giddy smile finds its way onto his face. “You’re warm.”

You lean in to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “And you’re high,” you tease.

Matt huffs out a breathy laugh. “Mmh, yeah,” he says. “But it’s okay. ‘Cause you’re here.”

Despite the chaos and the unexpected turn of events, there’s a sense of contentment settling over you as you watch him drift off into a state of bliss. He deserves it more than anyone. 

You stay by his side, watching over him as he succumbs to the pull of sleep that you’re all too familiar with after a sudden high. 

“Note to self,” you say to yourself, “never eat a stranger’s cookies without drug testing them first.”

And love has funny ways of making even the most absurd moments feel strangely beautiful.

Matt Murdock Tag List: @littlenerdyravenclaw @yarrystyleeza @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @thatonegamefish @norestfortheshelbywicked @mattkinsella @itwasthereaminuteago @linamarr @gpenguin666 @acharliecoxedfan

[arcadia-of-pluto]

Twist of Fate; Chapter Eleven

Parings; LADS OT4 x reader

Word count; 2,728

Rating; 18+ for mature content and swearing

Themes; isekai, eventual smut

Notes; It's finally ToF weekend!! I'm posting this a little later than usual since I posted a one-shot today as well. Also, I think I'm going to try and cap out my chapters well before the 7k mark. If I go higher than that, I worried Tumblr will get too laggy and I won't be able to edit the chapter with italics and bold like I usually do. I'll also be making a main masterlist soon once I've written some more one-shots. I'll try to work on them in-between ToF and maybe post them during the week, I just got a little too excited today and posted my one-shot instead of waiting until the week 😭 but I have a three day weekend so I'll be able to probably write more in ToF and push past chapter 20!

Now anyways, here's one of my fav chapters

Prev || Next

Masterlist

The little girl leads you to a quaint seeming casino, graffiti covering the buildings next to it and its name shone in multicolour neon lights, “Elysium”. Once you step inside, you notice its lavishly decorated from the red leather chairs that surround a poker table to the fancy lamps and expensive looking art that adorn the walls. “Auntie, an outsider- I mean, a really nice lady is here to buy something!” The kid eagerly skips toward a young woman who was hunched over behind the bar. Under the dim, yellow light, you notice she was fiddling with some cards.

“What do you want?” The woman asks, not even bothering to look up at you. Seems like she didn’t believe you were worth her attention so far. “A list of people who are attending Onychinus’ protocore auction and a map of the venue. How much?” You ask as you walk toward the counter, ruffling the little girl’s head as you step past her. This finally makes the woman face you, and she looks you up and down with interest, then makes a gesture with her hand, “Fifty thousand.” Yeesh. Expensive much? “Just for two pieces of intel?” You question with a raised brow as you sit down at the bar. She wags her finger as she tilts her head to the side, “Fifty thousand per word.”

“I..” You trail off, unsure if it's even worth it at this point. “Since you’re new and pretty, I’ll give you a 5% discount. What do you think?” The lady offers before the little girl speaks up, “Make it 10%.” When the lady looks at her in confusion, the little girl smiles up at her, “She bought a flower for five more than I asked for. Please, auntie?” “Thanks, sweetie.” You look back down at the little girl, petting her head once more, “She’s really sweet. Is she your…?” The woman sighs and shakes her head, “An orphan we’re watching over. Any other questions will require a payment.” “Even if it’s your names?” You know fraternizing won’t be enough to get an even bigger deal, but you’d still like to know their names. They don’t seem like bad people. “Just call me Violet and her Lily.” She says and you assume its code names. Or maybe not. More flowers though. You wonder what the N109 Zone’s obsession with flowers is. Violet meant watchfulness, and Lily meant innocent and pure.

After this, Violet glances over at the door to her right, sighing before she pushes it open. You could hear chatter mixed with the sound of rolling dice, spinning roulettes, and card shufflers. “You also going to Solon Hotel tomorrow? Do you have an auction invitation?” You can hear a female customer say, and then you hear a male customer reply, “Doesn’t matter if I get one or not. For something as big as this, you gotta try and get a piece of the pie, right? I heard there’s going to be a treasure. If you manage to get it, you could easily sell it for hundreds of thousands!” “Do you want to go? Then ask Sylus! I heard if you give him what he wants-” “Only if I can find Sylus in Onychinus. Haven’t you heard? While he was away, big changes happened in their ranks…” You’re unsure if you should be hearing this since you’re not exactly paying for it, but that does explain why it seemed like no one lived in that house you were in for a really long time. You strain your ears to listen to more of their conversation, but that’s when Violet closes the door.

“Did you hear them? Now, you should understand why “these two pieces of intel” are so expensive. I’m sorry, kid. I can’t just give this kind of information away for dirt cheap, especially when it’s about one of the N109 Zone’s big shots.” “What if I want information about Onychinus?” You ask nonchalantly and she freezes for a moment before leaning in the whisper in your ear, “Missy, don’t pry into things you shouldn’t know. I still got business to take care of .” You let out a sigh and nod your head, “Alright, I understand. Thanks for letting me know, Violet.” It makes sense. If she tells you something too secret, then it could lead to her losing her job or even her life. You can’t fault her for trying to be careful. You turn back to Lily, playing around with her for a bit as you listen in on the other customers' conversations.

“...Sylus hasn’t been around for a long time. Do you think he really went missing?” One man asks and the other shrugs, “Maybe he’s dead. Didn’t you see how arrogant Sherman’s punks have been lately? If Sylus was with Onychinus, they wouldn’t even dare to be so bold.”

You rest your chin on your palm, listening to the rumble of the spinning roulette and then the sound of cheers and screams. Someone must’ve won big, it seems. You sip on the drink you got from Violet at the bar, trying to appear like a normal patron as you eavesdrop on the conversations happening all around you. It seems Onychinus has been having some internal issues lately…and if Sylus hasn’t been seen around lately, how come you’ve seen so much of him? Recalling his pompous and contemptuous face has you chuckling to yourself. You can’t believe you almost miss him. If he had died, he would’ve dragged the entire N109 Zone down to hell with him. That’s just how he is.

“Miss, I have another flower. It’s for you!” You hear Lily’s voice before you see her. “Oh sweetie…” You hold back a pout of endearment as you notice how she’s on her tiptoes, trying to lean against the bar to reach you. She holds a black flower in both of her tiny hands, a black Calla lily, which was a symbol of rebirth and the beginning of a transformative journey. A fitting flower indeed. You take the flower from her, putting it behind your other ear, and smile at her, “Do I need to pay you for this one too?” “Nope! I gave it to you just because I wanted to.” She giggles before you decide to ask a few questions, “Did you grow up here? Does everyone know Sylus?” “Oh yeah! He’s a monster with huge wings that never dies. And- And, he has horns! If I don’t listen to Auntie, Sylus will find me and feed me to his man eating birdie.” The way Lily spoke was so animated, it was almost cute. She seems like just a regular child despite growing up in the N109 Zone.

