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alexthefly · 9 months ago

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Did I miss the relevant prompt earlier in the week? Maybe. Shhhh...

In honour of FishTank Week, and particularly the prompt 💛"We're a team, always"💚 please enjoy this reblog.

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Green Wool and Sunshine

What is that?!”

“What is what?” asked Virgil through a mouthful of cinnamon roll.

“That! That…thing you’re wearing!”

Gordon sat up slowly from the sofa, his face fixed in equal parts grin and grimace as he pointed with his good hand.

Virgil looked down at himself and surreptitiously brushed a few crumbs off his sweater. “What’s wrong with it?” he asked.

“Dude, it’s hideous,” said Gordon, eyeing the offending garment critically.

Virgil looked again. True, it wasn't in the best shape. Pale green wool, striped with white and yellow, and all of it faded and bobbled to within an inch of its life. One shoulder had a loose seam so that it looked almost as if the wool were melting. And at the centre of it all, the distinctive shape of Thunderbird Two rendered clumsily in darker green.

"Where did you get it?”

“Grandma made it for me one Christmas. You remember that vintage knitting machine Dad got her that one year?”

God, it had made a racket, like someone flicking a giant comb over and over again. Thank goodness she’d finally lost interest in that particular hobby, although in hindsight Virgil wondered if her subsequent rediscovery of her old cooking books might have been too high a price to pay.

“Anyway, I just found it the other day in the back of the closet.”

Gordon’s mouth twisted to one side. “...Any chance you could lose it back there again?”

A deep grumble. Okay, so she might not be the best at the domestic arts, but she was still their grandma and he loved that she tried. Virgil had actually thought the sweater was pretty good, in a homespun, one-sleeve-slightly-longer-than-the-other sort of way; his girl’s big, friendly turtle-face was unmistakable, and Grandma had even included a little dark-haired figure in blue and green waving out of one of her windows.

“Lay off. It’s comfortable. Anyway, I didn’t see you criticising when she made you that yellow submarine one you wore down to scraps.”

Gordon rolled his eyes. “First of all, I was a lot younger then and not so refined.”

Virgil snorted.

“Secondly, yellow is infinitely better than green. And thirdly, I can carry that sort of thing off. You…” - he wafted his hand up and down at his brother in the manner of a bitchy ballroom dancing judge - “...unfortunately, cannot.”

Virgil grunted and took another bite of his roll.

“Really? Mr ‘Hawaiian Shirts and Sandals Go With Everything’ is criticising my fashion choices?”

“They totally do go with everything! They’re a completely universal outfit; the quintessential capsule wardrobe.”

He puffed out his chest to show off today’s offering, complete with large ketchup stain down the front.

“Anyway, why are you even wearing a sweater when it’s 80 degrees outside? I know you tend towards layers, tropical climate be damned, but this is a bit much even for you.”

“I was down in the hangars,” Virgil shrugged. “It was cold.”

“You doing some maintenance?” His little brother’s face lit up.

“Two’s left air intake’s doing that rattling thing again; I thought I’d give her an overhaul,” he said, brain shifting seamlessly into engineer mode, “And her injectors need a spruce up. Thought perhaps I’d have a play with that new neo-PEM cell Brains has been going on about.”

“D’you want some help?”

The enthusiasm in his voice was unmistakable, and cut deep.

Virgil bit his lip. “Aww, I don’t think so, Fish. You need to rest.”

“I could rest down there? I promise, I’ll just sit and watch you."

The desperation in his brother’s puppy dog eyes felt like knives in Virgil’s chest.These last few weeks since the Marindata Ventfields had been hard on them all. Even now, with Gordy finally home from the hospital, Virgil still woke almost nightly with the sound of that emergency signal echoing in his ears, the silence of his brother’s comms stretching out in his mind until…

No, don’t think about that. He’s home. He’s safe.

But obviously Gordon had been hit the hardest. His ‘bird was a total loss, his body not much better, and he still had months of rehab ahead, bringing with it all the oh-so-unwelcome memories he’d worked so hard to bury. Regular visits from Penny had helped, and their sunshine boy was trying hard, but it was like the clouds had gathered, dimming that indefinable brightness that made him…him.

Virgil wished beyond wish that he could indulge his little brother if it would make him happy. But…

“I’m sorry Squid, Grandma’s orders. There’s just too many hazards down there. Fumes and stairs and things to trip over… I wouldn’t be able to watch out for you properly.”

Gordon sagged, and Virgil felt his heart clench painfully.

“But hey, how about I leave the maintenance and come sit up here with you instead? We could watch an episode of Buddy and Ellie?”

Anything to bring back the sun.

A shake of the head, eyes fixed downwards. “Nah, seen ‘em all.” Gordon looked up and smiled again; this time it didn’t reach his eyes. “Anyway, you don’t want to be stuck up here. Not when there’s oil and grime to play about in. Better watch you don’t get that sweater dirty though, or Grandma might knit you another one.”

Virgil opened his mouth to speak, but his little brother cut him off.

“Stop worrying Virg. S’no biggie. I’m fine, see?” He shrugged. “I’ll just see you when you’re done.”

He lay back down on the sofa carefully, looking so much smaller than he had a moment ago.

“Actually, I’m getting a little tired now. You just go do what you gotta do - I’m gonna take a nap right here.”

And with that he closed his eyes; conversation over.

Virgil lingered for a moment, scouring his brain for something to say but coming up blank. Inside his heart burned with guilt and impotence: his little brother was hurting, and he couldn’t do anything to fix it. All he’d done was make things worse.

Perhaps he should go.

“Okay then. Take it easy, alright?”

“Yup."

“There’s cinnamon rolls in the kitchen if you get hungry.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Thus dismissed, he turned and made his way towards the elevator, mind no longer on his ‘bird but instead on her grounded, miserable co-pilot.

Oh Gordy. It will get better; I promise.

………..

As the sound of the elevator faded away Gordon opened one eye a crack to check the coast was clear. Then he slowly, painfully hauled himself up, intent on getting to the residential levels. No doubt his big marshmallow of a brother would be on the comms right now, asking someone - probably Scott - to come down and check on him, and there was no way he was hanging around for that.

Even if his body hated him for moving.

The journey from the sofa to his room used to take less than two minutes. Today it took him seven minutes twenty. What was worse was that objectively he should be pleased. Sub-eight minutes was actually an improvement on a week ago.

Goddammit.

Finally, he was able to close the bedroom door behind him and collapse onto his bed, aching and miserable.

