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faeeebaeee.bsky.social
lottie-pop 🍭🌱📟
@faeeebaeee.bsky.social
1K followers 350 following 650 posts
tiny chaos goblin / silly goose / 27 / queer / australian / writer? i hardly know ‘er! / pfp by @sweetpotato_70

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faeeebaeee.bsky.social
in the arms of the angelssss
November 11, 2025 at 1:30 AM
faeeebaeee.bsky.social
November 10, 2025 at 3:46 AM
faeeebaeee.bsky.social
Yeah it was an early version! (The last two are the versions that are actually in the smau). Deep cut!
September 4, 2025 at 12:36 PM
faeeebaeee.bsky.social
Well, there's many a strange impulse out on the plains of West Texas

There's many a young boy who feels things he can't comprehend

#YWMLP #OFMD
August 27, 2025 at 3:58 AM
faeeebaeee.bsky.social
Also on Ko-fi! ko-fi.com/faeeebaeee/l...
June 24, 2025 at 7:34 AM
faeeebaeee.bsky.social
My iPad has carked it, so I’m holding a sale on my store to fund a new one as it’s essential to my small business🫰💖

faeeebaeeee.etsy.com?coupon=RUHROH
June 24, 2025 at 7:28 AM
faeeebaeee.bsky.social
A rose by any other name would smell as sweet 🌹

[ #ofmd #ofmdnsfw #ourflagmeansdeath #ofmdfanart ]
Stede Bonnet is kneeling, with his back facing the viewer. His hands are tied behind his back, and his chest, back and thighs are shibari tied either rope. Forget-me-not flowers are tied into the knots
May 26, 2025 at 2:49 AM
faeeebaeee.bsky.social
May 16, 2025 at 1:07 PM
faeeebaeee.bsky.social
172.
He was quite striking like this, wasn't he? Ed. Under the ambient glow of a kitschy photo booth; tanned, tattooed arms bare, dark waves falling across his forehead, irises as big as dinner plates, swallowing the deep umber of his eyes— sharp and unreadable as they were. It wasn't the first time Stede had noticed, Ed was a good looking man, after all. Handsome, some might say. He must've had girls tossing themselves at him, constantly— 'Ladykiller! Wow, your eyes, they glow!' And it wasn't the first time they'd been in such close proximity, either— so crowded in each other's space that Stede could count Ed's sunspots or admire the piercing nestled neatly in his eyebrow or watch his eyelashes wisp across his cheeks-but there was something about this Ed, close and compelling, that had him entranced him so completely. Idly, Stede wondered if he could map out the soft planes of Ed's face, convert it to memory so that he might never forget. How long would it take, to chart the slope of his cheekbones, the valley of his dimples? "The camera's ready." He said, because Stede didn't actually have enough time to recall all the small, intimate details of Ed's features. The camera would do it for him. "You said that." Ed said, voice husky and rumbling, and Stede could feel it reverberating in his chest where they were pressed together, barely a sliver of light separating them. "Right." Stede wanted to look back towards the camera, he did. But something held him there, glued to Ed like a mouse in a trap— something yawning and big and demanding. Something he didn't have a name for. Maybe Ed did. Maybe Ed knew what to call it. He was clever and worldly like that. The aforementioned camera clicked over, pulsing again and illuminating the cramped space. Ed lit up like a beacon, a sacred glowing torch in the darkness and Stede was consumed by it, by him, by the flex of his hands at his waist, by— A deep-rooted sense of wrongness. It caught him unawares. An itch under his skin. A prickling down his spine. An empty dread. But Ed wasn't— Wrong. Ed was perfect. Wrong. Clearing the scratch in his throat, Stede turned away, facing the camera with a smile, his arm looping around Ed's broad shoulders. A hot, accusatory sigh fanned across the nape of his neck. Another flash. Brilliant, jarring. Stede smiled down the lens but was woozy with light sickness, or— woozy with something. He felt off-balance, faint, muddled— his thoughts slow, like molasses. "Do you think they have bandaids?" Stede questioned, absent-mindedly rolling the cotton of Ed's crop top between his fingers as he waited for the camera to reload. "What?" Ed asked blankly. Stede's averted gaze returned to Ed's. "Do you think the arcade has bandaids? For my head— I do feel a bit dizzy." In an instant, Ed's expression sombered to mild worry as he reached towards Stede's temple, assessing the damage. "You're not bleeding." Ed said astutely, dusting a curl away from Stede's face, thumb pressing to his brow bone to turn his head slightly to the side. "'s not even a bump," Then, incredulous— "You really want a bandaid?" "You suggested it!" Ed made a low, amused sound of confirmation. "It was a dumb when I said it too." "I dunno! Maybe it'll make me feel better, even if— I mean, it doesn't hurt, per se but, it's the... placebo effect, right?" Stede asked. "Mm," Ed hummed, "Maybe they have fun ones, with like... hot dogs on them, or something."
