#its been a while bucko

[ask-bucko]

the gang showing off their costumes! bonus page with cj and flick antics

[michaelscorneroftheinternet]

ALRIGHT LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!!!!

IT'S ABOUT TIME I GIVE SOME LOVE TO MY FAVORITE CREATORS!!!

And by love I mean scream my lungs out-

@strange0-0storm

Bro your character SMG8 has me in a chokehold!

He had me with music. I mean hell I'm listening to music right now while writing this (Digital Hallucination by OR3O) and was when drawing this. I listen to music constantly for inspo. I can imagine sitting and vibing with SMG8 just sharing music together.

Your art style specifically is a big love of mine. I very much envy how you draw SMG8's teeth-

@ominus-potato

BRO....

I literally originally started lurking around your page just finding Marware a fun crack ship but at this point you've dragged me into this ship full on. I'm a sucker for idiot with a charismatic partner. Will always remind me of Roger and Jessica Rabbit.

I continuously look forward to any post of yours! <3

@purpdrawsthings

WHERE TO EVEN START WITH YOU BUDDY-

BRO I SWEAR EVERY TIME I WAKE UP AND SEE A MENTION FROM YOU I GET A GOOFY ASS SMILE ON MY FACE! YOUR ART IS CONSISTENTLY AMAZING!

Your love for all my Aus and me and my friends au brings a smile to both our faces!!!!

@misskamilyvision

YOU.

WHEN I FREAKING GET YOU!!! YOUR LITTLE LORE BITS HAVE BEEN DRIVING ME INSANE!!!

I SWEAR ONE MORE AND I MIGHT COMBUST!

STOP BEING SO GOOD AT SAYING SO MUCH AND SO LITTLE IN ONE POST!!!

Not to mention but the fanart you have done for me in the past still brings a smile to my face whenever I find it in my fanart folder!

Never stop being so dang creative!

@grinnames

Hhiiiiiiiiii buddyyyyyy~

Fun tid bit about God Box AU Michael.

They know we exist.

They can see us.

Past the screen.

Teehee! But that out of the way your GodBox AU posts are always a pleasure to see! As someone who loves some good horror I lovingly enjoy each post!

I look forward to another lore drop on those bois. Especially maybe more of Mario as I'm intrigued about our spaghetti loving Italian.

@its-a-me-mango

Aye it's the doc!

The one and only Mango!

Your art is consistently just great eye candy for me.

Though I must repeat as I did to KamilyVision....

STOP DROPPING SUCH VAGUE LORE WITH LITTLE CONTEXT!!!! /J

IMMA FUCKING LOSE IT WITH THIS SHIT!!! WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU MAN?! FMSKKDNFBDKWLKJFOSLWJBD

@tiredsmashbros

YOU....

I GOT A BONE TO PICK WITH YOU BUCKO!!!!

STOP JUMPSCARING ME WITH FANART MAN!!! YOUR GONNA FRY MY DAMN CIRCUITS!!! YOU MAKE IT SEEM LIKE ITS NOT A BIG DEAL!??!!?! AND YOUR MOST LATEST ONE BEING FOR PRACTICE?! FUCKING HELLO?! LOOKS LIKE A FULL MASTERPIECE TO ME!!!

SO IN RETURN IM GIVING YOU FANART OF YOURSELF WITH ME FUCKING TEASING YOU!!! BITE ME!

@coralalala64

Youuuuuuuu........

Your damn angst almost every FREAKING TIME feels like you are personally putting your hand through my chest and yanking out my heart and squeezing it like it's a damn squeaker from a squeaky toy!

STOP BREAKING MY DAMN HEART!!!!!

YOU ARE SO STUPIDLY TALENTED AND ITS DRIVING ME INSANE WITH ALL THE WORK YOU DO!!!!

Keep up the good work but if I see another angst post anytime soon I'm going to implode and I'm taking you with me. /J

Okay that's all of you!

But yeah, hi all you lovely creators! You all are big inspirations of mine and I adore all your works in a unique way. Plenty of the things you all create have inspired me within my own art and series Change in Script! You guys are honestly amazing!

I can't wait to see what you all continue to create within or outside of the SMG4 community!

[syltheanti]

I hate how proshippers just go and say that antis dont care about victims.

I'm serious. I HATE IT. and I am speaking as a fucking victim THAT MOST IF NOT ALL OF THE ANTIS I'VE MET WHILE IN THIS SPACE HAVE BEEN VICTIMS AND CARE A *LOT* ABOUT VICTIMS OF ABUSE AND SUCH.

So fuck that little moronic sentence because I'm saying it as loud as possible the proshipping community has made me singlehandedly in this whole 'debate' question all my trauma, everything that comes into my life, NO COMMUNITY HAS MADE ME QUESTION THAT MORE THAN THEM WHO PARADE THAT THEY CARE MORE ABOUT VCTIMS THAN ANTIS DO WHEN ALL I SEE IS MINE AND OTHER PEOPLES FUCKING TRAUMA BEING TREATED AS HOT, CUTE AND TO BE SOMETHING DESIRED.

I've made similiar angry asks before, but I just cant with these people- I've stopped engaging in the conversation because of how much stress it puts on me, these people run you in circles with the same arguments "b-b-but its my coping mechanism!", "fiction doesnt affect reality/isnt reality/doesnt affect it on a 1 to 1 basis!!", "ur delusional/mentally ill cuz you think this stuff is nasty", "ur a n*zi!!!!! ur a facist!!" and no matter what they just DONT SHUT UP and when you are like "im done because YOU CLEARLY WONT LISTEN" they just go "I WONNNN!!! XD WHAT A LOSER ANTIII THEY COULDNT FACE THE TRUTHH!!! WHAT A DELULU!!"

like I'm sorry BUT N*ZIS BURNING BOOKS LIKE ONES ON TRANS IDENTITY RESEARH AND MORE DOES NOT EQUATE TO PEOPLE NOT WANTING FUCKING CHILDREN, ANIMALS, ETC. BEING PUT IN VULNERABLE SITUATIONS TO BE SEXUALIZED, ROMANTICIZED AND SUCH-

but noo they always go "purity culture!!! pURITTANNNN!!!! UR A FACIST!!" blah blah blah when someone disagrees with them and finds them disgusting "DONT GENERALIZE THE COMMUNTIY!!" BUDDY YOU GENERALIZE OURS BY SAYING WE'RE ALL HOSTILE AND MIND YOU THATS THE MAJORITY OF YOUR DAMN COMMUNITY 💀100% of the community I've met + witnessed are boundary breakers, use insults, harass minors, ship minors and adults or animals, and more, though I do acknowledge some of your community may have like every once in awhile a normal human being and just uses the proship label as it was probably originally intended as a harmless thing, not enabling harmful ships and media.(and also ofc... the minors in the proshipping communtiy- HINT HINT MAYBE PEOPLE WOULDNT THINK YOU AS CREEPS IF YOU GOT THE FUCKING KIDS OUTTA THERE, BUCKO)

anyways im done ranting for now, but IM SO FUCKING SICK OF THEM AS A VICTIM OF FUCKING ADULTS MISTREATING ME AS A MINOR- LIKE these fuckers make me question me being a victim more than I used to thanks to my own memory issues its fucking annoying. My trauma isn't something you get to treat as 'material' or as 'a cute little ship!! uwu!!' and neither is anyone else's trauma.

anyways im done- time to eat and then eep.

Toby 🪓🌲

i feel you man.

[sleeping-diary-the-fic]

Sleeping diary (a pink aftermare story)

Chapter 9: What in carnation???

First Previous

Orchid stood there, a few feet away from the grass circle, staring, glaring in a seemingly random direction, full of nothing but darkness.

His candy floss colored kitten slippers thumped against the vaguely solid ground.

He swore he heard something that way.

He kept staring for a while, his stillness only broken by this incessant stumping.

One could never be too cautious around here. 

A noise in the save screen, that didn’t come from him or the faint but constant buzzing of the checkpoint, was very suspicious.

The monster wasn’t sure if he preferred it to be from Gaster deciding to visit the periphery or something else entirely.

His hands, tucked in his coat’s pockets, picked at the inner fabric in a nervous fidget.

Maybe he imagined that.

Maybe that sound solely came from his fragile mind, sleething its way out by a fissure that would never close fully.

Orchid took his hand out to readjust his scarf and sighed.

Getting poetic again, lonely guy?

Finally deeming an investigation was not worth trudging away from his only light, he simply sat and picked up his favorite activity.

That book.

Berlingot went to sleep already so he only read back old exchanges and counted the pages they completed so far.

A lot.

Between idle chit-chats and paper games, they had decorated many new pages of small moments of life.

Orchid smiled at that.

Berlingot had a lot of free time or was weirdly invested with talking with him.

He didn’t mind however and wouldn’t probe. It’d felt like breaching that invisible barrier they each put up tightly around some aspects of their identity.

It wasn’t like he wanted to talk about his life or situation, why would he demand that of Berlingot?

A flutter moved right in his mostly blind side. The right side of his face was damaged enough that he barely perceived the world from that eye.

He froze.

This time he was sure of it.

He did not imagine that sound.

Twirling around fast, two summoned blasters fired beams of raging fire towards the source of the noise.

“WH-”

Someone else was there. 

Someone who barely dodged his blasts and was now floating, eyes wide, not so far from him.

It was a skeleton, with a similar build, clothed in a slightly pinkish white robe thing tied by a thin cord. 

Its eye sockets were dark and empty, partly obscured by his hood. The dark pink inside of the fabric contrasted with the pearl white of his bones.

Maybe it was really a ghost this time, he couldn’t see any feet under those clothes.

The apparition whistled before addressing him.

“Well, that wasn’t far… You’re a bit twitchy there, buddy?”

They talked.

“Who and what are you?”

“Maybe we could,” slender fingers gently point to his still summoned blasters, “put away the big guns before we try the whole conversation thing, bucko?”

“Answer my question and I might bring the puppies home, stranger.”

“Ok, ok,” they put their hands open in from of them, “sorry for startling you, I’ll answer your questions, cowboy~”

The floating guy lied down up there and pointed finger guns at him. Confused by the unexpected endeavor, Orchid unsummoned his blasters.

He swore, now was not the time to seem vulnerable.

“Soooo, I’ll admit I’ve been called a fair share of names!”

Their hands fished out squared papers from two colorful bags, hanging from his belt.

“First,” the stranger started folding the paper with a surprising velocity, “my brother calls me Sans. I’m sure you know this name, other me.”

Winking, he put down the origami.

A candy-shaped one.

“How-”

“What, can’t believe there are other worlds than your small one, boo?” 

The doppelganger folded a few similar paper constructs and put them in neat lines.

“I would have thought that with your… history?”, he lowered his voice, “not that I know much about it beside you got a copy in there and you out annnd the fact the bloodiest resets finally stopped… So don’t worry about that, candy-cheek!”

Orchid startled and almost rubbed his cheek where he knew the candy-mark shape rested.

10 small paper boxes had been produced again.

“Can you stop with the weird nicknaming and just come down and explain what’s up besides you?”

The other did a small looping and skillfully hid away  in his sleeves his creations.

“No can do, pal. I’ll come down at the end of our conversation annnnd you didn’t give me a name for me to use? I wouldn’t assume you still go by “Sans”, do you? Oh and,” the floating guy produced a more complex paper construct made of all the origamis he folded earlier, “you can call me Kusudama! It’s better than my work name and I choose it myself!”

The chatterbox seemed like he could be going for hours but Orchid did not relax yet. There was something in those fast-paced words, in this wide smile and empty sockets that just enerved him. How did “Kusudama” enter the save screen and why?

“I do have another name but I ain't sure I trust you so what if you get down there and we discuss how you breached this place and what you are seeking exactly here?”

No use in beating around the bushes, he might as well get to the point.

“Well it all does have a thing to do with my job but frankly I feel like procrastinating some more and believe me Sans-”

“Orchid.”

The correction fuzed before he could stop it, he couldn’t bear this name in this foreign mouth anymore.

“-Orchid, be-leaf me when I say it is in your best interest, flower guy.”

He tssked at the joke, who was he to steal a pun he could have done.

“And what is your job, world’s worst spooky decoration?”

Kusudama giggled and twirled, putting his hands under his shin, the fabric spinning around him in an aquatic dance.

“I wish,” he sighed.

Something in the atmosphere soured. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

Kusudama lowered himself a bit, standing almost to reach now.

“I said I had many names and a few are directly tied to my job, whomst I do not enjoy that much on a good day. But I guess someone has to do it.”

Orchid took a step bad, a hand raising in case he needed to summon something fast.