This sucked.

He was lucky to be alive; he knew that. A few weeks ago he’d been lying at the bottom of the ocean with half a volcano on top of him. Now, because of his brothers, Penny and Parker, he was back in the bosom of his family, healing, getting stronger, gradually shaving the seconds off his bedroom run.

He should be grateful. He’d been through far worse, for God’s sake.

So why?

Why wasn’t he able to shake this off?

Why was it that whenever he tried to see the positive, all he could see was just how freakin’ useless he was?

He didn’t dare say that out loud, of course. His family would absolutely kick his ass if they heard him say something like that. Penny too. (Boy, would she!) He could hear them now, telling him to give himself a chance, these things take time, blah blah blah… Hell, he even tried saying that stuff to himself sometimes, like he would if it were one of his brothers in this position instead of him.

If only any of it actually worked.

Because no matter how much he tried to reason his way out of this funk he was in, it didn’t help, because this feeling wasn’t logical. It couldn’t be reasoned with.

It whispered to him in the dark.

You’ve let them all down.

Look at the slack they’re having to pick up.

Look how much they’re worrying.

Worse.

They don’t need you back.

They’re fine without you.

Every time his brothers went off on a mission without him, it hurt. Whenever someone else took his place co-piloting for Virgil - even Penny, who was only doing it for his sake - he felt cold inside. And when Scott had been the one to take his new Thunderbird Four out for her maiden voyage? The mission to recover the Zero X capsule, no less; the thing that had kicked off Operation Bring Dad Home? Well, he’d just wanted to curl up right there on that sofa and never move again.

The unfairness.

The guilt.

The fear.

He would never wish what had happened on any of his family in a million years. But at the same time, why was it always him that got hurt?

Perhaps he really was just useless.

Sad, exhausted, hurting in more ways than he knew how to handle, he turned his face to the pillow and let the tears come.

…………

The thing about uber-strength pain meds is that they can make a guy fall asleep in the middle of the afternoon and not wake up until the early hours.

He registered the dim not-quite dark as the world slowly came back to him.

Someone had drawn the covers over him at some point during the night, tucking them around him like he was a child, and didn’t that just sum up everything? Take a nap, take your meds, and maybe if you’re a good boy you’ll get a lollipop(!)

He shifted slightly and his hip complained. Gingerly he rolled over, tackling the manoeuvre in sections, trying to get comfortable. He was just settling again when something caught his eye on the chair by his bed.

A large package wrapped neatly in yellow paper.

Twisting carefully he reached out with his good arm and pulled the chair towards him. In the soft glow of pre-dawn, he recognised the paper as the same kind he’d had for his last birthday: bright yellow with blue seahorses and glittery bubbles. Scott had complained about the glitter getting all over his shirt, and they’d all spent the next hour randomly shaking the paper over each other’s heads until they’d sparkled like they were in a Las Vegas show.

He smiled at the memory and gradually pulled himself up until he was sitting, blanket wrapped around him in the cool, almost-morning air.

Holding the package on his lap, he delicately pulled it open at the seams, revealing unmistakable green wool underneath.

What the-?

In with the sweater there was a card written in Virgil’s big, swooping hand:

Seeing as you’re the only one who could pull it off anyway, you should have this, at least until you can make it back aboard the real thing.

She isn’t the same without you. V.

He read the card two more times, breath hitching on the last sentence each time, then he gently unfurled the sweater out in front of him to take a closer look at the design, now that it was technically his.

It took a few moments for him to notice it.

Something was different.

He squinted.

There, in the window of Thunderbird Two’s cockpit, carefully embroidered next to the tiny waving figure of Virgil, a second, blond-haired figure waved out at him in shades of blue and yellow wool.

How...?

...Virgil.

For a moment, he swore he could see the little co-pilot grinning. Or was that just his suddenly-blurred vision playing tricks?

He wiped his eyes and, discarding his blanket, pulled the sweater over his head. He couldn’t get his bad arm through the sleeve, so instead opted to keep it against his chest, nestled between the soft wool and his own thrumming heart.

Despite the way it looked, Virg had been right: the sweater was comfortable. So comfortable. Softened by repeated washing, with a clean smell of detergent and just a hint of Virgil’s cologne - sandalwood and bergamot, mellow and comforting - wearing it was like wearing a hug; warm and reassuring and just so snuggly.

Full of love.

Wrapping his good arm around himself and breathing in the calming, cozy scent, he picked his way carefully over to the window and opened the blinds. Dawn was just beginning to break over the horizon, painting the sky a hundred different shades of pink and purple and orange. As he watched, the sun slowly poked its head out over the gentle waves of his beloved ocean, bathing him in the warmth of its early morning glow.

It was going to be a beautiful day.

#fishtankweek2024 #fishtank #gordon tracy #virgil tracy #alexthefly reblog #fluffy hurt/comfort #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #thunderbirds

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acrisius-ii · 10 months ago

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its 1:05 and i made another RPG

have you, a ttrpg player, ever wanted real in-game rules for going out and getting fucking sloshed

have you, a game master, ever wanted a combat system that didn't make you want to throw yourself into a fishtank?

have you, again a ttrpg player, ever wanted to pierce the firmament with an arrow or create many explosive barrels?

do you want the narrow possibility of your character getting nerve damage, or better yet, the worlds most unorthodox lobotomy?

i got something for you. Spear and Spell 2e, ready and waiting for you, completely free! or pwyw, i suppose. link right here!

someone please look at this the pdf was a huge ass and a half to download because google docs doesnt allow you to download docs of a certain size as a pdf which. god. someone help me. I had to upload two seperate docs and then stitch them back together like victor frankenstein if victor frankenstein was asian and deeply stupid. it also meant i couldnt put in page numbers. how do people do this shit man.

#ttrpg #indie creator #indie ttrpg #tabletop #ttrpg community #worldbuilding #dnd #dungeons and dragons #homebrew #spear and spell 2e #fantasy #high fantasy #itch.io #pwyw

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fourthdistrictfishie · 1 month ago

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Imagining District Four’s Richer, more industrial, and Technologically advanced sides:

🐟🐚🐟🐚🐟🐚🐟🐚🐟

• Imagining sterile white and blue seafood packaging factories with immaculate machines and CEO’s in suits and pencil skirts.

• imagining high end, bougie Seafood restaurants along the shared border with the Capital. The District’s citizens aren’t allowed into the Capital regularly, of course, but Capital citizens love coming to District Four for a beach vacation, and to eat up all of the seafood.