May 16, 2025 at 12:06 PM
faeeebaeee.bsky.social
PHOTOBOOOTH
May 10, 2025 at 7:10 AM
faeeebaeee.bsky.social
171.
And Ed saw. He fucking saw.
May 10, 2025 at 7:08 AM
faeeebaeee.bsky.social
170.
Shit, It was small. Smaller than it had any right to be, actually— made for giggling children and prepubescent teenagers. A tacky, flashy, over-the-top thing with too little space. So of course tacky, flashy, over-the-top Stede was drawn to it— a sailor to a siren. It called to Stede, and Stede called to Ed, and they were both fucking goners, unable to break away from the temptation presented in front of them. Ed had been flagrantly and flippantly arrogant to think he stood any kind of chance to the contrary. Graciously, Stede released his jeans, thank fuck, only to nudge Ed into the booth, oh fuck— and Ed went willingly, convinced he would follow Stede off a bridge at this point if he so much as muttered the word jump. The whole situation was precarious, dangerous—a razor Ed would cut himself on if he breathed the wrong way— but at least it couldn't get any worse. Ed thought it couldn't get any worse. It did. Somehow, the photo box was even smaller on the inside— a shitty, reverse TARDIS— and before Ed could scramble out, or muster a believable excuse to escape the ordeal he was about to encounter, Stede climbed— no, fell— into his lap, because fucking shit, there was nowhere else for him to be. And Stede laughed, laughed- "Shit, I think I hit my head." Was the air in here thinning? Breathy— breathlessly— Ed asked, "Yeah?" Because he wasn't sure what else to say, words escaping him. He'd heard the thunk on entry, had borne the full weight of Stede toppling onto his thighs. So, yeah, no kidding he hit his head. Stede rubbed at his temple, chuckling— who the hell gave themselves a half-concussion and laughed? "Need—" Me to kiss it better, "—a bandaid?" "I don't think bandaids help with head injuries." Stede said. "An ice pack?" Stede shivered reflexively. "Maybe not." "Maybe not." Stede agreed, twisting to slot a quarter into the machine, balancing on Ed's knees, precariously close to slipping. Heat rolled off him in waves— and what was Ed if not a moth drawn to a flame? Instinctively, Ed wrapped his arms around Stede's middle— to stop him from falling, obviously. No other ulterior motive. The coin rattled through the booth's mechanisms, and Stede turned back around, "Ed, the camera's-" But Ed wouldn't discover, yet, what the camera was— set? On? Broken?— because Stede cut himself off abruptly, breath hitching. They were close; likely closer than Stede had intended for them to be— too small, the booth was too fucking small- "Ready." He finished, barely a whisper over the flash, his hands naturally gravitating towards Ed's shoulders mid-picture— close, near, inviting. Still, still— Ed was afraid of being scalded. Sure- fuck it, burning, spectacularly— but Ed wasn't about to entirely throw caution to the wind. Although, yeah, the temptation was fucking taunting. Ed was a starving man, and Stede was laid before him like the most decadent, delightful banquet; dinner and dessert, a three-course meal of tender flesh— scarlet cheeks as red as pomegranates, lips as sweet as honey— and if Ed bit into this forbidden fruit he swore he'd never be hungry again. "The camera's ready," Stede repeated, fuck, how hard had he clocked his head? Should Ed have been worried? "You said that." "Right." Stede agreed, unmoving. Their noses grazed in an awkward fucking dance that lit Ed's nerves ablaze, and under his fingertips, Ed felt Stede's heartbeat thrum infinitesimally faster; blooming a hope that buried itself deep in Ed's chest, growing vibrant and wild in the dirt and mire of his unchecked wants. The camera flashed again, white and blinding, and Stede's eyes flitted, almost imperceptibly, for a perfect fleeting moment, to Ed's parted lips.
May 10, 2025 at 7:08 AM
faeeebaeee.bsky.social
169.
