#watever...

[tempestvista]

This is probably cringe I don't know its not written to be a fanfiction but instead just a very . Frilly thought-dump heyyyy the demons telling me not to post this

007n7 who is lost to a resolute grief. 007 who wanders aimlessly in a fruitless endeavor against universal laws itself. A father who constantly trudges through environment after environment, the muck and mud of a swamp that threatens to give him trench foot, never warm nor cold enough, yet still always biting. A man who soldiers through the sodden grass, colorless pastures, isolated from near-everyone and everything else. He is not intentionally pathetic or miserable, it could be argued his constant pursuit of a better life for his child speaks volumes to a veiled courage. He does not possess deep strength, and utilizes as many reserves of intellect as possible. In spite of this, it never quite seems to be enough. But that doesn't stop him, why would it?

As long as he breathes, as long as he moves, as long as the moon continues to be set in the sky by an iron-hearted extraterrestrial might, seeking entertainment above all other means, as long as his weak and weary legs (never atrophy, never strengthen, either) are able to function—and even if they weren't, he'd just claw at the ground, using every last means available—he will continue to fight and hope for a day when his son gets out. Where his son is safe, where his son could be with another family, have some sort of guaranteed devoted and providing home. One where he was safe, and away from all of this, and would never be brought back. It was a future he would tear his very latticework apart for. For him, for his son, his child, his baby.

They say the Spectre does not hold favorites, that it merely prefers the hyper-emotional. It could, however, be argued in this sense there is a vague loophole here; 007n7 is a never-ending delicious repast for something as awful as the force, a perfect combination of mournful, frustrated, tired, full of yearning, barely present hopes and desires, a flurry of tempestuous undying things that all make him filled with a deep dread on the hour. And yet, and yet, he continues to move. He continues to shamble weakly. Because he would do anything for his son. He would endure any torture to see his son again. It doesn't matter that he'd get hurt for it, doesn't mean anything if he receives any number of peoples—the whole atomic structure upholding every person's fibers could hate him, for all he cared, and it would not negate the amount of passion and pure unconditional woeful love he holds for the thing everyone else calls a monster. To him, it's always been a boy; his boy. That's his son, the strangest mail delivery of his life, the thing meant and means more than anything to him. A constant reminder in his mind that though he had past misgivings, though he wasn't on top of everything as a parent, he would not fail again, would not give in again, would not lose him ever again.

It caused arguments, but he'd worked out an arrangement, even. There was a silent agreement, and at least some were sympathetic enough to see his angle as a father. Other's were just glad they would get a sense of reprieve before their turn at the gauntlet, viewed it as him "taking one for the team," so to speak. Not that the majority was all that grateful. Let 007n7 grab c00lkidd's attention first, and however long he lasts, he lasts, and then he doesn't have to get in altercations about what he does not see, does not hear, and does not know. In the end, he'll still hate himself, but at least he can buy his poor son some time. There are the rarer events, in which he can convince the boundless child to calm down for a time, and they're able to just spend the round together. It's actually preferred by c00lkidd that they do this, he just can't help but be so energetic, so excited. He wants more friends, after all. It's hard to be in a house with a bunch of adults you don't really know, and few who ever bother to even interact with him consistently. He's not viciously isolated, parallel his father, the circumstances merely make awkwardness the default.

Once, he'd managed to spend the entire ordeal alone with his son, not bothered by other survivors, far away enough that there was no concern over him getting interested at seeing someone tinkering away at a generator nearby.

It felt kind of like a picnic, the spot on the ground they were sitting on had been covered in something. Maybe a tarp, maybe a smoothened sheet of metal, who knew. He couldn't recall every last detail of most anything, no matter how hard he tried. The moon wasn't so frightening to look at, for once, wasn't so scary to recall in the recesses of his mind that it'd been so long since he'd seen the sun, his son. They were talking about something from their former lives, also now a blurry form to his mind. To no avail could he hold onto even the apparitions of conversations, it all just slipped through his hands, not even giving him the reprieve of remembering things about his boy. He remembers the excitement on his face, at least, the muscles contorting into what he had learned was a bright smile, if the open-mouth weren't an indication. Even now he still had that sort of crinkle to his eyes, and if 007n7 looked hard enough (imagined?) he could see where his kid's dimples would be at.