It seems like everyone is afraid of Sylus and yet, they keep trying to make deals with him. Kind of like how people are afraid of demons but still try to make deals with them in movies…Though, Sylus did take the initiative to propose a deal with you. Maybe your evol can be used as a valuable tool against him- at least to guarantee your survival. You’re suddenly ripped from your thoughts as the familiar sound of gunfire fills the once cheery, lively room. You flinch, immediately moving your hands to cover Lily’s ears rather than your own. You quickly turn your head toward the entrance of the casino. “We got a party tonight.” One of the men rasps out, gun muzzle billowing out smoke. The door, which they kicked down, falls to the ground with a loud thud, the bolts on it useless and broken as a pair of leather boots steps on top of the wooden door. “Don’t be nervous. Onychinus’ important guest got lost. I’d like to ask everyone to cooperate with our search.” You can quickly notice that this man isn’t working with Sylus- even if this man is from Onychinus. He seems much like a snake, his voice dripping with venom.

Another person with a pair of sunglasses walks in. He’s flanked by half a dozen gun-toting men dressed in black. The sound of guns being loaded with bullets can be heard before you hear the guns being cocked as if threatening the patrons to try anything stupid. “Block the door and search the room. Everyone’s about to be entertained.” The same man, let's call him Snake for the sake of telling them all apart, says.

Gunfire and the sound of tables and chairs getting knocked over intermingle with N109 Zone slang that you don’t understand. In the hidden utility room, you hug Lily tightly as you look out the secret window that’s facing the lobby. “Ooh, there’s so many people. Today’s a good day for bus- mmph!” You quickly cover Lily’s mouth with a panicked whisper, “Do you have a death wish? Hide and don’t speak.” You add a “please” shortly after that, feeling like you’re being a tad bit harsh but it seems like she doesn’t even realize the danger you’re both in at the moment. The lobby floor is soaked in blood, and the mice hiding under the floorboards scamper away in fear. How you wished you were a mouse right now. Whistling, Snake casually strolls over to the bar, rings the bell, and then shoves a photo in front of Violet.

“I suggest you bring out our guest. Mr. Sherman’s not going to sit around and leave her unattended.” He says to her and one of your hands clenches into a fist, wanting to just give yourself up to protect the two people you had just met but you pause for a moment to think logically. Sylus is the leader of Onychinus, so why were these people acting as if Mr. Sherman was the leader instead? This Sherman guy doesn’t seem like shit, considering he didn’t even come out to get his ‘guest’, unlike how Sylus came to personally get you. “I’m sorry, she’s not here. I’d remember a pretty face if she actually showed up.” You can see Violet shrug from the secret window and now you’re starting to feel really bad. Even if she’s protecting you with a motive in mind, you still wanted to keep her and Lily safe. “Gonna keep your mouth shut? Fine.” Snake scoffs and turns to face his comrades. His broken, wire-bound jaw opens as he lets out a hoarse cackle, “Pry open their mouths one at a time. Someone will spill the beans sooner or later.”

“Missy, they’re looking for you, right?” Violet whispers, knowing that you and Lily were hiding in the secret room. “Are you going to hand me over to them?” You ask with baited breath, really hoping she wouldn’t just give you up. You tried to sound calm but inside, your thoughts were racing. All of this had almost made you completely forget that you were in a game; well, this was your life now, apparently, and you were in danger from here on out. Your free hand tightly clutches the tranquilizer in your sleeve, ready to stab Snake with it and pretend that it was a poison and you had the antidote for it as long as they let you go. That being said, you haven’t tested this thing that Xavier claimed could “paralyze an elephant” since there were no zoos in the N109 Zone…”Anyone who’s Onychinus’ target is valuable. I can get a better price if I find the right person,” Violet finally responds to you with a small shrug. A smile tugs at your lips as you shake your head, unsure if she was saying this as a front or if that was her true feelings.”Stay where you are. I don’t want to hand you over like this.” Violet says, firm on her decision to not give you up. Either way, even if she sold you to someone else, you wouldn’t be upset with her. You realize this is how people survive in the N109 Zone.

Suddenly, a crow soars in and dives toward the search party’s leader, its razor-sharp wings aimed at him. “What is that!?” You hear Snake yell out and you take this as your chance to escape- be it a dumb idea but still, it’s worth a shot. You roll and crawl out of the utility room. As you try to sneak away quietly, someone yanks you by the collar of your shirt. You panic, trying to scramble away from the person and you turn around to aim your gun.

Though you pause, noticing a familiar face in the shadows, his chin slightly raised. “So when someone saves you, do you always point your gun at them to express your gratitude?” Sylus. Several bullets grazed him only to dissipate into dust. The people who fired the shots are promptly strangled by something and they slump to the ground, dead. “Your underlings aren’t exactly obedient..” You comment, suddenly being reminded of the fact that this Mr. Sherman guy thinks he’s the leader of Onychinus for some reason. Sylu’s mouth twitches at your mockery as if he wants to say something but in the end, he just purses his lips, “Focus on yourself first.” At the sound of Sylus’ voice, Snake suddenly begins to panic and tries to leave, but a cloud of energy particles gathers around him…Several wanderers quickly materialize. Roaring, they rush straight for us.

“Are they calling for backup because they can’t win? How is this not cheating?” You scoff, brows knitted together in annoyance before Sylus grabs your wrist and holds you in his arms. “What-” He slides his finger over the trigger of your gun, aiming the weapon at the figure in the center of the room. “Do you expect people from the N109 Zone to be nice and polite?” Actually…Yes, yes you do. Violet and Lily were nice enough. “I see you made a few friends while I was gone,” Sylus comments, noticing the two different flowers tucked behind either of your ears and plucks the forget-me-not, rolling the stem between his two fingers. He tucks the flower behind his ear with a small murmur under his breath, “A fitting flower..” But before you can have a chance to ask what he means, Sylus swings your body around, taking shots at every wanderer charging toward you both.

The room is a complete mess with broken objects and overturned tables and chairs strewn about. Wanderers keep appearing one after another and you fall back to the window, thinking about how likely you both could make a run for it. “We can’t wipe them out…Our only option is to retreat,” You say between breaths as you try to get your breathing under control. “Do you really believe “retreat” is a word in my dictionary?” Sylus asks with a raised brow. While you’re anxious and tired, Sylus is infuriatingly calm and smug. “Ohhh, so you like being a freeloader, Mr. Sylus?” You raise a brow, waving your gun around with an annoyed sigh, “Didn’t you see me fighting for my life earlier?”

“Since when was I required to investigate the files the Hunters Association had on you?” The white haired man looks down at his hand to pick at imaginary dust under his nails before continuing, “Consider this training practice. Get ready.” Sylus ignores your protests and grabs your hand to aim your gun at the switch box on the wall. “You won’t get any help.”

A gun is fired and the lights go out. Then, Sylus quickly vanishes. You stand there for a moment in silence, blinking a few times before you realize you’ve been left behind again. Curses spill from your lips and you run a hand through your hair. “Are you fucking serious?” You groan under your breath and suddenly you hear Sylus’ voice once more. “Let’s make a deal.” You suddenly turn around and notice he’s behind you once more. “Aren’t you going to leave? I can’t resonate with you.” You were getting more annoyed by the second, but Sylus continues, “If you’d like to attend the auction tomorrow, stand your ground for five minutes.” He steps closer to you, leaning his head down to whisper in your head, “And should you have the audacity to die on me-” He lifts his hand and puts a communicator in your ear. Then he speaks in a surprisingly gentle tone, “You actually will meet your end.”

It's really short today, especially considering I just wrote 12k for a one-shot, but what can ya do 🤷🏻‍♀️ I'll more than likely post chapter twelve way later on today or even tomorrow...and I also might post chapter thirteen. I'm not very good at keeping a strict schedule. I like to be spontaneous 😎 ...sometimes. but yeah, more flower language. The black Calla Lilly was a big game changer since it's meaning actually fits mc in every way, shape, and form. It's honestly insane.

