Trilliath

Trill, Dr.T. I write and do art about the things I enjoy. Occasional salt and sarcasm, mostly I just try to enjoy things. I favor a philosophy of do no harm but take no shit.

[dragongirlteeth]

I am shocked at how many people don't have an actively hostile relationship with advertising

[dragongirlteeth]

I am skipping your ads as fast as I can. I'm skipping past your sponsor read. I'm muting the tv. I'm muting the tab. If they get too annoying I will simply stop trying to watch.

If advertisers can use every manipulative trick in the book to get me to buy their product, I am fully within my rights to do everything I can on my end to make their job impossible

[molombo]

What does it take to make African mythology real? Everything we had. Over 70% of our Kickstarter Backers came from Tumblr. Thank you. Now it's yours.

ZAIROO is out now.

[lets-steal-an-archive]

[trilliath]

you can tell it's been a stressful week when my brain is like "but... what if we just started playing coral island again" as if the 800+ hours i've already logged wasn't enough

[righthandarm-man]

can you remember the name of every person you’ve kissed?

yes, I remember all their names

I could name most of them but there are few I can’t remember

if you put all of them in a room I could put a name to at least half the faces

i’m not confident I could name a quarter of them, let alone half

I can’t remember more than one or two names

I’ve never kissed a soul and want to see the results

Remaining time: 3 days 18 hours

[six-demon-bag]

The Shark + textposts

LOU FERRIGNO JR. as Brendon "The Shark" Park

(02.10) 4:00 P.M. THE PITT

[heatherfranzen]

Happy birthday to Pepper! She is 6 years old today (3/17/25) ☘️✨

[heatherfranzen]

In other news, it’s my mom’s cat Pepper’s birthday today (she is 7!!!) and I don’t think I ever shared this newer painting I did of her!

[marlenaofnine]

tommy kinard's age: Or, let Buck bounce on that age gap, kids

So. Let's talk about Tommy Kinard's age. Because every time I see him listed as 40 in a current, modern day fic, I lose my mind a little.

Now, obviously , you can do whatever you what in a fic, and I know WHY people do this - some word of god + LFJ's age, with a side helping of That Other Shipper Fandom Doesn't Get to Call Tommy Old if He's Less Than Ten Years Older Than Buck.

However.

Buck is a grown man who canonically dated and changed his life for a woman who was 42 when he was 26 and does not need to be protected from getting his back blown out and his heart claimed by a hot older man.

So, "Tommy Was Born NO Early than 1980 and Is At least 46 in 2026: A Minor Thesis By Me."

First, we know a couple of things about his age from canon:

We know from "Chimney Begins" that Tommy was not a probie in 2005 when Chim joined. So he'd been there at least a year before that. For the sake of making him as young as possible, we will say that he has ONLY been there a year. We also knew that he "learned to fly" in the army.

So, that means:

He had to have joined the LAFD ~2004.

Had to have completed the necessary requirements for army pilots prior to that. For Army pilots joining prior to October 1, 2020, there was a 6 year service requirement after completing flight school.

To be a pilot, Tommy also had to be either a Commissioned Officer OR a Warrant Officer. Assuming he was not an officer, that means he had to complete all of the following before he could becoming a pilot: Army Basic Training, Warrant Officer Candidate School (WOCS), and Army helicopter flight school.

To make Tommy AS YOUNG AS HUMANLY POSSIBLE IN THIS TIMELINE: We'll also assume he joined the army at 17 with parental permission, which you can do because the USA is stupid and because his father seems like the sort - and also because we are going to make Tommy as YOUNG as he can possibly be in 2026 to prove my point:

Age 17: Graduates High school, Enlists in Army and does Basic Combat Training ~ 2.5 months

Age 17: Warrant Officer Candidate School ~1.5 months

Ages: 17–18 Army helicopter flight school (IERW) ~12 months (Can be up to 18 months, but we are making this the shortest timeline possible)

Ages 18–24: Aviation service obligation 6 years

Age 24: Leaves Army (Here, we give Tommy a LOT of assumptive grace. Getting into the LAFD Academy is hard, but we'll assume his officers wrote nice things or whatever and he got in right away.)

Age 24 :LAFD Academy: 22 weeks

AGe 24: Starts Probie Year

Age 25: "Chimney Begins" - has been with LAFD for at least a year. (in 2005)

SO, if he's 25 in 2005, that would make him born in 1980. In 2026, that that makes him no younger than 46. If he's born in 1980, that means he is 11 years older than Buck's 1991 birth year, which is fun and sexy if you aren't boring (and they are not.)

Notes:

Now, in truth, in a realistic timeline, Tommy would be older still.