• This also leads me to imagining the larger, richer parts of Four that are like Tourist Trap Beach Towns, with Souvenirs from ‘The Fishing District’, and even small live crabs sold as Pets in these small shops like in Beach Shops we see along the US coast today. Just a little more futuristic. All for the Capital’s Citizens to come Giggle at them and gawk and treat them like actual Atlanteans.

• I imagine the nicer parts of Four really favoring Blue, Teal, and especially White in their decor and general fashion. I imagine a TON of Pearl, Mother of Pearl, and SeaShell.

• I can definitely see the richer District Four kids who can afford the equipment having elaborate fishtanks with saltwater fish or even some having nice setups for some of those souvenir shop Hermit Crabs.

•Some of the Richer and snobbier District Four teens make friends with some Capital teenagers. They exploit each other for everything they can get. The Four kids get Money and toys to keep them and their families living nicely enough and the Capital kids are entertained by their Beach-Dwelling counterparts.

•Honestly I think District Four varies heavily between Poverty and living JUST below the Capital in terms of wealth. Like Upper UPPER middle class but not exactly high class. Not normally anyway.

• I really see in later games, perhaps even if they would have gone on, as Divide of Cultures between Districts grows, The Gimmick-y parts of the games would start to paint each district as even more otherworldly.

• For District Four, I can see the transition from presenting Tributes as fishermen, to painting them as Mermaids, or Atlantean Fish-People even.

#the hunger games #district four #Panem District Four #Panem

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pareidoliaonthemove · 1 year ago

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Birds of a Feather

Notes:

I couldn’t come up with anything for FishTank week in time, but my brain finally offered this up for the “Fish out of Water” prompt.

The standard disclaimers, I do not own Thunderbirds, either the Original Series, the Movies (both Supermarionation and Live Action), or the Thunderbirds Are Go Series. (Although I do own copies on DVD.)

I do not do this for money, but for my own (in)sanity and entertainment.

As far as the Tracy Brothers were concerned Public Relations was an unavoidable evil; one that had them lined up in its sights twice over. Both Tracy Industries and International Rescue had their ‘extracurricular’ demands, and required much public goodwill to run successfully.

That was why all five brothers were all crammed uncomfortably on a sofa and ‘extra guest’ armchairs in an ‘intimate’ recording studio, with the latest ‘celebrity’ to have been granted their own talk show. The PR people had sworn blind that this was the right place to be to “renew brand awareness”, and “maximise impact”.

After five minutes dealing with their ‘host’, all of the brothers were mentally reviewing the PR department’s employment contracts. The woman was a walking advertisement for cut price cosmetic surgery, with an IQ lower than her waist measurement, and her demeanour was as artificial as her cleavage, and once her attempts at flirting with Scott had been gently rebuffed, her attitude had turned downright nasty.

She smiled hugely, flashing her blindingly white, and completely artificial – the newest fashion craze – teeth at her guests. “And, according to a viewer poll, the most appropriate collective noun for a group of Tracys’ is a “flock”!

They all stared at her blankly, completely unsure what to do with this pointless information.

She continued, laughingly, “Of course, that does leave Gordon the Aquanaut … high and dry!”

Somewhere from the sound booth, a laugh track played.

Gordon stared at her flatly. “No.”

The smile froze on her face. Evidently, she had never been contradicted before. “No?”

John snorted disdainfully: “Ever heard of penguins?”

It was much later in the day, their PR duties on the mainland completed, and a seemingly endless flight in Thunderbird Two, before Gordon was able to wash off the dust of the day in the pool.

His luxuriated in the water, feeling his entire body working in harmony as he sliced up and down the pool, revelling in the feeling of purpose and strength. Muscle memory long conditioned for this, he didn’t need to think, so he didn’t. He just was.

Freedom indeed.

He was so absorbed in his watery cocoon; he didn’t realise he had company until his hand prematurely slapped bare legs instead of cold tile wall.

Shocked, Gordon spluttered upright, his momentum nearly slamming him headfirst into the legs. Shaking the chlorine out of his eyes he followed the legs up into blue denim, then red flannel, and finally Virgil’s face.

“Virg! Man, What the hell!?”

His older brother’s shoulders were drawn up to his ears. “Sorry, Gords. I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wanted to check you were okay. You’ve been here a long time.”

Gordon frowned. “It’s the pool, Virgil. I’m always in here. I practically live in here. Why are you suddenly so concerned about it?

Virgil’s eyes slid to the horizon; Gordon followed his gaze.

Oh.

The sun was three-quarters hidden beneath the sea, and falling fast.

Gordon shrugged, “Time flies when you’re having fun?” he offered.

Virgil looked at him. Serious, and oh, so sad. “You don’t only come here for fun, Gordon.”

Gordon stared up at him, clinging to the pool wall.

Virgil gestured to the water. “You don’t normally swim laps like you’re trying to break the sound barrier for fun, Gordon. You only do that when you’re upset, these days.”

Gordon blinked. Was he upset? No, definitely not. “Virg, it was a long day, and – while the PR is essential – it’s not my idea of fun. And those chairs are always so uncomfortable. I was washing off the ick, and having a nice stretch. That’s all. I promise.”

Virgil stared, evaluating his words. “Okay, Gords. Sorry. I was just worried that woman had upset you, is all.”

Gordon frowned. “You mean that ditzy ‘celebrity’ interviewer with her ‘high and dry’ comment?”

Virgil nodded.

“Well, I wasn’t best impressed, but I think we sorted her out, good and proper. Unless she broadcasts a teeny-tiny interview that won’t fill the segment between the newest must-have lip-gloss and the station ident, she’s gonna have to broadcast a looonng conservation propaganda piece about penguins and the Antarctic, and look like an absolute idiot. Either way, Team Tracy wins.”

Virgil nodded again. “Yeah, between you and John, you handled it well. But the thing is …” he rubbed the back of his neck, awkwardly “… comments like what she made, they creep up on you, you know? I was just worried …” He trailed off, before taking a deep breath. “You’re one of us, you know, right? Blood and bone, forever and always?”

Gordon stared, non-plussed. That phrase, said that way … it rang a distant bell in his mind.

“Well, yeah,” he managed, awkwardly. “Bit hard to miss that.”

Virgil nodded. “Yeah. I guess it is.” He stood. “Sorry, Gords. I didn’t mean to bother you. But,” he glanced at his watch, “John is cooking tonight, so you might want to clean up for dinner soon.”