"Now what?" Stede asked, placing his hands back on the flipper buttons. Right, yeah, pinball, friends. Now what? Feather light, Ed settled his own hands over Stede's, wedding ring a cold reminder against his calloused fingers. "Pull the trigger," Ed said, wondering, for a split, scary second, if his thoughts had escaped via his mouth again, unbidden, but no- "I'll push if— when you miss an opportunity." Overeager and keen, Stede flung the ball into play, muscles flexing under his cotton shirt, and Ed's heart hammered so loud against his ribcage his sternum might as well have been a construction site. "Only use one flipper at a time— you're more likely to miss flicking two," Ed directed, pointedly ignoring the miniscule, love-driven builders also banging away inside his skull, wondering if anyone else could hear the deafening cacophony, "And if it's coming down the middle, nudge the cabinet a bit." "That's not cheating?" "It's not cheating if no one sees." "You'll see." "I'll close my eyes" Then the ball was shooting across the playfield - bouncing around the bumpers, dinging through drop runs, bopping against the bash toy— and when it finally rattled into the trough next, Stede had a half-impressive score racked up. A beat passed. The noise of the arcade faded into the background, until there was only Stede's shocked laughter. "We did it! It worked!" Stede whooped, grinning ear to ear as he spun, arms flinging around Ed in a hug- tight, warm, new. And Ed felt it all— all Stede's joy, Stede's surprise, Stede's determination, Stede's soft fucking hair— as he hugged him back, an invisible force driving them together. Electromagnetism or some other smart shit, Ed didn't know, but it pulsed through every molecule of his body, his very atoms vibrating. "Again?" Stede was looking up at Ed for approval, starry-eyed and moony. Again? Music to Ed's ears. He could do this all fucking day. Distantly, a jackpot blared, warning bells— and success turned sour. Ed was walking on a tightrope with no safety net—only a deadly, terrifying fall awaiting him at his first misstep. So Ed moved away; the air brisk and empty between them, Stede's arms falling limply at his sides. "Ed?" Stede said, disquieted with Ed's sudden departure, his name tilted upwards in a question. "Think you got it now, mate." "Ah— yes. Yeah, I think so too. Thank you," Stede's concern appeared to ease, even as he traced uneasy circles into the pinball controller, "Do you- do you want to try something else then?" "Yeah, that might be a good idea." Peering over the heads of teenagers, Stede worried his lip between his teeth, balancing on his tip-toes to scan the landscape- looking across planes of geometric, black-light-sensitive carpet, rivers of neon rainbow strip lights, solitary mountains of discarded candy-wrappers and soda cups. They'd done skee ball, pinball... Ed was anticipating basketball, table tennis. "Oh! That! Let's do that." Stede lit up like a Christmas tree in December, his sights set on... something. Before Ed could ask what?, Stede was looping his pinky into one of Ed's belt hoops and tugging. Pulling him along, into the unknown, and- fuck, Stede had to know, there's no way he didn't know what he was doing to Ed, no one was this fucking oblivious, his hopeless crush wasn't so hopeless, surely— Stede didn't know. If Stede knew, he wouldn't have led Ed, hook line and sinker, to a photo booth.
May 9, 2025 at 1:22 PM
faeeebaeee.bsky.social
168.
"Think you have a very specific talent for sucking at arcade games, mate. Won't win us any prizes at this rate," Ed teased, no real bite to his words as yet another machine flashed an 8-bit Game Over screen. It was fun— watching polite and proper Stede let loose, lose, and then glare at the cabinets as though they had personally insulted him, scowling with a face so angelic it was almost comical, ad nauseum. Only— it didn't make Ed nauseous. Giddy? Yes. But sick, bored? Hardly. "Be nice, l've never been to an arcade before!" Stede batted at him half-heartedly, the back of his palm thwacking into Ed's bicep. Fuck, Ed would endure much worse than radio silence if it meant he could share a thousand tiny touches like this with Stede Fancyman Bonnet. "You've never been—? How old are you, fifty?" Ed quipped, devoid of any real heat. Guess that explained Stede's deep and troubling misunderstanding of ski-ball, then — he'd almost given Ed an aneurysm, initially raising his arm to toss the puck like a basketball, 'Underarm, Stede Underarm! Fucking Christ, you lunatic. "A spry forty-seven, actually." "Mm. You look good for forty-seven. I might be forty-seven by the time you win us some tickets though." Stede pouted. He was cute when he was indignant. "Maybe I just need a good luck charm.' " "Like what?" "Like-" Stede looked around furiously, "I don't know. You're supposed to be my good luck charm.' " Ed's brain turned to liquid and leaked out of his ears, pooling at his feet, and yet, somehow, he managed to form a coherent thought, a coherent sentence. "And how's that working out for you so far?" "It's not." "Ouch," Ed raised his hand to his breast, as though mortally wounded. If there was one thing Stede couldn't 'good luck' charm his way into, it was pinball. Ed let him try, of course; hip leaning against the flashing, graphic back box, watching the line between Stede's brow grow deeper and deeper with each clatter of the metal ball falling into the outlane. He wanted to press his thumb to the crease, ironing out the wrinkle. 