The other raised a hand as well, holding the colorful origami amalgamation. He threw it high.

His bags shook and a myriad of papers flew out, obscuring his vision suddenly.

Orchid tensed but waited.

A chuckle resonated in the empty place.

A glint of a blade grazed his shoulder and tore through his vest before he could react.

“Uhuh, not that fast.”

The view cleared and Kusudama reappeared, a pair of mismatched paper wings decorated his back. A tall scythe rested in his hands, the misshapen wood let place to the deadly blade where the weird origami thing sat.

“Maybe I played long enough. Hello, I’m a reaper, some call me death and I’m here for you, bye!”

Before the words even registered, the attacker lunged in his direction and it was only by reflex Orchid managed to summon his weapons to fight back.

The other was fast and bones, papers and blasts flew everywhere in a chaotic ordeal.

The monster dodged, more and more in extremis, each attack thrown his way, the blade swiping at him every time the death-bringer managed to close the distance. 

A wave of bones made the aggressor tumble farther, tearing through the fragile wing. He didn’t have time to cheer as the hole closed itself using new furniture from the annoying bags and his enemy threw himself back into action.

This couldn’t continue for long.

He would tire.

He would give up.

Could he even die here, when he only had a half-life left, when this place kept him alive when he should have been dust for a long time already?

Another attack barreled down on him.

He side stepped it and grabbed hard on whatever he could touch.

His hand ensnared a wrist and the hardly thought maneuver sent them both flying in the same direction.

They stopped in an awkward heap of limbs.

Both fighters froze, unsure of what to do next. 

After a while, they entangled themselves and stood there observing the other.

Kusudama’s eye sockets were blown wide for some reason and the previously determined to harm stranger stood there, limbs limp, as papers retreated and scythe unsummoned, leaving only the colorful ball he built earlier.

“What?”

Orchid didn’t let go of his sharpened bone stick as he shook in an unstable stance despite the sudden change of endeavor. This could be a scheme.

The reaper inspected his hands before tilting his head to the right.

“...why are you still alive…?”

While he couldn’t figure out what action should have killed him so surely the fact it didn’t produce such a confused face on “death” itself, he might as well answer what he knew.

“Beat me if I know. That place helped I guess.”

“...I’ll… I’ll come back later.”

With that, Kusudama disappeared soundlessly.

“YOU BETTER NOT COME BACK,” yelled the monster to nobody in particular, the sound echoing in the now empty space.

What a weird day.

End of chapter 9! Go to chapter 10?

Aftertale belongs to @/loverofpiggies Reapertale belongs to @/renrink Berlingot, Orchid and Kusudama belong to me

@dragon-tamer-1 @shinechermont

[thehill-rpg]

Episode 2: Whispers on The Hill Part: 1/??

The quiet shuffle of bare feet on the gravel courtyard fills the air, accompanied by the faint squeak of a rusty pool gate reluctantly opening. With a pair of composed steps, a slender figure, tall yet delicate, makes her way towards an ageing pool chair. As she reclines on its worn surface, the chair emits a soft groan of protest, bearing witness to both its own well-worn years and the age of its current resting place: Palm’s Motor Hotel. Donning a pair of Ray Bans, she settles in, clad in a casual ensemble of a Washington Nationals' tank top and a worn pair of denim short shorts. In her hand, she opens a well-read copy of Cosmo, its pages gently fluttering in the breeze. Tucked between them is a torn clipping from yesterday’s issue of The Hill, resting over an article titled ‘The Secret to Finding Your Soulmate: Date Your Alter Ego.’ A good article, offering the kind of advice you could only get out of a drunk best friend, yet not the one currently capturing her attention.

Chelsea Dalton reclines beside a pool that seems questionably operational (was that the smell of an impending bacteria infection?), her gaze fixed on the familiar words. She reads it again, for what feels like the hundredth time, each word etched into her memory. She knows every line by heart. It’s beautiful.

It’s also months of dedication, collaboration, and hopefully, justice. Sure, it’s a departure from her usual flair, and while, yes, she’d normally sell her soul for this kind of traffic on her blog, she knew there was no way her posting this story would get it the attention it deserved. Hence, her email to Violet Shard, almost three months ago. She’d been hesitant at first. Sure, she was a fan, but this was something that needed to be handled with care. She was too close to her own source. She couldn’t risk being named. However, Violet had assured her of anonymity and a series of follow-ups that wouldn’t brush any pertinent details under the proverbial rug of Washington D.C. political justice. That's why she had agreed, and why she now found herself just outside the District, technically in Maryland, waiting for said blonde journalist. 

Where was she?

As she waited for Violet’s late arrival (had her trusty Saab finally coughed its last puff of exhaust?), she let her thoughts drift over to Gray, and the party she would have been at if the news she’d just leaked to The Hill, hadn’t implicated his father. She’d probably have been in some uncomfortable sundress right now, watching as Gray loosened a tie, only for his mother to promptly tighten it again, while she discreetly passed another crab puff to Mac. Of course, she hated every second of it, but even without her mom’s urging, she hadn’t missed one since she’d moved in next door to his family at six. What could she say? She had a thing for fish paste covered Hors d'Oeuvres. And tortured artists… She’d let the last one remain unsaid, stubbornly resisting even her subconscious attempts to divert her down that worn-out, oh so familiar road. Not today, Bucko! 

Just as she was attempting to shift her focus, fate intervened with the unceremonious thud of a bottle of sunscreen hitting her thigh, yanking her back to the realm of the living—or, more accurately, a realm that didn't revolve around pining over her best-friend of twenty-seven years. “Slip, slop, slap…” She glared over her glasses at a man holding a faded beach towel and a copy of The Hill. 

While quick judgments were usually her forte, she decided to withhold hers until he extended his hands to offer assistance. She leaned towards labelling him as the "concerned dad" type rather than a creepy motel lifer. "Uh, thanks, but— Is that the latest copy of The Hill?" She hadn’t been able to pick up a copy before she’d left her house in order to get here in time and she was keen to see how Violet had followed up. “Sure, kiddo. It’s yours.” She dropped her guard, leaning over to take the paper from his outstretched hand, “Are you moving in?” She’d have answered if the headline story hadn’t caught her attention. Violet Shard, facing charges of defamation and harassment, for her latest story on Congressman Whitman and Harris. “Uh, sorry, do you mind if I–” She was already up, picking up her copy of cosmo and hurrying out of the pool area and back towards her day room and her burner. FUCK. Voicemail. “Violet, call me. I— What can I do?” 

Well, she knew one thing she could do…  

She hastily opened her laptop, disregarding the unread emails clamouring for her attention with their requests for her usual freelance work. Instead, she navigated to her blog and swiftly crafted a new post.

Ms. Whisper here, emerging from the shadows with a scoop hotter than the Capitol's political inferno. It appears our esteemed journalist, Violet Shard, finds herself in the clutches of controversy. But this isn't your run-of-the-mill scandal, my darlings—oh no, it's a tale of truth-telling and the ruthless consequences that follow. Violet dared to shine a light on the dark dealings of Congressman Whitlock and Harris, revealing their insidious involvement in the war-torn realm of Matamba. Yet, instead of accolades, she's met with handcuffs and accusations of defamation and harassment. But fear not, dear readers, for Ms. Whisper is always on the case, ready to peel back the layers of deception and hold the powerful to account. In this cutthroat world of political intrigue, even the bravest truth-seekers like Violet Shard aren't safe from the claws of injustice. So, keep your ears to the ground and your eyes peeled, because when it comes to unravelling the truth, there's no hiding from the relentless pursuit of Ms. Whisper. #StandWithViolet

Her phone buzzed—an SOS. She shot a text back that she’d be there soon. Though even with her foot planted to the floor of her beemer she knew she’d never break an hour. Hastily rummaging through her overnight bag, she retrieved a somewhat acceptable dress (she didn’t own many); though the party might've been cancelled, she was certain Gray's mom wouldn't want the reminder. Hastily, she made her way over to the shower, and tried her best to find the password to get the hot water working longer than two seconds.

She did her best to keep her hair from getting wet, as she washed her nervous sweat from under her armpits. Chelsea hadn't seen this coming without a fight, but nabbing a journalist? This wasn't just a hiccup; it was the kind of move that had First Amendment lawyers rubbing their hands with glee.

She gave up trying to tune the shower into submission and let the cold water run down her back, as she wracked her brain for a way to assist Violet beyond mere page views. Nothing. Nothing.

When it came down to taking action, what good was being Ms. Whisper if all she had in her arsenal were a sharp tongue and a quick wit? That certainly didn't grant innocent journalists a Get Out of Jail Free card, did it?

After a quick drying session (as evidenced by her dress clinging to her back and making it a challenge to slide down over her thighs), Chelsea grappled with her wayward curls, victims of the fierce heat akin to the Battle of Waterloo. With her belongings in tow, she checked out of the motel, conceding that, for the time being, there was little she could do for Violet. As for Gray, a sense of obligation stirred within her to mitigate the unintended turmoil she had caused him. Nonetheless, she refrained from assuming full culpability, acknowledging that the root of this mess lay primarily with his father. All she’d done was overhear a phone call, sneak into his office at night, and make a few dozen or so copies of a report that she only wished now had more than just Congressman Harris’ name to it.

Pulling up to Gray’s house, adjacent to her own, Chelsea switched off the ignition and discreetly covered her overnight bag with one of Mac’s car seat covers in the backseat before stepping out and making her way inside. The atmosphere was sullen, with white chairs being shuffled in and out from the patio to a van parked out front. From a distance, Chelsea observed Nora overseeing the operation with an overflowing wine glass in hand. She couldn't shake the feeling of responsibility for the sombre mood, knowing she had played a part in it, at least partially.

Following the faint strumming of a bass, Chelsea ascended the stairs, purposefully bypassing Mr. Whitlock’s study. She had been instructed to call him Brody, but it just didn't sit right with her. Instead, she made her way down to Gray’s room at the end of the second floor. Her fingers brushed against the wooden door as she announced herself before slipping inside.

"So, on a scale from six-pack therapy to a spa retreat in the German highlands, how concerned should I be about you?" She offered a tentative smile. However, the instant she caught the strains of "Darn The Dream" by Ron Carter, being plucked, she realised she was entering yodelling territory.

[bodyalive]

We’re Sorry, You Can’t Join Our Street Gang Because You Don’t Know Ballet

by Tom Smyth

    Hey daddio, listen here. We know you’ve been itching to join our rough and tumble street gang, but I’ve got bad news, bucko: you just don’t got the stuff it takes to roll with the Jets. Sure, in an ordinary gang, you might have to off a guy or something to prove yourself, but that’s simply not enough for us—you need to be able to pirouette too.

I mean, how would you even manage to complete everyday gang activities like leaping and twirling if you aren’t classically trained in ballet? Everybody knows a cornerstone of organized street crime is frolicking down your turf like you’re Ginger Rogers. And if you can’t do a toe touch, you’re putting us all at risk. Why do you think we’re called the Jets anyways? Named ourselves after the ballet move grand jeté, obviously.The greatest graduation gift is this gorgeous deluxe boxed set of Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass. Shockingly affordable!

That’s why we pick up most of our recruits by lurking outside Lincoln Center and Juilliard at the end of the day and taking in wayward dance students. It’s the only way to properly equip ourselves to face off with rival gangs like the Sharks, or the Rockettes.

Don’t take it personally, buddy ol’ pal; we’ve had to cut others for far less. Would you believe we had people audition—I mean, apply—to be a Jet when they didn’t even know how to snap their fingers? Totally useless! How do they expect to walk with us in unison across a playground?

And we hate to turn anyone away, we really do. Heck, we need the numbers. We lose half our ranks when The Nutcracker goes into production. But you’re just not up to snuff yet, maybe take a few acrobatic classes and try again.

You see, we need intimidating tough guys, like Baby John and Joyboy. Basically, if it sounds like you were named after a cartoon bunny, you’re in. And, naturally, you have to be able to brawl and rumble with choreographed precision in complete silence so everybody can hear the Leonard Bernstein score clearly. After all, we can’t have you embarrassing us at one of the dances that rival street gangs famously always attend together.Dave Eggers silkscreen prints to benefit the new International Library of Youth Writing! Purchase your own unique piece of art and check back regularly for more.

We get why you’re so keen to join us, buddy boy. We own this buggin’ street, and not in an Adopt-a-Highway kind of way. More in a “we put our name on it so it’s ours to twirl on” kind of way. After all, if we write our name on it, it’s ours. Office refrigerator rules. And if you’re really bad to the bone, you might even paint a big ol’ STINKS under a rival gang’s tag. That’ll show ’em. Oh, just talking about it makes me wanna do some good ol’ fashion clobbering. Pow! Bam! Step! Kick! Kick! Leap! Kick! Touch! Cicero! Lipshitz!