He turned to go.

Gordon launched himself out of the pool, grabbing his towel, and scurrying to plant himself in front of his brother. “What you said, about it creeping up on you, that’s the voice of experience talking, isn’t it?”

Virgil sighed explosively. “It was a long time ago, Gords. I’m just glad it didn’t get you; you know?”

It was Gordon’s turn to frown. “Spill.”

“Gords …”

“Nuh-uh. You don’t get to drop that on me, and run away. It was bad enough that you’re still reacting to it. Spill. Or I call in the big guns on your ass.”

Virgil’s shoulders dropped, defeated. “Fine. You know I had a hard time ‘deciding’? The whole ‘what are you doing to do with the rest of your life’ thing, yeah?”

Gordon nodded. He hadn’t been particularly engaged in what was happening with his family at that time, his whole focus had been on the pool and swimming, but the cloud of angst and anxiety Virgil had generated had permeated even Gordon’s narrowly focused little world.

Virgil stood taller. “I decided on engineering. I had worked it all out, it was the best thing for me to do. I could still do my art and music, but through engineering …” his hands gestured, futilely trying to shape the air in front of him to emphasis his point “… engineering could let me build, bigger, better … safer.”

Gordon swallowed. The emotion in his brother’s voice on that one word. Gordon knew who he was trying to save.

Mom. With Virgil, it always came back to Mom.

Virgil slumped again. “Then one of my art teachers, someone who I had looked up to, admired, he – well, he didn’t take it too well.” Virgil smiled, sadly. “I think he had been dreaming of all the kudos he could garner, having been my teacher. Looking back at it now.”

“What. Did. He. Do?” Gordon ground out, angry.

Virgil laughed. “You sounded so much like Scott, just then. It’s a long time ago, Fish. Let it go.” He sighed. “I’m sure you can imagine. He accused me of selling out. Turning my back on mom’s legacy, kowtowing to Father’s wishes for the money … He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand me.

“At first, I ignored it, bitter grapes, all that, but over time …”

“You started to wonder if he was right.”

Virgil nodded. “Yeah. Denver was hard. It was the first time I’d been away from everyone. The course work was intense, I hadn’t exactly chosen an easy workload there. There was the usual ‘rich boy’ garbage. And …”

“… And the climate?” Kansas was cold, and it snowed, but global warming had made that a rare event. Denver, however …

“Yeah. The climate definitely didn’t help.”

Gordon stared at his brother. Other than the climate issue, he hadn’t been aware of any of this at the time. It had been more years than Gordon liked to think of since Virgil had graduated, and for the weight of the sadness his big brother still carried, he wondered exactly how hard it had all been for Virgil.

“What happened?” Voice soft and calm. Non-judgemental.

Virgil shrugged, his eyes tracing the horizon. “Details don’t matter. Dad got wind of what was going on. Scott swears he broke every airspeed record, John swears he broke physics, getting out to Denver. Next thing I know, half the college is running for cover, and I’m being all but carried back to Dad’s plane. Plane’s barely landed before Dad’s tearing strips off of my old teacher, and Grandma’s force feeding me cookies.”

“And?”

Virgil shrugged. “And we talked.” He smiled, faintly. “Dad may have been slow on the uptake at times, but once he realised there was a problem, he was a pretty good therapist.” A lopsided grin and one shoulder shrug. “Mostly.”

Gordon stared again, a penny dropping. “Blood and bone. Forever and always.”

Virgil nodded.

Gordon’s gaze dropped, watching as his fingers traced patterns on the fibres of his towel. “I’m guessing …” he cleared his throat, awkwardly, “… this is a recurring problem, yeah?”

A sigh. “There are days. Shitty, shitty days. Days when things don’t go right. Days when no matter what you do, you can’t do enough.” Virgil’s large hand landed on Gordon’s shoulder and squeezed. Gordon looked up. “There will be a day. A shitty, shitty day. When things go wrong. When everything is just too much. When that bastard little voice in your head speaks up, and it will sound like that stupid woman.” Virgil swallowed. “When that day comes, Gords, remember that you are one of us: Blood and bone. Forever and always.”

Gordon surged forwards, lunging upwards as best he could and latching onto Virgil in as strong a hug as he could manage. It only took a second’s hesitation for Virgil to respond, taking his weight and crushing the air out of his little brother’s lungs.

Gordon buried his face in Virgil’s neck, smelling the reassuring mixture of scents – deodorant, engine oil, paint, the artificial lemon of furniture polish, and that faint ozone smell that meant he had been welding – that defined Virgil.

“Hey, Virg?” Gordon spoke softly into his brother’s neck. “For when that day comes … make me a penguin in IR uniform?”

Virgil pulled back to stare at him. “What?”

Gordon grinned. “I want a penguin in an IR uniform. Thunderbird 4. How is dealer’s choice. Paint him. Sculpt him. Whatever. Because there have been days like that. When I’ve felt like the fish out of water, when I’ve felt I haven’t belonged. What happened today? What John said? I’d never thought of that. Not once. Ever.” Gordon wiggled and slipped back down to stand on his own two feet. He smirked. “Some marine biologist, huh? So yeah. I want a reminder. Birds fly; but some fly underwater.”

Virgil stared for a long moment, before a shout from the house snapped him out of his thoughts. They both started walking back inside. Virgil eyed him, curiously. “So, I guess that you agree that the proper collective noun for a group of Tracys is a flock, huh?”

Gordon grinned. “Yep.” He popped the ‘p’ sound, bouncing on his feet as he did so. “Ooh. We need to work out what everyone else’s bird species is!” He took off up the stairs, as Virgil groaned behind him.

Gordon had the bit in his teeth, and no one was going to get any peace until they had all been assigned a bird totem.

Dinner was going to be hell. But they would all suffer through it.

Birds of a feather, indeed.

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #fanfiction #fanfic #gordon tracy #john tracy #virgil tracy

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theshiaxartistwrites · 2 years ago

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Stardrop Valley

Fandom: Five Nights At Freddy's: Security Breach X Stardew Valley Rating: Mature Tw: 1st person, Lots of dead characters, Child Death, Missing Children, Graphic Violence, Stockholm Syndrome, Alternate Universe, Magic is Real, Monsters are Real, Not Canon Compliant, Different situations mean different behaviours, characters in distress, Kidnapping, Torture, thalassophobia AO3 Link

Chapter Two: Day two, Spring

Waking up is not as comfortable as falling asleep had been. You can feel a dull ache in your back and in your knees from sleeping in the small bed, but it's your arms and shoulders that burn when you move. Climbing in the window last night had been a little harder on you than you thought. You sit up slowly, stretching your arms and cracking your back. A yawn stretches your face as you reach for your phone to check the time.