'It's just a game, baby', he'd say, like a walking 80s cheesy heartthrob. Stede was making him a fucking cliche. "It's rigged." Stede huffed, his handful of quarters running suspiciously low. Ed chuckled, which increased his frown. "It's not rigged, mate.' " "How do you know?" "Cause I know enough about pinball." "Do you know everything about everything?" "Yes. It's not rigged- you're just fresh. Lemme show you." Stede relaxed, vice grip on the buttons loosening. "Okay," Stede agreed, stepping away from the machine to allow Ed access, but Ed ushered him back towards the blinking cabinet. "Stay. You're gonna do it, gotta learn somehow— and it's not by watching. 'm just here to guide you." Ed instructed, sidling up behind Stede, chest to back, thunder in his ears, lightning shooting through his veins, what was he doing? He waited for Stede to inevitably stiffen or shove him away, but it never came. And Ed had never believed in Hell, per se. But even still, he had the distinct impression he might be going somewhere Hell-adjacent for this- thou shall not covet, and all that. Because it was certainly something sinful: how Stede's boundless curls caressed his face, how the heat of his back seemed to singe a hole into Ed's middle, how good he smelt— always reminding Ed of baked sugar and clean linen and old books. Stede rocked on his heels, into Ed, and his neck was right there now, too; long and slender and bare, covered in rosy freckles. It would be so easy, too easy, for Ed to lean down and kiss the sensitive skin behind Stede's ear, thou shalt not commit aduttery, and -
May 5, 2025 at 6:04 AM
faeeebaeee.bsky.social
167.
"|-" Stede hesitated, brows furrowing gently, as though he hadn't considered why himself, "I wanted to apologize. And spend time with you. I think that's important too." Christ, Ed melted. Stede was a sunbeam— dazzling and golden-sweet, face bright— and under his warmth, his radiance, a week's worth of biting fears and what if's thawed. I wanted to— spend time with you. Ed melted, because how the fuck could he not? "Are we... okay?" Stede asked. "I—" I don't know. I don't think so. What the fuck was Ed supposed to do here? Say here? "We're fine," Probably not that, but Stede was standing before him like some small, scolded puppy in a dumb little puppy sweater vest, so achingly sincere and so desperate for his forgiveness— that Ed found he could never have said anything to the contrary, "We're good. Just— communicate, man." "Yes, right! You're right, of course," Stede beamed something glorious, half-sun, half-flesh, unable to mask the hope in his voice, "So, um— do you want to go inside?" "Maybe- guess we could." Ed said, with what he pretended was an air of nonchalance. "Okay!" Stede glowed. Ed would need eclipse glasses soon. "Uh, yeah, well— lemme put the beer in my car, then we—" Can have a date, a not-date, fuck, "We can head in—in the meantime, maybe do something about...this." Ed shuffled the beers under one arm and pinched the middle stitches of Stede's wool vest. "Like— aren't you hot? You look hot." "Oh! A little. Maybe—" Stede said, as Ed moved to plant the case of beers on the roof of the Pinto; the car's frame dipping with the weight, Ed's cropped Bon Jovi shirt riding up his stomach with the stretch— bare midriff and devilishly high fishnets peaking above his ripped acid-wash jeans. "Hot, yeah, actually— um. Yes." Stede muttered under his breath, tugging his sweater vest over his head, and if Ed hadn't known any better, he would have said Stede was turning a rather curious shade of pink. Unfortunately, he did know better. Must have been the overheating. Maybe he was luxuriating in it, though— imagining Stede's gaze settling over the sprawling lines of his body as he re-adjusted his high pony. Because yeah, fuck it. If he was going to burn, he was going to burn spectacularly. "Maybe loosen the tie too, while you're at it." Ed instructed, gesturing towards his own neck, brushing his necklace across the slopes of his collarbone. Immediately, Stede tugged at the tie, and then, most notably, picked at several of his top buttons until they were undone; revealing a swath of delicate freckles and a dusting of fine, blond hair. And for the most fleeting of moments, Ed stalled - like an old stick shift, engine grinding to a halt. If sweatered Stede was sweet, and clashing patterns Stede was darling— this was something else entirely, some new beast joining the ranks of hot pants Stede. "Better?" Stede asked, oblivious. Ed's mouth went suspiciously dry. "Ed?" "Yeah, man. Sorry. Yeah— I'll put these—" With his hands now free, Ed unlocked the car door again, sliding the cask onto the passenger seat. Lukewarm beer, cooking in his car, neither of them had thought this entirely through.