But don’t give up hope. Keep trying. After all, you’ve got the whistling part down, and that’s half the battle. And once you’re in, we’ll have your back—gee whizz, we’ll be able to do so many lifts and spins—not to mention all the perks. You get to hang out on any fire escape or playground you want, group ticket rates for local dances at the gym, and while most gangs might get a kick-butt leather jacket or matching tattoos, being a Jet comes with your very own dance belt.

It ain’t all sunshine and roses, though, kiddo. People think we’re a bunch of hoodlums and punks just because we goof around and drink soda pop and do some occasional murderin’. But if we sing a li’l song about it to the copper and distract him with some good ol’ fashioned musical theater, then we can usually get off scot-free. So, sure, being a Jet might have its downsides, but for the most part, it’s the swingingest thing. Because when company’s expected, you’re well protected.

Like we say, when you’re a Jet, you stay a Jet. Mainly because muscle memory makes it impossible to forget our choreography.

[pennzance]

Ghostbusters: Port Huron (Episode 19)

Episode 19: Captain Hatchet

October 4th, 1998

Incident report by Bryan

On a Sunday. Man, screw this guy.

We’ve been on high alert for the last few days because of Dan’s cryptic warning schtick. I was really hoping it wasn’t going to be on Sunday, but of course it was. When the traffic is always at its worst.

At about 4pm (again, on a SUNDAY), we got a call from the Coast Guard. A vessel has been spotted on Lake Huron flying very old flags and, when approached, firing actual cannons at people. A Coast Guard vessel had gone out and been sunk, and the waterlogged men who had been pulled from the water by a daring speedboat driver doing his own thing had stated that the vessel was captained by a transparent pirate.

Cue us. While Jeremy, Amber, Eric and Kelly took the Ecto-908 to the Coast Guard station, Jason and I went a little further down the St. Lawrence River to the Lightship Museum. I can’t say I was surprised that the engine of the ancient boat was running, but I appreciated Dan being ready.

“Ready ta cast off, me bucko!” Dan crowed from the upper level of the ship, obviously having the time of his afterlife.

“You can’t just steal a museum and sail it into a naval engagement!” I shouted up at him.

Dan didn’t care. “All aboard who’s comin’ aboard! Bring them fancy lightnin’ guns o’ yers, we’re gonna need ‘em!”

I dragged Jason aboard and almost immediately the Lightship drifted away from the dock, much to the surprise and shouted questions of the manager standing impotently on the shore. The entire ship had a shimmer to it, almost like it was covered in a thin layer of oil, but it wasn’t slick to the touch. “Dan, what the hell?” Jason managed to shout. He was acclimating quickly.

“Gotta move quick,” I heard Dan say, although his voice wasn’t coming from any particular direction. “If Hatchet gets to the bridges, he’ll be in the wind and we’ll never catch ‘im.”

I could see the Bluewater Bridges from our vantage point on the river, and a bit ahead of us the Coast Guard were casting off their second, smaller boat with the rest of the team on board. There was some other traffic on the water in the river, but the sight of the old Lightship unmoored and moving was making the ones who weren’t stopping to stare vacate the area with all haste.

There was an absolutely unnatural fog rolling in from the lake. The Bluewater Bridges that connected Port Huron and the United States to Sarnia and Canada stood at the mouth of the river, where the St. Lawrence met Lake Huron and served as a channel all the way down to Lake Eerie. We were making good speed upstream, moving slightly faster than the Coast Guard and slowly overtaking them as we approached the bridges.

The fog was even thicker here, but the Lightship’s light shone like the sun and cut through a lot of the gloom. Jason and I stood on the bow of the ship, and the others lined the sides of the Coast Guard boat, all of us peering into the fog for some sign of Captain Hatchet’s vessel.

“Dan,” I asked in the sudden and crushing stillness, “what should we expect?”

“Trouble,” Dan replied, his voice sounding strained.

“Why can’t we let him past the bridge?” Jason wondered aloud.

“Gateway between two worlds,” Dan responded. “I been keepin’ this sonuvabitch kickin’ around the lake fer th’ better part of a century. Whenever he gets his gumption up, he makes a run fer the bridges and I have ta find a way ta stop ‘im. I usually commandeer one o’ them bigass cargo haulers and just run his sorry hide over, them big ships barely feel the bump. But now we’ve got a unique opportunity to put ‘im in a prison he can’t get out of.”

“What happens if he crosses the threshold?” I asked.

“Nothin’ good,” Dan’s voice came back. “Maybe he lives again, maybe he rips open the world. No idea, don’t wanna find out.”

“Agreed.”

There was a tense silence, unbroken as the bow of a schooner came into view. I was expecting an old, two masted pirate ship straight out of the movies. What I got was a hodgepodge of naval engineering from the last hundred years or so. Some wood, some aluminum hull, a single mast, no sail. Standing proudly on the bow, like he owned the entire lake, was the ghost of Captain Archibald Fitzsimmons, the infamous Captain Hatchet.

This was a man who, when the natives scalped settlers in the region, took it upon himself to scalp them right back, and then go further. A man who murdered so many women and children and braves that were he to have stood trial for the crimes his consecutive life sentences would have interred him for a thousand years longer than his lifespan would have allowed. If those crimes had been considered crimes when he sailed the lakes, that is. In many ways, Hatchet was the tool of the colonizers who were all too eager to drive the indigenous people of America not just off their lands, but off their mortal coils entirely. The blood may have been on his hands directly, but figuratively that blood stretched all the way to New York and Massachusetts and Delaware to families that profited from the wholesale slaughter of nations they didn’t care to recognize as nations, let alone humans.

We wasted no time in lighting his ass up.

Dancing beams of fire and fury cut into Hatchet’s ships from either side, but if the captain was worried or shocked, he didn’t show it. On the contrary, he bellowed a challenge and I heard a thunderclap. The Lightship pitched to the side and I had to grab the rail to keep from falling over. Cannon fire? I looked around and sure enough, the railing and the door beyond it leading into the Lightship was a smoking hole.

“DAN!” I shouted involuntarily as the ship pitched back the other way on the waves.

“I’m on it!” the voice was like a thunderclap itself and the Lightship began to turn toward Hatchet’s Frankenstein-like vessel. I tried to steady myself but had to duck something flying through the air. Living up to his name, the bastard was actually throwing hatchets at us.

“Reload!” I heard him bellow over the adrenaline in my ears.

“Roast his ass!” Jason shouted, bracing a foot on the railing and firing again. I followed his lead, and I don’t know who it was that hit him, but someone did. Hatchet shot backwards and onto the deck of his own ship. Shots from the Coast Guard boat knocked him over again as he tried to stand back up.

And that’s when we rammed him.

The Lightship may have been old, but it was a single ship and solidly built. Hatchet’s boat was such a mashed-together hodgepodge that it came apart at the seams on impact, breaking into disparate parts that began to sink at different speeds. The Bane of the Huron didn’t let that slow him down, leaping up and onto the deck of the Lightship and brandishing a very real and very sharp looking cutlass.

Jason and I wheeled around to blast him, but Hatchet was too fast. He ducked my beam and sidestepped Jason’s, lunging forward with that terrifying sword.

Suddenly Dan was just THERE, cavalry saber in hand and deftly parrying the wild lunge. The blades clashed at speeds I was having trouble following, but while Dan was the better swordsman Hatchet was more ferocious. It wasn’t like they could kill each other, but it was a hell of a fight to watch.

The Coast Guard pulled up alongside us and I caught Dan giving me a look in between blade strokes. I nodded and, heedless of who I hit, fired. Dan was ready to give himself up without a fight if it meant Hatchet was caught as well.

“Catch ‘em both!” I shouted, and Jason caught on. Jeremy and Amber joined in right after, and Eric and Kelly followed up. Hatchet realized what was happening and tried to get away, tried anything really, but the combination of Dan and our firepower was forcing him to panic.

We both kicked our traps across the deck, but a deep booming sound shook both ships again. Hatchet’s amalgamated mess must have still been able to fire whatever spectral artillery it had even though it was sinking. Water spouted up between the Lightship and the Coast Guard and the ships pitched away from each other on the swell. I panicked and stomped down on my trap, but everything slid on the deck and the piercing light cut ineffectually into the fog.

Over the noise, I didn’t hear it coming until it hit us from behind. Jason and I went head over heels across the deck and I heard Dan swear loudly. By the time I could stand up, Hatchet was gone, flying through the air on the back of a horse with bat wings.

Confusion and shouting took over as we all tried to understand what had just happened, but I couldn’t stop myself from following the dwindling shape of Captain Archibald Fitzsimmons and his demonic-looking steed as they swooped down and beneath the Bluewater Bridges, vanishing into thin air.

And the air below the bridges rippled like the surface of the water.

We’d lost. I turned to Dan but he was gone. His presence was gone. The Lightship was a drifting, lifeless hulk now. Everyone was shouting questions, asking if the others were okay, coordinating how to drag the Lightship back to shore, and I just stood there, hands frozen to the rail.

We’d lost.

Now what?

End of report.

[tempestaslokni]

Cracking a slight small at 'bucko,' Lokni stuck his hands in his pockets. 'Hate the thought of it?' his mind echoed back at him. "is it really originality when you're just repeating tradition? Same as muscle memory if you ask me- like you playin' a song that you've performed thousands of times," he reasoned with a furrowed brow, although Lokni may have been off-target in what she had really meant. Mind games weren't his forte. This newcomer seemed pretty gun-ho about this whole endeavor, and though Lokni wasn't exactly warm to her, he was eager to get this little 'test-run' over with so that he could go back to his solace. Surely she'd be on her way after this was done? Right? "We don't need to be goin' too far out," he agreed, the waves already jostling the boat a bit even as they both clutched it. "I'm strong," Lokni affirmed. He might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but he knew his own physical capabilities. Her quick movements caught him off guard once again, but he didn't withdraw his hand as she placed a light kiss against his knuckles. Hilarious? Lokni raised an eyebrow, clueless as to what Cala was eluding to. "Well, Miss Cala, it's a pleasure," he mimed tipping the brim of an invisible hat in return. Before he could say anything, Cala had already jumped into the boat. No matter though, she looked about as heavy as a feather. He'd have no trouble getting this out into the water. This shouldn't be a sweat. That's at least what he thought until the water receded beneath the boat, grounding it into the sand. Lokni peered around just in time to see a massive wave swelling before them. "Damn," Lokni hissed, vaulting over the side of the boat and grabbing the other oar so that it wouldn't get swallowed up by the wave. "Hold on, Miss!" Lokni hollered to Cala who seemed to be hauling up the other oar. Good thinking. He appreciated how swift she was to act, a rare and valuable trait in a person. The wave crashed down onto the shore, spilling some into the boat before pulling it back into the water. Lokni rocked backward with the movement, still managing to keep his balance, even if just barely. The boat was sucked out into the open waves, water and foam flying through the air. Lokni wasn't too familiar with this beach, something about it dissuaded him from trying to take a dip. No kelp or seaweed grew here, and fish didn't even seem to take refuge in the rocks and dead corral. Using the oar, Lokni focused on pushing the boat away from the visible outcroppings of rocks and shallow, bleached reefs. While focusing on one side, Lokni heard a groan and horrible grating sound as the boat scraped by an unseen reef on the other side. "A little help here!" Lokni yelled, impatient from the stress of navigating unfamiliar waters. However, that was about to be the least of their worries as something dark and massive was quickly making its way toward the boat. It was moving through the water with such speed that the water was surging and swelling around it. "We've got company!" He shouted, squatting down in the boat but holding the oar at the ready like a baseball bat.

"We've both got artist's souls, I reckon. An appreciation for imagination, don't we," Calamity cooed, gently pulling at the fellow's harness, getting him to follow her lead. Establish connections, a camaraderie in creativity. She coyly drummed at his shoulders again, then lightly tapped one of his temples on the side of his head. "I reckon you're more original than you give yourself credit for, bucko."

A wicked, teasing smile. "Bet you hate the thought of it, in fact."

Calamity had no idea what 'ranch hand' was, she'd ask Chance later. She just hummed and nodded with superficial interest, even though she hadn't asked what he'd done. He was clearly polite enough to exchange information, tit for tat. Whatever 'ranch hand' was, it sounded like something humble and a lot of (ugh) hard work.

"We'll both stay in the water, just holding onto the boat!" Calamity sing-songed to further convince him. "No need to go far, yeah? And you look well strong, I'm sure you can hold the boat against a little wave or too. Are you strong?" A seemingly innocuous question, that might send him into a mild tailspin of deprecation, on a modest brag. Calamity wanted to see which.