It's almost noon. That's not great, but you don't exactly know when you fell asleep. A tiny bit of light seeps through the cracks in the boards on the windows, giving you enough light to see.

You move to stand and freeze.

The door closest to you is open. Wide open.

Panic hammers in your chest, your mouth suddenly feels very dry as you quietly gather up your phone and backpack and reach for your shoes. You nearly whimper when you find your shoes are missing.

Oh god. There really is someone living here. And now they know you're here.

But…

They took your shoes…but not your phone? Or your backpack? And they didn't kill you or wake you up with a sword in your face…so…maybe they didn't mind?

Still, you needed to be careful until you were sure what kind of person you were dealing with.

You peek inside the minifridge and find nothing has been removed, so you take another big swig from the apple juice and tuck the maple bar into your pocket. With the minifridge closed, you move quietly to the door and peek out.

The shape of the room is almost identical to the workbench room, but this one seems a lot more dusty and cluttered with old barrels and boxes. Hell, you can see leaves and vines poking out of the ceiling and boarded up windows. There's another door immediately to your left that is also wide open, leading to another set of downward stairs. This time, the lights are on downstairs, a yellow glow that only makes it half way up to you.

Fuuuuck.

Your heart is racing, stomach twisting with your frayed nerves and maybe a little with hunger. You want to just make a run for the door, but you're not sure you could outrun a crossbow bolt or if you'd even make it past the bottom of the stairs. So, in classic horror-movie dumbass fashion, you call out.

"Hello?" You call down the stairs, stepping carefully into the storage room. "Anyone home?"

Silence. You wait a moment, listening for any signs of life.

"Hello? I'm sorry for coming in the window last night! I didn't really have any other choice! There was a monster after me!"

You're met with more silence and the cold feeling in your stomach lifts slightly. Did they go outside? Or maybe they were hard of hearing? Well, you can't stay up here and you're not climbing back out the window.

With as much courage as you can muster, you grip the railing and begin your steady walk down to the first floor. You call out another 'Hello?' when you reach the bottom, but there's not a single living thing-

Well. No. That's not right. There are plants, a LOT of potted plants scattered all around. Cacti, monstera, a sunflower, a jade plant, and so many more you can't identify. Guess it's a jungle inside and out, huh?

Straight across from the stairs is the front door, the urge to bolt is so very strong, especially when you spot your shoes sitting on the rug right beside it. As weird as it feels, you're starting to feel less and less like you're in any danger. To your left is the living room, with a big yellow couch, giant tv, red brick fireplace, and even a massive fishtank. It all seems a lot cleaner down here, more lived in and less dusty.

To your right is a massive kitchen with soft blue tile floors and cloud decals put up around the walls. A long dining table with two chairs opposite each other sits in the middle. You blink. Sat at one of the place settings is a stack of pancakes drizzled in syrup and topped with strawberries and powdered sugar. Your stomach growls, but it's the note set beside the drink glass that draws you closer.

It's a simple little piece of paper, folded in half so it stands, with a smiling sun drawn on it in yellow crayon. You pick it up and read the inside.

'Welcome home, Starlight!'

You feel a cold dread seep into your chest. The only ones who called you Starlight were your grandparents. Your very long since dead grandparents.

This doesn't feel right.

Doesn't feel safe.

You set the note down and hurry to the door, shoving your feet into your boots and yanking them on as quickly as you can. You grab the front door and-

THUNK

It's still locked!? You search the handle and door for a lock to turn to free yourself and find only another keyhole in the door. It has to be unlocked with the key no matter what side you're on. You're locked in. You turn and sprint across the living room to the other set of stairs, rushing up them and into the workbench room. You practically stumble, grabbing the railing for support, when you find the window you came in through has been boarded up.

How the hell did they manage to do that without waking you!? Your chest is starting to ache, your breathing quick and shallow.

No problem! There's a workbench right here-!

You want to curse and spit when you find the tools, and dust, have all been cleared off of the workbench. No hammer. No screwdriver. Not even a ruler.

You are in full blown panic mode.

Your stomach twists and you nearly throw up, holding it down as you put your hands on your knees. You stand there for a minute, breathing and trying to think.

You run back downstairs to the front door and slam your fist against it, pounding on it angrily.

"Hey! Let me out!" You yell, hitting the door as hard as you can so they'll hear you. "You can't keep me in-!"

You hear a gentle clink in the lock and freeze. The soft rustle of the metal key inside the handle has you backing up, taking deep breaths to steady your shaking shoulders.

Click.

The door is unlocked. You wait, but no one comes through. Hesitantly, you step forward and put your hand on the handle, your other hand on the door in case you need to slam it shut, and open it slowly. It's sunny outside, pink petals drifting gracefully through the air, butterflies everywhere in the dense grassland. You poke your head out, but still find no one there.

You cannot find any other words for this situation besides how much you hate it. Is your new home haunted? Who took your shoes and made you breakfast? Who unlocked the doors? Could a ghost do that?? You step onto the porch and nearly jump, spotting a figure standing out in the middle of the field. Except, you see an almost identical one a couple dozen feet to your right as well, and another even further out.

Scarecrows.

Well, that's not helpful, but at least it's not monsters again.

Wait.

You look around the porch, the stairs, and even down around the edge of the house. What happened to your luggage!? Your clothes! Your documents! Your fucking birth certificate was in there! The DEED was in there! You let out a loud wail of irritation, kicking the side of the house in your anger. What the hell did monsters need with clothing anyway!?

You plop yourself down on the stairs and drop your head into your hands. Everything feels bad. You're more stressed in your first 16 hours on the farm than you ever were back in the city. You wonder if it would have been better if you had been eaten last night.

No. You can't think like that. You gotta get up, figure this shit out.

You stand and feel your stomach growl and twist in protest. You grab the maple bar from your pocket, but glance back inside where you can still see the pancakes and fresh juice sitting on the table. You can smell the strawberries and syrup, the sweet aroma hanging in the air, but it's too dicey. You can't trust something like that, so you unwrap your maple bar and munch it quietly as you step down the stairs. The stone pathway around the farm seems a lot less weed-infested than you remember it being last night, some of the dirt and stones freshly moved.

