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#not main tagging but i AM vaguing

volitioncheck · 8 months

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does near every single post-canon DE fic out there need to be tagged ‘Sober Harry Du Bois’? i’m getting so tired of it.

do i expect every single piece of fan content to have to fully delve into the often-depressing always-complex topic of addiction? not really. sometimes you just want to write/read a silly fluffy romance one-shot, whatever. i get it. but i think my issue is specifically with the fact that for nearly every sillyfluffy au out there, there almost must be a ‘sober harry du bois’ tag. and it does feel very slapped-on more often than not.

i think to me it is an unconscious statement that nothing *good* can ever happen to harry du bois until he is completely and permanently sober. before solving the next big case, he has to be sober. before quitting the force, he has to be sober. before falling in love with kim, he has to be sober. before accomplishing anything, starting any sort of recovery, making any life improvement, he must first be sober.

sobriety as a goal, as a journey, and honestly as a concept in of itself is not as cut and dry as so many people think it is. and i think it would serve a lot of people well if they did some introspection on the implications of how nearly every single post-canon fic that isn’t dealing directly with harry’s addiction have him as completely sober instead.

if the plot of the fic isn’t going to touch directly on harry’s substance use (and again, i’m not demanding that every single fic should), why does that mean that sober!harry must be the default?

i think i am just tired of reading a casefic, a smutty one-shot, a fantasy au, whatever, where it almost seems that before getting on with the plot, the author feels obligated to first assure us that the harry we’re reading about is a Sober Harry. it’s established with a couple lines in the exposition, probably about his improved appearance, a tag up top, and then never brought up again; a checkmarked box. like the societal image of An Addict has completely prevented people from being able to imagine a person just, continuing to live life, while still struggling with addiction.

life happens, with all of its backslides and achievements, mundanity and changes, to people with drug addictions just as much as people who don’t. is a post-canon harry who isn’t sober not worth writing about?

i think so. i think the game we all played thinks so too. in fact i think that sentiment is woven into the game’s very core. i just wish i saw that reflected in our fan content more.

#i really hope my point is understandable in that it isn’t that i think that stories where harry *does* become sober aren’t also valuable.#or that i want every post-canon harry to *not* be sober.#but rather questioning why there seems to be a subconcious necessity for harry to be sober to have kind things happen to him.#disco elysium #harry du bois #also obligatory because i am putting this in the main tag:#this isn’t a callout or vague on any one person/creator/group of people in particular #it’s more of a prompt to discussion on a very broad trend #one informed by insidious biases that live in all of us because we live in a society etc #that none of us are immune to but all of us have a responsibility to acknowledge #if there is goal to this post it’s to provoke introspection. not individual attacks #anyways i love quietly consuming fan content until something annoys me enough to make my own post about it #i do wish i Participated in fan communities more tbh especially this one i’m just shy lol #most of the time.#me talking

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onesidedradiostatic · 21 days

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btw when it comes to like alastor and how much he gives a shit about vox I feel like sometimes I don't articulate myself well but like. I DO think alastor gives more of a shit than some in the fandom may make him out to but at the same time I think alastor still occupies vox's brain MUCH MUCH MUUUCH more than vox occupies alastor's.

like I DO think alastor does see vox as a rival (as funny as the susan jokes are I actually do think alastor hates vox more than her lMADSKSGLH. mostly cause of the episode 1 pettiness towards tv and video and also his encouragement of "you'll have to try harder than that, old pal!", which to ME feels like encouragement for their rivalry to carry on) but I still think vox is MUCH more obsessed with alastor than the other way round you know.

vox would be thinking about alastor when he's not there, alastor usually wouldn't be thinking of vox when he's not there. HOWEVER, if they were put in a room together, alastor would NOT miss any opportunity to mess with vox because he's a piece of shit like that. like he could theoretically just not do anything if they were in the same room but he would choose to mess with vox because he thinks it's funny. like do you get what I mean.

#osrs.txt #not maintagging because I'm so paranoid about being vagued I swear I've seen my takes be vagued at least twice in the main tag by now #I do not think I am god for the record I'm sure I've had incorrect or flawed takes okay but this is just what I believe #from like the 3 episodes that have anything I'm able to extract about their relationship #okay to rb if you want I'm just scared of maintagging atp LMAO

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vellichorom · 4 months

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question, does the curator exist in tsp.exe? or did she get obliterated by thierry or smth /silly

would if he could, if he knew about her...

