#joey oc

[prometeusz22]

While I am fighting my demons (AKA Uni assigments) I thought I will post a little fanart I did not so long ago, for my fellow Stone Ocean enjoyer @joey-ghostie of his OC Joey with a cheeky alt. Go check out his stuff if you like SO!

[sir-squibbly]

Two OCs, Joey and Tamara. They’re both currently 25, but had been stuck in a Hell-like dimension since they were teenagers.

[robynlilyblack]

Joey Taggart

Orginal Character Art

[beatle-yee]

Arlen being happy

[aeroplaneblues]

Learn to Fly

Had an urge to draw my oc Joey😤💕 I miss drawing her, if you want to learn more about her check my comic partner tweet and the 8-page preview we did.

[whumpsoda]

“Care to Remind Me?”

Masterlist

cw: pet whump, box boy universe/bbu adjacent, Institutionalized slavery, conditioned whumpee, past abuse, amnesia, memory

———

With knobby, weak knees buckled, Joey took on the much needed task of holding Florence upright, keeping him from falling to the concrete like a rag doll.

Handler Thurman.

Florence could recall himself just a bit, the white uniform, white walls, and white lights blooming against his dark curls. The glimpse was that of a reflection, mirrored in a circle of metal - a dog bowl. He hissed at the sight, tripping over his stumbling legs.

The pet took on his training well, straight faced and stone cold, although visually fearful.

If he could just set his head straight he could do something-

“Dear, are you annoying passersby?” 

The voice rigged itself calm and collected, so much so that the rage full temper beneath cracked through, enough to halt each former or current pet in place. A shiver crawled its way from head to toe, each pet but Florence dutifully finding its source.

“I thought you had learned your lesson from the last time, silly.” This owner was different from Florence’s, the facade of kindness there, though the threat still loomed right over. “And I keep giving you second chances, don’t I?”

He chuckled at that, and Joey flinched. Florence couldn’t manage to move, blotted vision plastered on the pet - ‘463, designation domestic - unable to be shifted.

The owner danced onto Joey, the only one able to pay any attention to him. “Dear, I must apologize for the pet. He can be a real dummy sometimes, and doesn’t seem to know how to handle himself.” He tapped gently at the metal railing seperating them. “I sincerely pray he hasn’t ruined your day with himself.”

In the air hung an expectancy of a response from Florence, one Joey couldn’t give, some sort of thank you but it’s fine. It took nearly all of Florence’s strength to simply turn his crackled, splitting skull. Sweat dipped over his lips, curling down his drenched, silent face. He did his best to try a smile.

The owner - Florence still blanked on his name even with the blaring white - looked just as Florence had remembered. He stood on the porch of a restaurant, hair gelled back with more gray than he recalled, but still in dapper attire. He looked eerily like Mr. Franklin, and that only nudged Florence closer to the edge.

The owner’s face flattened for a second, just as Florence’s, head cocking. Mutual recognition. And for just a flicker, his cold, creeping gaze slipped to Florence’s arm.

His barcode was long gone - stripped of his skin like they stripped him of himself - but the owner glanced at it like he’d find something there. It was covered with a bracelet like always, and it didn’t even matter if it was because there was nothing there but a tiny fucking scar, but even so Florence yanked his arm from the owner’s assualting gaze.

“Well, isn’t this a lovely surprise, Mr…,” the owner trailed off, licking his lips expectantly, before continuing. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, it seems I’ve forgotten your name. Care to remind me?”

For once, Florence couldn’t speak.

He knew.

Florence paused, hesitating to say something, anything, with nothing managing to fly past his throat. He wiped the trickle of moisture -tears or sweat - from his cheek, sucking in a trembling breath.

Lip twitching, his smile faltered. “H-,” he swallowed, gulping down disgust. “Handler Thurman.”

The owner clapped his hands in amusement. “Ah, yes. I remember now!” He exclaimed, resting his chin back into his hand, clearly entertained by the fact that he’d somehow come across his pets old handler-turned-pet. What owner wouldn’t be? “My pretty boy’s handler.”

Laughing, sickly and gross, Florence more than easily slipped back into the handler persona, with a tint of hesitancy lingering. “T- that’s me.” He said, smiling strange as he licked his lips, running his fingers back through his sweat stained curls.

