radio compass

anonymous asked:

i have a headcanon that there's this spot in the Zones, somewhere between zones 4 and 5, where nothing works. Radios go dead, compasses don't work right, cars and motorbikes break down, kind of like the bermuda triangle. There's some debate about whether or not it exists, some people think it's just a tale told to younger zone rats to keep them from wandering off. Others claim to have lost people to it, others still claim to have survived it.

I love this! There are all these different theories as to why nothing works there. Some say it has something to do with magnets buried deep in the earth from the Analog Wars. 

People think that BLI planted some huge machine underground in that area that causes everything to stop working. They set it up as kind of a trap for killjoys and that’s why people get lost there. In actuality, BLI doesn’t go anywhere near this spot. They don’t know what causes it and they’re terrified of it.

Some think that this is where the Phoenix Witch lives. 

Others believe that this area is where Destroya will someday appear. 

anonymous asked:

"A little testy here at the end of the first period! Backstrom with a little collision here with Matt Dumba--and that's going to bring Ovechkin over." Caps Radio was great yesterday, broadcasting the 8+19 love to those of us stuck away from our TVs/computers. The Ovi compass in radio format? PS: thank you for the gifs every game! I usually only get the first period via the radio, so it's so nice to get the visuals without having to wait on nhlreplays com to load their shit. You're the real hero!

This entire league and their mother know that Ovi has zero chill. Zero. Zilch. Nada. None. Whatever is the opposite of having the slightest chill, Ovi is it

I don’t even have words, anon. Instead please accept my humble offering of Ovi doing the compass thing again that night, where you can see Nicky coming a mile away just from the smile in Ovi’s eyes. 

down streets worn smooth as polished bone
the raindrops run the night away
the wiper’s measured neon beats

the money hands and the shadows faces
voices sighing in the radio
the compass finds me these dark places

iron voices rusting in the radio
down narrow clapboard midnight streets
worn smooth as polished ivory

the black sea licking
the lights of the harbor
and all through the night

tongue-tied messengers of god and baal
passing behind me in the dark mirror