I also gave the shopkeeper and her charge names since I didn't want to write "she" and it get confusing. That's also why I specifically named Snake. But also! I named the two after flowers, because I read a manwha where there was a group of sex workers all named after flowers and they had a little girl with them who was also named after a flower. Their village was being raided and they all protected the little girl until they died, and the little girl was taken in the be a fake crown princess– but yeah, basically I thought flower code names and run-down, shady areas go well together!

Taglist: @orphicmeliora, @yoongi-tunes, @mitzkooni , @hiqhkey, @tanspostsblog

[yuri-is-online]

I know you said that even though Epel is most likely alive in the Bad Timeline(tm) he would probably never meet Yutu because Mount Moln is so isolated, but I can't stop thinking about Harveston being so isolated that they just... don't even realise the apocalypse happened. Two farmers are just passing eachother on the road to town like

"Business been slow for you too Hans?"

"Yeah Freddy, and the TV's still busted" (it's not, just no channels airing anymore and phones are down😔) like Mount Moln is meant to be like, far far northern Europe so even if a Blot Zombie does shamble into town, its no weirder than the other things that wander out of the forest, just gotta let your ma know to bring the cat in so it doesn't get eaten.

(So I also imagine Epel learning about the end of the world when Yutu and their merry band of misfits travel to Mount Moln tracking a phantom/Grim and Epel comes in on horseback to save them Lone Ranger/Cowboy style. Like Epel's almost guilty how relieved he is that it's the end of the world, actually. So business has halted because nobodies alive to buy apples? His friends didn't ghost him after Yuu disappeared? He's a daddy!? Logically, he knows he should be horrified, but it's just do goddamn nice to finally have answers (and finally meeting his kid!) Meanwhile Yutu and Co are more distracted by being fed and given some quality food. Fresh produce! Home-baked meals! They've secured a food line for Sage Island! Finally a win for the bad future! (Until a phantom comes along, that is...)

Finally a win for the bad future! (Until a phantom comes along, that is…) pretty much describes everything that happens in this au tbh

I think this would happen to a degree. They know there are increased monster attacks and that the ability to ship produce has been interrupted, but your mind is never going to jump immediately to "wow the world must be ending" unless you are a very specific type of person that everyone ignores anyway.

Epel riding in on a horse to save the day... Epel! Yutu is going to have a stroke from how cool that makes his dad look to him. So much so I am stealing it for his post that I am working on right now ( ` ꒳ ´ )✧

[silvermoon424]

Hi Katy! How are you? I hope you're having a good day.

I was wondering if you knew what's going with r/sailormoon?

I guess people have gotten fed up with the mods or something? I've posted on that subreddit in the past, so I know the mods can be rude (to say the least).

Most of the posts pertaining to this situation seem to have been removed.

Hey! I'm good, thank you! Hope you're doing well too.

Wow, okay, I had NO idea what was going on and had to do some digging. The information is very sparse but I think I was able to piece together what happened:

A few days ago, a popular artist posted a 3D artwork of Neo-Queen Serenity to r/sailormoon. The artwork was removed because it "reeks of AI." The artist very politely messaged the mods and asked them what happened, offering to send evidence that proves her authenticity. The mods muted- and later outright banned- her. One of the mods also blocked her on Bluesky when she tagged them asking what happened.

You can read the whole thread here:

People later started sending hate to the two mods (RockyCoon and lemonaid83), which the artist denounced. It got to the point where RockyCoon decided to shut down the subreddit and step down as mod. As of right now, the r/sailormoon subreddit is shut down and will remain that way until a new mod can take over.

Okay, so time to give my opinion on this whole thing.

Right off the bat, let me say that harassment is wrong; RockyCoon and lemonaid83 should not be sent death threats over a fucking fandom subreddit.

THAT BEING SAID- I'm glad people are acknowledging what a shitty place r/sailormoon is and how awful its mods are. It sucks that the mods were harassed into it, but I'm glad they're stepping down because they really do live up to the powertripping Reddit mod stereotype. You can see people in this thread (from a smaller Sailor Moon subreddit) talking about their negative experiences with the mods.

The mods' policies and strict adherence to an arbitrary set of rules really stifles the community. The biggest example of this is the whole "no self-promotion" rule. Artists get hit with the banhammer for daring to link to their socials where people can see more of their work or commission them (because fuck artists for trying to make a living I guess). Meanwhile apparently it's fine for people to post uncredited artwork.

Okay, I gotta rant about this because it still pisses me off so much. Just a few months ago an artist posted pictures of Sailor Moon props he'd made; he makes props and other replicas for a living and they're just gorgeous. Tons of people (myself included) asked him where we can buy his work or commission him. He had to DM us all individually due to fears of being banned for self-promotion. But then the mods caught on and deleted the post anyway.

The artist and I were DMing at the time and he told me how disheartening it was to get a lot of traction for his business only for the mods to derail it because of stupid, arbitrary rules. He wasn't really a Sailor Moon fan himself (he only made the props because his wife, a Moonie, encouraged him to) and I hate how this incident must have tainted his view of the fandom.

So yeah, ANYWAY, I hope this fiasco results in r/sailormoon getting better mods and not sucking anymore. Again, I don't condone harassment, but I can't say I feel too bad for the head mod. They've been super shitty for years and actively made the Sailor Moon fandom a worse place to be in.

[zabala0z]

Oh my god. Okay hi. Welcome back to “New TMA listens to season 2” and guys holy shit I’m freaking out. I just listened to The New Door. So much is happening in 3 episodes and I gotta write it down oh my god. Guys. Guys.

MAG 44: tightrope

Gertrude Robinson!!!! She sounds so nice. Didn’t even realize there was a mention of this circus before until Jon said it. Gotta up my game. The guy who played the steam organ, Nikolai Deniken, was featured in Strange Music. Or his granddaughter was. I looked over the transcripts again; Gertrude mentioned that Deniken leaving in the 70’s made the circus tamer. Makes me wonder if the steam organ is essential for the circus . Also the circus of the other is such a metal name for a circus like okay damn.

I’m thinking the circus is gonna pop up again. New main villain??? Maybe??? Or maybe that cult that hadn’t appeared for a bit.

MAG 45: blood bag

Ewewew. It’s literally summer, the definition of mosquito season, why did I go through with this episode, I’m literally gagging. Anyways. Not many notes but the antiques dealer who bought that Victorian syringe off of Thompson is also from Lost and Found (MAG 38) and Piecemeal (MAG 14). Like all bro did was buy it and shit went off the rails. Wonder if he’s like cursed or something. Also small note for piecemeal: the guy who made the statement said after Mikaela Salesa left, Noriega was missing teeth, an eye and fingers. He may have had them before Salesa came but who knows. Salesa seems suspicious.

Also the description of the mosquitoes. Like. Eugh.

MAG 46: literary heights

Yooo Michael crew! He appeared in Pageturner as the childhood best friend who got his shit rocked by the lightning. He also apparently appeared in a boneturners tale when he returned a book. He seems like a book nerd now after his near death experience. That lightning figure that was chasing him at the end sounded like it was from the book but another thing: Michael was chanting that shit before y’know jumping out the window but he mentioned “The Vast”. I already vaguely know that name, along with a couple others. Like the fear entities or whatever?? I knew them before going in because Im into Hatchetfield and the lords in black got compared to them a couple times so I guess i didn’t go into this fully blind. More like 94% blind. I’m guessing The Vast is important though. We’ll see.