BUT YES INDEED! rarely alluded to & shown off anywhere but here, but she DOES indeed exist, & is virtually the silent " higher-up observee " of the game next to Nobody ( settings person );

i fully planned on showing her off here when i had something of a better, colored reference to go off of here, but- ah well. your query is as good an excuse as any!

BEHOLD! thierry's official curator ( who, by this point, could use some design tweaks because it's actually been a good while since her design was conjured but you get the idea )!

basically -- the curator is an incorporeal, " narrator " entity in the same vein as thierry, who just so happened to get trapped within the game as thierry was laying down the foundation, & by this point, can't escape, & has given up any attempt at it.

for one reason or another, perhaps because she's physically confined to the Museum - more of a scrapped concept for an after-the-game asset archive walkthrough that's been forgotten by thierry at this point, he can't detect her presence & he has no idea she's even in there. the only person who DOES, is rosemary. & arguably nobody.

but from there, does she watch over the game & all that happens within it, having absolutely 0 control of it, but almost 100% awareness of everything that goes on under its roof - unlike thierry, & considering what she's had to witness thus far, she's appalled.

rather than trying to convince the hypothetical " player " to quit the game to save the narrator & stanley, curie's instead trying to convince rosemary to do ANYTHING else than let him walk all over her, or do anything to preserve herself. but rosemary doesn't listen.

& the curator can't do anything more than offer her some outside hospitality & an escape when she wants it. so she remains to watch over them both.

THANK YOU FOR ASKING! FINALLY I can unleash her unto the world.

#anonymous #inbox #TSP.exe #TSP Curator #TSP Female Narrator #The Stanley Parable #what the hell i'll throw her in the main tag #TSP blogging #Curator tag #ALSO i designed her uwu. with tomie's guidance of vaguely making her look like a fusion of the TF2 administrator & a human glados #DEFINITELY NEEDS TWEAKING THOUGH i'm not sure how fond i am of the very long dress by this point #i think she needs a cravat

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chibishortdeath · 6 months

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Yippie! So silly (kinda sad) idea I had I while ago that I need to draw about again aaaa— Anyway, there were a lot details that had me thinking about stuff in certain games. Harmony of Despair has the “Helmont/Shiimon/Simon Wraith” enemies that have this ominous description of “some say this is what happened to Simon Belmont in the end”, and it’s just never mentioned again. Like damn ok that’s uh some interesting information wow uh— Also that coupled with the hanging skeletons being a reference to Simon in CV4 and also being in the hanged man position, the family heirlooms in the ghostly Dracula’s castle in Harmony of Dissonance, and the quest for Anna in Order of Ecclesia about helping her cat protect her from dark spirits that’s ended with a really sudden line about her having nightmares about a man with a whip fighting something scary, my guy is haunting the narrative and doesn’t sound like he’s doing so great 💀.

So the Ghost Simon concept was born and uh here he is I guess lol. Part of it also came from the idea that we’ve already seen a ghost companion in the series in Wind (if you know you know), but what if there was one you had to help that was a little more uh what’s the word… tormented? Vengeful? Upset in general? Yeah. He’s kinda just a mix of a bunch of different ghost lore, not one in particular. Fun fact: Dulahans sometimes use their own spines as a whip :3. And in a lot of folklore Strigoi often prey on their own family members, especially the younger girls in the family. But yeah, he’s just kind of a nuisance, not really like ‘evil’ or anything. Breaks things sometimes, generally pesters people, only occasionally a minor threat. Maybe leaves bloody footprints sometimes, turns paintings crooked, writes omens on walls, ya know, average ghost activities. I like to think that the boss rush with him in HoD is what he’s been doing for a while. Maybe Juste unknowingly takes him home with some of the furniture, probably the grandfather clock lol. Idk it’s just a fun what if idea for fun tho mostly d(^^ ).