“What a pleasant coincidence.” The owner scratched at his silver slick beard. Squinting, he looked Florence up and down for a long, strung out second. “I certainly don’t mean to pry, but might something be wrong? You simply don’t look well.”

“‘M just sick.” Florence said, with stumbling lips.

His eyebrow pricked up at that, and Florence’s throat winded. “While out and about? Shouldn’t you be resting?”

Florence went to respond, but was cut off almost immediately. “Ah, excuse me for my intrusion, it’s really none of my business. I simply like to look out for other pet enthusiasts like myself.”

Swallowing, Florence nodded. “Thank you, sir. You really shouldn’t worry about me, we were, uh, heading home anyways.” His grip on Joey’s sweat drenched hand firmed. Her gaze hadn’t lifted from her feet in minutes, bangs shielding her face completely.

“Y’know,” the owner continued, chin getting comfortable in the palm of his hand, “I did hear a couple fanciful rumors of a handler Thurman being fired from WRU.” His eyes thinned.

“R- really?” Florence laughed, the beat of his heart filling his ears.

“Oh, yes. It was a good while ago, but I even heard some stories in which the handler ended up a pet!” The owner slipped a chuckle, hearty and matched by Florence. “Very fanciful rumors, of course. People just love to gossip, don’t they?”

“Oh, definitely.”

He clicked his tongue. “Very funny to think of, though, isn’t it?”

“E- extremely.” Oh, they were fucked.

If he could just keep up the facade for a little longer, just long enough to end the conversation, maybe they wouldn’t be fucking done for.

The owner waved him off, and the fog of fear peaked away. “Ah, well I’ve kept you for much too long now. I would feel simply terrible if I kept you from your rest any longer, now.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Letting slip a short chuckle, he motioned for his pet to follow. “C’mon, pretty boy, our food is getting cold.”

“Y- yes, sir.” The pet, with flickering vision, scrambled to make his way off his knees and back to his master. His owner clutched him by the back, a threatening hold that said I own you. Florence flinched as he watched the two depart past the wall, feeling the phantom touch of his own master.

The air was ever so tense, even as the owner and pet clicked away, departing.

Joey didn’t say a word, and neither did he.

She knew. He knew.

Handler Thurman.

The wall he was holding started to blur, and as he stepped back as if to run his foot caught on a crack of sidewalk almost tripping his jelly like legs as he whimpered a cry from the sore of his body, and his head was all woozy and so were his flailing limbs.

Handler Thurman.

For little flashes of seconds everything was white, and so were his knuckles as he squeezed anything he could grab, and he felt burning hot and freezing cold at the same fucking time, and he couldn’t fucking see anymore because everything was white and he was-

Handler Joseph Thurman.

Releasing a crackling shriek, Florence’s brain burnt on like the flick of a switch, flickering from a constant, throbbing ache to as if a fucking bomb had just gone off in his head.

He could sort of sense as his knees hit the ground, and the quivering grip of his hands holding himself tightly. He could sort of let the blistering heat of the sidewalk plaster his forehead as he keeled over, letting it burn him, still wailing. He could sort of feel the split of his throat as he screeched, curling around his vocal cords in a choking manner.

Not being able to clearly sense anything was horrifying enough, but the blinding white that held him - suffocated him - was a million times worse.

And it wasn’t all white. There were little glimpses of times before him and times after, all twisted together to form a sputtering mess, faces, places, sounds and scenes all rushing through him at once. There were so many people dancing around the white, so much blood and laughter and fear and tears.

His jaw turned and strained as he giggled, but it wasn’t really him, buzzing like a horn in his white filled brain.

Please, handler Thurman, please I didn’t mean to I don’t want to I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’ll do anything, please! I’m trying to be good, so good, please…!

The pets gaze soon curled into something softer, the woman with his face but much less disgusting. Her touch was sweet, too sweet to be for him but his still.

C’mon, Joe, eat your veggies, they’re good for you. Momma will eat them with you, okay?

And soon enough she was another woman entirely.

You’re pretty handsome for a pet guy, y’know. Most of you guys’re weirdos, but you seem pretty normal. You could say I like normalcy in a guy.

He felt the shock even through the white, sending him further reeling, cracking and hot in his neck, splitting through the images.

