#i have... no idea how to tag this

[yzas-oc-blog]

This has... nothing to do with any of my other projects. But it's been sitting in my files for over a year now, so I figured it couldn't hurt to share.

For all that it worked out in hindsight it was, objectively, one of the stupidest things she’d ever done.

In her defense, she was in the middle of a catastrophic spiral into a hot mess of a mental health crisis, a truly spectacular downslide into numb self-destruction, and she probably should have gone to see some sort of grief counselor months ago.  However, that would require some very, very delicate balancing of her down-to-the-penny budget, which she hadn’t exactly had the brainpower to manage, due to the aforementioned spiral.

That is to say, she couldn’t really be blamed, even if the decisions she made were the dumbest, most insane things she could have done.  Objectively.

Here’s how it went:

She woke up far, far too early in the morning, on account of having fallen into bed long before dinner the day before, and despite her best efforts was unable to get back to sleep.  When she finally gave in and stumbled out of bed she somehow, despite it being too early, still had 18 missed calls and seven unread voicemails waiting for her on the answering machine.

She ignored the phone and its little flashing light, crawling her way to the fridge on the other side of her shoe-box apartment.

Time stretched thin as she stared blankly at its contents.  Her stomach screamed at her; it was easy to drown out, though, as she’d been doing it for weeks.  More importantly, her brain screamed louder, a senseless drone that drowned out all other thoughts, getting louder at the thought of plates, and finding jars, and utensils that she’d then have to clean -

At that point, her brain cut out like a short-circuiting light, and she slammed the door shut.

When she turned around, she was confronted with a stack of papers whose contents she knew intimately and probably should have dealt with weeks ago (months ago) that she summarily ignored.  There was a stack of boxes against the wall, a pile of photos scattered across the floor, her phone started ringing again, and she knew she had to get out of there before she cracked.

She didn’t really remember leaving the apartment but came back to herself at the bottom of the stairs when she started shivering.  The sun was coming up, but it was still far too chilly for how hot she knew it would get at the height of the day.  Worse, it was damp, leaving a film of moisture clinging to her, pressing the chill into her bones.  She should turn around and grab a jacket.

She didn’t.

Instead, she walked, aimless, eyes a bit glazed over in a way that was edging on dangerous, but she didn’t really have the mind to spare for that kind of concern.  She just walked, the steady thump-thump-thump of her feet carrying her through, giving her something to sink into and avoid the screaming in her head.  Face blank, one hand in her pocket, the other thumbing over the rings on a chain around her neck in tune with the pounding of her feet, she walked, and she walked, and she walked.

And then the chain snapped.

It came with a sickening lurch in her stomach, like the worst kind of roller-coaster, the rings fumbling from her fingers.  She managed to catch one of them, but the other slipped away from her and went skittering across the ground.  She saw it coming before it happened, but despite her heart beating in her throat there was nothing she could do to stop it.

The ring went down the drain.

This was where, objectively, she went from normal levels of self-destructive to out-and-out stupidity.  Because the smart thing to do would have been to leave it, to accept the loss and move on.  If she wanted to push it, she could go home and dig through her boxes until she found the phone book, or maybe go to the library, and see if she could figure out the department that covered the city’s sewers and see if they had any systems for this kind of situation.  The last thing she should have done was try and handle it herself, but.

But.

She was on the ground staring at where her Mom’s wedding ring disappeared, and there was a buzzing in the base of her throat and a burning behind her eyes and pressure building in her chest.  It was stupid, but she could swear she heard the ice cracking, the frozen mass that had settled where her heart should be, that kept her cool and stable – or stable enough that she could still go to class, and pass her classes, and keep her scholarship, even if she wasn’t managing much more than that.  It was so stupid, but it was the 6-month anniversary and if she lost anything else of them she thought she’d actually break, just start screaming and hitting and falling apart till there was nothing left of her and she couldn’t.

She couldn’t.

It was stupid, but there was a man-hole cover right there, and no one on the street, and she moved before she could think.