C00lkidd was so happy, so very happy to at last have some free time with his father, to have his attention fully. And he wasn't running from him, and no one was hitting him, either. It was annoying that other people couldn't play nice, but he figured it might've been something like karma or whatever it was called for being too rough with the kids he grew up with. It wasn't his fault, though, he didn't know he was that strong. His dad always told him he'd been born with super-strength, though, and that was what he told himself to try and reign it in. But when he did that now, people still hurt him instead! It didn't matter, he had his dad here with him, and that was what was most important. He wished they could spend more time together.

They both ignored the clock chimes that rang throughout the sky. For once, they both knew what was happening. What it meant. 007n7 didn't bother distracting him or making up some sporadic topic to try (and fail, though c00lkidd continued to indulged him, because he hated seeing his papa sad) and distract them both from the inevitable.

It was different because he didn't even get the mercy of hearing his son finish what he was saying.

"I love," and nothing more.

Limbo, then the sound of rushing water that in the mimic-meditative state he knew indicated they were returning to the cabin and their bodies would be sat at the table, in various positions of distress.

Everyone looked at him for a moment. 007n7 guessed he was not as secluded as he thought he'd been, at least not towards the end, anyhow. Someone said something to him, and it moved through him like oil slipping past water, not a deafened statement; unable to emulsify. They tried to get his attention again, he recalls in flickering thought. Maybe someone snapped or said his name (again, if they had said it before), tapped on the table, scuffed shoes making a dull noise against the timber floor. Someone must've been tapping their leg, that part felt settled in, a part he recalled. Of course, it was always the unnecessary details in which chose to stay tenant. Anything useful or desperately wanted around would get ousted from his mental entrapment.

He stood up, he thinks his feet dragged slightly, which might've made him stumble. If he were feeling much as before, it probably would have hurt his ankles, the rolling motion and having to re-orient one's feet before twisting onto them hard enough that they sprained. Shuddering slightly, he trekked off, everything else disappeared into the fog of his mind.

All 007n7 could think about was how many little splinters made up his vascular system, every little wooden needle tearing away at his veins whenever he tried to think about his son not even being allowed to say "I love you."

He didn't deserve it.

hey so whatif like 007n7 kinned homura akemi i rhink that'dbe really . GO MY GRIEF-RIDDEN YET DETERMINED SORROWFUL MAN!!! SHAMBLE YOUR WAY THROUGH THE KILLER RIDDEN LANDS FOR YOUR ILL-BEGOTTEN SON!!!!

i should actually learn how to write helpp,….. i have little to no ideas for my fanfiction(s) ((at least executable ones.. urgk))

if there are spelling mistakes umm in my defense i just wrote this on the spot and didnt look back so </3

[kadzhi]

If anyone wants to follow my shitass bsky account it's kad.bsky.social

[bummeryumedanshi]

I think they should replace reef from stoked with me. I have the ego to do it, i dance like a white boy, i'd up the show's camp factor by standing on business with how faggy i am instead of pussying out with it, i like when girls are mean to me, and also id rid the show of his misogyny (I love women)

[goomyloid]

Ok like whateverrrrrrrrrrrrrr

[abyssalzones]

hey does anyone remember that weird photoshoot those guys who run the institute of oddology did back in the 80's?

(consider this a companion piece to that other fake magazine post)

also bonus uncropped interview blurb under the cut

[t8oo]

[chrliekclly]

charden echolalia

[kukopelli]

U find him like this in the fungeon wdyd

[wishyoudwell]

old habits die hard

[tensyc]

no context ivantill doodles

[jiffy-jeff]

i really really like dramatic screenshot redraws

[hiphopcherrrypop]

[catinasink]

need to dye my hair and get a few piercings and be cooler this year

[tibby-art]

i turned them into a cover for my own personal desert duo playlist listen at your own risk my taste is all over the place & if you think it's out of character i am not legally responsible for emotional damages

[porrigens]

raison d’etre + sushi = profit

[titsnotbrains]

me in class today vs me when i got home :)

@thinkingmanslife told me that i shud always sit with my tits on the table and he was so right!! it makes me look like such a bimbo lol this is definitly how im gonna sit at desks from now on!