Some Mr. L doodles still in line with Hand Me My Shovel, I'm Going In by Will Wood and the Tapeworms.
Mr. L can feel something isn't right but can't place where his constant disquiet and occasional aimless loathing are coming from. He finds the castle's wine cellar and abuses the hell out of it, much to the mixed negative emotions of literally everybody else. No one enjoys angry, despairing, drunk L; either due to irritation, pity, disgust, or general want of a relatively quiet day without an irritable time bomb walking around picking fights and breaking bottles.
Nastasia changes the lock on the cellar twice, but inebriation does little to hamper his tool coordination, and she gives up on keeping him out. She is waiting for the next time he goes out to have some minions go hide what's left in a different part of the castle, hoping that he is drinking out of the convenience of it being there and that he won't go actively searching for it.
Mr. L hopes that if he is disruptive and wild enough, she'll just remove whatever it is that is making him feel this way. Unfortunately, and unbeknownst to him, it is very difficult to remove instincts without reducing the person to a blank robotic worker. If you want to keep a full person, you can layer other instincts over top of the original ones, but the native ones will still be there, buried.
Gonna make one to go with this where eventually Mr. L approaches Nastasia and demands "Fix me".
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I love it when the piece of media I'm consuming makes me feel like I'm being stabbed in the chest
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if you see a godai and/or ichijou post chances are you will find me in the notes with the biggest block of tags this website has ever seen rambling on and on and on
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“ok you’ve had enough wine.” INCORRECT! I do this shit sober too!
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i accidentally called my friend dad because of autocorrect and now i have been adopted by her
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the funniest thing to me is i go by charlie/chuck and my fiance's name is dee.
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Genuinely loved the experience of being at camp for the first time and seeing all the companions with their tits out like they're all gonna go clubbin or some shit
Then there’s Gale
Who's just. So utterly swagless that his clothes smell like dusty old books. My man doesn't give a fuck about the drip he's getting his ass ready for bed
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