Manhole covers were apparently heavy.  It took her forever, maybe, or possibly just minutes, but time hadn’t really worked right for her since she got the call, and she managed to shimmy it up and off eventually.

There was a ladder inside, thankfully.  In hindsight she knew that wasn’t always true, but at the time she didn’t question it, just robotically made her way down, hand after foot after hand.  When she landed, she couldn’t see the ring and thought she might puke.  Instead of doing the smart thing and giving up, she did the – objectively – dumber option and walked down the tunnel to keep looking.

In her defense, she did find the ring.  It was covered in grime and she didn’t want to think about what else, but it was there.

She hit her knees, cradling it close.  The release of tension was dizzying.  The weight in her throat suddenly released.  She went after the ring because she couldn’t bear the thought of the ice cracking, but it broke anyways, shattered, and before she knew it she was sobbing, curled up against the sewer wall, hungry and miserable and broken.

She was also dehydrated, which meant there was only so long she could cry.  Eventually the heaving sobs faded to sniffles, to unsteady breaths, as she passed her hands over and over her face, the pressure grounding.

The problem, really, was that when she stopped crying, the sounds of crying didn’t.  Didn’t stop, that was, and it took a moment before her snot-and-depression fogged brain could really comprehend that yeah, there was something crying down there wasn’t her, and that was kind of scary, and it should definitely be sending fear signals to the rest of the body.

The crying also kind of sounded like a baby, which complicated the signals.

And look, okay, it worked out for the best in the end, even if, in the moment, going towards the crying-baby-sounds in the sewer was probably the dumbest, most first-to-die-in-a-horror-movie thing she could have done.

But that’s exactly what she did.  She shoved the rings as far down into her pocket as she could, and she went looking.  At least she didn’t actually call out, or anything like that, instead creeping forward as quietly as possible – which was really not quiet at all, as she’d eventually be told, yes-shut-up-she knows, we can’t all be raised as ninja.

She wasn’t ashamed to admit she yelped when she saw it, reeling away and nearly falling because she saw movement, and a run-in with anything that lived down here couldn’t end well.  Her flailing made whatever was down there with her stop crying.  Then her eyes adjusted, and she actually saw it and screamed again, and this time she was a little bit ashamed, especially as she ended up falling flat on her back, head slamming into the pipes.  It sent her ears ringing and vision spinning, and then whatever it was (it was not human, and not an animal, not one she’d ever known) started crying again, louder.

There’s nothing like good, mortal fear to clear out the apathy fogging up your system, because her brain started racing alongside her heartbeat, hind-brain sitting up and jabbering as she struggled to control her breath, flattening herself against the wall as she stared, wide-eyed, trying to figure out what to do.  She wanted to run, but.  No sharp movements, right?  She felt like that was a thing.  She didn’t know, she was never in the girl scouts.

The creature was terrifying.  Objectively speaking.  It didn’t fit in any category her brain had, kinda looked a bit deformed, especially with its face scrunched up as it cried, eyes too small for its face and body twitching along the ground, hands grasping towards her.  But also, subjectively, it was, well -

It had too-small eyes, shiny and watery with tears, and it was shuffling forward pathetically as it reached out towards her with little grabby hands, and -

Once, when she was in middle school, her parents took her on this road-trip vacation.  It was supposed to be... educational, or something.  They stopped at all those museums that taught about local history, and she could get something at each of the gift shops, if it was under ten dollars.  And there was one place with all these little creature figurines, and they were – objectively – creepy, but they had these stupid little googly eyes painted onto the little lop-sided bobble-heads that jostled wildly at the slightest movement.  She loved them dearly, and knew she had to take one home.

Her Mom muttered about how creepy it was every time she saw it, but it always came paired with a fond smile aimed in her direction.  She still had it, somewhere, probably shoved to the bottom of a box in her closet.

The memory hurt.

The creature gave another little hiccup, a sniffle, then a too-human whine, pushing up on its little hands, shuffling forward in a toddler’s crawl for a couple inches before it collapsed, face smashing into the concrete.  There was a moment of silence before it wailed, and suddenly all her hind-brain knew was oh god there’s a hurt baby help it help it.