Finally the one I’m still freaking out over: MAG 47

Holy shit. If anyone saw my abrupt post, congrats. Anyone who didn’t: OH MY GOD MICHAEL APPEARANCE. The voice was so creepy, genuinely I’m freaked out. The whole premise of the episode was scary to me just because one of my fears generally is just being alone and having no one and just being lost so obviously, yeah. But also..god. Starting to doubt my assumption on how morally correct Michael.

Also SASHA. FAKE SASHA. She sounds completely different, thought it was fun they changed voice actors for this. I think fake Sasha has been rifling through Jons stuff. He’s been mentioning that someone has been going down in the tunnels and I think it’s fake Sasha.

Not many notes, I’m just freaking out. Couple things though: Michael said to Jon “do you even know they’re lying to you?”

Now they could either refer to fake Sasha as some gender neutral term since whatever replaced her is definitely not human and maybe doesn’t have a gender but I think more likely it’s referring to multiple people. Thing is, it could be anyone. I’m still suspicious about Elias, like he seems to know something no one does, jon had his rant about Tim and how Tim was here for practically no reason which is true and Martin is chill, I trust Martin. If Martin ends up like killing someone, I will die.

Just god. Michael is so creepy. It makes me wonder about its “domain”. It said it came to collect what is “mine.” The one who entered its domain. Is it like some underworld shit where you go in, you can’t come out? “The wanderer had a brief respite but it’s over now” like that’s just cruel.

Like I screamed when Michael said “did you notice which door she left through?” Like I full on got chills. Also “I am not a who, I’m a what, yada, yada” Okay pop off but you just stabbed a man wtf.

I have seen that infamous Michael line before in like fanart but god nothing compares to hearing the words actually coming from my phone while lying in bed when it’s pitch black outside. Props to the voice actor. Also that buzzing noise that happens in the background of fake Sasha and Michael disappearing when they leave? God it’s beautiful.

Anyways. Uh. Sorry for the long post but you guys gotta understand, I am literally going insane, I love this podcast so much. I got I think like 17 pages of notes/details from episodes to keep in mind like genuinely I am so invested. It like invigorates me. Fully.

Anyways, my only takeaway is bring back Sasha and Michael is terrifying

[l1brarian1999]

Trading Tips

Warframe is unique in that you can genuinely buy almost everything without spending a penny.

Because Bought Platinum can be traded to players, it means you can make platinum by just playing the game more.

But trading is a complicated thing - you gotta deal with people.

So first and foremost, warframe.market Trade chat in game is... Fine but its fast, hard to deal with, and its hard to compare prices. So you need to be able to see what everyone's paying, what everyone's pricing. Warframe.market is a website where you can create an account, list your 'assets', and compare prices with a bunch of people to get an accurate and fair price (in most cases).

There's also the rather obvious tip - work on your Mastery Rank. More rank means more trades per day. When you're only able to do one or two trades in a day, you're more likely to go for big ticket items like weapons and such.

Here's a big one - find a market that works for you. For example, I can't stand selling Prime parts for some reason? I don't like hunting for that one piece to get a full set together, I don't like how the price tanked for everything ever since the Key-to-Relic change, and I don't like the two part grind of getting the relics, and then cracking them, but also needing to Radiant them. I do like selling mods though, since I find those by accident and it makes Transmutation worth a damn. I don't like selling Arcanes either, finicky.

If you wanna get the most out of trading, you gotta learn about Supply and Demand.

Some Primes are not actively available at all times, meaning there are times when the Supply is Limited, meaning you'll see the price raise.

Sometimes Warframes will get buffs or reworks and people might wanna give them a try, demand will go up, and the price will rise.

Sometimes the Developers (DE) will give out a Prime Warframe for completely free, the demand will plummet.

Remember the trade tax - Primed Mods need 1,000,000 credits to buy, for the trade tax. Each 'platinum' / legendary arcane needs 100,000 per rank.

When you're buying anything in a set, always check to see if its cheaper to buy the pieces individually rather than a full set - and vice versa, if buying a set is cheaper than buying individual pieces (especially with Arcanes)

Knowing what to sell is a difficulty in and of itself, and while the usual logic of 'whatever grind you like the most', that might not work for some folks. If all else fails, I recommend Prime Parts & Baro Ki'teer:

Crack Relics as much as possible, this is generally good advice as you'll be able to stock up on Forma Blueprints, and Prime Parts

Build Prime items you need first and foremost

Check any items worth 45 or 100 ducats on warframe.market, see if its worth plat. Use your own judgement here, I personally don't sell Prime Parts unless they're worth 10 plat or more.

Anything you don't use or sell, take to a relay and melt for Ducats. When Baro Ki'teer comes to town every other Friday, check for Mods first (i'll do a separate post about Baro). Mods tend to be the cheapest to buy and certain Primed Mods are big benefits to your collection. Once you've got an item for yourself, if you have leftover ducats and credits, you can buy a duplicate item to sell.

Say you somehow stocked up ludicrous credits and ducats, don't buy lots of the same item - diversify.

And here's the special sauce - hold onto that duplicate, don't sell right away. Once Baro Ki'teer leaves, the supply of those items becomes limited, and will steadily start trending upwards. Even if Baro comes back, because his stock cycles it might still be trending up, and will generally only go down once Baro brings it back. I like waiting a week before I put it up on .market.

If you're using warframe.market, and you know you're not trading / you've set your status as Offline, but someone messages you anyway asking to buy an item - don't sell. Usually people only message offline traders if the trader has a lower price than the online traders. I usually just say to them "Sorry, I'm not trading at the minute" and then block them.

If you're using warframe.market, people usually send a message that .market produces automatically, however, some sneaky folks may try to change the price there, hoping you won't notice. Per .market's T&Cs, you have five minutes to respond (not that most folks will wait that long) so check your profile and make sure that the price is right. If they've changed the price, that is proactively a violation of warframe.market's T&Cs and can - and should - be reported. They are not supposed to change or edit the message in any way, any negotiations should happen after they've sent the message.

Eventually, you'll get to a stage where you're getting plenty of duplicates, maybe a lot of rare mods. Its important to note that just because a mod is 'Rare' doesn't mean its 'rare'. If its easy for you to get, its easy for everyone else to get.

Remember Transmutation. Transmutation is where you take four mods, and trade them for a random mod. The Rarer the mods you put in, the more likely it is to be a Rare mod. So say if you've got 12 Power Throws, you can transmutate 3 times and you might get a mod back that is actually worth something. I get a fair bit of my plat this way because it allows me to get mods that would otherwise be annoying to get. I don't know which mods, and I usually get common mods that aren't worth much, but way I see it I'm trading Endo and Credits into Plat at an extremely bad rate, but that's fine because I have plenty of both of those, and always want more plat.

I'll add more here if I think of them.

[inkofamethyst]

December 28, 2024

Am setting up my new laptop and I'm liking it a lot!! I actually don't find myself minding the silver very much. It's giving sleek, it's giving Star Trek (I was afraid it would give 'toy'). I'm trying to see if I can switch to using Microsoft Edge instead of Chrome.. not hating it so far after a couple of hours of setup. Trying to de-googlefy at least a little (though I don't think I can handle the inconveniences of using Firefox rn).