He'd spent closer to 18 months in flight school and he probably had to take some time to apply/wait/join the LAFD academy, and maybe his parents weren't dicks and made him wait to 18 before he signed his life away to the military and/or maybe he gradated at the age of 18.

There's also issues with waiting for admission to WOCs and flight school.

And we have no IDEA how long he was in the LAFD before Chim came along

Honestly, 48 is more realistic and he could easily be celebrating his 50th birthday OR BEYOND. IF YOU AREN'T A COWARD.

BUT~ if you want him as young as possible, 46 is the bottom floor of what can be going on here in 2026. He can definitely be older, but he can't be younger and have the timeline make any sense.

In conclusion:

Sources:

(Just sources; don't join the military, kids.)

Army Aviation Special and Incentive Pay Policies to Promote Performance, Manage Talent, and Sustain Retention

LAFD requirements recruitment video

Rotary Wing Aviator Warrant Officer 153A

Army Aviation Careers

[rosefinchie]

how it all feels lately

[trilliath]

the nuclear imaging tech was all looking me over and said "we're gonna want to put a zillion ekg leads on you tomorrow for the stress test pt. 2 so like, instead of what you're wearing today dress for that" and I'm like........... so at this point do you want me rolling in here in a bikini top or something because i'm already wearing a tank top no bra and miniskirt today for easy access lmao what more do you want???

[biggest-gaudiest-poltergeist]

straight up it should be illegal for a physical storefront not to accept physical currency, or for restaurants not to provide physical menus

[biggest-gaudiest-poltergeist]

I'm assuming the above is a normie opinion (as it should be) so i do wanna go a tiny step further and explicitly state any laundromat that requires digital payment should be burned to the fucking ground

[biggest-gaudiest-poltergeist]

if a business cooerces its customers to download an app, i should legally be allowed to set both the business and its board of directors on fire

[cuprohastes]

The assumption that every single business, or service, is owed your personal data, and should be able to track you and mercilessly spam you and monetise the ability to sell off your contact details and so on it’s absolutely deranged.

I have flashlights that are borderline unusable because, while the hardware is fine, the company that made them (hello OLight!) demands that you install and login to the storefront before you can access the configuration software.

But they don’t actively maintain the software or provide any of the new utilities that they promise. They are mostly using it as a way to turn off functional hardware to try and force you to upgrade.

We are living in a society where you can pay for something and the manufacturer can turn it off because they’ve decided that you’ve owned it too long .

I’ve just had to warn my family not to buy electronic door locks because the chances are, if they are Internet connected they will be disabled once the company that owns them has decided that they’re not making enough money charging you a monthly fee to open your own front door.

This is part of an ongoing trend to turn money into something that is no longer usable by everybody .

The eventual aim is to be able to pay people company scrip: If you lose your job, or badmouth the company, or disagree with the dictator, they severely curtail what you are allowed to buy, and from who.

And at that point, you have to pick sides – do you want to be able to have drinking water from Coca-Cola, or Pepsi, and whose package allows you to buy Doritos, and use your smart oven to cook food? Because it won’t turn on unless you use the app to scan the appropriate barcode from the company who now owns your ability to eat drink, heat your home, and wear clothes from brands that they approve.

And if you think that Bezos wouldn’t do that or run his own ghetto where employees have to use Amazon brands and be paid in Amazon money… You haven’t been paying attention to what he’s been building lately.

[ingridverse]

Read "Unauthorized Bread" by Cory Doctorow, from his book Radicalized

[ingridverse]

Found a link to the story: Unauthorized Bread

[biggest-gaudiest-poltergeist]

Holy shit.

[trilliath]

Apparently at the hospital I'm in right now they play a lullaby over the speakers to the whole hospital whenever a baby is born. That's actually adorable.

[trilliath]

some crusty ol biddy without a speck of color or personality in her appearance just walked past me and said sotto voce to her husband "well that's a personal choice (derisive)," presumably over my full head of neon pink hair.

and you know what, it sure as fuck is, and it makes me happy nearly every day. I have little girls staring at me in wonder and shyly asking me if I'm a fairy or merfolk on the reg. Grown women have burst into tears when I tell them they're not even a little too old to try it when they wistfully ask about whether it's hard to do. I have a free icebreaker and conversation starter with me everywhere I go. I bring joy to nice people just by existing in public. It's absolutely fabulous. Seems like something you should try.

[letsdosciencetoit]

Made up fic title: Ortho Bro goes to LA

Do you want revenge porn fic? Because this is how you get revenge porn fic.

Well hidden is my absolute obsession with Park the Shark. So...

Brendon Park is in LA for a medical conference. Maybe he's speaking on his research about bone grafts or something. It doesn't matter.