"Lokni!" Calamity dipped forward, taking his callous hand and kissing his thick, workman knuckles. "I'm Cala. How d'you do?" She faked a curtsy, then laughed. "You're hilarious."

Lokni got the boat moving, far better than she ever could. Once the boat was floating and Calamity stood about waist deep in the water, she bobbed to inspect the inside. "Hm. Nothing so far! Might be best maybe if I hop in, put a little weight in the boat and see if any leaks spring up?"

Calamity was already climbing in before Lokni could say otherwise. Her heart pounded in excitement. All she needed to do was bash dear Lokni in the head with an oar, and she could have the boat for herself (and Chance, when she found him. A problem for later). She wobbled, then jumped a bit in the boat. "Looking good so far! You're so tall, maybe take the boat out a bit more? Here, I'll help -"

Calamity hauled up an oar again (bloody hell, did they get heavier on the water?) so close to her nefarious goal, when -

"Oh bloody hell, where's that coming from?" Calamity pointed out to sea. "A wave. Bloody big too!" She wasn't fibbing either. A tall wave was mounting, cresting closer to them, threatening to swallow Lokni whole if he didn't do something. Maybe this was a good thing, Calamity thought. She wouldn't have to whack him; the sea would take care of him instead. Tragically, she shouted his name, "Oh Lokni, noooo!!"

[ask-jyushi-and-kara]

(lmao this was stupid)

[ask-bucko]

he hasnt been up to much!

[dchuntress]

okay whatever. buckle up bucko i'll do it regardless

i love this song a lot because of how much it encapsulates the experience of anxiety and overthinking so well, and as a horror movie / zombie apocalypse movie fan, this music video GRIPPED me. it's genuinely so well made and i love it, i genuinely was on the edge of my seat for it. i want to analyse this music video to uncover its story/plot as the main focus and propose a theory for what's going on, with some thoughts about the metaphors possibly used. however, the song itself will have little to no role in my thoughts. i'll use lists to convey my ideas much quicker. watch the music video first before you read this since i go between back and forth.

brief outline.

1. at the beginning, a dead body was found in a hospital.

2. the atmosphere in the hospital is gloomy, with white and red lights, flicking on and off, alternating colours.

3. a variety of hospital staff are panic-stricken and running for their lives across the hallway from an unseen threat, for safety.

4. au/ra, whom i'll be calling aura for simplicity (and i'm talking about aura's character here and not her as a real life person), is in all white and wearing a coat, presumably a doctor or a patient, has her hands clutched to her chest while she walks slowly, in contrast to everybody else, who sprint and panic and ignore her.

5. aura seems to be overwhelmed by fear and even to be in a state of pain and vulnerability, as she slowly trudges forward.

6. at the beginning, a trio of people have entered a room which appears to be the safety (or, well, the panic) room. among them, the prominent is the character i'll dub the nurse. the nurse locks the room from inside and refuses to let anybody in.

7. more and more employees rush to the safety room and bang at the door (the door has a window so they can see each other), begging and yelling at the nurse to let them in. the nurse says no.

8. eventually, ALL of the remainder of the staff have reached the safety net and are begging to be let in, and so, the nurse finally relents.

9. an argument breaks out in the room; the people who were made to wait outside are angry at the nurse.

10. when aura finally shows up the room, she and the nurse make eye contact, and the nurse once again protests to not aura in. this causes another argument, with the employees once again pissed off at the nurse, so with the peer pressure, the nurse gives in, and everybody lets aura in.

11. there is a plot twist: when aura finally stops clutching her chest and lowers her hands, blood is seen where her hands previously were, and she's holding a literal heart — from the victim seen at the beginning. the people in the room do not see this, i suppose. when they open the door for aura, she looks at the camera—towards us—and her eyes briefly become red, before she finally walks inside the room. she has been the threat all along.

my theory:

something supernatural or paranormal is established in the universe, because if it was a normal murder case, the medical professionals would not all be panicking and running like that to the safety room.

maybe there's this established threat that something is haunting the area; perhaps, a demon or monster of sorts that has two signature traits: the demon eats hearts, and the demon is a shapeshifter that can blend in easily.

aura here is, for the lack of creativity, the anxiety demon: a sort of monster that specifically preys on people's fear and anxiety. interestingly enough, she is not immune to anxiety either; i think she can genuinely feel anxious too. it's like a crab bucket situation here. she can amplify other people's anxiety, either at will or if her presence alone is enough to amplify it.

she has infiltrated the hospital, by posing as a doctor or a patient to protect her cover.

so that's why people are scared. when they see the dead body with its heart torn out + the hospital lights start flickering ominously, the panic sets in because everybody just realised that the monster has finally shown itself.

analysis:

1. the dead body at the beginning appears to be a doctor or some hospital staff of some sort. there's a lit flashlight on the floor next to the body, which is commonly a trope to show an investigation gone wrong. maybe all hell broke loose when this person set out to investigate the supernatural threat at the hospital, and so, aura killed them.

2. a variety of manifestations of anxiety have been shown here, with rationality and mental strength evaporating in the face of danger. when panic-stricken, some people run, some people freeze, some people mentally block out everything, some people fight.

3. this explains everybody's reactions in the music video: the staff are running like that to save themselves, and they run past aura because they are too focused on their own survival to help her even when she looks like she needs help, or they don't register her as a threat, or they just don't register her at all. aura walks slowly with her hands clutched to her chest and reacts to her environment: this is also a display of the fear engulfing her.

4. the nurse is acting logically here. if we consider the safety room to be the brain, then the nurse is the logic, the people are emotions, and aura is anxiety/dark thoughts: the nurse is trying to be logical and keep the brain as calm and stable as possible, but then the emotions overflood, breaking down the barriers, and as a result, being able to distinguish between who to let in or not, they let in the dark thoughts too.

5. in my opinion, the nurse is acting on their gut feelings. it's understandable why people are angry at them: the nurse might seem selfish for refusing to open the door even though people are begging, but perhaps the nurse knows that the threat could be any one of the staff, or they just want to focus on keeping the small group inside the safety room safe, choosing certainty over trying to save everybody and possibly failing.

6. however, when ALL of the employees showed up outside the room, the nurse finally relented and lets them in; people are angry at the nurse, which is understandable, the nurse made them stand outside and they could've died right out there. they're working with two different goals here: the staff generally wants to save everybody because it'd be selfish to leave just anybody out, while the nurse has a strong gut feeling that for their actual safety, they shouldn't just let anybody in. the reason the nurse was initially willing to just lock out everybody is because the nurse simply didn't have the time or mental stability to assess everybody individually and let them in: the nurse had to make a quick decision on the spot.

7. it seems like whenever people are around aura, their anxiety worsens and they become more panic stricken, so they are unable to do or think as calmly and logically. this explains why everybody is so quick to fight; they're all unnerved.

8. when the nurse makes eye contact with aura, the nurse has this gut feeling that aura is not to be trusted; this causes another fight, because the employees think this is just cruel and selfish now. the nurse just can't logically explain why they shouldn't let aura in; singling one person out just seems selfish and looks bad.

conclusion:

at first, i personally was really interested by how everybody was running from an unseen danger and i was genuinely on the edge of my seat to see what creature shows up, especially when it seemed like aura was the vulnerable one here with nobody stopping to help her and leaving without her. so the plot twist wasn't satisfying to me at first, but then i did some digging, and with the singer au/ra saying about how sometimes with anxiety, the biggest threat to yourself can be yourself (paraphrasing), i think the ending of the music video is satisfying in terms of having portrayed that metaphor pretty well; with the aura turning to the audience briefly and showing her red eyes. within the music video, it shows that the nurse was not overreacting for refusing to let people in initially. metaphorically, it shows that although aura was panicking the whole time, she was also the threat to herself.

this isn't just that ALL fear is incorrect — some of them are necessary for your survival and betterment, especially your gut feelings. panic, especially mass panic and peer pressure from people because panic is socially contagious in a group, is what causes the disaster.

so, yeah. this song and this music video is a masterpiece, and i'd love to see this as a full fleshed film or something.

is anybody interested in hearing my analysis, theories, and thought on the 'plot'/possible lore of this music video within its self-contained universe...

[evilsoup]

lmao

One of the most common ways in which this occurs is through aesthetic choices such as non-Black people wearing “dreadlocks” and people non-Indigenous to Turtle Island wearing “Mohawk” hairstyles. While these are by no means the only ways in which cultural appropriation rears its head, we give these examples as they are things that have specifically and repeatedly been brought to the Bookfair collective’s attention over the years.

We’re not interested in policing people’s bodies, nor is it logistically feasible—or desirable—for us to monitor every person who attends the bookfair. As the collective is responsible for choosing the bookfair’s content, however, this year we’re trying to be more thoughtful in terms of who presents and tables. To the best of our capacity, we will not be accepting applications from people wanting to present or table if we know them to be making culturally appropriative choices in how they dress or behave.

Official policy of Montreal anarchist bookfair is to cut your hair and tidy your room bucko!!

[abbcube]

seeing the words Not In The Groove in your comment made me gasp irl i love that game its such a damn banger

have this gif its funny i think

Always happy to see another NotITG fan! It's truly criminal how few people know about this game. And I've been meaning to learn the chart in that gif for a while. Maybe soon 🤔

Also, this means I now have an excuse to yell about this game to the sorry fools who made the mistake of following me. So...

(Moderate photosensitivity warning btw, this stuff can get spicy for the eyes)

HYPERFIXATION BE UPON YE

I now get the chance to talk about a game I feel exceedingly n̸͓̒̍o̶̹̿͠r̷͚͇͗m̴͈͒̐a̸̝͉̒ĺ̶̹̹̆about.

What's NotITG??

Not In The Groove, or NotITG/nITG for short, is a rhythm game with some of the craziest & most creative visuals you'll ever see. It's an extravaganza of colors, music, and lots and lots of arrows. Words don't do it justice though, so here's an example:

(HiTECH NINJA - Technician's High)

(Chart by Exschwasion + Tetaes)

Whoa, what the fuck was that? Is that even readable?

Yes it is, I promise! It just takes some practice. These are made to be not only doable, but completely feasible to read & learn. They wouldn't be fun otherwise. It's also not nearly as bad as it looks at first glance, especially if you know what sort of stuff you should be looking out for.

In fact, here are some things that can make it a little easier to parse:

The colors of the arrows are indicative of the timing (reds are on quarter notes, blues are eighth notes, greens are sixteenth notes, etc). This means it's possible to identify the rhythm of a song even if you've never heard it before.

If visual effects are getting particularly crazy, it can be helpful to read ahead and quickly memorize a "chunk" of notes to play while your vision is impaired, picking back up when the screen is clearer.

Charts (the arrows for a given song) are made to be played on a dance pad, with your feet. Furthermore, any half-decent chart commits to having good flow (or posture) meaning that the patterns you see are made to be "stepped" through with alternating* feet. This vastly limits the number of possible patterns that can be thrown at you. So if you happen to lose your place while reading the chart, it's very feasible to infer what the next few steps will be, giving you a chance to recover.

(*depending on the song, a chart may have you hit the same step multiple times with the same foot. There are other exceptions too but that could warrant its own section entirely)

If you want a way better explanation of this stuff, some prominent devs in the community did a great job covering all of it during the game's exhibition during AGDQ2022!

This looks completely and utterly insane, there's no way I'd ever be able to play this!

That's where you're wrong, bucko! They aren't all made to be difficult! There are plenty of easier charts out there to learn the basics on & get your bearings. Some of my favorites include:

(Chroma - Phantom Train Journey)

(Chart by Kaypooma)

(Sakuzyo - Altale)

(Chart by PlasticRainbow + mrcool909090)

How do these even get made?

Good old programming! Also math. Lots and lots of math. You wanna make the arrow follow a funny path? Time to learn what a spline is. Want to make a circle? Hope you were paying attention in trig class, because it's time to break out the radians.

In all seriousness, I have nothing but the highest respect for the people that make charts for NotITG. Every single one of them is a culmination of music, art, programming, math, animation, visual design, game design, psychology, kinesiology and so, so much more. It's genuinely dizzying how multitalented these people are.

I'm interested in these man-made horrors beyond my comprehension! Where can I play this game?

You can download it from the game's website: noti.tg. It's free! Completely! There is no way to spend money on it. You'll just have to live with the fact that you can't give these talented creators your money.

I'd also recommend joining the game's discord (noti.tg/discord). They're incredibly helpful & friendly, just don't be a jerk :p. It should have some good information & resources for when you're starting out.