Now that’s your first lesson, good boys don’t bite. Got that?

He nodded, desperate in that time but not another, sobbing through the scald of his face. And then his head was cracked to the floor, a hand choking and his own sending a slap another’s way.

Hey-! Ow, fuck! Didn’t your momma ever tell you not to hit? Leave me- alone, Joe! Get offa me!

The face of the little boy - chubby cheeks and squished features - contorted, elongating and growing into that of a man’s.

Alright dummy, get over here and take a kneel. Oh, don’t give me that scared look ‘065, you know it pisses me off.

The man only got older, graying hair and a gruff beard, except with a growling, rumbling voice.

You are a real idiot. Get up, dog. I don’t care if you’re hurtin’, I need another cig.

Even with so much to feel he couldn’t feel anything real, only the numb of the memories twisted with the emotion of so many different times, so many different lives he had lived.

The pricking, searing pain of his own hands grabbing at chunks of his own hair wasn’t enough to cover that of his head. Hey- s- stop, Florence, I’m calling-, stop, said a voice drowned out by all the others, the ones flooding his senses and making it practically impossible to feel.

And just like the fiery way it started, the ordeal flickered out like a light. His breathing settled, hiccups scattered between. His shaking continued, a violent tremble. His limbs curled into his abdomen, stuck in position and unable to move.

The memories swiftly found their place in his mind, each slipping into their respective spot.

——————

Masterlist

Taglist - @softvampirewhump @ivymyers @taterswhump @octopus-reactivated @tippytappytyping

@distracted-obsessions @starfields08000 @bitchaknso @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @scoundrelwithboba

@whumped-by-glitter @whumpering-heights @arlin-always-writing @bilightningwhumper @sharkyydoesnothing

@whump-till-ya-jump @toads-and-gremlins

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

[whumpsoda]

WSFSP - Refurbished Graham AU - Face to Face

So! A little backstory for this au:

Much later on in the lives of those at the safe house, when Graham is out living on his own, he is discovered by WRU and put back in the system to be refurbished. The group sets out to get him back after he’s been retrained, but find out soon enough that he’s been reduced to a completely blank slate who can’t even look at them without getting a headache :( This is one of their first time visiting during his second road to recovery!

——————

As Graham stepped in, chest puffed and expression stone cold, the sight was almost comforting considering he’d never lost the habit. He held those constantly shifting eyes, always keen on the room around him, and fists that clenched in a rhythm to put a pulse of his anxiety on display. It proved rather kind to see those familiarities shining through underneath all that was new.

The new, though, was not overshadowed.

The first to be noticed was his haircut. An uneven, frankly unnerving buzz cut, tufts of hair popping like firecrackers in all different directions. He scratched at his scalp every so often, a nervous habit.

His clothing was blank and generic, gray sweatpants and a sage green crew neck. It suited him, although never as well as his favorite jacket or his band tees. Maybe he picked it out himself, maybe he didn’t. Maybe he hadn’t gotten to that step just yet, even though he already had so long ago.

Wesley couldn’t see it, but had no doubt there were black, thick numbers etched over the scar where they were once taken off, now new and fresh. His chest surged with binding affliction.

So painfully desolate, Graham was then. Gut burningly empty, wiped clean.

It was selfish of Wesley to think so, to still be so terribly dissatisfied with Graham’s rescue, that they hadn’t gotten to him sooner - they should have gotten to him sooner but they didn’t - and now, even while he was still there in front of him, it wasn’t really him, now was it?

“Hello.” Graham had said, turning his gaze and sticking it to the floor, fixed to his feet. Wesley wasn’t sure when Graham’s intimidating air had dwindled into the towering ball of wariness that stood before him. Wether it was due to the amount of people with their attention fixed on him, or the pain swirling through his head, no one knew.

Wesley grit his teeth, just enough that it wouldn’t seep into his expression as he waved, small, back. August held one of Graham’s fists, rubbing ever so tenderly over his scarred flesh with a gentle thumb that should have been his.

In pained silence they had moved to the couch, a blanket hoisted between them to keep Graham’s impending headache at bay. Maybe that way Wesley could pretend he was still talking to his best friend without a visual to compare.