I have lots more setting up to do to prepare for using it as a bioinformatics machine, but I'm extremely glad that I don't have to deal with any of the partitions nonsense that has plagued me for years on my old laptop (which I'm using to write this (at least, part of the) post). Lots to download, lots to log into, lots to set up (some for work, some for fun (I think I'm going to finally, finally buy minecraft on the PC)), but now I don't have to worry about running out of space to add new things. And even though it's technically a slightly older model, I'm hoping to get a minimum of four good years out of it. Now that I am more experienced with these machines, I may be able to stretch it to six or seven like I did my first ever laptop (I'm loosely aiming to build my own PC after I graduate and would rather not also have to buy a laptop around the same time, if I even still need one (ugh but actually the summer after I graduate is supposed to be a new instrument summer.. yikes yikes yikes I guess I gotta get a well-paying job then (and one where I'll have time))).

It's a cute little thing, I may get a smaller backpack. Will likely bring both laptops back to school for next semester, but if I come home for spring break I might bring the big one and leave it here as a Home Laptop. If not spring break then my first summer visit.

Anyway this is all great timing, as several of my keys have become temperamental over the past year or so, with some of them cutting out with increasing frequency.

To completely switch gears, I've been watching more Bicolline videos and aaaaaaa!!! I might watch some of Mariah Pattie's videos on how she conceptualizes her capsule wardobe designs so I can focus on how different parts of the kit should fit together, allowing me to key into the most important elements first while ensuring that they all fit together at least somewhat cohesively. I have these grand ideas for embellishments and trims and embroidery, but those details can take as long as garment construction, especially when done by hand. So I have to prioritize. How about this: I will aim to complete a basic capsule kit in one year, so by January 2026. If I'm able to do that, I will spend the following six/seven months embellishing and making more intricate pieces. I also need to find good shoes.

[next day, on the new laptop!]

Potentially a new plan: found out that my city is going to have a (its first?) fantasy ball/gala in a couple months and ohhhhhh my goddddd I want to go sooooo baddddd. If I went it would mean that I either need to get my blue velvet dress altered or buy a new dress that's more on theme or make a dress. Leaning towards options one or two but we'll see. There's a UK company that throws a few of these balls a year and it's definitely a dream vacation of mine but this may work for now! Won't buy a ticket for at least another few weeks though so I can decide whether I actually want to go (and so I can check back on whether the event gets a bit more hype (I know the first of any event can be a bit rough, but! what if it's magical?)).

Today I'm thankful for the love of my grandmother's dog. She's so lovely. I love being loved by her.

[stereax]

hello!! for the drafts thing: “bless your waters, bless your doubts” what did you set out to do with this? what changed that caused you to put it on hold? what are the themes that jump out at you, what story were you trying to tell? also, is the title a reference to something? i love to hear about the creative process!! :3

- puckpocketed on main

Yes!!! Oh my god, this was such a fun project that I began undertaking. Just couldn't keep going on it. More under the cut.

So yes! The title is a reference to the Devils' goal song. Here it is, if you haven't heard it (or if you haven't heard it in its entirety) before.

Okay third time's the charm my posts are being chewed upon by tumblr please dear lord let me post this this time please please PLEASE

[inhales] Okay! So the initial premise of this fic is incredibly simple. Dougie Hamilton, one of the Devils' better defensemen, has a running joke going where the Devils claim he's the admin of our social media. Hamilton slapshot goals are posted with a caption of "I scored!", Dougie's been roped into the act a few times, the like. So obviously this means someone's gotta write a Dougie Hamilton social media admin AU. I'm surprised nobody has yet. Devilsblr, get on it.

Anyway. I think the indents are messing up my post so let's try to post step by step. Instead of indenting snippets, I'll italicize them.

"What?"

Of all the things Dougie Hamilton had expected to hear when being pulled aside by the media team before the first game of the season, this was not it. The hockey player reclines in his seat, rubbing at one of his eyes. "You want me to do what?" he repeats.

Across from him sits Christopher Wescott, leader of the social media team if memory serves Dougie right. A quick glance down at Wescott's placard on his desk, prominently placed, confirms it. Director, Content Strategy & Social Media. Then again, Wescott usually wasn't seen filming anything, or talking to the players even, unless it was roping a certain Jack Hughes in front of a camera to try to get him to sell the youth foundation. That took all hands on deck. They even got the players involved in that one.

Gravy celebrated that hundred-dollar bonus for capturing Jack harder than any goal he's scored with the man. Colorado sleeper agent, Severson complained the next day. I would've doubled it if he let me go, Hughes complained in concurrence.

Dougie didn't remember when the media crew ever needed the hockey equivalent of a SWAT team, not in Boston or Calgary or Raleigh. Then again, maybe he's just not used to Jersey yet. (It's not New Jersey, Nico clued him in before one of his first post-game interviews. Just Jersey. Say New Jersey and they know you're not from here. Just Jersey and you're one of the locals.)

And here, in Just Jersey, Christopher Wescott wants Dougie Hamilton to take a second job.

"The younger generation of fans like memes," Wescott explains. The word memes rolls off his tongue like Dougie rolls out of bed after a physical game; that is to say, falls like a paperweight and ends up on the floor sprawled awkwardly, wondering why he hasn't retired and become a lawyer like his father yet. Wescott is what, five years older than Dougie, maybe? From the way he speaks, it sounds like he's an old man trying to commit the name of his smart speaker to memory. Erica, remind me to buy rice.

"And the team said you're supposedly the best at making them," Wescott continues, snapping Dougie out of this train of thought.

"Rice?" Dougie echoes, confused. "Anyone can make rice. It's just an orange packet you put in the microwave, you rip the top off a bit..."

Wescott sighs, running a hand through his hair. He's definitely thinking some dumb hockey player stereotype right now; Dougie can tell by the way his brow furrows in annoyance. "Look," and here he drops his volume two steps, scooting forward to lean across his desk, and oh this is serious? Dougie better pay at least enough attention to remember this discussion. No more rice. "I thought social media posting was just going to be putting up reverse retro pictures and celebrating stars of the week if we get any. You know, standard fare. But Andrew floated the idea with us a few weeks back and we really think we can get ahead of the league in capturing younger fans with a more dynamic social media presence." Of course it was Maclean, or, as the team called him, Picture Day. One guess as to why.

"And where do I get involved in this?" Dougie asks, but he realizes even as he asks that it's not going to change his final answer.

"We were thinking to make a meme after every win." Wescott pauses. "Oh, and some other reels and things for when it's needed. Of course Catherine's also going to be making content for us, too." Catherine Bogart, Queen of the Tiny Mic. Oh boy.

"Do I get tiny mic privileges?" Dougie flashes one of his patented Hamilton Smiles, hoping to catch Wescott off guard.

"We'll think about it." No then. Aw. Would've been fun though.

"Do I get paid?"

The director shrugs. "Aren't you on a multi-million dollar contract?"

"To play hockey," Dougie specifies. "Not to deep-fry Bratt pics." From the look of confusion on Wescott's face, Dougie reminds himself once again that he's dealing with a senior citizen in the body of a mid-30s advertising executive. The guy probably needed an assistant to turn on his computer. For him, deep-frying is exclusively for overpriced tempura. "Meme things," he explains without explaining. "But - "

"Museum pass, any place in the state, any exhibit, we can figure it out for you."