May 4, 2025 at 5:47 AM
faeeebaeee.bsky.social
Trust No One 💀

[ #ofmd #ofmdnsfw ]
Ed, with his back turned and hair draped over is shoulder, is dressed in a tiny pink body con dress, with a heart peek-a-boo window at the small of his back, where the tattoo ‘Trust No One’ can be seen.
May 3, 2025 at 1:58 AM
faeeebaeee.bsky.social
166.
Stepping out of his tinny, roughed-up Ford, Ed immediately wanted to retreat, hightailing it out of the arcade parking lot as quickly as his old Pinto would allow. If he was lucky, maybe someone would rear-end him on exit, fuel tank crumpling into the rear axle, and he'd burst into flames— a defect Hornigold had warned him about when he'd first bought the blasted car, post Pinto Madness. Anything to avoid facing Stede, who was idling at the arched entrance of Spanish Jackie'z, cradling a case of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale- Ed's favourite. Hair honey in the sunlight, silk tie coloured berry-red, sweater vest from Ralph Lauren— Stede was over-correcting from their last meeting by being ludicrously over-dressed, a lone flower in a field of teens decked in muscle tees and glitter tights and windbreakers. It was endearing. Ed was endeared. So, time to combust— Ed tried to turn on his heels, ducking into the driver's seat of his death trap, but Stede clocked him, waving to him with a surprised "Ed!" made Ed's stomach turn, peanut butter toast and instant coffee tumbling around his insides like a laundromat washing machine. No Pinto-induced explosions today, then. Ed closed the car door, catching himself in the too-dark-to-be-street-legal tint of the window; all pulled back curls, a frankly crazy over-reliance on mall jewelry, and smudged coal-black eyeliner he fully intended to cry tear-tracks into later, telling himself it was punk as hell. This Ed was cool. This Ed didn't need friends. This Ed could break his own heart and survive it. This— "Ed," Stede joined him with a sheepish smile and- yeah, he should be fucking sheepish, "I wasn't sure if you were going to show." 'm here now." Ed said, clipping his keys to his belt and dropping his gaze to his sharpie-covered Converse. "Well, I bought some beer— as a peace offering." Stede held out the cask between them, a hoppy olive branch. Ed had never liked olives. Or branches, he supposed. "For disappearing." Ed dead-panned and Stede at least had the decency to look a little ashamed, an embarrassed flush blooming across his cheeks. "For disappearing." Stede agreed. "And for not explaining why." Ed added, crossing his arms over the barrel of his chest. "I- I wanted to explain in person" Stede tried to protest, but Ed stared him down with reproach; eyes as hard as flint. '...for not explaining why," He conceded, "Although it's not like... it's not like you haven't done the same-" Okay, fair play, but— "That was different—" "How?" "We weren't... friends." "Weren't we?" Stede wilted. "Not— friend friends." Ed backtracked. "Weren't we?" ... touché. But unavailable, Stede? That's all I get these days?" "I was. Unavailable. Ed— I don't want to fight." "Me either." "So what do you want?" What did he want? This was Ed's chance— I don't want to be friends. We can't be friends. We shouldn't be friends. I don't want to do this. "An apology would be a start," Ed's mouth ran faster than his thoughts, sometimes, "A verbal one. Wanna hear it." "I'm sorry." "The beer, too." "Of course." Ed liberated the six pack from Stede's hands. "So... why? Where'd you go?" "I guess, between work and you, Mary had been playing second fiddle and I— I needed-wanted to take some time... to be with her." Mary had been playing second fiddle. To him. "Why are you here?" And not at home with your wife?
May 2, 2025 at 6:07 AM
faeeebaeee.bsky.social
April 27, 2025 at 2:59 AM
faeeebaeee.bsky.social
No you’re so right actually
April 27, 2025 at 2:26 AM
faeeebaeee.bsky.social
165.