#castlevania #castlevania games #simon belmont #art post #my art #does this count as an AU?#I don’t really think it does???#it’s just some ‘what if he spooky’ funny idea idk #does this count as cringe or whatever (joke I know it’s cringe I’m just happy with it)#some of these details I would love to see more on tho like #Konami what do you mean Simon’s name can be a pun in Japanese on the word for death #what do you mean if you spell it a little differently it means Gates of Death Konami I need answers—#or don’t explain anything and give more random ominous vague information #i would appreciate it #a lot actually #please say more random spooky things about this guy #what little to no content does to a mf #Simon’s Quest is a great game (I am going insane)#should I even tag all the games I mentioned in this or is putting this on the main tags enough of a risk as it is—#anyway I wanna make more random speculation collages I’m just on and off burnt out constantly help #this is primarily for silly situations like idk Maxim asking if anyone else has seen that dead guy in the mirror they brought home lol #thinkin about the idea of a game set in the 50s about a horror movie being made about the legends of Simon #and he’s there (in spirit lol) being a complete nuisance on set #the lead actor is just trying to work and here’s some ghostly voice say ‘I would not have my hair that short ewwwww’#aaaaa I should also draw that idea damn #maybe Halloween being a thing will get me to do it (TwT )#TUMBLR JUST KICKED ME OUT OF THE APP I THOUGHT I WAS GONNA LOSE THIS WHOLE POST THAT WAS SCARY—

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thetomorrowshow · 2 months

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glass and grey hoodies

empires superpowers au masterlist (not up to date)

mind the content warnings on this one, folks. in an altered mental state, jimmy attempts suicide several times in the first portion of the fic. the rest of it is an account of his time in the psych ward.

this story takes place between chapters 9 and 10 of ‘poisoned rats’.

cw: past abuse, suicide attempts, blood and injury, hospitals, flashbacks

It’s loud.

It’s loud, and his head hurts, and he doesn’t know where he is and he doesn’t like it.

He opens his eyes to see blurry white walls. Figures standing over him. The pinch of a needle in his arm. An ache that spreads from his neck all the way to the tips of his toes.

He’s back on the table, then.

He doesn’t remember what happened before now, but he knows what this means. If he’s back on the table, something bad happened. If he’s back here. . . .

He suddenly knows. They’re going to take it away.

He’d misbehaved enough that they’re going to take away whatever they put in him all that time ago, whatever it is that lets him control his powers and makes his life the least bit livable. And it’s his fault.

He knows what he has to do, then. He can’t go back to that.

The scientists know he’s awake, he thinks, but either they don’t care or they want him awake, because no one reacts to him looking around, taking stock of things the best he can.

There’s some sort of surgical instrument on a rolling table near his left arm. Something sharp. Something that, if he can sit up quickly, he can reach.

He does a little test of his stomach muscles, tensing them and moving as if to sit up. Painful, but certainly doable.

He has to do it now, then. Before it’s too late.

He sits up, and maybe it’s a bit slower than it should be, because there’s a rubber glove of a hand pressing into his shoulder, loud words that he doesn’t understand—but he isn’t slow at all when he grabs the sharp tool and plunges it into his gut.

He wakes up again later, still bleary and with a stabbing pain in his lower stomach.

Funny, he thinks. He did stab himself, after all.

The problem is, however, that he survived. He didn’t mean to survive. He meant to be completely out of this world, away from the lab, away from the scientists, away from his master and all the blood he’s spilt.

Luckily, the room is empty. He’s sure it won’t be soon, not now that he’s conscious.

It’s not easy for him to sit up. It’s even more difficult for him to stand, going all lightheaded and woozy from pain.

So, pretty much the norm.

There’s scissors on the counter that lines the right side of the room, no other potentially dangerous items in sight. He glances toward the clear glass sliding door. The curtain in front of it is pulled back, and anyone walking by could see him.

He hobbles to the counter, stuck by a tugging in his right arm that he realizes is because it’s hooked up to some machine of some sort. It luckily has wheels, so he pulls it along a few steps until he can reach the scissors.

His hand is firm when he starts slashing the blades across his wrists.

He wakes up restrained after they knock him out again.

He doesn’t like that at all.

Restrained means velcro around his wrists, holding him to the hospital bed. Restrained means quiet sobs as he pulls against them. Restrained means wishing over and over that he hadn’t failed, because now he won’t have another opportunity.

However, they don’t really . . . do much to him. Someone in scrubs comes by every so often, asks him a bunch of questions that he doesn’t care to listen to, and writes things on a dry erase board on the wall. A man sits beside him, also in scrubs, scrolling through his phone and lazily eating a bag of chips.

And that’s it, for a while. He even stops crying out of confusion, just lies there and stares at the ceiling. He’s good at that.