That rumor even made it here? Well. Hey. It's something to do on the weekends, he figures. And he's pretty sure Wescott, fancy director placard and all, can't actually give him a salary for this. "Fine," Dougie agrees. He's used to being underpaid, after all. Might as well have fun with it. Besides, it's a good excuse to get out of any social events he doesn't particularly want to go to. (Is he justifying this to himself? Oh, definitely. But he'd be lying to himself if he said he didn't want to do this.)

So yeah! The basic premise of the fic is Dougie's (mis)adventures running the social media for the Devils, his work with the social media people, his reactions to the Devils' season, and the like. I tried to keep it quite light (funny, even, perhaps? but I'm not really funny). Dougie, is, at his heart, a fun character, and I'd like to think it shows a little. It's not that realistic (he definitely doesn't text from the bench!) but it's fun.

In typical Devils fashion, they lose the first game.

In typical Devils fashion, they also lose the second game.

Dougie already has the next three games lined up. He doesn't expect to need more than one of them, if he's being honest with himself, but he's personalizing for each team, so there's that. Might come in handy later in the season, too.

By the end of the second period against Anaheim, they're 2-2. This is also the approximate time Dougie realizes he doesn't have access to the Devils' social media accounts.

Fuck.

And to make matters worse, Dougie starts the third period on the ice.

Shit.

And, if that weren't bad enough, he scores a goal 33 seconds into the period.

Damn it.

All this to mean that, in the next thirty or so minutes, Dougie Hamilton needs to hack into Instagram and TikTok and get ready to post this meme.

The second he's on the bench, he paws off his gloves, reaching for his phone under the front wall. Shaking it on, Dougie quickly navigates to Instagram and logs -

"Dougie, you're on," Lindy calls. The defenseman slides his phone back and jumps over the wall.

When he gets back to the bench a minute or so later, Dougie completes the process of logging off his Instagram account, then quickly punches in the Devils' media email address for the login. It shows him the right account, which is good -

"Dougie, you're on." Lindy again.

As he skates, Dougie contemplates the password. He can't disappear from the bench mid-period to go and find whoever was still working now and ask, so he's got to figure this out on his own.

The first password Dougie tries is njdevils. No dice. He goes on for another shift, then comes back and tries raisehell. Also nothing. If he keeps this up, he's going to freeze the account. Two shifts later, Mercer scores, and now the situation is dire, just when Dougie's brain is deep-fried worse than the Bratt pictures he sent the groupchat last week.

"Hey, Haula," he whispers as the center clambers over the wall to take his position on the faceoff. "If you were gonna make a password, what would it be?" In retrospect, Haula is not the person to ask about this, but Dougie will take what he can get, thank you very much.

"I dunno, man," Haula shrugs. "Password or something?" He raises an eyebrow at the weird question, skating off. Dougie nearly facepalms at the response, but fuck it, he might as well try. password.

Holy fucking shit.

Dougie slides his phone back onto the shelf to take another shift, biting his tongue to keep from cackling so loudly that even his own teammates would stay away from him. Holy fucking shit. Wescott and company clearly have never had a single lesson about cybersecurity.

Well, he's in now, and that's the most important.

However, as I continued writing, another story "thread" popped up, this one a lot more personal to me - the story of the Polish diaspora in New Jersey. A lot of my own personal stories are reflected in this part of the fic. It makes sense in the story (Dougie rents a townhouse in Garfield to avoid being recognized in Newport, Hoboken, and that area), but it's definitely a sharp left from the fic's initial focus. The two plot lines do intersect later on, but I never got to really writing that part of the story, sadly.

A few moments later, Ms. K turns off the stove and carries the soup pot into the dining room with two oven-mitted hands. Dougie pulls himself up to steady the situation however he can, helping direct the pot into its position. Ms. K takes the ladle she had hooked onto her arm, snatching Dougie's bowl before he can react and filling it with several ladlefuls of żurek. At the hockey player's mortified expression of a silent way too much, Ms. K shakes her head emphatically. "Big man, strong, big meal."

"Okay," Dougie agrees, cautious, as he settles back down in his chair and takes his spoon, stirring the soup. Chunks of sausage - kiełbasa - float up to the top before dipping back in. "Thank you," he mumbles, a little too quiet for even his own liking. He's just tired after the game. Yeah. Tired and a little humbled by the kind gesture.

"No worries," Ms. K replies, and from the way she rubs her hands together as she sits, Dougie knows she's one step away from launching into a story over dinner. "You know Martyna from the deli?"

"Yeah," Dougie nods. One of Ms. K's co-workers at Bratek, the business on the other side of town where she cooks for a living. Dougie's been there a few times, just to bask in the atmosphere and maybe score a few free candies. Martyna's the young one, couldn't be more than 24. Her husband Konrad is, from what Dougie has heard of him, a massive piece of shit. He suspects he's going to hear more of him in a moment.

"She came in yesterday all crying," Ms. K sighs, blowing on a spoonful of soup. It reminds Dougie to try his own - it's distinctively sour, but in a good way, enticing yet filling. (He suspects Ms. K makes him a lighter batch than she normally cooks, given the difference in color between this one and the one at the deli. No matter.) "Says that barely enough money for rent. Konrad drinks it all away. Co za kurwa debil."

Dougie doesn't need to speak a word of Polish to understand the meaning behind that acidic sentence, that Ms. K clearly isn't happy with her coworker's husband. "That bad?" he queries, making sure to leave it open for interpretation.

"He even doesn't have job," Ms. K rolls her eyes. "I told her, this man no good, he not love you. No. She loves him. Enough for her that she loves him." The older lady sighs. "Love doesn't pay rent. Or food. Or gas. He needs job." Dougie nods again in agreement, letting her continue; after a moment, she does. "Nobody want to hire him. Not construction, not restaurant, nobody. All what he does is drink and complain."

"Maybe he's got some sort of mental disorder?" The defenseman offers the idea. "Sits at home all day, does nothing, drinks - "

Ms. K barks out a laugh, cutting Dougie off. "His mental disorder" (here she butchers the pronunciation of the words) "is lazy. He doesn't go to school, doesn't work. Only watch game and drink. Lazy. Mother not raise him right." She shakes her head. "You give child everything, they get lazy. You make child work, they not get lazy."

"Aha," Dougie grants the point, deciding that a debate on the existence of depression against his matronly elderly neighbor who was currently feeding him wasn't exactly his plan for the rest of the day.

"No discipline in that house," Ms. K sighs. "All three Kubiaks lazy. One I understand, three is parents' fault." A pause as Ms. K lifts her spoon. "Martyna stupid, Konrad lazy. Perfect together."

They eat for a few minutes in silence, Dougie digesting both the soup and the gossip. "She's at least a good worker though." It's a calculated statement, because Ms. K very obviously wants to keep talking, but Dougie doesn't want to hear about Polish child-rearing strategies (which, from his very limited experience, began and ended at corporal punishment). So hopefully she bites on the redirect.

"Did I tell you about Barbara?" Hook, line, sinker.

"No," Dougie hums.

"She knows nothing!" Ms. K flushes red with annoyance. "She goes all day and looks how I cook. She can't even make salad. All you do is..." Her steam runs out as she searches for the word she needs. "Zetrzeć carrot, doesn't know how."

"Cut?"

"No, not cut." Ms. K mimes running a carrot over a grater. "So you get thin."

"Grate," Dougie supplies.

She nods quickly. "Yes, grate. Cannot grate carrot. Cuts herself. Cannot stir soup - not even make soup, just stir it. Burns herself. Or gets soup dirty."