118 shows of for a call at the conference centre, and Buck can't help but notice how much one of thr doctors looks like Tommy. It's not him, obviously. The way he speaks and carries himself is too different. This man is... sharper.

Park catches the firefighter watching him and is... curious. He slips the man his card, room number written on the back, and goes back to his room once they're give the all clear.

He's half surprised the firefighter shows up, but it's quickly obvious that this man, Buck, is expecting him to be someone else. He's getting frustrated that he's not getting the responses from Park he expects, and it's putting a damper on things for Park.

"Who is he?" Park asks, sitting back on his heels, erection jutting out.

Buck licks his lips, looking from it to Park. "Who's who?"

"The man you're comparing me to," Park points out, like it's obvious. It is - painfully so.

Swallowing, Buck looks away before he grumbles. "My ex. You look just like him."

It gives Park an idea. "Unlock your phone."

Buck does without question and hands it over. Park opens the camera app, and before he starts recording, he shows Buck. "We're going to give him something to regret, then."

***

Across town, Tommy's woken up by a text message at 3 am. His phone is on do not disturb, but he's yet to remove Evan from the list of people who can bypass it.

[rcmclachlan]

even up the score, part two read part one

+

As he drives home from Evan's loft for what is apparently the last time, Tommy feels like he's driving from the backseat in a body that isn't his. There's a road in front of him but he doesn't know which one, or why he's taking a left at the stop sign or running through an intersection to beat a yellow light. Everything feels so far away. It's like he's on the moon. Maybe he drove off a bridge and just floated upwards. If he rolls the window down, maybe he'll suffocate.

You're in shock, a little voice whispers in the back of his mind.

He's been in shock before, but every time feels like the first time. He's read that some people get used to it, that it makes a home in their bodies, but he's never figured out how. His autonomic nervous system just kicks in and takes over. It's easy to let it.

That's probably why he doesn't register the hulking creature that darts into the road until it's practically splayed over his hood.

The impact knocks him out of the fugue state and, when he slams on the brake, into the steering wheel. Gasping, he looks up and finds himself staring into the familiar dead-eyed stare of something that should no longer exist. It bares its soil-caked teeth at him in a hissing growl, then pushes off the bumper and goes lumbering across the street into Plummer Park.

Every ounce of adrenaline Tommy possesses enters his bloodstream at once, which is also a familiar feeling. Undoing his seatbelt, he wrests control of his body away from his nervous system and chooses between fight or flight.

He kicks open the door and takes off after it.

Thankfully it's late enough that there's hardly anyone in the park, except for a group of screaming kids in the basketball court who try to get their phones up to film as he runs by. He picks up the pace.

His legs are screaming. They're on fire. He can practically feel the lactic acid building up in his muscles, which are splitting open in tiny tears with every step. It's been a long time since he's been forced to sprint like this. Running isn't part of his usual cardio regiment anymore. It was never fun when he wasn't with a group. His team. It's a weak-ass excuse.

In the back of his mind, he hears the memory of a voice cheering, "Go, go, Tommy!"

Sucking in air, he pushes himself impossibly harder.

After what feels like a decade and with the help of a man shouting in Russian and pointing in a specific direction, Tommy finally starts to catch up. By the time he sees it, he also sees Santa Monica Boulevard.

Somehow, he manages to find one last burst of energy and overtakes the thing before it can hit the south parking lot.

Of course, it's anticipating that, and just as he launches himself at its back, it turns on its heel and slams a stone fist right into his gut, sending him careening into the side of a car. It crumples under him and starts blaring its alarm, which is exactly the kind of soundtrack this nightmare was missing.

Grunting, he starts pushing himself to his feet and throws up an arm just in time to block another blow, then sweeps his leg out to knock it off balance. The move buys him enough time to stand, but not enough to put him on the offense. He twists to avoid a stone punch and jumps back, dodging an immediate second. He doesn't manage to avoid a third, catching it right in the eye. The bone cracks and he goes down hard.

Tommy breathes through the pain and rolls the bulk of his body to the side, onto his belly, then slams his palms into the pavement and heaves with all his might. He springs up, then jumps back to put a little distance between them.

Sliding into the old stance is like greeting a long-lost friend. He crouches down and twists his waist ever so slightly, while bringing his arms up, palms out, fingers curled into claws. Powerful, light, and quick. They used to give him such shit for it.

"Look at crouching tiger, hidden dragon over here."

"More like slouching panda, sitting duck."

As funny as the pose is, they never could argue with its results.

When it comes at him again, he's ready.

Tommy loses time when he fights. Always has. It comes so easily to him. The back and forth, the push and pull—he fucking loves it. Muay Thai is fun, but it's nothing compared to this: a no-holds barred, drag-out fight for survival. His blood is singing an aria so high it's got to be shattering windows somewhere.