Someone has been busy.

You decide to investigate the farm properly and take a walk around. At the very center is a large pond, which you actually find a few crab pots dangling in at the edges, though they seem empty. The entire western, southern, and eastern edges are surrounded in dense forest, while the north seems to be a steep cliff with a gravel path carved into it. The most surprising part is the metal light poles that seem to dot the property. They're not very tall, but you're absolutely certain they were not turned on last night.

To the west of the house is a large grain mill, though it seems inoperable, a field full of honestly a random assortment of crops. Hell, some of them you're not even sure if they are crops or just overgrown weeds.

Further west you find the path leading up the cliffside also branches to a small cave, though you don't dare get close enough to investigate what could be inside. More west is a massive greenhouse nearly the size of your home itself, inside you can see a dozen different fruit trees, but when you try the door, it's locked.

To the left of the greenhouse is a big red barn, a woodchipper and what looks like a compost bin sat between them. The barn door is locked as well. You're going to start throwing rocks in windows if this trend keeps up. Your path west ends with a stone wall and a locked gate, past which you can only see tall grass and a large leaf pile. You backtrack to the field and head south down the stone path, finding another stone wall that seems to encircle the southwestern corner. You can see several types of trees and what looks like a large barn, but once more, the gate leading into it is locked.

Maybe you'll just find a big enough log and smash all the gates and doors open.

You follow the path as it circles around the southern part of the pond and find two more crop fields on either side of a path that runs straight down south into the forest. A silo sticks up near the trees in the distance. It kinda looks like a dick. You try not to smile at the stupidity of that thought and carry on.

The last thing you find is a flower field in the south east corner with a bee box sat at its center. You always loved bees and remember watching them crawl along the windowsill when you were a child. Your grandfather showed you how to make water stops for them during the hottest point of the summer.

You meander back to the house and sigh, seeing the front door is still wide open as you left it. Maybe it really was ghosts.

Something else catches your attention instead, the metal shed and wooden bin from last night that you passed on your way to the house. You try the shed first, expecting to find it locked, so you're not surprised when the door doesn't budge. So annoying.

The bin, however, is not locked and takes only a little effort to lift the lid so you can look inside. The lid doesn't have a stop though and falls all the way backward, knocking years of dirt and moss from the top with a loud bang. You flinch, but still peek inside. Empty. You can't help but pout.

Though…you place a hand inside and feel around. It's cool and lined with sturdy plastic, almost like a cooler. Maybe it's for dry storage? You could certainly put stuff here if it doesn't fit in the fridges or if you need to put it somewhere before cleaning it.

As much as the locked doors, missing luggage, and creepy ghost house have you frazzled…you're actually thinking about staying. Nothing bad has actually happened to you yet and you're sure you can find a way around the doors eventually. You'll need something to protect yourself, but you're okay right now.

You check your phone, almost three o'clock now. You've been wandering for a good long while. Maybe you should try to go into town? See if there's anyone around that you can talk to about the weird goings on? You close the bin and wipe the dirt off your hands, stepping back onto the path with a quick glance towards the farm.

It really is a beautiful place, you hope you can live here properly, without being scared shitless.

You turn and start your march to the entrance, pushing aside vines once more and leaving the property. It's about a twenty minute walk to town, the dirt path dotted with berry bushes and wild flowers. You can't help but pick a few of the bright orange and yellow berries, snacking on them as you walk. You don't remember the name, but fleeting memories of eating them make you confident that they're safe.

Reaching town is like stepping into a pastel nightmare. Paved roads led into a town center that you're certain was once beautiful and quaint, with several houses dotted around the floral space.

Now?

It was like the place had been hit by a tornado. The buildings, once painted nice pastel colors, were now rotted and bowing under their own weight, paint flaking and windows smashed. Trash cans were tipped and old, now rotted to the point of being liquid, trash was strewn around them. Trees and bushes had been ripped up and broken apart, piled up around the walkways and doorways. It was whiplash compared to how pretty and clean, if a little overgrown, the farm was.

You suddenly didn't want to be here. The bus driver lady must have been right, there was no way there were still people living here.

You moved closer to the nearest building, what looked like it had once been a lovely blue clinic, if the faded blue cross above the door was anything to go by. The door was smashed in, looking like it had been broken down and trampled long ago. What could have happened here? Was it the monsters?

You stepped up the stairs and peeked inside. It was fairly dark, but the sunlight from outside filtered through the broken windows and door. You could see that there were still some doors intact inside, the damage looking like it was mostly to the exterior of the building. Glass crunches under your boots as you step in past the door, a shuffle of sound inside making you pause.

Another opossum probably? Monsters are nocturnal, so even as dim as it is in here, it's still too bright for anything truly dangerous to be wandering around. You duck under some dangling wires and step into the clinic's waiting room.

"Eat shit, trashmouth!"

You don't have time to process the shouting teenage boy to your right, much less the wooden club he's swung at your head.

CRACK

#shiaxart #fanfiction #fnaf #stardew valley #1st person #Stardrop Valley #chapter two

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caerbannogmochi · 1 year ago

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“Mom,” you uttered, a look of absolute shame on your face. “We need to have an intervention.”

Your mother, clad in her track pants (bearing the pattern of the standard arcade/trampoline park carpet), her “extra-small” (before she’d stretched it out in the process of developing her triple extra large figure) zebra print crop top, her vintage fishtank heels (which were currently on over thick wool hiking socks), and her oversized checkerboard “SWAAAAG” jacket in puke green and mud, swung her genuine Gucci bag over her shoulder as she proclaimed “being a fashion disaster isn’t a crime, okay! Nobody’s going to die just because I wanna dress the way I want.”

It started when you were young, before the layers of spray tan started flaking off and your other mom made it big in the tech boom. You got used to her constant bad fashion choices, and started cringing early on. But...

You point at the gorgon. Well, what used to be a gorgon, and recently became a statue of a gorgon.

"... You are not meeting my brother like this. I don't care if it was a coincidence, I'm not taking any chances. We just got him to see the light, and I don't want to lose him again."

Silence briefly graced the cave before your mother opened her mouth. "Fine. But before I take this off --"

"... Yeah, fuck Jackson." You smirk a little. "Bastard has it coming."