The next thing she knew she had the kid in her hands, their face awkwardly smooshed against her stomach because she started picking them up before she realized she didn’t know how, so now the two of them were just kind of.  Stuck there.  Halfway between a hug and a hold.

She never thought she had any kind of maternal instincts, but apparently she did get the frantic “child in danger” ones, because there was so much adrenaline running through her.  She felt like she could fist-fight god.

The baby – because all it took was one pain-filled scream for her to go from creature of the deep to baby – held onto her tightly with its little grabby hands, and it was still crying but it was at least quieter, and as she hesitantly patted its back it reduced further to whimpering and sniffles.  A little voice at the back of her brain was still panicking over fey-changelings or alien nest-parasites, and she didn’t know what this was or where it came from, and she should absolutely put it down.

She didn’t.

Instead, she – awkwardly, jerkily, wrapped her arms around it, lifting it up towards her chest where it wrapped its arms around her neck like that was its due. 

The texture of its skin was… weird.  And the lump on its back was definitely a shell of some kind, like a turtle.  Everywhere it touched her sent wild shocks up to her brain – not bad, per se, but she wasn’t sure it was good, either.  It was just.  Unfamiliar.

The fear was draining from her system, though, leaving her rattled and shaking from the absolute roller-coaster her brain had been on over the last thirty minutes.  She stood in the middle of the sewers, the only light coming from the still-open manhole around the corner, with some kind of turtle-baby-creature in her arms, the only sound her breathing, and its sniffling, and that weird scraping sound nearby.

Like her brain was on a delay, the fear was suddenly back, her ears straining for sounds in the distance.  She could hear voices echoing down the tunnels, fragmented words – find it, and chance, and capture.

She held the baby to her chest, hushing it quietly – and, in hindsight, she didn’t think most babies would know enough to go quiet like that, but in the moment she just counted her blessings – and peered around the corner. 

There was something moving through the shadows.  She wasn’t sure why their movements read as hostile but then she saw the flash of sharp metal and no, yeah, nope, it was time to get out of there.

There was a baby in her apartment. 

She.  Had a baby in her apartment. 

Her: twenty-two and single, in her last semester of college, living in a tiny studio apartment she could only afford using the money from selling her childhood home.  Or, what remained after settling the mortgage, and the funeral, and –

Her: who’d never wanted kids, who was an only child, who’d never even babysat because, again, she’d never been interested in kids. 

She had no idea what to do.  What were you supposed to do with a baby?  She didn’t know how to take care of a baby!

Mom would know, she thought, reaching for her phone, then had to sit and breathe through the lance of pain that speared her from head to toe.

This was, objectively, kind of a stupid decision.

In her defense, whatever was down there was obviously hunting for the baby, and even if she’d never been interested in kids, she wasn’t going to abandon one to be hurt.  She wasn’t a monster.

It’s just, she wasn’t really sure what to do now.

Mom always wanted grand-kids, she thought hysterically, nonsensically.  She always knew she’d never have them.  It was this underlying tension between her and her mother, and they never really got the chance to reconcile it before – before.

The baby was chewing on an old plush toy she’d offered it in lieu of its own hand.  Teething, maybe?  Babies teethe, she thought, like puppies do.  She had no ideas about turtles, or weird not-turtles, but it wasn’t hurting anything, so.

The point is, she had no idea what she was doing, and no resources to help.

That’s a lie, a whisper at the back of her mind pointed out, even as she tried to ignore it, like she ignored the missed calls on her phone.  You could call Grandma, she's raised kids.  Obviously.  She’d have advice.

She didn’t... want to.  Though.

It was just that ever since Mom died, Grandma been so, so over-protective, the way she talked to her slipping back like she was ten years younger, like all the ways Grandma couldn’t stop Mom’s death, couldn’t protect her, she was now putting onto her granddaughter.  And she knew Grandma just cared about her, that in the same moment she lost her Mom, Grandma lost her daughter.  But she couldn’t take Grandma’s constant directions, and critiques about every decision, and demands to come home and let her deal with everything, and paranoia on top of everything else.