I feel like I've barely even scratched the surface of what makes this game special. I could probably make a whole other post rambling about the lore of UKSRT and the effect that's had on me, but this post is long enough as is.

If there's even one person who read this far, thank you for listening to the ramblings of a madman obsessed with a funny little arrow game! ❤️

[ollieakana]

dino fury team group chat hcs & highlights:

selfies galore (+everyone hyping each other up)

faq: "javi is izzy next to you?" / "izzy is javi next to you?" / "why are you both using the chat if you're right next to each other?"

(cut to izzy and javi sending pics/vids of each other with their phones pointed at each other to the chat, laughing)

ollie playing tech support when any of them ask abt their electronics bc lbr they would definitely make him do that lmao ("hey ollie, my...")

group calls/voice chats that last like 11+ hrs

more under the cut!

izzy sending various memes

if they're on discord, they have roles that match their ranger colors (javi has purple tho)

said roles are very goofy in nature bc izzy and aiyon decided what they were named when they helped ollie make the server

Zayto types with the default settings of his phone's keyboard

Ollie types using proper grammar, spelling, punctuation, and very few shorthands. This boy really ends every text with a period.

amelia types in all lowercase, uses some punctuation here and there!! really likes using exclamation points!!! and emojis 😁💞 caps reserved for EXCITEMENT AND EXCITEMENT ONLY (that's a lie, it's also for threats! 😊)

Javi types with the default settings too, +a couple shorthands here n there! Occasinal spellign errors bc he gets excited or is passionate abt sonethin while typing. If he really needs to he'll use text-to-speech or voice messages

izzy types in all lowercase too w a lot of diff shortenings n acronyms lmao vv rarely uses proper punct bc its kind of a hassle so she limits stuff like that to her school papers

aiyon likes izzys style so he does the same tbh n also rlly likes emojis ✌💫 he thinks theyre fun!

ollie talks abt the mods he's done to his game consoles (#gamerollie is REAL IDC); has helped izzy on video chat mod some of her consoles too (izzy's more of a casual vg enjoyer tho)

they share playlists!! greatest hits include: bad bitch mode, songs to best god in hand to hand combat to, felony committing bops, playlist, gay menace tunes, and variations of russian roulette (ex: 5 under pressures, 1 ice ice baby)

izzy taking a pic of her tv, showing that ollie has been playing a game for several hours according to psn, captioned with "i see u mr akana 👀"

followed by "OLLIE GO TO BED" by amelia

someone getting kicked from chat then added back immediately

ALTERNATELY someone leaving chat then getting added back immediately ("where do u think ur goin bucko")

chat name changes on a regular basis ngl

sometimes they have conversations through chat name changes (izzy famously saying "but changin the name of chats my typing quirk" before ollie kicks her. zayto and aiyon don't understand why it was a kickable offense, but amelia does and adds her back immediately after bc it was funny)

izzy bullying (affectionate) everyone for their typos (she hasn't caught ollie YET but WHEN SHE DOES-)

literally half the time the chat name get changed, it's to make fun of typos so for like a week during winter the chat name was "how the grink stole xmas"

they also share pics from their outings together in chat ("hey look at this picture of zayto and aiyon i took of them trying boba for the first time!")

[kakiwrites]

hihi,, SO UM,, i was wondering if i could have any miya chinen fluff ? LIKE WHERE S/O GETS MARRied to him OR SOMEHITNG LIKE THAT HELP 😭😭😭😭 its all good if u dont wanna write that,, have a nice day :3

marriage with the skater cat

Genre: fluff

A miya chinen x reader

a/n: thanks for the request anon! I couldn't resist doing this right away! Also, might have another cherry fic because a certain friend gave me an idea. Hope you guys enjoy this one! Let's get started 💖

"miya, what do you think about marriage?"

Miya almost spat out his protein drink in shock. You sat cheekily on the empty bench of the small skating area of your local park. You decided to accompany Miya while he trained after classes. That's what got him into this predicament.

"what do you mean?" he asked, turning away so you wouldn't see the pink blushing his cheeks. "w-why did you ask that anyway? We're still in middle school so we can't even get married yet-" he started to ramble only to get cut off by your giggles. He snapped his head back toward you.

"so you have thought about marrying me?" you teased. Miya felt his face grow hotter. It wasn't as if you were wrong. In fact, you were right. He sat on his bed at night and imagined you walking down the aisle in a pristine white dress before but no way in hell was he going to tell you about that.

"n-no," he stuttered. He was giving himself away and he knows it. "you asked about the concept of marriage, not us getting married." he crossed his arms over his chest, watching as your lips turned to a pout.

"Oh come on," you whined, pulling him down on the bench with you. "from the look on your face, I could've sworn that you were about to admit that you've thought about it," you sulked. Your expression broke him. He didn't like seeing you sad so he took a deep breath and swallowed his pride.

"what if I said I did," he said, his voice a whisper. You perked up at that but you wanted to confirm that you heard him correctly.

"can you repeat what you just said?"

"w-why?"

"because I won't stop bugging you until you say it again!" you said, poking him over and over until he finally breaks, pulling his arm away from yours in irritation.

"fine! I imagined us getting married before! Happy?" Miya snapped, turning to look at you. You shot him your most amused grin. So it seems your suspicions were right all along. Miya's face was as red as reki's hair but you weren't sure if it was caused by his pent up anger or his embarrassment.

"that makes two of us then." Miya's eyes widened at your statement. Did you say what he think you just said? "but I think we should actually make sure we like each other before we think about marriage, bucko~" you nudged him. "well, let me start," you said, taking his hand in yours. "I like you, Miya chinen."

"I like you too." Miya squeezed your hand before he pulled you closer to him. You happily lean into him.

That was the start of your relationship.

"are you ready?" Kojiro asked as he fixed up Miya's bowtie. Miya could only smile and nod, knowing that if said anything, he might burst into tears there and now. he pulled away and stood in front of the altar, waiting patiently for the doors to open and reveal you in your white dress. It was the big day. The moment you two have been about since you were in middle school. It was your wedding day.

He had proposed during an elaborate dinner at the skate park you guys hung out in last summer. You were very skeptical because who eats fancy dinner at a skate park? you saw kojiro there in his uniform with his signature dishes while Reki, langa and Kaoru acted like your butlers the whole night. You had tears prick your eyes when you watched as Miya got down on one knee while the other boys cheered him on. It was a beautiful sight.

Now, you were there in front of the church doors, knowing that Miya was just waiting for you just behind them.

You and Miya couldn't wait to start a new chapter of your life with one another.

It's kind of short but I'm so glad you guys enjoyed this! Requests are open so please don't be shy to leave anything in my inbox below! Love you guys 💖💕❤️

General taglist (don’t be shy to comment your tumblr @ below): @tokyoghoose @macaronnv @reogou @midnightangelfox @wumboho @seiijixcia

[chipper-smol]

Hollow Knight Telephone Round Two: Relic Coffee Shop

Prompt

.

.

.

Prompts:

1: Lemm finds an odd fellow at the Blue Lake. Normally he wouldn’t bother to approach a stranger out of nowhere, but something in his gut urges him to take action. Quirrel, feeling the effects of age on his body, stares incredulously at the bearded face of a stranger who apparently wants to have him over for coffee. 2: Lemm sets up shop in an abandoned cafe. It’s roomy and pleasant at first, but there are _stacks_ of these disgusting old bitter coffee beans clogging up the rooms. It doesn’t help that bugs keep coming in to order a drink even though he’s posted signs to _KEEP OUT!!_ However, once they start offering Geo be begrudgingly takes it as an opportunity to achieve funds to pay for relics. 3: At first, the coffee was just an excuse to get Geo to pay for relics, but Lemm’s begun to notice that bugs who wandered into his shop with the telltale early symptoms of infection no longer have them on their return visits. He tells himself he’s not an altruist. He’s _not._It’s just a waste to throw out old coffee when someone just needs a pick-me-up.

By @bluwails​

------------------------------- By @hydrochlorinate​

“Just don’t. Tell. Anyone. Else.”

Those were the words that came out of the grumpy barista’s mouth that fateful day. One’s that you completely ignored, as you had already been drinking what could only be the drink of HIgher Beings, with just how heavenly it tasted.

Grinning like a lunatic, you give him 45 geo, not a small sum. If anything though, it was hilariously cheap for a drink that was this good. The bug doesn’t complain about the amount though, so he’s probably fine with it. Wings fluttering in excitement, you leave the shop, ready to tell any remaining survivors about the amazing drink shop you just found.

===============>(Coffee Shop AU)

The next time you come in, the store is absolutely packed. Denizens from all across the ruins of Hallownest are here, ranging from some uninfected moss knights to that one ladybug that you had a dance off with a while back. There's even a noble here, and- is that a mantis?

Anyway, it looks like your very subtle method of giving publicity to this cafe by talking about literally nothing else to whomever you talked to over the following week paid off. Good, this place deserves all the atte-

“You.”

Oh? You snap out of your thoughts, and look towards the counter, where the barista is levelling a glare at you that could instantly wither those delicate flowers that have been spreading around recently.

You stroll on up to the counter, a grin stretching across your face. The barista narrows his eyes.

“Didn’t I tell you to keep this a secret? Why is my establishment filled to the brim with bugs? Who are these people?!”

...huh. Did he tell you to keep it on the down low? It seems in character from your limited interactions, but you don’t remember exactly. Oh well, time to play it off. You tell him that, well, what can you say except you’re welcome.

You’ve never seen a bug go from “Irritated” to “Ballistic” as fast as this barista. Usually they make a stop at “Angry” or “Absolutely Livid”.

“YOU’RE WELCOME?!?!”

No, see, he’s supposed to say thank you.

“THANK YOU???”

You tell him he’s welcome, before laughing. No, really, you tell him, look around, the place is packed! Business is booming! The barista (you should really ask for his name) manages to bring his volume under control, taking in a deep breath.

“That’s part of the problem. I’m a relic seeker, not a-” He gestures around the cafe, as if looking for the right words to use. Barista, you suggest.

“Exactly. I’m not made to brew coffee-” Oh, that’s what it was called. “-or to be dealing with customers all day long.”

Sure. That’s why he decided to allow people to keep purchasing coffee, or why he decided to put on a cute green and white visor.

You didn’t just come to check in on your new favorite bug though, you have coffee to order! Taking out a sheet of paper from your bag, you begin to read out both your order, and those of your companions. Even with the end of the infection, the leftover damage to hallownest’s caves and architecture makes it dangerous to travel alone.

As you begin to read out your order, the barista shifts from crotchety old bug to attentive worker. You really wish you had come back earlier, instead of letting some of your other traveling buddies pick up the coffee for you. Something about the atmosphere here is… relaxing, despite the amount of people.

After your order is finished, you leave the cafe. Back to the real world bucko, as an old friend of yours would always say.

...Wait a minute you never got the barista’s name.

===============>(Coffee Shop AU)

It’s been 3 weeks. You think. Time gets a little funky down here, what with the sudden influx of void. Sure, most of it has cleared out by now, but every so often your exploration party comes across a tunnel that hasn’t quite been fully illuminated, the shadows just a bit too thick to be natural.

You enter the coffee shop again. It’s gotten a lot quieter as time went on and bugs started coming in on a schedule. There’s still plenty of other customers here, but it’s nowhere near as packed as the first couple of days. Lemm (yeah, you finally got his name) stands at the counter, still slightly disgruntled, but a lot less so than he was at the beginning. In fact, he’s actually talking to someone right now! An actual conversation too, not just an exchange of witty remarks. You can’t see their face, but they appear to be a pillbug wearing a blue hood. 
As you step up to the counter, you can hear their conversation a bit better.

“...of course, I couldn’t just leave it sitting there right? So I move to pick it up, only to find out that the desk I dropped it on was magnetized! So here I am, trying and failing to pick up this one plant hanger for a solid 10 minutes.”

They both laugh at this, before noticing you. The unknown bug turns to face you, allowing you to see his mask.

“Oh, hello, I don’t believe we’ve met before!”

You greet him back, introducing yourself.

“It’s nice to meet you. My name’s Quirrell. I’m… well, I can’t really call myself an explorer, because I’ve already been everywhere! I’m more of a wanderer, really.”

Ahh, a free spirit, you see. You point out that just because he’s been everywhere doesn’t mean he’s seen everything. After all, who knows what could’ve gone down during Hallownest’s peak. Both Quirrell and Lemm get amused by this, for some reason. Seeing your confused look, Lemm decides to speak up.

"He probably knows more about Hallownest than everyone here, having lived here since before the infection and all."