Wesley took it upon himself to break the looming air of melting stillness, a thick pocket of air stuffing up the room with cotton. Every so often someone new parted their lips as if to start, before only snapping them shut a moment later. It really was his place to be the first to say something, anyway.

“How’s it with them? August ‘n Simon?” Wesley started, slicing through the quiet, a little bit louder than his voice was meant to be.

Graham’s breath momentarily hitched. “Good. Very good.” He mumbled, again stealing a scratch at his hair.

Better than with us, he thought to ask but didn’t say. Instead, “Mm,” sufficed.

“One second-,” Graham paused, sipping in a dry breath. “Sorry. Just, um, hurts. To hear you.” He huffed a laugh, glittering with Graham. “I was hoping it wouldn’t be this bad.”

Without thinking, Wesley responded with a dry chuckle of his own, weak and half assed. “Same here.”

“It will die down in a bit. I think.” A pause, thinking. “How have… you been?”

“M- me?” Wesley turned to look at him, wanting to get lost in those hazel eyes of his, in the depth of his voice, but only found the white, blank, strung up blanket. His fingers wound the hem of his shirt into a wad. “I’ve been… okay. Day by day, y’know?”

“Yeah. I… I know.” He licked his lips, chapped and crusty. “I had questions, but, um, I cannot really recall them.” Wesley left him the room to think. “Would you be willing… to tell me about him? More?”

“Like…,” him. Because he wasn’t him, anymore. “Graham?”

“Yes. Please.”

Wesley almost - almost - had the urge to laugh. Was this how Lewis felt, calling him for the first time?

“Um, well,”

It was like meeting him all over again, when Wesley already knew him.

Wesley knew his favorite bands, his most recent favorite color and comfort food, his favorite fucking shampoo. Wesley was there for every little thing, every little milestone.

And it wasn’t fucking fair. Graham put in all that work, built himself up from nothing to a point where he was even farther along than Wesley, living on his own, and they emptied him out like that. Just because they could.

“Where do I even start?” He mumbled, scratching at his throat. A habit he’d never lost, even with the collar years gone. “Have, have you listened to any music yet?”

“Any music? Because, yes, but-,”

“More like punk stuff. He - you - liked angry stuff. You liked to cook to it-,” his knuckles relaxed. “Oh, do you still cook? At all?” What would Wesley even do if he said no?

Graham nodded, eagerly. “Y- yes, I help with dinner a lot. I like it. A lot.”

“That was like… I’ve never seen you happier than putting on your playlist and making something. Everything always tasted so good.” His tongue tingled with memory, and he bathed in it, just for a moment. “You liked these dishes you said your mom - one of them, anyway - used to make.”

“I had… two moms?”

“Yeah.” He smiled, any memory of Graham bringing a rosy warmth to his chest. “You only talked about them a couple times, but I could tell you really missed them.” He could only hope this Graham missed him, like that.

Jaw working, Wesley rolled his head back around his shoulders, bangs flopping out of his face. “I miss you,” A pause, “I wish you would come back.” He didn’t mean to say it, didn’t mean to be so thoughtless, to let it slip through the gates that were his teeth, but also he did.

“O- oh. I’m sorry-,”

“I’m sorry-,” The tears started then, “It’s just… so hard without you, Graham. I miss you so much it hurts, every day.” Choking back the hard, oncoming wave from his gut, he swallowed. “I love you.”

Graham hissed with stinging affliction. “This- I’m sorry, it- it really hurts-,”

“It’s okay, take a sec. I’ll shut up.”

“Sorry- just a moment…,”

August stepped in then, lighting a flaming heat riling up in Wesley’s chest. Jealousy. “We can take a break if you need to.”

“Is, um, is that okay? Please. ‘M sorry.” Graham stumbled, shakily taking the older rescue’s hand.

“You’re fine, man. Nothing to apologize for.” Isaac reassured, with a tender smile to accompany.

“Sorry, sorry.” He mumbled as August led him off to the backyard for a breath of fresh air, holding his head in his hands.

A moment later and he was crying, obvious from the wrack and crumble of his hearty frame, and seeing so made Wesley feel like a total shithead.

Joey curled her arm up and over his shoulder, guiding his head to slump into her chest. No one spoke.

Not a word was shared until they returned, Graham walking in and sitting back in his spot with purpose. His cheeks were still tainted with a red flush, tear tracks staining them with wet.