And anyways, what was she supposed to tell her?  I grabbed a mutant baby out of the sewer, please help?  Yeah, no, Grandma would start up the campaign for her to change schools and come live with her in earnest again, or else try to talk her into a psyche ward and no, thank you, she was good.

Also, there was the fact that, maybe, the last time she saw Grandma in person they got in a big fight that was possibly, definitely, her own fault for overreacting, and even after apologizing everything still felt weird.

It was fine, she was fine, she had this.

She lasted about three hours, till the baby started crying again and she had the neighbor banging on their shared wall in anger.  Unlike last time, picking it up and carrying it didn’t help, and maybe it was hungry but trying to think of what to feed a mutant turtle-baby hybrid made her own brain start crying, and the only other reason she could think of for its crying was, you know, bathroom issues, and that was a whole other problem she wasn’t prepared to address.

The point was, she sucked it up and called Grandma.

“Hi, Honey, how are you - “ Grandma cut off quickly, and she winced, knowing the kid’s crying was very, very clear, “Is that a baby?”

“I’m. Babysitting,” she got out.  It wasn’t the worst lie she’d ever told.

“Babysitting?” Grandma echoed, entirely disbelieving and it kinda stung even though, yeah, that was completely fair.  Everyone in her family knew about her disinterest in kids.

“Yeah,” she said, “My neighbor had a sudden interview come up and asked me to watch her kid.  Since it’s, you know.  An emergency.”

Her neighbor had, actually, said she had an interview the last time she talked with her.  Only, the last time she talked to her was four months ago, and also said neighbor was forty-five with all her kids out of the nest.  Grandma didn’t have to know that, though.

“And you just said yes?  Honey, you don’t know the first thing about taking care of a baby.  I’ve seen that apartment of yours, it’s nothing near baby-proof – and she didn’t give you any time to get ready.  And today of all days, on top of that?  Really?”

A simmering tension built in her through Grandma's entire tirade, like a rubber-band stretching between her stomach and her throat, and when it finally snapped it came with a wave of heat that burned her.

“Oh my god, I didn't call to hear about all the ways you think I'm disaster! Can you stop nit-picking long enough to tell me what to do, or are you going to be useless?!”

Grandma went silent on the other side of the line, and ice-cold guilt quickly sunk into her stomach, dousing the fire.

She had a good family, the best family.  Twenty-two years and she’d never heard any of them yell at each other; she hated that she was the one changing that.

“Look, I just - ” she cut off, bit her lip, tried again, “I - I need help.  The baby won’t stop crying, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh, honey,” Grandma said, instantly forgiving, and it hurt so much she kind of hated her for it, “Alright, have you tried feeding him?”

“Uhm.”

“Honey.”

“I don’t have – any baby food?”

“The mother didn’t give you any?  Did she not leave any supplies when she left the baby?  That’s very irresponsible.  Honey, are you sure their home is safe, should you call - “

“She was just!  Panicked, I think,” she cut in, trying to throw Grandma off that train of thought, “She really, really needs this job, and – and they changed the interview time at the last minute.  She... she left me her key, so I could get in her place, but.  Uhm.  She left the wrong key.”

“Hmph,” Grandma sniffed disdainfully, but didn’t question her again, and honestly, she was pretty proud of that lie, “Alright, I suppose we’ll have to make do.  It’s what I had to do half the time when I was raising my babies, you know.  Now, you could boil down and blend some canned vegetables into mush, in a pinch.  You’ve got some cans in your pantry, right?”

“Uhm.”

“Honey, do you have anything in your kitchen?  You’ve gotta take care of yourself.  It’s important to keep your pantry stocked.  Do you need me to send you money?”

“I’m fine!  My apartment’s just really small!” she snapped defensively, voice going sharp, “There’s not much room to store anything.”