He has no idea how long they've been trading blows when he finally sees an opening, striking out with one hand to slap down its attempt to hit him and using the other to punch straight through the mud and clay caking its chest. His fingers curl around a cold, solid, pulsing thing, then he jerks his hand out as hard as he can. The heart he's holding gives one last lurch before he crushes it to dust.

With a whimper, the creature collapses to the ground, crumbling into wet soil.

Panting, Tommy stands there for a moment to try and get his bearings, but his eyes start watering. He wishes it was from the pain of what is almost certainly a fractured socket, but everything's hitting him all at once.

He broke up with Evan tonight. Sitting in the loft and watching the future he'd envisioned for them crumble as Evan called him cruel for leading Abby on, it became very clear that Tommy would never be able to tell him the truth about his past. If Evan ever learned that Tommy almost ended the world, that there had been a real chance Evan would never have lived to see the fourth grade because of Tommy, "cruel" is the kindest thing Evan would call him.

Getting that stupid parking spot out front made him think that maybe the universe was trying to throw him a bone. It had been: it allowed him to make a fast getaway.

But to have run into a putty in Los Angeles on this unimaginably awful night is just hilariously shitty luck, even for him.

Tommy blinks a few times to clear the tears from his vision so he can look at the mound of wet dirt and rocks at his feet.

Sometimes it astonishes him that a group of kids managed to take these things down, considering how easy it was to create them. Earth is a terrestrial planet. There's rock and soil and stone and clay everywhere. There was an endless supply for what could've been an army of putties—if one fell, ten more could've risen up in its place. He doesn't know why they only ever fought four or five at a time. Rita never utilized them the way he would've.

Panic starts fluttering in his marrow, but he tries to ignore it. It was only one. He hasn't seen or heard anything about putty sightings until now. It could be a straggler that somehow escaped Angel Grove and managed to make its way down the coast over the course of thirty years. It could be a complete coincidence.

It could be.

He looks around the empty parking lot, searching for a cold, bright gaze and a blinding smile in the shadows. He strains to hear that awful cackle. He closes his eyes and waits to feel the press of talon-like nails into his wrist as a burning-hot hand wraps around it, pulling him into familiar darkness. But all he hears is the sound of traffic on Santa Monica Boulevard.

Opening his eyes, Tommy sniffles a little, then presses the heel of his hand to the edge of his eye socket. He thinks about how gently Evan would touch him there. He flinches, and not just from the pain.

After a while, it's clear that Rita's not coming for him. Sucking in a shuddering breath, he turns around and limps back into the park. With any luck, his truck is still in the middle of the road where he left it.

+

For the uninitiated, putties are mass-produced, golem-like foot soldiers under the control of Rita.

[prunelya]

Lea O'Connell

Le Grand Hôtel Campo del Fiori abandonné à Varèse, en Italie, construit en 1912.

[leashybebes]

Title “and I’ll call you when it’s over”

(Lyrics from eyes don’t lie by Kingfishr)

- @ambernotember xo

take my hand for some angst 🫴

Tommy's (terrible shithead asshole) father is dying. Something halfway between lingering filial duty and a morbid desire to check it actually happens has him travelling back to his hometown for the first time in more than a decade to Be There. Evan offers to go with him but a) they've only been back together for a month at this point and b) Evan has Theo to think about now and c) Tommy doesn't want Evan within a hundred miles of his father, even if the old bigot is on the way out. He's been halfway to passed out and still managed to say things that have eviscerated Tommy and left wounds that bled sluggishly for years after. There's just no way. But Tommy promises to call him.

The first night, Tommy sits out in the back yard and has Evan tell him about his day. It's a lifeline. Thirty minutes later, he feels like he can walk back into the house without losing his mind.

The second night, Tommy tells Evan about running into a woman he went to high school with when he went into town for groceries. Fucking weird, is his overall conclusion.

The third night, Tommy sits silently, listening to Evan breathe. It doesn't occur to him that Evan can do the same until he says, "Tommy, are you smoking?" It's insane. His dad is inside dying slowly of metastatic lung cancer, and Tommy's smoking a cigarette in the back yard. "Yeah," he says, stubbing out his Camel. "Sorry. I fucking hate it here. I've always hated it here."

The fourth night, Tommy calls him crying. He has no idea why he's crying. He hates - hated - the fucker. "He's gone," he manages. "It's over. I wish you were here." "Ten minutes," Evan says, over the sound of clinking keys. "W-what?" "Don't be mad," Evan says. "I'm at the Motel 6 down the road. Got in last night. I'll see you so, so soon, okay?" He stays on the phone with Tommy right until Tommy walks into his arms and comes home.