Your eyes widen, and your wings begin to flutter. Truly? An original denizen, and not someone else trying to piece together its history? Quirrell waves off the words, though.

"I wouldn't go that far…" He begins, but Lemm cuts him off before he can go any further.

"Hah! Next you'll be telling me that you weren't the head assistant of the kingdom's best scientist!"

Giving off the equivalent of a blush, Quirrell rubs the back of his head. Lemm turns back to you.

"I'm sure you didn't come in just to chat, though. What can I get for you?"

It's nice to see him making friends.

------------------------------- By @schyrsivochter​

Lemm wasn’t a sociable person. That was a fact. He wasn’t good at talking, or at being friendly. (It wasn’t like he needed it, anyway. It had been a long time since he’d enjoyed conversing with another bug.)

No, Lemm was much more of a person for reading. Deciphering the journals of the long dead, the writing and languages, was something he thoroughly enjoyed. Other artefacts spoke differently: the materials from which they were made, the way they were worked, the artistic style. It was a different kind of reading; some might say a more figurative one. But it was just as interesting.

Of course, architecture was part of that. It had not been a coincidence that Lemm had set up camp in Hallownest’s abandoned capital. When he’d arrived, he hadn’t dared to think that he’d ever finish exploring and finding new things. And it was true; he’d only explored a little bit before he’d realised that collecting and gathering relics was no use if he never took a proper look at them, instead letting them gather dust on the shelves, the tables, and the floor of the long-abandoned shop he’d moved into. So he’d decided to stay there, poring over his collection. His picture of the world of Hallownest in times past grew ever more detailed, more complete.

He’d opened the shop because people did not seem to stop wanting to sell him relics, and it never hurt to appear a little professional. And it had been a reliable source of new artefacts; new knowledge. He’d never sold anything, of course. His collection was his, and his alone.

And then came the dark. The cleansing void. It had taken him by surprise; he’d been working, and only noticed that anything was amiss when the light dimmed and he was finally bathed in darkness. He must’ve fallen unconscious at that point, and there’d been no telling how long it had been until he’d awoken. It hadn’t been until later that he’d learned that this was what had obliterated the plague, leaving in its wake hundreds of confused survivors and thousands of dead. No, the next thing to happen that told him things were not as usual was that a bug had come in, asked if he was open, and, upon his affirmative answer, asked for a hot drink, holding out a piece of ten.

Taken by surprise, he’d offered to make tea. He’d immediately regretted it, since it meant the bug would be staying for a while, probably without selling him relics, but it was easy enough to do and would get him geo, his supply of which had been running low. So he put a kettle on and took the money. The bug had thanked him profusely, while he had elected to remain quiet.

Not long afterwards, the same bug and four others stood in the doorway. Whether they had relics for him, he’d asked. They’d looked amongst themselves, and one had asked, ‘Is this not a coffee shop?’

‘I suppose it might’ve once been,’ he’d said. ‘Now it’s mine.’

More confused looks and standing around, and then the bug he’d seen before asked if he’d make more tea. He’d said no, not unless they paid him twice as much as the last time and stayed quiet and didn’t disturb him in his work. To his horror, the five bugs had agreed, and so he’d dug out cups from the coffee shop’s former stock and afterwards found himself a little richer in geo but with a significantly worse mood.

He had his peace afterwards, though. At least for a while. Now a bug had arrived, taller than the others, wearing a headscarf. Lemm had mentally prepared for the bug to ask for coffee, but the bug had halted in front of one of the tables that Lemm had repurposed for his collection of relics.

‘Admiring my collection?’ Lemm asked.

’Yes, quite!’ the bug answered, chipper and friendly. ‘I’m curious how you managed to get a hold of so many texts in such diverse languages! These are journals, are they not?’

‘They are,’ Lemm acknowledged. ‘From all over Hallownest.’

‘But most of them aren’t any Hallownest language.’ The bug put a hand on his mask. ‘I suppose they’re from travellers that came to the ruins and perished?’

‘Quite right,’ Lemm said. He had to admit, begrudgingly, that the bug standing before him was sharp and knew his history. A trait not many others shared.

‘Can you read all of them?’ The mask turned towards Lemm, inclined in question.

‘No,’ he answered truthfully, making his way around the counter to stand next to the bug. ‘I haven’t had the time to decipher all of them yet. But I’ll get around to it eventually.’

‘Interesting,’ the bug said. ‘I can—huh?’

He turned towards the entrance, and Lemm followed his gaze. Lemm was about to ask what the problem was, when a bug appeared in the entrance. The one that he’d made tea twice for. Ah yes, he thought. A customer. Two of them, in fact; one of the others from before had joined the one who’d taken a fancy to paying Lemm to make tea.

‘I don’t suppose,’ Lemm said, ‘there is any way to convince you to find tea somewhere else?’

The bugs shook their head.

Lemm sighed, and muttered an apology to the tall visitor. Time to get it over with.

He went to the back room to prepare the tea, and overheard the two visitors conversing in the front.

‘What’s this, anyway?’

‘Historical documents. Journals of travellers.’

‘What’s it doing here?’

‘I think the shopkeep collects them.’

‘That’s correct!’ Lemm called. ‘I’m always buying, if you have anything of historical value.’

He grabbed the cups and walked back to the front. ‘That’s fifty geo. Unless you have relics.’

The bugs complained under their breath, but paid up, and Lemm could direct his attention back to the visitor.

‘So is this what you do?’ they asked. ‘Opened the coffee shop again and collecting relics in your free time?’

Lemm was dumbstruck for a moment. Then he remembered to be outraged. ‘No! I am not opening this place as a coffee shop! People just keep coming and demanding tea and I cannot let an opportunity to earn easy money go to waste!’

‘Relic business not exactly booming, then, I assume?’

‘I’m—’ he spluttered, ‘It’s not a business! I don’t sell my relics, they’re mine!’

‘So you wouldn’t have any income if you weren’t selling tea?’

Lemm had the distinct impression that the bug was making fun of him. He didn’t answer, but simply walked up to the table, grabbed a random journal, and took it to his desk to try and get some work done.

He had not yet prepared his quill and ink when he was interrupted yet again.

‘You know,’ the visitor called, ‘that one is from a traveller from Greynest. Came here looking for his brother, never found him. No doubt said brother also perished in the ruins.’

Lemm turned around to see the bug standing in the doorway, having followed him halfway. ‘And how do you know this?’ he asked.

The bug shrugged. ‘I read it.’

Lemm regarded the bug. They didn’t seem to be joking.

‘You mean to tell me,’ Lemm began, slowly, ‘you know this language?’

‘Yes,’ they said nonchalantly. ‘I think I’ve been to Greynest? Must have been a while ago.’

‘Are you a traveller, then?’ Lemm asked. ‘You don’t seem the type.’

As soon as he’d spoken the words, Lemm became aware how utterly ridiculous it was of him to make observations about people. He didn’t like people, he wasn’t interested in people—

The bug laughed. ‘I am, in fact. I have travelled far and wide.’

‘Hmph,’ said Lemm, unsure what else to say. He turned back to his work, looked at the angular shapes carved into the stone, but now it seemed senseless to try and make sense of it when he knew that it was no mystery to the bug standing behind him.

At some point, he looked up and found that he was hungry and the visitor was gone. Oh, well. Time for a meal, then, and afterwards he might be able to find something else to do.

* * *

The next time the tea-drinker returned, they asked for tea and then asked Lemm about the relics, and he was in a favourable enough mood to talk about them. They asked some fairly stupid questions, but it seemed to come out of a genuine interest in the topic, so he indulged them. Plus, he had to admit that he enjoyed having a reliable source of geo. Not that he needed it much for buying relics, these days, but he supposed that his supplies of food – and of tea – would not last indefinitely, and he didn’t particularly fancy having to go back to scavenging, now that there were actual people living in the vicinity again. No, he’d rather find some place where he could buy what he needed fair and square.

The traveller with the headscarf returned, and it was an odd sort of feeling Lemm had about them. Like he actually liked having them in his shop and talking to them. And the perplexing thing was that the bug also seemed to enjoy conversing with Lemm. Which one one hand was absolutely preposterous, on the other … it was a refreshing change.

The bug introduced himself as Quirrel, apprentice to Monomon the Teacher, and Lemm could hardly believe it. Monomon the Teacher, one of the most brilliant minds of Hallownest? It couldn’t be! And yet it was not all too difficult to imagine. He’d seen stranger things in these lands.

Quirrel also was the one who later suggested Lemm officially open the shop as a coffee shop again. Lemm had thrown him out at that and gone back to work.

Now, a short while later, he looked up and Quirrel was back, standing at the counter, watching Lemm silently.

Lemm rose and went to the front, choosing to stare back equally silently. Lemm was good at that. Probably.

‘So,’ Quirrel said at length, his voice still as annoyingly friendly as ever, ‘have you thought about it?’

Lemm kept staring.

Quirrel held up his hands. ‘You need money, you don’t have much else to do, and besides’ – Quirrel shrugged. – ‘people like your tea.’

‘I certainly have enough to do,’ Lemm started. ‘These texts don’t decipher themselves. What’s so funny?’

Quirrel stopped his giggling and said, ‘They sort of do. Have you forgotten who stands before you?’

‘You don’t read all of these languages.’ Really, Quirrel’s ego was getting on Lemm’s nerves.

‘But most of them,’ Quirrel said, shrugging, ‘and most of the Archive’s records are intact. And we do have a nice section on language and writing.’

Lemm was silent for a moment, mostly because he could not think of a good comeback. Quirrel had a point, and Lemm did not like that in the slightest.

‘Let’s make a deal,’ Quirrel said. ‘I help you translate your texts and catalogue your artefacts, and you’ – Quirrel jabbed a finger in Lemm’s direction – ‘you sell your tea officially.’

‘Out of the question.’

‘You’re already doing it.’

‘I am not!’

‘Yes, you are.’ Quirrel said this with absolute certainty and no anger, and there was a voice at the back of Lemm’s mind that said: You really sort of are. And you could use the help. You don’t like the busywork anyway.

‘All right,’ Lemm grumbled. ‘Deal.’

‘Thank you,’ said Quirrel, audibly grinning.

‘I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?’ Lemm asked under his breath.

‘I don’t think so,’ Quirrel said. ‘I’m curious – what else can you make? Tea alone is a bit boring, don’t you think?’

‘Shut up,’ Lemm said, ‘or I change my mind.’

* * *

Lemm did not change his mind, even though Quirrel didn’t shut up. It had been a while, and Lemm hated to admit it, but he enjoyed doing something different for a change. Customers were now plenty, and Lemm had a menu with more than one item, and his relic collection was no bigger, but more orderly and better understood than it had ever been, thanks to Quirrel’s – and the Archive’s – help.

Another thing that Lemm was not quite ready to admit was that people could be nice. The more he talked to customers, interacted with them, observed them, the more he began to appreciate them. He used to be content in reading historical texts and artefacts, preferring to learn about people that were dead and gone. Living bugs had never really interested him.

Nowadays, however, it seemed that people could be just as interesting to read as anything else. And, as Quirrel entered, greeting him, and he could not help his mood being lifted just by the prospect of learning something new and interesting that Quirrel learnt on his last trip to the Archive, Lemm supposed that sometimes, very rarely … people were something he could enjoy.

------------------------------- By @gardening-clown​

------------------------------- By @buglife​

Lemm was five seconds away from throwing someone through the window.

His shop was now occupied by five bugs of various species, talking, laughing, and sitting around when he could be in the back doing literally anything else. It took weeks of bugs thinking that his relic shop was a coffee one before he simply gave up and made peace with it. At least he got some geo from it to pay adventurers that did come by to sell legit relics. How they mistook his shop for a coffee one, he would have never guess.

All he had was a little brewer that was barely put back together that he scavenged from some random shop, but other bugs seemed to like it, for some strange reason. It wasn’t even good coffee he was making, but they seemed to accept it. After all, who else in this dead kingdom was even selling coffee? He had looted plenty of shops and took as many sacks of beans as he would when he first arrived, and there was no way he could drink them all, so he might as well do something with them.

But he was steadily losing his patience with the amount of bugs around him. They were talking and loitering. Loitering was probably the worst of it all as it made the loner bug feel his shell crawl with the forced social interaction. He just wanted them to leave. He couldn’t stand the feeling of a crowded space, which is why he went to a dead kingdom in the first place.

Hell, he had to take his beloved odds and ends down from the shelves to keep some curious bug from touching them all up with their dirty fingers and breaking something.

He found himself dreading the sound of the bell above his door, and when it rang he wondered if someone else was coming to ask him for some random drink or be an annoying thorn in his side.