By the time you finished breakfast the next morning, news outlets were deep into a debate on the meaning of the statue of the man parked at Walmart. Some said it was a critique on capitalism, the ubiquity of the car and the manufactured need to spend. Others said it was a demonstration of how the American routine leaves people trapped, unable to find satisfaction due to unrealistic expectations caused by an artificially inflated housing market and and artificially deflated minimum wage.

You say that the best place to burn those damn sweatpants (along with all your mom's other clothes) is in the driveway.

The Gorgon was said to be so hideous that it turned those who looked at its eyes to stone. You are staring it down and not turning to stone..?

#short story

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cleverhottubmiracle · 11 days ago

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A few decades ago, maternity wear was quite one-note. However, in the 2000s, things have gotten bolder, more colorful, and honestly, wilder. We love daring maternity looks, especially from our favorite celebrities on the red carpet. We’ve seen some sexy maternity looks, gothic maternity looks, and more, but we need to show some love to the wilder maternity red-carpet fashion that got fans talking. You may be asking yourself, “What makes a maternity look wild?” Well, a maternity look is a wild one if they make you do a double take, something that makes you go: “What am I looking at, and why do I love it?” While we’ve seen a lot of naked maternity dresses over the years, but even they can surprise us every now and then. From Rihanna’s unique maternity looks at Paris Fashion Week and the Met Gala to neon ensembles from Fergie, we gathered some of the wildest maternity looks from the red carpet since 1988. Suki Waterhouse at the Emmys (2024) Image Credit: Photo by Frederic J. Brown / AFP) (Photo by FREDERIC J. BROWN/AFP via Getty Images. We’re still not over the daring red gown Suki Waterhouse wore at the 75th Emmy Awards in 2024. This Valentino Couture Custom Gown had everything: the bold color, cutouts, and the perfect silhouette to show off her baby bump. Iconic? Yes. Wild? Also yes. Jessie J at The BRIT Awards (2023) Image Credit: Mike Marsland/WireImage Jessie J’s red look at the 2023 BRIT Awards was such a fun maternity look: the puffy matching jacket, the bare-bumping two-piece, and the orb-like purse. Sienna Miller at the Vogue World: London (2023) Image Credit: Photo by Karwai Tang/WireImage Sienna Miller atended the Vogue World: London 2023 at Theatre Royal Drury Lane in a truly wild maternity look. This puffy, white two-piece from Schiaparelli’s Fall 2023 Couture collection had everyone talking back in 2023! Rihanna at the Met Gala (2023) Image Credit: Photo By: Kristin Callahan/Everett Collection It doesn’t get more wild, or more unique, than Rihanna’s Valentino maternity look for the 2023 Met Gala. Rihanna at Paris Fashion Week (2022) Image Credit: Photo by Edward Berthelot/Getty Images Rihanna’s Dior lingerie ensemble at Paris Fashion Week is one of the boldest and most risqué maternity looks we think we’ll ever see. Cardi B at the Met Gala (2018) Image Credit: . Photo By: Kristin Callahan/Everett Collection The 2018 Met Gala theme Heavenly Bodies: Fashion and the Catholic Imagination will go down in history as the best Met Gala theme, and the one with the most daring fashion. And Cardi B turned heads wearing this maternity Moschino costume. Chrissy Teigen at the Grammys (2018) Image Credit: Max Parker/Everett Collection Chrissy Teigen’s silver Yanina Couture maternity gown at the 60th Anniversary Grammy Awards is quite wild for multiple reasons. It’s giving fun business casual, plus the bright silver sequins all over make it an understated type of wild, yknow? Either way, we still like it. Kim Kardashian at the LACMA ART+FILM GALA (2015) Image Credit: Dee Cercone/Everett Collection Kim Kardashian donned a lot of unique maternity looks, but the sheer lace one she wore at the 2015 LACMA ART+FILM GALA took it to the next level. And if you’re wondering, this wild maternity look is from Givenchy’s Spring 2016 collection. Fergie at the Nickelodeon’s Annual Kids’ Choice Awards (2013) Image Credit: Photo by Frazer Harrison/Getty Images Fergie was a neon Queen at Nickelodeon’s 26th Annual Kids’ Choice Awards at USC Galen Center on March 23, 2013. Honestly, this color palette, and the matching neon accessories are quite wild, especially for a maternity look. And for those wondering, she’s wearing a Mary Katrantzou Fishtank Dress, Fergie Roxane Sandal in Yellow, and a Swarovski Power Multicolor Clutch. Charlotte Gainsbourg at the Cannes Film Festival (2011) Image Credit: Photo by George Pimentel/FilmMagic Actress Charlotte Gainsbourg’s ultra-sheer black look back in 2011 was so wild back then, but it did help pave the way for more daring maternity looks. M.I.A. at the Grammys (2009) Image Credit: Photo by Steve Granitz/WireImage Singer M.I.A. turned heads in this truly wild maternity look. This House of Holland look had it all: a unique, loud pattern and sheer everywhere else. Plus, the neon nail polish and thick accessories took it to the next level. Gwen Stefani at the Grammys (2006) Image Credit: Photo by Kevin Mazur/WireImage for The Recording Academy Gwen Stefani’s dress at the 2006 Grammys isn’t talked about enough. With the leopard print, the unusual color palette, and the ombre effect to top it off, it’s truly wild — especially for 2006! Britney Spears at the ‘Charlie And The Chocolate Factory’ Premiere (2005) Image Credit: Photo by Kevin Winter/Getty Images We had to mention this Britney Spears look from 2005. This wild look isn’t wild for the silhouette or even the color, but for what’s written on her tank top. The early 2000s were prime time for casual looks on the red carpet, and for the premiere of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, she donned a tank that read “I have the Golden Ticket,” and an arrow pointing to her baby bump. Melora Hardin at the ‘Finding Neverland’ Premiere (2004) Image Credit: Photo by SGranitz/WireImage Actress Melora Hardin’s look for the premiere of Finding Neverland is quite wild. The bottom half is quite calm, all black, and then the top half is quite unique. For instance, there’s the bedazzled beanie, a ruffled yellow silk top and a black lace top, and gold accents. Emma Thompson at the ‘Mad Cows’ Premiere (1999) Image Credit: PA Images via Getty Images For the premiere of Mad Cows, a pregnant Emma Thompson did some seriously wild method dressing. She not only had a cowhide vest, but matched in cowprint with her now-husband Greg Wise. Sarah, Duchess Of York at The Ballet Rambert (1988) Image Credit: Tim Graham Photo Library via Get This velvet, puffy dress is definitely a sign of the times, but even back then, it was quite bold for a royal. Sarah, Duchess Of York, wore this wildly cool gown at a performance by The Ballet Rambert back in 1988. Wildest Celebrity Maternity Looks: Pin It! Source link

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norajworld · 11 days ago

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ellajme0 · 11 days ago

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chilimili212 · 11 days ago

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oliviajoyice21 · 11 days ago

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gfanz4ever · 11 months ago

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Meet Cari!