Grandma hummed skeptically, and she hunched into herself under the tone even states away, “If you say so, Honey.  But it sounds like you definitely don’t have anything for a baby.  Honestly, it sounds like you were really unprepared for this whole thing.  It’s sweet that you want to help, but you’re barely keeping it together yourself these days, maybe you shouldn’t have -”

“I’m trying,” she cut in, humiliated at the way her voice cracked.  Grandma went silent, and she breathed deeply, blinking away the sting in her eyes as she tried to find a way to make her understand without telling the truth, “I know.  I know I don’t know what I’m doing.  But they.  They really need help, and Grandma, there’s no one else, I. I couldn’t just.  I’m trying, so please, don’t.”

And now she was crying, again, and she was going to get a headache this way, but she couldn’t stop.  Grandma began hushing her on the other end of the line, voice soft once more.

“Oh, love.  Oh, Honey, I’ve got you.  Oh, you’re such a good kid.  Listen, I’m going to wire you some money – no.  No, listen to me,” she said when she started to protest, “You’ve told me you’ve got things all under control for yourself, and I’ll trust you on that, but babies are expensive.  If you’re going to be helping out this poor family, you’ll need a bit extra.  So, I’ll wire you some money, and you’ll take it, and you’ll go out and get some baby food, and some diapers and – oh, get a pad of paper, let’s make a list.”

“Okay,” she warbled.

Grandma rambled through a list of items, and sometimes she had to bring her back on track when she went off on tangents about which variations were better, but it was useful.  Eventually they had everything down, and Grandma sounded very satisfied with herself.

“And whatever extra you have left, you’ll send home with Mama when she comes to pick up the baby, yes?  It sounds like they’re really in a hard way, and it’s so good of you to take care of them.  You’ve got such a good heart, Honeybee, but you don’t have to do this alone.  Let me help you help them, okay?”

“Okay,” she said again, and it was like a weight off her shoulder, warmth creeping in where ice had been for so long.

She could hear Grandma on the other end of the line, could picture her grabbing her hat, her purse, little echoes of childhood that carried through to this day, “I’m going to go out and start that transfer, okay?  It should be over soon.”

“Okay,” she whispered, one last time, then, “I love you.”

“Oh, darling.  I love you too, now and forever.  Don’t worry too much, we’ll get you through this.  It’s only a day, after all, and then you can go back to your life.  Be on the lookout for that wire transfer.  Bye-bye, now.”

Grandma hung up, then, and her stomach dropped to her feet.

Only a day.  Right.  She was… supposed to go back to class, tomorrow.  The baby was still going to exist, tomorrow.

She really, really didn’t think this through.

[pikky126]

The Wastelander trudged through the mud, the brush. He always avoided the paths. Roads traveled meant roads tracked, roads trapped.

Roads he might meet someone else on.

He wasn’t really sure where he was going, just going, like all wastelanders do. You either travel, or you ambush travelers. He felt for his shotgun again, a nervous tick he’d developed early on. It was always there, but checking for it helped.

He was traveling a small town, not sure which. The welcome sign was vandalized like all signs were. Sometimes he’d pass a house, and check it out. Smashing windows, kicking doors open, oh did he do it all. Real grade A looter, he was. Of course there was never anything inside. Normal people had nothing useful, before the end. All the food long since rotten, and the average person didn’t own a gun.

Sometimes he’d look anyways, out of curiosity, or desperation, but it usually left him empty. Children’s toys tucked into beds, ironing boards getting the good suits ready for a night out. It was heartbreaking.

So he’d pass them by, following along. His targets were mostly non-residential buildings. Hospitals were an obvious spot to check for medical supplies, and police stations held ammunition or body armor. Supermarkets were ideal, since they had canned goods. He’d learned to identify what kind of food was still edible, and how to make some others safe.

God, he had no idea what he’d do when those canned foods ran out. A lot of his usual picks were starting to get too old already. The hiss upon opening a can, the off taste of meat. He’d ignore it, and pray.

Somehow he’d managed to live this long.