To his hidden delight however, it was the little wanderer. They looked like a grub, to be honest, with a black body and a stark white horned shell for a head. The nail on their back seemed to be a little put together the last time he saw them, perhaps they visited the Nailsmith? He never asked for their name, he didn’t want to learn it to avoid attachments, but he found them oddly endearing. They liked to listen to him ramble about his theories on various relics they bring him, so they can’t be too bad. Plus they were quiet and polite, something he was immensely grateful for.

They bounced inside the door and came to a stop, looking at the five other bugs sitting around and chatting. They tilted their head to the side, watching the bugs for a moment before looking at Lemm. They stretched out a stubby arm from under their cloak and pointed at him.

Lemm sighed. Of course, the little Wanderer had been gone for a while, and obviously didn’t know what had become of his beloved shop. He gestured for them to come over, which they did and looked up at him expectantly.

“Bugs keep thinking that this is a coffee shop.” He explained. “So here they are, drinking coffee that I make on a terrible little brewer. I gave up trying to kick them all out all the time, it stopped being worth the effort.”

The little wanderer blinked a few times, looking somewhat confused. They pointed to the cup being held by the beetle on one of Lemm’s chairs and mimed the action of drinking it.

“Yes, that’s coffee they are drinking.” He raised a brow as he looked down at the grub. “Haven’t you ever seen coffee before?”

They shook their head.

“Really now? Hrm…” He wasn’t sure where the little wanderer had come from if they never saw coffee before. It was a fairly common drink besides tea. They must have grew up in a rather isolated place If they never saw it. He decided he might as well explain it, it would be better to do it now than later.

“Coffee is a drink that bugs like to drink to give them energy.” He saw them perk up a bit at the ‘energy’ part. “It’s rather bitter, so some like it with sugar. I like it plain. It keeps me awake when I am working.”

They somehow made a face when he said it was bitter, tilting their head and angling their eye holes to look affronted. Lemm squashed down a laugh at the expression and decided to get to business.

“Anyway, they trade me geo for it, which lets me compensate bugs that get me relics. Do you have any for me today?” He hoped they did, he needed something to brighten up his day.

The wanderer nodded, reaching under their cloak to pull out a black orb. Lemm recognized it immediately to be an arcane egg. He loved working with those. Peeling back each layer revealed new information and new discoveries. He was in fact, still working on the one he got weeks before. He needed to be careful with them, and he reveled in the intense focus and work it needed to discover it’s secrets. His day instantly got better.

“Very nice, I’ll be glad to take that off your hands for the usual price.” The old beetle held out his hand and the wanderer gently placed the egg it in. They held up a hand once it was free and shook their head, pointed to a cup sitting on the counter.

“Ah, you want to trade this for a cup of coffee?” He wasn’t going to say no to that. If the wanderer was okay with it, it was a perfectly reasonable business transaction. His suspicions were confirmed when they nodded and bounced in place, looking as excited as they were able to. “Well I can certainly do that.”

Thankfully, the two bugs occupying the chairs in front of the counter left, leaving behind their dirty cups and a few geo for the mess. They thanked him and he grumped out a ‘have a good day’ as they left, seemingly indifferent to his mood. Oh well, at least it brought down the occupancy to a more manageable level for his social batteries. He pushed the dirty cups out of the way and gestured to an open seat. “Here, sit down and I’ll get you a cup.”

They bounced upwards to take a seat, swinging their legs back and forth as they waited. It didn’t take Lemm long to throw some ground up beans and water into the grinder, watching the brewed coffee pour into a clean cup. He carefully carried the hot cup down and set it in front of the wanderer. “Be careful, it’s very hot. I’ll bring you some sugar, you didn’t seem to like the ‘bitter’ description.”

They nodded and watched as he pushed over a bowl of honey sugar and a spoon. It was the least he could do after they got him another arcane egg.  “There you are, help yourself.”

They bowed their head in thanks and took up the spoon, poking it into the bowl.

“Excuse me,” One of the bugs by the window got up, the one with a bent antenna and holding their empty cup. “Could I get a refill, please?”

Lemm held back a sigh and nodded, taking the cup and heading back to his brewer. He had to smack it a couple times for it to start working again, but in the end he got a passable cup of coffee out of it. He returned just in timed to hear said bug exclaim, “Woah there buddy, you must really like sugar!”

He looked to the wanderer, who had added so much sugar to their cup of coffee, that he could hear the sugar that couldn’t dissolve scrape against the ceramic as it was stirred. It looked like fresh cement, there was only a bit of brown to denote that once, it was indeed a cup of coffee.

He wordlessly handed the other bug their coffee, who took it and retreated back to sit by the window. He was about to say something to the wanderer, when to his horror, their head tilted backwards. A maw of sharp black teeth opened wide, and he watched, astonished, as the mix of sugar and coffee oozed into their mouth and to who knows where. A long black tongue lashed out to get every last bit of sugar out of the cup, before the mouth closed with a quiet click. They must have felt him staring, because they turned to look at him with their fathomless, dark eyes. He stared back, wondering what the hell was actually sitting in front of him.

They then bounced in place and gave him a thumbs up. They made a shape of a heart with their hands, a way that they say ‘thank you’. They seemed rather happy.

“Um…you’re welcome?” He managed, after he gathered his composure again.

They sat still for a moment, seeming to ponder on what they had just consumed. He figured that they were probably trying to figure out if they liked it or not. He doubt they even managed to taste the coffee from the sheer amount of sugar in that cup.

Then, to his horror, they began to vibrate. At first it was a few twitches, and then it steadily became more and more severe, until they were a literal blur. The chair rattled under the stress and the bugs that remained in the shop turned to look at the commotion.

It was then, Lemm realized he fucked up.

They suddenly dashed away, slamming into the shop door with such force that it caved outwards. There was only the short sound of shattering glass and the scream of metal before it flew off it’s hinges and rattled down the hallway. He could hear the hurried pitter-patter of the wanderer’s tiny feet, now fast enough to blur into one continuous sound, race down the hall and out of sight and hearing.

He just stood there, looking at the wreckage of his shop door, wondering where the hell is he going to get a replacement, if there even was a replacement. He looked at the three shocked bugs, standing and looking at the wreckage, and then he got himself an idea.

“Hey fellas,” He said, as he turned and looked at the bugs next to the window. “How would you all like some free coffee if you find me a door?”

------------------------------- By @radical-mudkips​

------------------------------- By @unregisteredcookie​

Lemm's 'shop' was empty.

Actually, no, that… that wasn't right. Lemm's shop wasn't a shop in the first place--it was a haven for relics and ancient knick-knacks, and the shelves were filled to overflowing with stone tablets and peculiar eggs that held unimaginable information. Not that Lemm was ever able to crack into the eggs' shells, but he knew--he knew there was more treasured information sleeping beneath. If only he were able to open it up without risking that information being damaged.

And that wasn't right, either. The shop being empty, that was. Right now, the shelves were empty, but that was less because of the absence of relics and more because they were all stowed away in the back room to be sorted. He had a notebook he was combing over, quill in hand as he scribbled out little bits of information that might relate to one another.

'Might', because Lemm wasn't really from Hallownest. So he didn't know for sure whether this smooth L-shaped contraption was a door handle or a piece to a lost work of art.

It was while Lemm was scribbling about in this journal bound in parchment (hand-made and flimsy, using the paper he found around the area that was clean and allowed to dry) that he heard it: The distant clattering of the elevator. There were about seven options he could think of off of the top of his head, each more dreaded than the last. It could be that scarcely-seen Nailsmith who seemed to know more about the history of this ruin than he let on. It could be the peculiar little silent bug that stared up at him now and again, the one that sometimes passed by with a relic to sell. It could be that talkative windbag, droning on and on in his droning voice, so grating and persistent that Lemm struggled to ignore him. He was probably the worst.

Lemm stopped writing, tilted his head, and listened for the telltale sound. The rattling stopped, and all that he heard for a while was silence. And then.

Ding.

He sighed, getting to his feet. A customer it was, then. How delightful. Here's hoping that the customer wasn't 'Zote the Mighty'.

He had a small moment of dread when he saw the horn, a critical blow of dismay that tempted him to retreat back into the back room and pretend to be out for a walk, but then he saw the second horn and breathed a sigh of relief. Oh, it wasn't the Zote person after all. It was… them. The other little one.

They looked up at him as he approached the register and looked down at them. Their eyes were vacant as ever, face impossibly unreadable. Lemm doubted that he'd ever get used to it.

Lemm liked this little bug, if for no other reason than they were quiet, kept their hands to themself, and brought him relics to purchase. They were the only one willing to sell these relics, and they were the only reason Lemm often said what he said next.

"Cup of coffee, or looking to sell?"

He never had much company in this place until the Nailsmith (Lemm never caught his name, never bothered asking, really) first came in looking for materials for his smithing. Almost took one of Lemm's Pale Idols from under his beard while he was noting in his journal. After the initial yelling that followed and a cup of coffee, the Nailsmith apologized by paying for the cup. And he did it again. And again. Until the mapmaker came in, saw, and bought a cup himself. Until the hooded pillbug came in, hummed, and bought one for himself. And then--

Well. And then he had a coffee shop.

Lemm wished he could say that he hated it, and he did, at first. But over time, he found the company rather pleasant. Besides, the geo paid for this little bug's relic collection well enough, so he wasn't complaining.

So. Did they want a cup of coffee, or did they want to sell their relics? Lemm didn't get an answer. Instead, they looked around at the empty shelves for a moment before turning their empty eyes back onto him, tilting their head to the side slightly.

It took Lemm a moment.

"Oh, I moved the relics into the back room," he said. "I've been needing to work on sorting them out and writing notes about them. Never would I have thought that I would have so many to study."

Satisfied, they reached into the confines of their cloak. Lemm leaned forward a little, watching as they rummaged about for a moment, heart skipping a beat as he pondered what sort of relic they were going to sell this time.

And then they withdrew their small hand, reached up, and dropped a fist full of geo onto the counter.

Lemm blinked and stared at the geo for a moment. Something wispy and thin clung to them, and when he picked it up and opened the register, it was sticky. Was this webbing? Lemm wasn't aware of there being any spiders in Hallownest, aside from maybe that red-cloaked bug he saw very rarely flitting about outside his window.

So. No relics today. Fine, at least he'd have more money to buy another one later.

"One coffee coming up," he murmured, rummaging around behind the counter. Underneath the register was where he kept the coffee pot, which he refrained from moving just so he could be prepared if a 'customer' came by. He busied himself with it for a few moments, filling the filter and checking the water, before clicking the button and letting it steep. Granted, he didn't know what kind of coffee they'd drink, but they didn't make it clear anyway, so he doubted that it mattered.

Besides. They seemed a little preoccupied by something else at the moment. After a few minutes, the coffee was finished, and Lemm poured them a cup. He chose a caramel-like flavor, because they seemed about the size of a child and a little bit of sweetness never hurt anyone. Lemm reached over the counter and held it out to them, which they took in their hands and stared down at for a moment. Lemm was about ready to head back into the back when it happened. A crack. It almost sounded like something breaking, but when he turned to look behind himself at the small knight, they still stood there. Another crack, one that made his fur stand on end and his body stiffen, and Lemm caught the glimpse of something sharp and white shifting beneath the bottom of their mask.

A mouth?

They tilted their head back. A jaw opened. Many layers of teeth glimmered in the dim light, cracking as they did so, the noise chilling him through his chitin and making his hemolymph freeze. Lemm stood there, stock still, as they lifted the cup up to their face, jaw extending outwards to drink it, and then-- --they set the scalding hot coffee in their mouth, cup and all, closed it, and crunched.

Lemm had never seen a bug eat a cup of coffee before. He could still hear the crunch, crunch, crunching, muffled and quiet and growing quieter, noise sounding like a particularly crunchy tiktik being eaten.

Lemm shuddered. When the knight looked back at him, he turned around quickly and went into the back room.

Okay. Suddenly they weren't the second most welcome sight for sore eyes. Suddenly Lemm wished that it was that talking, yapping Zote fellow who came in instead.

------------------------------- By @doodle-chris​

------------------------------- By @payasita​

There was no shortage of open real estate as far as the City of Tears was concerned. But that certainly didn't make every option an equally viable living space.

First, Lemm wanted something enclosed away from the rain, and insulated enough to stave off the humidity. That discounted anything open to the outside, as he wouldn't risk his relics to even the threat of exposure. A leaking roof dripping down onto crumbling tablets or fragile spider silk could devastate hundreds of years worth of history, so that also discounted any room without a few protective floors above it.

