droolik

[droolik]

I see you drivin' 'round town with the girl I love And I'm like, "Fuck you" (Ooh, ooh, ooh) I guess the change in my pocket wasn't enough I'm like, "Fuck you and fuck her too" Said, if I was richer, I'd still be with ya Hah, now ain't that some shit? (Ain't that some shit?) And although there's pain in my chest, I still wish you the best With a "Fuck you" (Ooh, ooh, ooh-ooh)

[droolik]

Load up on guns, bring your friends It’s fun to lose and to pretend She’s over-bored and self-assured Oh no, I know a dirty word

Hello, hello, hello, how low Hello, hello, hello, how low Hello, hello, hello, how low Hello, hello, hello

With the lights out, it’s less dangerous Here we are now, entertain us I feel stupid and contagious Here we are now, entertain us

original midi at https://freemidi.org/getter-26749

[droolik]

The virginal brides file past his tomb Strewn with time’s dead flowers Bereft in deathly bloom Alone in a darkened room The count

Bela Lugosi’s dead Bela Lugosi’s dead Bela Lugosi’s dead Undead undead undead Undead undead undead Undead

new midi submitted by @maggyhue !!!

original midi at https://onlinesequencer.net/m/962628_2.mid

[droolik]

The virginal brides file past his tomb Strewn with time’s dead flowers Bereft in deathly bloom Alone in a darkened room The count

Bela Lugosi’s dead Bela Lugosi’s dead Bela Lugosi’s dead Undead undead undead Undead undead undead Undead

new midi submitted by @maggyhue !!!

original midi at https://onlinesequencer.net/m/962628_2.mid

[droolik]

trigger happy havoc has a smartphone port and im so close to entering a very workheavy month but what if i was battling a remerging danganronpa battle in my soul

[droolik]

there’s something so desperately miserable about the lyric “buy me some peanuts and cracker jack / i don’t care if i never come back”

[droolik]

there’s something so desperately miserable about the lyric “buy me some peanuts and cracker jack / i don’t care if i never come back”

[droolik]

call my girls the twin towers the way my bush got them collapsing

[droolik]

TABLE 57 AT @dashcon-two WITH MY BELOVED OOMF @toadtype

i'll have way more fanart than i usually have at markets - the despair game. the eating in the dungeon anime. the tamagotchi... yup, this is mega exclusive. come get a sticker. july 5th. be there

[droolik]

[droolik]

Why isn't "too scary" a good enough reason to never drive a car

[droolik]

my pet computer bugs

[droolik]

[droolik]

A Summer in Woodbridge with Anthony Cirelli

It’s mid-July and the NHL off-season is in full swing. The Florida heat has faded from your skin, replaced by the softer warmth of Ontario’s summer sun as you and Anthony pull into his childhood driveway in Woodbridge. The car windows are down, and the breeze carries the smell of cut grass and backyard barbecues. His mom is already at the front door, waving with a dish towel in hand, and you can’t help but smile at the warmth radiating from this quiet Canadian suburb.

Anthony turns to you and grins. “Ready to meet the whole gang?”

You nod, fingers nervously brushing the hem of your sundress. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Inside, the Cirelli home is cozy and lived-in, filled with family photos—tiny Anthony in skates, his parents in Lightning jerseys, and a few holiday snapshots. His nonna insists on feeding you immediately, speaking in rapid-fire Italian as she gestures toward a kitchen table full of homemade food. Anthony chuckles, translating between bites of pasta.

The next few days are a blur of family dinners, local spots, and quiet moments. He takes you to Boyd Conservation Park where you both dip your toes into the water and watch families picnic nearby. You get ice cream from the shop he swears has “the best gelato outside of Italy,” and he introduces you to old friends with a casual arm around your shoulder.

At night, you lie together on a blanket in the backyard, stars visible without the interference of city lights. He tells you about his childhood—bike races through the neighborhood, hockey in the driveway, schoolyard crushes. You share stories from home, swapping Spanish for his Italian, sometimes mixing the two in sleepy, laughing conversation.

“You like it here?” he asks one evening, voice low and honest.

You look around—the lights from his parents’ kitchen glowing through the window, the scent of hydrangeas in the garden, his hand intertwined with yours.