Gas stations weren’t a high priority target, but they were something he’d check out when able. They were a lot like little supermarkets, sometimes they had usable medical supplies, sometimes they had canned food. If he got really lucky he’d find some old gasoline cans, which made good emergency bargaining chips if looters caught him. Those who still had cars valued those more than anything.

So he took the chance, crossing the street to get to the gas station. Looking in through the windows as he approached, it looked like it might be a bust. The shelves were all picked clean, and a lot of the furniture had even be stolen, God knows why.

He tried the doorknob, and it opened just fine. Not totally unsurprising, considering it’d been looted before. God he hoped it was empty.

He opened the door and his heart sank, the loud crash of empty cans set up against the door.

A trap.

His heart raced, taking out his shotgun. He took the safety off and fiddled with the trigger. He briefly considered running, but it would be useless. If this was a trap they’d have guys waiting outside.

He considered his options. He could kill at least one, but that wouldn’t likely do him any good. Most looters worked in groups, and killing one member would piss off the rest. He considered his stock, what could he trade for his life?

A few cans of food, vegetables, Spam (canned meat was like the holy grail), some ravioli (his own favorite). A mostly empty bottle of water, spare ammo… his gun, some cloth. Shit. He might not survive this one.

Wait, was that a radio?

“Hey!” a woman’s voice called out, startling him back to the present. He pointed the gun, hands shaking horribly.

“Don’t be afraid, alright? Not going to hurt you.” She shouted again. She sounded distant.

He froze. Another traveler? That would be nice. Travelers had something resembling a code of honor, never killing each other if it could be avoided. Maybe he could even trade some things.

A door in the back opened, and he pointed his shotgun.

The woman sighed. “I need a less terrifying doorbell, I’m really sorry about all this fuss.”

He lowered the shotgun. What?

She looked at the confused expression on his face, but he also got the impression this wasn’t the first time she’d had this interaction. “Welcome to the land that formerly occupied a Shell gas station, what can I do for you today?”

He laughed, glancing around the room. He put the shotgun away. “What the fuck?”

The Attendant chuckled again. “Come on, get a hot dog. You must be hungry.”

Was he dreaming? The passive dissociation he usually had was working overdrive right now. Slowly his feet walked up to the hot dog rollers.

Sure enough, there were hot dogs.

“What the fuck?” he asked again.

“Hot dogs, sweetie. Sausages stored in bread, come on now.” She rolled her eyes sarcastically.

“I…” He stared at the hot dog. God was he ever hungry. “What do you want for it?”

She laughed again. “If you still think trade has value, I’m not even sure how you’re going to survive in this world.”

He stared at her.

“It’s free.” She said clearly, and firmly.

“I’m sorry,” he started. “What the fuck is going on here.”

She shook her head. “It’s a gas station. A Gas. Station. You go to a gas station, and you get a hot dog, and continue on your way. Did you already forget that?”

Upbeat music played over the tinny radio as he looked at her in silence. He reached up, slapping his face gently to see if he could feel the pain.

“I ran this place before the end.” She explained. “I don’t know why I’d stop running it now. Although,” she laughed. “we don’t get gas shipments anymore.”

“So… so what?” he reached into the hot dog bun drawer, and found one wrapped in paper. “So this is altruistic?”

“Sure.” She sat in a chair, leaning back. “Why not?” She took a drink of water from a cup. A cup?

“You know, I’m not really sure what I was thinking, buying a gas station.” She went on. “They don’t make much money. I guess it was just for sale.

“Everyone needs gas, you know? And when the owner left, nobody could fucking get it. People were driving 20 minutes just to fill up their tank, and that ain’t right. So I bought the darn thing.” She laughed at that, seemingly still incredulous at what she did all those years ago. “I took out all my savings, and the rest of my inheritance, and I bought the gas station.”

She swirled the water around in her glass like a wine taster. He didn’t realize how dehydrated he was, and reached for his bottle.

“Oh, oh no. Leave that there.” He looked up at her, she stood up, and walked into the back again. Within a few seconds she’d returned with a glass of water for him.