Next, it had to be out of the way of any and all shambling husks and infected critters. They weren't the brightest of creatures, so a room only accessible by elevator was ideal. He'd never seen anything plague-cursed have enough wherewithal to operate one, and the noise of it would give him plenty warning of visitors otherwise.

Lastly, he wanted someplace with plenty of shelf space. He needed little in the way of actual living space, so long as he had ample storage room set up in such a way that things could easily be organized.

All of these qualities described, in his opinion, the ideal relic storage and research dwelling. And in the end, he was lucky enough to find it.

Unearthing the previous tenant's belongings informed him that it also, apparently, described the ideal setup for a small café. On his first day in his new residence, he'd uncovered an antique coffee machine and a few other ancient tools, kept miraculously free of rust and wear. The room's conditions must be far better than he thought.

He'd dusted his findings off and set them back up on the counter, having quickly deduced where they'd once been put to use through old nicks and rings left on the shellwood by years of service. Lemm had felt a small swell of pride at finding this small bit of the city's history, and began a set of notes on his theories about this tower complex and its surrounding culture from everything he found around. Perhaps the whole place had been a shopping centre.

On the second day, he pried open the crates in the back room, and they had spilled forth bags upon bags of beans and teas. There were so many of them that he was able to rationalize cutting one open and examining its contents without much guilt. The beans were coffee, that much was obvious at a glance.

Biological samples weren't exactly his area of expertise, but smell and texture alone all but convinced him that they'd been perfectly preserved in their airtight prisons, well dried and perfectly edible.

Most likely.

For the sake of research, and because the bag was already open, he put them through the machine. He committed some time to studying the machine beforehand, as he was afraid mishandling it may destroy it. But an hour of trying to figure the damn thing out was frustrating enough that he finally reasoned that if he did break it, he could at least take it apart and examine its insides for anything interesting. Lemm was a relic keeper, not a tinker. So he winged it with a bit of rainwater and the beans, and got wet beans and hot murky water all over the counter to show for it. He figured out the grinder and filter after his second attempt, and by the third, he had a mug of fresh coffee to show for his efforts. The scent that filled his shop and the outside corridor must have been nothing Hallownest had experienced in centuries. Lemm had little taste for the stuff himself, but in his experimentation he'd gone and made a whole pot. So he supposed he needed to acquire a taste for it rather quickly.

Luckily for his health, that turned out to be unnecessary. The smell, perhaps amplified in the ever-present petrichor, quickly attracted guests of the still-living variety. There turned out to be far more travelers and treasure hunters bumping around this old city than he'd initially expected, prone to tucking himself away in solitude as he was. Introverted or no, he happily gave the coffee away rather than waste it or risk giving himself a coronary. There were even a great deal of disposable mugs stacked away that just made it all the more convenient.

Just over the course of an hour, Lemm was graced with a fair amount of odd characters intruding on his doorstep. There was a surly fellow wielding a metal shield of some foreign make, who announced his intentions towards finding and conquering Hallownest's old colosseum. He was convinced it was still in operation somewhere. Lemm decided that if it was, the place was more than likely not populated with the sorts of honorable warriors this poor bastard was looking to prove himself against, but he kept his thoughts to himself and sent the boy off with a steaming cup of acrid bean water. Next came another traveller who gave off a more scholarly air than the first had, and who carried a more conventional weapon at his hip. The pill bug certainly acted more like a student than a warrior, all bright-eyed and curious and talkative. But no doubt he must know how to use that nail of his to have survived this far down and still be so cheerful. His stay wasn't entirely unpleasant; the two actually talked a short while about Hallownest's history and their shared learnings. The bug even tried to insist on paying, but Lemm was adamant that his reliquary wasn't a damn breakfast nook, thank you, keep your geo. But if he really wanted to pay, Lemm would certainly take any interesting artifact or trinket the bug happened to pick up on his travels. They eventually came to an agreement: A journal pilfered from a shrine somewhere in Greenpath for an extra cup for the road. Lemm's next visitor was, of all things, a cartographer. This one was far too involved in his work for much conversation, which was fine by Lemm. But he did manage to barter a cup for a map of the city. It was incomplete and bare of any landmarks, much to Lemm's disappointment. Finally, an odd little wanderer walked in almost soundlessly. They did not speak to Lemm, nor did they give any indication that they were here for any specific reason. But they had acquired an old city crest and a King's idol on their path, and Lemm had a more typical exchange of geo for relics with them. And then because it was the last of the coffee in the still warm pot, and because the little wanderer did not refuse, he sent them off with a cup on their way out. Thankful to be rid of all the blasted coffee and done with the uptick in social interaction, he then washed the pot and continued with his normal studies. It was nice and quiet, now.

But then the next morning, the pill bug returned. And he was surprised (and clearly disappointed) to see the coffee pot empty. It was a shame, he'd said. For he'd gone and found himself another journal, and considered a relic he couldn't use for a hot morning's drink to be a fine deal indeed. Lemm was inclined to agree, for how it saved him his geo in case of a more potentially significant find down the line. He turned the machine back on at once at the prospect. Unfortunately, he didn't know how to brew just one cup, and was still rightfully intimidated by the old, fussy contraption, and not inclined to mess with what worked. So he made another full pot, and talked shop.

The pill bug wasn't the only one to return that day. The would-be gladiator came back, still not having found his destination, and had the gall to just expect another drink. After the deal he'd just made, Lemm was feeling markedly less generous than he had been the day before, and informed his nasally guest that he'd have to barter something old and interesting for it.

The ant grumbled and left, but returned a few minutes later with a guardsman's crest. He'd apparently seen old treasures all over the place, but had found it beneath him to go and pick them up." A warrior has no need to weigh himself down with baubles," he'd sneered over his cup. Lemm privately thought that the plague-crazed beasts who were doubtlessly running the colosseum now would soon show this haughty kid what they cared for his warrior’s creed in due time, so he said nothing.

The silent wanderer came later. This time when they held up an ancient journal, they made no move to take the geo held out to them. They only stared at Lemm, with their little mask so perfectly unmoving he could easily think them a sudden corpse. Then his hand drifted towards the pot, and the creature set the journal down on the counter.

"...News of a relic keeper bartering goods for coffee has already spread among your lot, then? I suppose even wanderers must have a rumor mill," Lemm talked to himself while pouring their cup. Predictably, they padded away without an answer, drink in hand. Lemm would soon learn how right he was.

- The coming days were more lucrative than his business had ever been. All the travellers he'd met before all came back with various oddities found around Hallownest, as did anyone new. Though not everyone quite understood what constituted a relic, and Lemm had to turn down more than a few shiny rocks and petrified lake detritus. But they all got the routine down soon enough. And, well, Lemm did have an extraordinary amount of coffee that'd just go to waste for another thousand years otherwise, so, may as well.

The pill bug, Quirrel, came to be his best "customer", though Lemm would be twice damned before he ever said the word aloud. Either way, Quirrel often stayed long enough just chatting to warrant a second cup.

"I ought to have you bring double the treasure," Lemm griped once while handing that second cup over. Quirrel's response was a good natured laugh.

"Perhaps elsewhere, that'd be fair. Coffee was a luxury in some lands, and remains so to this day, but by my understanding it was quite in abundance here. Though I couldn't tell you where in the world they must have been growing it," he mused. Lemm raised a brow, wondering once again where in gods' names this bug was educated. But as asking would be an invitation to hear his life story, Lemm deferred.

"Is that right?" he asked instead, "I don't care for the stuff myself, luxury or no." "Really? Not an uncommon opinion, I suppose. I picked it up as a habit at one point... Though, I couldn't tell you when, now that I think of it," Quirrel trailed off, adjusting the oversized mask over his head. Lemm found it an odd choice of protection from the rain, though he supposed it was better than nothing. He only shrugged, "I hear many students do make a habit of caffeine. Your sorts can never get enough hours out of the day."

Quirrel stared at him for a brief moment, and then huffed a laugh again. "Student? You mistake me, sir. I've only ever been a traveller for as long as I can remember."

Lemm didn't bother to mask his surprise, and Quirrel's eyes crinkled. "You're right on that second part, though. So much to see, and never enough time." He took a sip.

-

The mapmaker came back one day with an order for two drinks. He had no relics, but offered an extra inkwell and quill instead. Lemm found equipment for keeping good notes was lucky to come by, and reluctantly made the trade, much to the old bug's gratitude.

"Thank you, the second is for my wife running our shop surface-side. It was her suggestion you might want materials for your research."

Lemm cleared his throat, blustering slightly under his beard.

"Ahh. Hm. I can appreciate that, then."

"Oh, on that note, have you any sugar you can add in for her?" The bug peered over Lemm’s shoulder, which rankled him for some reason.

"...I did find a jar back here somewhere, I think." Though he couldn't promise it was good. Could sugar go bad? It still just looked like white sand.

"Thank you. ...Err, actually, is that a box of tea on the shelf, there?"

Lemm paused in his rummaging, and looked back at the open storeroom door. The room now made a good home for his relics, though he never bothered unpacking the open crates.

"...It is," he eyed the bug neutrally.

"Ah. Iselda enjoys her coffee, though I quite prefer a good cup of tea myself. ...Erm, if it isn't too much trouble, of course," the bug grinned politely over folded hands.

Lemm, to his credit, did not sigh. There was indeed a kettle back there, too. And at least he knew how to brew tea without making an entire day's worth of it.

He brought up the jar of sugar, and leveled the bug with a grumpy look.

"Fine. But next time, you bring relics."

The cartographer acquiesced immediately, and that was the point where Lemm realized he'd invited them both to expect a "next time".

-

The silent wanderer came back again, on the tail of a group of treasure hunters who came in and left up the elevator. Shortly after, there was the sound of struggle above them.

This had become commonplace. Anyone who showed up had to contend with the violent husks above and beyond the shop, and some were more prepared to deal with the dangers of Hallownest than others. Lemm only poured the wanderer's cup in bored silence, tuning out the thumping and shouts above. "You know this stuff stunts your growth, right?" Lemm asked flatly. The wanderer only ever stared.

"Dehydrates you, too. You active types probably ought to stick to water. Imagine having to deal with the horrors of rotting sentries and whatnot with a diuretic sloshing about in you." Unbothered, they leaned forward and took their cup in both hands, still staring up while he spoke. Lemm honestly had no idea if they even understood him, and considered the possibility that their muteness was compounded by a language barrier. But they at least always made the effort to appear attentive.

There was a thundering crash above them that made Lemm flinch, and then a silence that kept him tense. The voices started up once again after a few seconds, and the sound of footsteps hurrying away as fast as they could. By his guess, his last customers had just had a very close encounter with a belfly. He'd likely not be seeing them again.

He turned his attention back down to the wanderer with a sigh.

"...Let me see what you have, then."

The tiny thing set their cup carefully down by their feet, and fished a genuine void egg from the depths of their grubby cloak. Lemm was struck with the brief impulse to give them the entire coffee machine for it.

-

There was a new visitor one morning, just as Lemm brewed the pot for his regulars. He rarely got anyone so very early, and was guiltily nursing his own cup of acrid sugary heart disease before anyone would be around to see. Alright, so he'd acquired the taste for it. It was hardly unreasonable with how much time he spent around the smell, and it helped him make up for lost time studying his relics later in the night. Perfectly understandable, and so he definitely did not freeze mid sip like he was caught in a crime when the door opened unexpectedly. The red-clad stranger who walked in wore a wicked-sharp needle slung across her back, and fixed him with an even sharper gaze.

"...I hear you sell tea." Her voice was quiet enough, but cut clear without the normal hesitant lilt of a question.

Lemm slowly put down his mug, and the soft thunk it made against the countertop sounded awfully loud in the morning lull.

"...I don't sell anything. I buy," he insisted.

The altogether frightening lass glanced between him, the full coffee pot, and the kettle sat next to a stack of assorted loose leaf teas. Then back at him.

He grunted, hiding an inane flush of indignation behind another swig of his drink.

"...I seek artifacts. Relics of this place's past, and anything that may help me understand it, for geo. ...Or for a cuppa, for those who'd rather." He shifted behind the counter, nearly trailing off into a mumble. But at this point, there wasn’t much use in fighting his reputation.

The girl just scrutinized him until she seemed to come to a decision. She then turned and left without saying anything else, opting to hop down the elevator shaft rather than waste a moment calling the lift.

Lemm rolled his eyes and gulped down the dregs of his coffee, vaguely annoyed. By this point, he was used to the rude and half feral sorts of vagabonds that only came by out of curiosity. At least she was quick about leaving.

All the better for him, as far as he was concerned. He doubted such a young thing would have anything of note to share with Hallownest's foremost historian.