Polaroid of Stede, dated Sat 18th April ‘87. Stede is swearing a dark green-blue sweater vest, over a mint shirt and red tie. He sheepishly looks off camera.
April 27, 2025 at 2:14 AM
faeeebaeee.bsky.social
164. [Ed to Stede]
Ed to Stede, beeper code: 066 066, beeper code: Saturday
April 27, 2025 at 2:08 AM
faeeebaeee.bsky.social
163.
Thud, Ed closed the book, dusty, and buried his head in his hands, scrubbing at his eyes with the flat of his palms. Fuck, bastard, dickhead, son of a bitch— had he missed any? How the ever-loving shit was he ever going to escape Stede Bonnet's grip? But Ed had to. Escape him. Stede. A boy who'd accidentally scooped his young heart from his chest like it was too-hard ice cream. He would go this Saturday, gouged heart clenched in his fist, bloody and bruised but still beating, and tell Stede: 'this is it. We can't be friends after all. ' Maybe afterwards he'd take someone to the Pier, like Stede suggested, while Stede finger fed his wife chocolate dipped strawberries, or whatever-the-fuck. Ed would grovel and tell Izzy 'you were right' through pride and clenched teeth, and Izzy would be fucking thrilled. Almost as if summoned, the office door rattled as Izzy attempted to jimmy the archaic latch, and Ed sobered, shoving Gatsby under a deep pile of paperwork.
April 27, 2025 at 1:03 AM
faeeebaeee.bsky.social
162.
The Great Gatsby. Page 106. Post it note: 9am. Saturday 18th April Spanish Jackiez Arcade (166 S. Alameda Blvd, Compton 90220) -Keep the jacket The post it note is also decorated by stars. Highlighted: "Ah," she cried, "you look so cool." Their eyes met, and they stared together at each other, alone in space. With an effort she glanced down at the table. "You always look so cool," she repeated. (How does one be cool? Asking for a friend. Unless that friend is already cool. (They are)) Doodled daises are drawn on the bottom of the page and labelled. The Great Gatsby. Page 111. A vintage postcard of Santa Monica Pier and Beach is wedged into the book. Atop it is another post it note, which reads: More ideas for your date! :-) <3
April 26, 2025 at 10:16 AM
faeeebaeee.bsky.social
161.
The Great Gatsby. Chapter One. A torn off note is wedged onto the page. Sorry Ed- Something came up- meet at the arcade Saturday? In the meantime- here's some light reading to entertain you in the absence of my titillating conversation :-) - Stede (Bonnet) 166. S Alameda Blvd, Compton 90220 The Great Gatsby. Page 46. (I had taken two finger-bowls of champagne) — Pairs with a well-rounded Brie rather nicely! Post it note: Think you enjoy beer more though! (Or a Piña Colada) :-) Stede has drawn a Piña Coladas and a beer can on the note. Highlighted: He smiled understandingly-much more than understand-ingly. It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times The Great Gatsby, page 51. Stede has replaced each “old-sport” with Fuckface. Highlighted: He smiled-and suddenly there seemed to be a pleasant significance in having been among the last to go, as if he had desired it all the time. Post it note: Hydroplane! (the boat of the sky. And the water too, I suppose) (poor) Hydroplane (pointing to a crude drawing of a hydroplane. Receipt lodged in the page: Give us feedback Thank you! ID #: 79DSFXCWFGH2384B Beer (Craft) 065174325835 4.99 X Strawberries (Fresh) 0109258803978 1.22 X Chocolate (Dark) 097855673154 1.00 X Milk (2%) 045301284316 1.99 X Orange (Fresh) 058875314891 0.68 X Sticky Notes (Yellow) 041671741158 0.50 X 100 Things to Do in La (Magazine) 0103481911212 1.00 X Coffee (Ground) 067341767020 1.99 X Tea (Bagged, Orange Pekoe) 0103564396212 2.99 X Salmon (Fresh) 074853987455 5.99 X SUBTOTAL 22.35 TOTAL 22.35 CREDITI TEND 22. 35 ACCOUNT # CHANGE DUE 0.00 **** APPROVAL # 83263M REF # 361503552998 TERMINAL # 8371529316 # ITEMS SOLD 10 Thank You for Shopping With Us! 04/14/1987 19:42 *** CUSTOMER COPY ***
April 26, 2025 at 9:51 AM
faeeebaeee.bsky.social
160.
What the absolute fuck was Stede Bonnet playing at?
April 26, 2025 at 9:39 AM