A glass of water…

He took a sip, and then drank the entire glass at once. It was cool, clean water.

“There’s more where that came from if you need it. Anyways, as I was saying.” She sat back in her chair. “Turns out gas stations in small towns don’t make any fucking money.” she laughed. “But I kept it open anyways. It’s amazing the kinds of people you meet, you know? I realized eventually, the gas is what brings people in, but that’s not what gives it meaning. I realized, I was feeding people!”

She glanced up. “Come on, get a hot dog.”

He shook his head in confusion, and opened the bun. It smelled incredible, and he picked up the tongs. “So what, what is this food exactly? Are you just feeding me decade old bullshit?”

She looked a bit proud, a bit sheepish. “Well, I raise pigs.”

He dropped the hot dog out of the tongs, it had been so long since he’d done this. “Pigs?”

“My grand-dad left me this sausage maker when he died. What the fuck was I ever going to use a sausage maker for, you know? So I put it in the attic. But it turns out it’s pretty handy. You put the pig intestines in the front, feed ground pork in through the top, twist them up yourself and bam. Hot dogs. Like magic.”

He looked down at the hot dog, now that he was paying attention, it was so imperfect, misshapen. I never could have come from a package. “And the buns?”

“See, I considered growing my own wheat for that, but it turns out farming is a pain. You put in so much work, and get so little bread out of a wheat field. It wasn’t for me. I have a little carrot patch for me and the pigs, and that’s all I can manage.

“There’s an old lady, somewhere nearby though, who was a wheat farmer. You wastelanders often seem to think nothing can grow, but it just takes a bit of care. Her son comes by whenever they have excess, and gives it to me. I give him some extra pork.”

There were… farmers? That didn’t seem right.

“And then it turns out making the bread’s the easy part. It’s fun, actually. The rising, the kneading, it gives me something to do. And I figured hey, why not serve hot dogs like always. I may not have any toppings, but you get a hot dog, you get a bun… some kind of magic happens, right?”

He nodded, although he didn’t really noticed doing it. The hot dog was now in the bun, and he replaced the tongs without looking. He couldn’t take his eyes off the hot dog in his hands.

He’d found a can of hot dogs once, and tried cooking it up over the fire. Canned hot dogs aren’t that good, and without a bun it didn’t give much of an authentic experience, but he savored those hot dogs. Hot dogs over an open flame reminded him of camping with his mother, before she died, and before the end.

He choked back some tears, and took a bite. It was the most decadent thing he’d had in his life. Plain cooked pork. Plain unseasoned bread. It was like God himself had granted him a feast.

He ate the whole thing before he even knew it. He glanced up at the Attendant, and she was beaming brightly.

“Hey,” she started, speaking brightly. “take another one too. Fuck it, even have a third, who’s stopping you?”

He ate his fill while he sat on a box, and chatted with her. The song ended on the radio, and a voice came through.

“That was Monetaries by McCarthy, I don’t know about you folks but I liked that one. Up next lets play… Um.” There was a clatter over the radio. The Wastelander looked up at the Attendant quizzically. “Alright, sorry about that. Next we’re going to play Only You, by the Platters. Sit tight and enjoy this nice, soft… I think it’s a love song.”

The Wastelander laughed incredulous. “What?”

She chuckled, smiling brightly. “That boy’s father owned a radio station, before the end. He took it over. He plays songs from the collection all day long, broadcasting into the void. Sometimes he reads books aloud, sometimes he just shares his thoughts. A few of us have tried to let him know how much it means, but none of us have any way to contact him.”

“You’re my dream come true my one and only you.”

The Wastelander stared down at his hands. Cracked, bloodied, raw. He couldn’t remember how many years it had been since he bathed. He looked past his hands, at his boots. Caked in mud, stained with blood. He felt sick, just thinking about what the last decade had been like. Moreso he felt sick that it wasn’t required.

“I…” His voice was cracking, and hoarse. “Hey, you look pretty old, you’re what, 60?”