“You said you miss Graham every day, is that right?” The shadow of a nod. “Something feels like it is missing every day for me, too.” His hand rolled back over his hair. “You…,” clench and release. “Your face hurts more than others to look at. The most. I think… and I do not really know why, I just think that means I must have held onto your memory the longest.” The blanket was gripped by rough, burly hands, gently shrugged over to reveal Graham’s small, toothless smile. “So let’s talk, face to face.”

——————

Masterlist

Taglist - @softvampirewhump @ivymyers @taterswhump @octopus-reactivated @tippytappytyping

@distracted-obsessions @starfields08000 @bitchaknso @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @scoundrelwithboba

@whumped-by-glitter @whumpering-heights @arlin-always-writing @bilightningwhumper @sharkyydoesnothing

@whump-till-ya-jump

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

[whumpsoda]

We Search For Stolen Personhood - A Hard Day

Masterlist

cw: pet whump, box boy universe/bbu adjacent, Institutionalized slavery, conditioned whumpees, collar, whumper turned whumpee, sick whumpee, recovering whumpee

——————

Blowing dark, bouncing curls out from his line of sight, Florence sighed, shifting around in his bed to study the wooden planks that held up the top bunk. As expected there wasn’t exactly much to really see, but at least an hour had passed of simply struggling to sleep, and he was less interested in thinking. 

In remembering.

Sometimes - and he knew Isaac would disagree but occasionally he didn’t much care for what Isaac thought -  it proved bad for him to think. And that’s where it got confusing because Florence also knew now that it was bad to think that it was bad to think, but a good amount of time in his case thinking hurt, and it always hurt even before the safehouse, and if he thought too hard it would hurt so bad-

Shutting his eyes tight he sipped in a breath and held it, mind calming blank and empty. The whole day for him had been spent either falling in and out of consciousness, or down a rabbit hole of trying not to think but inevitably doing so. He needed to quiet his mind to silence, even if for only a second.

Maybe… just for a minute.

After a moment he released the air in his lungs, carefully sitting up in his bed for the first time that day. A pair of plaid pajamas were still draped around his body, a reminder of how good a spot he was in now. A spot he didn’t deserve, and never would. He knew well that fluffy pajamas were a luxury for him.

Striding to the closet he dug behind his neatly folded pile of clothes, bringing up an old memory he wasn’t supposed to have. Florence shook it off.

Stopping as his fingers brushed leather, he swallowed.

There.

He spit a shaky breath as he strapped the collar around his throat, eyes shifting to the door and lingering there, just waiting for someone to walk in and catch him. Secretly he hoped someone would, just so he’d have something else to beat himself up about.

Kneeling down, just as he would before Mr. Franklin and Mistress Charlotte, he curled his hands in his lap. Closing his eyes tight, he sat silently. Like he would when no one needed him, when he had no duties to fulfill.

He itched at the numbers tattooed across his arm. In his mind, when he was a pet, he couldn’t be a handler.

As soon as it had began, it was over. Gracefully he took it off, setting it back into place where no one would find it. He took one more deep, filling breath, shaking the nerves out from his hands, and turned to the door.

The path toward the living room proved oddly difficult, Florence constantly debating whether he really should, or shouldn’t, even when he knew the correct answer. He would take a step to the door, then two steps back, then one step forward. Like he always did. 

Eventually he made his way out though, to find the television on as a distraction for the other rescues as all of the real adults made their ways about the kitchen.

Atop the couch were all the pets sitting huddled together - and by all of them there were only two because the newest ones were surely not ready to venture out just yet - with Calvin by their side. Like some babysitter. He didn’t know why that irked him, why stinging heat rose from his chest, but it did. 

“Oh, hello dear.” Edith greeted with a weak, half smile as he made his way into the kitchen. The lines of her face were deeper that day, telling him all he needed to know about how the new pets were doing.

“Can I do something to help? Anything?” Florence met her expression, exhaustion scrawled across her face. “I’ve been slacking off today.” He laughed a little, sheepishly, playing it off like a joke. He knew they took it better that way, even if everyone - including him - was well aware he wasn’t really kidding.

Edith never laughed back. She only patted his shoulder with a solemn smile. “How about you just join the others on the couch. You’ve had a hard day.”