“I do,” you say, resting your head on his shoulder. “I love seeing where you came from.”

He kisses your temple. “I think they love you more than me already.”

It’s a golden Sunday evening in Woodbridge, and Anthony’s grandfather has invited the two of you over for dinner. “Nonno,” as everyone calls him, insisted on cooking himself—even though everyone knows his version of "cooking" means bossing others around while he grills and talks your ear off.

You arrive just before sunset, the smell of garlic and oregano greeting you at the front door. Nonno opens it with a wide grin, slicked-back white hair, wearing a crisp button-up and gold chain. The moment he lays eyes on you, his eyebrows jump.

“Mamma mia,” he says in Italian, grabbing Anthony by the arm. “She’s too beautiful for you! You must’ve tricked her.”

Anthony laughs, unfazed. “I know, Nonno. I’ve been asking her every day why she’s still with me.”

You giggle, cheeks warm from the flattery. Nonno pats your cheek gently and says, “You sure you’re not an actress? Or maybe a secret model? You could be in the movies.”

“Nonno,” Anthony groans, but he’s clearly loving it.

Dinner is loud and full of laughter. Nonno tells stories of his youth in Italy—how he courted Anthony’s nonna with flowers and terrible singing. He turns to you, eyes twinkling. “If Anthony didn’t sing for you at least once, you send him back. No excuses.”

“He did,” you say, grinning. “In the car. It was… something.”

Everyone bursts out laughing, especially Anthony’s uncle, who raises a glass. “To the woman who actually puts up with Anthony Cirelli!”

“To her!” the family echoes.

Later, when the plates are cleared and dessert is on the table, Nonno leans over and whispers, just loud enough for the room to hear, “If he ever messes this up, you come back here and marry someone better—like me.”

Anthony chokes on his espresso. “Nonno!”

You laugh so hard your ribs hurt, and Anthony just shakes his head with a smile, reaching for your hand under the table.

A few days after the dinner at Nonno’s, Anthony tells you he wants to take you somewhere—somewhere just for the two of you.

He doesn’t say much as you drive out of the neighborhood, just squeezes your hand every so often and keeps glancing at you with a quiet smile. The road winds past parks and familiar landmarks until he turns off onto a little gravel path lined with trees. It's tucked behind a row of houses and looks almost forgotten.

“This was my hideout,” he says as he helps you out of the car. “When I was a kid. And even later—after games, after tough days—I’d come here.”

You follow him down a gentle slope where tall grass meets a small clearing beside a stream. The water glistens in the early evening light, and wildflowers dot the edge. There's an old log he clearly used to sit on, worn smooth over time.

“I haven’t brought anyone here,” he says quietly. “Not even friends. This place… it helped me dream when I was a kid. Gave me peace when I needed it. And now—”

He pauses, looking at you, his expression turning serious but soft.

“Now I just wanted to share it with you.”

You step closer, your hands instinctively finding his. There’s a quiet between you, filled only by the chirping of crickets and the soft rustle of leaves.

“I’ve been thinking,” he continues. “About how easy this all felt. You being here. With my family. In this place where I grew up. I never thought I’d find someone who could just... fit into my world like you have.”

Your heart pounds as he gently brushes a piece of hair from your face.

“I love you,” he says, finally, honestly, eyes steady on yours. “I love the way you laugh at my Nonno’s bad jokes, how you talk to my nonna in that mix of Spanish and Italian like it’s your secret language. I love you. And I’m so happy you got to see this part of me.”

You don’t hesitate. “I love you too, Anthony.”

He pulls you into his arms, kissing you like he’s held that feeling for a long time—like he knew all along he’d find this moment in this very spot.

As the sun begins to dip behind the trees, you sit together on the log, wrapped in each other’s arms, and it feels like time doesn’t need to move. You’re just two people, in love, in a quiet corner of Woodbridge that now belongs to both of you.

[droolik]

アンデスネコ Andean Mountain Cat

[droolik]

R u a gay guy or straight girl. Respect either way

Im sick of all the games and i want to make it big

[droolik]

drinking water when I have a headache should give instant relief. it should go away. what's even the point of drinking water if it can't do that