She sounded a bit offended. “Well that’s a bit rude, I’m only 57!”

“Raising pigs must be hard, right?”

She squinted at him, her gaze shifting to confusion. “It is indeed.”

He fiddled with his hands. “You know, my mom and dad actually owned a farm, before the end. I myself was a security guard, but I grew up helping out. Maybe I could help with the pigs, or… fuck, maybe I could grow some onions. Who doesn’t like raw onions on a hot dog?” He laughed nervously, and coughed.

She stared at him with a warm expression. “You want to stay, is that it?”

He felt embarrassed, sitting in front of her like this. He nodded.

She laughed heartily, startling him. “Well, there’s a first for everything! You’re so welcome to stay.”

His heart raced. Already he could see it now, losing the body armor, never having to touch a shotgun again. “Really?”

“Really. Of course.” She stood up, and beckoned to him. “Come on, there are actually a few empty houses around here. Everyone left after the end, except me. I’ve just been all alone in this town.”

She sounded lost in her thoughts.

“But hey, maybe that can start to change.”

[bengustown-art]

DON'T TOUCH THAT DIAL!!

[loveletterworm]

It is done (enough)!

I would hype it up more but this is really really simple. It randomly generates a set of symbols, colors, and a word, and then the expected thing to do with those is you draw some sort of character based off the result you get. So it's just an art challenge toy thingy.

There are also some practical features like you can lock parts of the result in place to rerandomize the rest, or hide parts of the generation you don't care about (like if you want to pick your own colors or hate the words being there)

You can try it out over on itch.io!

It should run in browser, but there's also a downloadable version for Windows if you want to use it offline. (No mac/linux versions for now, because I don't have appropriate computers to test those on and I...don't want to deal with mac's developer accounts or whatever their problem is...)

Here's something I made from one of the results I got for the sake of example:

(It's a bit of a rushed drawing sorry I just wanted to get the actual generator out there)

I hope everyone has fun with it :]

[thedeerus]

things i draw instead of listening to lectures

orig of 3rd pic:

[moethh]

praying for your mutuals is honestly so freaking funny

[whalesharkstho]

jazz ur gonna give him a spark attack

bit of a follow up to this post X]

[areyouscaredyet]

im not particularly religious but i think it’s very cute that Trans Day of Visibility and Easter are on the same day this year :)

its no question that something like this could be triggering or upsetting to a number of queer ppl given the current sociopolitical climate, so i want everyone to remember that u are loved! Regardless of what u or others believe, there are ppl who will love and support you always. Give yourself patience and treat yourself with care!!!

happy and peaceful TDOV everyone!! And Easter to those who celebrate :D

[messymoonmad]

Oiled up Telemachus when

Never. anyways-

Femboy telemachus my beloved (i like to think he had long hair when he was 18)

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

[thatwildwolfart]

grunt does some mental math

[hemipenal-system]

goddamnit my henchman was gonna betray me so i locked her in with the monster hoping it would fuck her to death but it turns out my evil creation is a pillow princess 😔 literally fuck my stupid mad scientist life

[fishbloc]

THIRD LIFE GACHAPON ❤️💛💚 第三人生のガチャポン

i've always wanted to make this since forever, and after a lot of pondering and research, it finally went from inception to fruition!! i'm really proud of what i made here, because the process has actually been really labourious and it took me many months. but still!!! seeing it all come together has been really cathartic !!

they will be available for preorders coming this june on my shop alongside with the grumbot bags, see you there <3

[pearlore]

@eydilily 's gempearl designs r so gorgeous i had to draw........ also a swap?? ft. some nzsl bc i was briefly possessed by the spirit of. hands.

[justaishy]

it's just me and my unfinished art against the world....

perpy. I'm experimenting and its pretty cool

[bastardlybonkers]

aw give prowl someone who flutters back

END OF PROWL ARC (pt 1 anyways 😏)

we may now resume our previously scheduled starbee

first prev next

[magicicephoenix]

dca brainrot came back 👍