Belly tensing, Florence bit his lip. 

A hard day.

As if. While everyone else was probably taking care of chores and the new rescues, worrying about him even, he was sleeping the day away with the pathetic excuse of his mind. 

“I…  please? I need to.” Jaw working, his expression hardened. It was always odd to be pleading to have a task to do, when that had previously been his whole life. “I have to. I’ll do anything.”

“Alright then. Would you mind taking this to Isaac? She’s with the newest pair.” Her cheeks smushed her eyes as she smiled, wearily but kind as always. “And then you can join the others with their movie.”

Florence gladly took the medecine bottle from her. “Yes, ma’am.” He said, again, humorously but not. 

Edith playfully rolled her eyes, but he could practically hear the way it flipped to concern as he walked off.

“Florence!” Isaac whisper-exclaimed, eyes widening as he entered the blue room.

“Isaac!” He parroted, playing up the fake surprise as he jokingly mocked her. She huffed a soft laugh, taking the bottle from him before turning back to the task at hand. 

She was sat beside what looked to be a large roll of blankets, which he soon found to be one of the newest pets. He was curled up in a ball of disease, whimpering with affliction.

Putting on the same tone Edith always did, calm and soothing, Florence kneeled beside Isaac and the pet on the floor. “Hi there.” 

Gradually opening his squinting eyes, the pet growled, a low and animalistic whine, a mixture of anger and pain. Hugging his stuffed animal tighter he shifted away, shielding himself, back tapping against the frame of the bed.

For a moment Florence saw this pet as so many different ones, an array of them keeled over for so many different reasons. The root of it always him.

One of them he remembered well, floating to the surface among the others. With bright, skittering eyes and gritted teeth they had fought so well, screaming, biting, and kicking so desperately before he’d beaten them down until they broke. 

All of it with a smile.

A flicker of hot, a quick flash of white, digging his nails into the flesh of his arms as his two rows of teeth ground over one another. Florence swallowed, hard, taking in a shaky breath to stabilize himself. Isaac gently placed her hand over his.

Sticking his arms to his side as he stood to his feet, his gaze lifted with him, meeting that of another. The other pet, he realized, almost forgetting there were two. 

This one stared back, eyes wide and glimmering in the light of the doorway. He sat, tucked into a corner between the bed and dresser, wound in on himself. He held his head low, almost purposefully, hiding his face with his overgrown bangs. 

Florence could see himself in him, clear as day. He was the same when he’d first entered the safe house, holed up under his bed and not speaking a word. Most of the time he wished he could go back to then, when he knew how to keep quiet and do as he was told. When he didn’t know who he was, what he could be, or who he had been.

So he waved. Just a little one, catching the pet’s eye. And he waved back.

He gave a grin before he turned to leave, the pet digging his head further into his knees, and hiding his flushed face.

Flopping onto the couch, Florence fell right between Joey and Otis with a grunt. “Hey.”

“Hello.” Joey greeted, the pair turning to meet his gaze as he slumped down. After a moment she plopped back beside him, resting her head to his shoulder.

Otis cocked their head. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Not really.”

“Were you sick too?” Calvin asked, an innocent look of concern. Sometimes - well, most of the time - Calvin just didn’t get it. Sometimes he’d be plainly, annoyingly clueless, and Florence couldn’t help but grit his teeth.

“Nope.” He replied, keeping his eyes on the screen as he snickered. One of Otis’ favorite movies played, one they always chose when it was their turn to pick a film. No one ever complained about having to watch it over and over again. They’d always said it was a comfort movie for them back from before. “It’s a pet thing. You wouldn’t really get it.”

“O- oh. Sorry.” Calvin mumbled sheepishly, a half baked smile rising on his face, burning guilt in Florence’s belly.

Why was he always such an unnecessary dick? It only revealed his past peeking it’s way through, displaying the asshole in him wasn’t really gone. Just living on beneath Florence, rearing his ugly head whenever he felt fit. Maybe that’s why he was trained to keep his stupid fucking mouth shut.

It was definitely better that way.

——————

Masterlist

Taglist - @softvampirewhump @ivymyers @taterswhump @octopus-reactivated @tippytappytyping

@distracted-obsessions @starfields08000 @bitchaknso @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)