He chuckles at that. "So she's not a good chef."

"No, but she is owner's son's wife," Ms. K sighs. "Cannot be at cash register, scans things twice. Cannot stack food, food falls and breaks. Cannot cook, chicken is raw and burnt. Both on same piece. Useless."

Dougie tilts his soup bowl to fill his spoon, unable to stop his eyes from looking at the cakes on display. The nutritionists don't need to know. "Can she bake?"

"She make pączki and pączki go boom." She says it so matter-of-factly that it's hysterical. "If she know how bake, she work at Piast."

Piast, the Polish store/restaurant hybrid that looks like a literal castle on the side of the road. Dougie hasn't ever been inside, Ms. K forbidding it (and once again, he's not going to argue with the woman who clearly knows her stuff). "If you ever need Polish food, come to me. Not Piast. Owner died, place is bad now. Too expensive."

That's another thing about Polish people - they measure everything in who died. Usually with when and how thrown into the mix. Honestly, it's fascinating. Ms. K puts on her Polish television shows and points out to Dougie who had a heart attack and who got into a car accident, recounting the details as if she were the coroner. She turns on the radio and everyone got cancer or was murdered by a French guy, five songs in a row, and then an Italian song comes on. Ms. K purses her lips for a minute, then says, "Did you know their daughter disappeared? Took too many drugs, jumped off a bridge. So young, too."

It's kind of morbid, Dougie figures.

Every Sunday, Ms. K goes to church and then to the cemetery, weather permitting. She takes candles with her in fancy glass containers, lights them and leaves them on her husband's grave. Dougie's seen the containers and heard the stories, how she counts the days until she sees him again. Dougie asks her, once, whether she wants to find another husband; she laughs sadly, "When Wojciech died, I saw it was either son or new man. I said better to work for son than for stranger. Son no longer here, but am old now. No point in looking for husband. I have husband already. Just not here anymore."

I think the main "issue" with this fic is that it's Super Fucking Long. There are so many plot lines in it and so much going on that it quickly became an overwhelming sort of project and I sputtered out on energy.

If I went back to rework it, I'd have to definitely consider whether all the parts are truly necessary or whether I just want to focus on Dougie as the social media admin and go from there. Additionally, I didn't know much about some characters before beginning to write, so they come across as fairly OOC, so I need to rework that.

Fun fact, though - I originally intended bless your waters, bless your doubts to be a capstone of a series. Each fic would represent one line of "Howl" and would be a short oneshot dealing with a specific Devil and some specific situation they were in. For example:

and all grown up and traveled so well - Mercer about heritage

do you still hear the sound of the thunder while you lie up by yourself? - Palat injury

And each one would offer a new perspective, roughly in chronological order, on the Devils and their own narratives. I still feel that the "braided" fics, as I call them, would be vitally important in presenting a complete picture, and I'd want to preserve them if I do retry this one.

However, it's a bit of a "dated" fic (22-23 is so long ago now), plus it'd end up being so incredibly long... I don't think I have it in me. Maybe someday.

Have one last snippet, here, and Experience Devils Hockey with me! [profuse sobbing]

It's seven-fifteen by the time Dawson shows up, wearing sweatpants and a hoodie. Classic. Dougie can't help but chuckle as he opens the door for the young center. "Nice to see you," he smiles, a little fondly. Dawson reminds him a little too much of himself. He supposes it's only kind to pay it forward and take him under his wing.

"Yeah," Dawson grins back. "What's cooking?"

"Figure it out," Dougie challenges. The kid sniffs the air, contemplating his next words, and Dougie takes the opportunity to take the finished chicken out of the oven. "Before if gets cold," he calls across the room, balancing the dish in both gloved hands. Dawson scurries over to get a better look.

"I knew it had to be garlic," the Newfoundlander comments. He pulls out his chair and plops down unceremoniously. "Got anything to drink?"

Dougie bites his tongue to stop from rolling his eyes. "Because you want to be hungover the morning before the Caps."

"It'll help the L go down," Mercer offers. Damn, they really thought they had no chance, huh?

Right. This team never did have a chance. He's been here a year already but enough of that time was on injured reserve (and the rest trying to avoid anyone on his former teams) that it's still new to him, this - this culture of expecting loss. He sees it in the eyes of the old guard, how Sevo and Wood sigh when a goal is given up like it's the last breath they know how to take. Even the newer players feel it, see it, know it.

This was once a dynasty, Dougie understands, and now the castle is in ruins.

[raytorosaurus]

ray really went off w remember the laughter (album) but also specifically remember the laughter (song)

I KNOW I KNOWWWWW. actually i find it so interesting that ray's the only member of mcr to have released a concept album post-breakup tbh...(i don't count electric century bc the album and comic seem very separate). but remember the laughter is such a coherent and self-contained piece of art it's so cool. besides we save it's genuinely rare that i listen to one song without listening to the entire album bc (like frank said actually), it's almost cinematic in the way it flows through (including the seamless transitions between tracks! little sonic references back to previous tracks throughout the album! the MUSIC BOX LOOP IF YOU RESTART AFTER THE END!!!!!!!) i think its weakest point is its lack of variation at times which means some tracks don't necessarily stand out on their own against some of the others, but it's satisfying enough to listen to start to finish that i can't really complain. i would love to see ray lean into that and try his hand at writing sountrack...or, alternatively, to casually release individual tracks that don't fit with a larger project, because he has loads :((( he was experimenting with dirtier punk and metal sounds before he settled on the rtl vibe and i wish he'd share some of those even if they weren't necessarily complete :( but oh well

anyway that being said - there are a few tracks i just have to listen to sometimes from rtl and rtl the song is one of them. so much going on in the background instrumentation beneath a morbid concept delivered without the morbidity, and a slow six-minute build into the most genuinely gorgeous guitar solo i've ever heard in my entire life...what more could you want tbh. it was such a bold choice to not have guitar dominate the whole album since it's not only his strength but also literally the only thing he's know for lol but it means the solos that are on there stand out sooooo beautifully, and the rtl one has gotta be my favourite. very closely followed by the great beyond and then we save, i think...im trying to learn them one by one on guitar but like even if could buy the most expensive gear id never be able to put as much tone and emotion into them as he does...crazy how he's an excellent musician huh lol

[ghostsandfools]

this is a vent post, y’all dont gotta respond or anything, im just writing it out here cause i already vented to my partner once today and writing in a diary is too time consuming for me right now

I dont like eating anymore. Things always go the exact same way. I only like a couple of foods, and then we run out of those foods and my parents wont buy me more so i judt dont eat until i get them again, and then when i do get them again i get so scared that someone else will eat them before me, and i end up trying to eat as much as possible. And im kinda tiny, so technically i dont even eat that much but it feels like so much. One meal can take me an hour cause i keep taking breaks. And then after, i feel tired and full and yucky and awful, and i get scared cause i have emetophobia and i keep worrying about getting sick. And i know i shouldnt eat that much but i do anyways. I havent gotten sick from it yet but the thought of it happening makes me wanna cry. I know it’s not healthy, and i hate that i have to struggle with this because i usually know how to deal with this stuff. Life has thrown a lot at me, and ive learned how to manage my mental issues so i dont end up hurting myself. Im usually the one that other people vent to, ive even been helping my partner with their eating issues, so i hate that i cant stop myself from this. I dont like it at all. Im hoping that its gonna go away over time just like everything else has. I used to self harm and i really struggled with that for a while too, but over time and with a little help from a friend i was able to stop that. Maybe this will be the same way… theres not really anything i can do about it. My doctor noticed i was underweight and suggested maybe i should get eating therapy so i can stop being so picky, but that was months ago. I dont know if its gonna happen. And i cant talk to my parents about it cause theyll say some dumb shit about how praying is going to help or how i just need to get better at eating and its not that hard. Cause thats exactly what theyve done every other time. And im stsrting to realize im gonna have to learn how to be there for myself the same way im there for others.

if you did read all this, dont worry bout me. I know that was a pretty depressing little paragraph, but writing it out has made me feel a little better. It’s easy to give people advice, but i have trouble following my own advice sometimes, and thats something im practicing. Im glad that i realize the issue, because at lesst i can work on it. Thats the first step. I think ill be alright.