Made a Monsters Inc OC. Meet Charibdis, or Cari for short!

Cari runs a smell shop in the city--think Bath and Bodyworks, with lots of scented candles and soaps and stuff. She's always trying to come up with new mixes--her favourite blend is called Junkyard Dog, a blend of burnt rubber, smelly garbage, and just a hint of wet dog.

Her family moved to Monstropolis from Atlantis a couple generations ago. Unlike land monsters that move with tentacles, sea monsters have relatively weak "legs" outside of the water. Cari and her family live in a modified apartment complex that acts like a giant fishtank--when they need to go outside, they use specialized mobility orbs to roll around. Because of the unwieldy shape of her orb, Cari favours really big hoop skirts, both for fashion and ease of motion.

Original pencil sketch:

#my ocs #my art #monsters inc

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barejunk · 1 year ago

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youtube

Jackie & ReactSimply have a ‘LIKE’ Contest - Fishtank

Who do you think ‘likes’ more? Who do you like more? It's a good ol' fashion 'like' off....

#fishtank #fishtankdotlive #fishtanklive

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hospitalterrorizer · 1 year ago

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diary107

12/29/2023

friday

here's a photo i found in a magazine on internet archive today that feels too apt to not put on tumblr dot com:

anyway i emailed me resume to that kbbq place.. i can't wait to wash dishes and think about killing myself every day. i already do that but it's less, i dunno, meaningful, it's just like, yeah that's something that happens sometimes. maybe it'll just be that when i wash dishes again. it probably will be. i'm just a stupid dramatic bitch.

anyway that picture is really funny, it's too much, it's probably been posted like a million times, it's such perfect fodder for what people put up here usually.

anyway here's some other stuff i was finding from old gyaru fashion mags (looking for references for cover art):

a very young girl thing of me to do, stare at fashion mags to absorb their ways of expressing / presenting reality, graphical means and so on. but i guess everybody is like that in their own ways. guys staring at old mde videos for inspiration are more young girls than me, at least i know these are kind of psycho. this is a vapid way to think but it's funny, which is why i am doing it.

mde is on the mind because my gf started watching fishtank recently. it seems mostly insane and evil, but that's fascinating to see so i get her watching it. it's the next generation of jerry springer, i think, or other shit like that. drama youtube and fishtank, that's the next generation of trashy reality tv. it's scary to me that this stuff just won't disappear, an evil impulse in spectacular societies, to not ever look away from these kinds of systems that make people behave certain ways, and to goad people into being insane to feel like you see the evil parts of culture or whatever. or not just evil, the ugly degenerate stuff, to feel like you can always sense that. fishtank really seems to love that for its 2nd season.

anyway sam hyde is such a piece of shit, too much breath here has been wasted on that freak pedophile.

anyway today, since i got to every song re: mixing finally, i decided to listen to the album as i have it rn, at first i was a little over an hour but i cut songs, now it's 48 minutes. i'll say there's room for +/- 1 min (really like 1 min 30 w/ short songs). but idk. i should see if i can shorten some of the songs here naturally, like if they have parts that repeat too much, take too long to get to their points, whatever. there's one song that's a maybe, it depends on if i can get it to sound right and find the right place for it. i love the song, so i want to keep it in the album. i should see if there's any short song rn that i don't want to keep, but i feel really attached to them all. actually there's another maybe too, both need to be placed right i think. they both kind of stick funny in the album. they need to fit in a bit better, idk how to do that w/ the second one but i like it a lot, there's just a part that's not right yet i think, in terms of how it sounds, it could be a bit crazier, louder, noisier maybe.

when i listened i took notes on some of the songs that needed special attention at the front of the record, i got through 6 of those, the list is of 8, so 2 more tomorrow and then i go through and listen again and try to see what else needs to change.

there's like 33 songs, so there's still a lot to get through but if i can maintain this pace/something like this pace, i'll be very happy.

right now i am just thinking about how my misanthropy comes in waves, but for a long time now, it's been given no reason to recede. something about pessimism is basically addictive but i don't think i'm in some mental-opiate haze, where i am, about people, at least some of them. it feels solidly under my feet, i know something totally pyrrhic, so many people i know, i have to keep asterisks on my relationships with them, because they just say awful things or reveal things. communist friends, even, maybe them especially. it's not about my feeling that i'm better even, it's just this overwhelming being used to finding out someone you know says "i'm glad (x) is transphobic too", to someone you know, a closer friend meeting someone from online. it's like, i knew he felt that way, i knew the person he was talking about felt that way too, my friend probably knew too, he is frustrated because it's stupid that anyone would decide to confide this in you. when pushed on it, this person who i guess is still basically something like a friend said "well it's because of andrea dworkin. it's feminist," which is so stupid and gross. i hate what radical feminism means now, or in the hands of people like that, i also hate that i basically know and expect this kind of thing from people who are close friends w/ this other friend (with asterisks) because she sort of becomes their whole moral/political compass because she's the kind of person who you want to agree w/ you or tell you that you're fine and whatever.

beyond this, other insane social failures that have left my friends, my closer ones who i don't have to put asterisks on, miserable and paranoid. not a terrible sort of paranoid, like this other guy i knew, who believed the satanic panic was real and all kinds of other shit. he also was vaguely transphobic, worried about the biopolitical consequences of hrt. seeing that problem and not questioning the broader circumstance that put us here, and instead accepting the reactionary assumption that this kind of thing is wasteful and dangerous from the jump, and feeding a fantasy or whatever. messing with your body is too far. he accepted people otherwise though, the paranoid guy, he was very catholic and maybe just not sure of things entirely. transphobic is ultimately only half right for these people, he really did accept people, when i told him about diy hrt, he was shocked and it seemed to change his mind on something, i couldn't tell what. but his obsession with child abuse cults and conspiracies broadly made him impossible to really talk to. he was also a communist. i am not complaining about communism, just expressing that these are not fascists.

i don't really know what i'm talking about. a lot of these people are just so frustrating. i don't know why they are like this.

i am getting tired now, so

byebye!!!!!!!!!!!

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