[allsketchesnononsense]

I SAW YOUR POST ABOUT THE PSYCHOPOMP HELMET AND I HAVE TO ASK HOW’D YOU MAKE IT??

i wanted to cosplay her at some point in the future but i’ve never tried my hand at prop making or anything of that matter really so i can’t wrap my head around any like basic concepts to make the psychopomp itself 😭😭

sorry for taking abit to answer, wanted to make sure I was at my PC to answer so I can give Exact Images n stuff of what I got/used

warning: you're gonna need some serious power tools for this. alotta bits I had to get help from my dad bc he has SO MANY hobbies that involve power tools lol

SO

For the base:

you need a good helmet. n finding one of those ain't easy, so you're probs gonna haveta Make Do with something you can cut parts off of.

I used something like this, but cut off the parts that jut out at the ears and the lip at the front. The internal bit that keeps your Actual Head from touching the Actual Helmet is VERY helpful bc (atleast w/ mine) it wasnt a layer of foam or anything that'd be finnicky, it was just straps.

theoretically could also use a cheap-y baseball helmet though obvi you still gotta Mutilate it

For the accessories™:

The antannae are actual extendable radio antannae I harvested from an old boombox n another thing, but you can buy JUST the antannae online

the megaphone/satellite dish bit my dad helped me cut n gut a car alarm type thing and attatch it w/ this silicone stuff he had on hand

And the headphone pieces on the sides are a set of vintage radio headphones I found at a thrift store. these to be exact (they're not v rare n go for 10-30 bucks on ebay)

Though any old, chunky headphones could easily work. These were just what I had on hand. And, as a useful thing, the metal prongs connecting to the headband were perfect to easily bolt in place on the helmet and keep them flexible for easy putting on and taking off. The little radio speaker-y bits on the outside I added my dad had laying around though obvi not 1000% Necessary

And that's all really for the easily bought supplies

The front plate is Literally just a chunk of sheet metal he happened to have on hand, and added the bolts to. The fifth bolt in the middle is the only Functional one that actually attatches to the helmet

And the bit keeping the wires in place is a piece of plastic we melted to shape, painted accordingly, then hot glued in place. Added the screws to make it look abit more Cohesive with the rest of it.

The staples specifically on mine are holes drilled then w/ v thin wire fed through and twisted and trimmed.

Some smaller seams n details I added with super glue since it gave a v subtle raised effect, and bc it cracked in shipping I had to super glue some of the cracks back together Anyways lmao

also had to do alot of spraypainting to get it the right color. Make sure to paint the "accessories" seperate before assembly bc trying to tape off everything could end up Annoying and that way the metal bolts and the plate can retain their orig metal color to add contrast.

Also make sure you get Matte paint, bc it'll look goofy shiny. Preferably something meant for outdoor use bc those will have the more gritty textures you're looking for n its easy to find.

For any extra scuffing n details I did some dry brushing w/ grey and black acrylic to add depth. Best way to do it imo is add some drybrush with a scrappy old paintbrush then wipe away some with a paper towel

or just use a paper towel with a v tiny, thinly spread bit of paint

Hopefully this helps atleast some!! If you need more detailed shots of my helmet for better reference just lemme know, I just dont feel like going to grab her rn for a photo shoot lmao

Good luck w/ your helmet!! n be sure to post it lots when you're done!!

It'll be sick as hell to see how your interpretation turns out!

just be careful bout wearing it too long

start seeing things you're not supposed to

knowing things you're not supposed to

[uriekukistan]

choso and/or megumi? :)

im so. i just spent so long typing this out only for the page to crash and delete everything i said. why does tumblr HATE ME anyway thank you for the ask i’ll try to remember everything i said the first time 😭

choso!!

favorite thing about them: his relationship with itadori is so cute! such a good brother! his facial expressions are so cute and silly! literally found out itadori was his brother and went “okay i’ll die for u now”

least favorite thing about them: the fact that they robbed him of his sick shoes in the anime. maybe something else will come up in the future but for now that’s it

favorite line: i got two! *in a life or death situation* can u just call me onii chan like once please please please please (paraphrasing), *facing kenjaku after finding out that they’re his dad and yuuji’s mom* “hey little bros look at this im gonna kill our parent

brOTP: gotta go w yuuji since they are in fact bros. his relationship w mahito is so silly to me tho, and i’d love to see him interact with todo!

OTP: i dont really have one. rn i think he’s too focused on his brothers to think abt that

nOTP: its not a no for me per se just that i think choso and yuki are very one sided. yuki clearly likes him but he’s too focused on yuuji rn

random headcanon: i can see him having a long skincare routine with a fluffy hairband

unpopular opinion: i think he is frequently mischaracterized in the name of fitting ppl’s sexual fantasies about him. ofc im all for having fun but i noticed it does impact broader perceptions of his character sometimes. could say this about any jjk man tho.

song i associate with them: mmmm maybe sunflower by post malone, don’t have a reason for it buy yea

favorite picture of them: have two

MEGUMIIIII

favorite thing about them: he is me i am him we are the same. realistic depiction of what it is like to be abandoned by your parental figure and then be told you’re “special” for some reason and now too much is expected of you but you never wanted this in the first place. i could raise him so well let me adopt him. I Will Take Care Of Him.

least favorite thing about them: can’t. that’s my son.

favorite line: soooo many but i think about “so start by saving me itadori” DAILY. hourly even.

brOTP: love his relationship with kugisaki. would love to see him with yuuta more for purely self indulgent reasons that are not related to my dancers au….

OTP: obviously gotta go with ITAFUSHI i could talk abt them for hours. a brain virus fr they’re everything to me.

nOTP: 🧑‍💻 megumi & sukuna, megumi & toji, megumi & gojo, megumi & mai, etc. i try not to yuck other ppls yum but uh. i couldn’t even decide which of these was worst.

random headcanon: uhhh this ones a sad one, but i think before gojo came along, he and his sister were starving (compared to other characters shown as kids he looks much bonier), so even into adulthood, he has a hard time gaining weight from the effects of childhood malnutrition and as a result, is a bit less physically strong than he could potentially be (still very strong tho)

unpopular opinion: you already know what im gonna say. most overhated character in jjk. yall need to get off his back before i get violent im so serious rn everything he does is a perfectly valid reaction to the trauma he’s been through since he was literally a toddler

song i associate with them: i got so many…recently been thinking of dreams of losing teeth by suave punk & moon i already know by mount eerie the most

favorite picture of them: soo many…unhinged megumi vs pocket sized gumi i cant pick