He realizes, eventually, that he’s wearing something like a big t-shirt, but the back feels uncomfortably open. Maybe some sort of sheet with sleeves? It’s got little green clovers as a pattern, and he stares at it for far too long, knowing he hasn’t seen anything like it in all his time here.

The next thing he realizes is that he isn’t wearing a mask. That almost gets him crying again, but he’s overwhelmed by hopelessness before he can even start. What’s the point? Really, he doesn’t belong to himself, doesn’t exactly have a life of his own. This was the natural next step. It’s not like he had any sort of ownership over the mask.

The man beside him talks sometimes, but he’s too out of it to understand. He’s too out of it to process much, really.

He just lies there, drifting in and out of consciousness, dreading the moment the pain will truly start.

It’s late, he thinks, when he feels like his head has finally cleared a little bit—the man beside him is now a sleepy woman, and the lights in the room are dimmed, curtains drawn.

If he does this right, he might get another chance.

It takes a while to get any sort of adrenaline built up, but once he has some sort of spark going, he aims it at the restraint on his left arm. After a moment, the plastic part of the velcro snaps and his hand is free.

The woman looks up at the noise so he doesn’t move, leaving his hand in the velcro as if nothing has changed. After a moment, she returns to the book she’s reading.

The dressings on his right arm should be easy to get through—it’s the type with the cloth tape, the stuff that rips off quick. And underneath is a thin tube, which presumably has a hidden needle.

His next moves are fast. He pulls his hand free of the velcro, tears off the dressing, and yanks out the IV line, the machine suddenly beeping very loudly. He jabs it back into his arm—no needle. Where’d the needle go? Is it in his arm?

There’s got to be another needle—he checks the rolling table still beside him, but of course they haven’t left any sharp items out, they’re learning—

And then his left arm is being pulled back down and held there while another woman rushes into the room.

“You’re at the E. James Hospital in Empires City,” a strange woman tells him, and he doesn’t think he can be blamed if he doesn’t believe her. She waits a moment longer, then sighs and writes something on the whiteboard.

When she moves, he can see it. Unresponsive, she’s written.

“You may be feeling a little funny for a while,” she continues. “We’ve got you on some anti-anxiety medication, and it takes a little bit to adjust. Does that make sense?”

Well, it explains how numb he feels. He stares at her, trying to understand her place here.

“We’ll send in someone from psych to evaluate you later on today, but until then, Anthony is going to be here with you. Anthony, could you wave?”

A man—the same man from earlier—waves from the chair in the corner. He doesn’t say anything.

The woman says some more stuff, but he doesn’t take it in. He’s not even entirely sure that he’s conscious.

All he knows is that if he tries, he can shatter that glass canister of cotton balls on the counter. And some of the glass shards are likely to be sharp.

The person from psych is nice enough. She introduces herself, but he doesn’t catch the name. She asks him how he feels. She unstraps his left arm when he doesn’t answer and asks him to point at the scale of one-to-ten faces paper that she pulls out of a binder.

He points at the seven, the face that’s orange and frowning. She then shows him a poster that has emotions written on it, attached to images of kids acting out those emotions. She asks him to point to the emotions he feels right now.

This is the first moment when he starts to wonder if maybe he isn’t in the lab. Maybe the woman from earlier wasn’t lying.

The emotions on the poster aren’t complex enough to describe how he feels, but he eventually points at ‘confused’.

He’s not entirely sure what she says after that—he has vague flashes of her asking him to write something, and him not even looking at her (pets can’t write, who does she think she is?) before she leaves, writing a string of numbers on the whiteboard, then using a magnet to pin a list there.

He’s alone, if only for a moment.

She hadn’t left his arm unstrapped—she’s not stupid—but he can break the straps without issue. One splits down the middle, one just cracks enough for him to tear it the rest of the way.

He’s more steady than he was last time. And somewhere, deep down, he knows that they won’t give him the opportunity again. They want him alive.

This is his last chance.

It takes one touch for the glass canister on the counter to shatter. He picks up the largest shard, pauses as he aims it first at his wrist, then at the inside of his elbow as the bandages at his wrist deter him.

There’s an artery in the thigh, isn’t there? And his thigh is practically bare, due to the shirt-thing he’s wearing.

Wait. Is he . . . is this a hospital gown?

He stabs the glass into his thigh. It doesn’t go as deep as he would’ve liked, but it hurts like the devil, breaking through the numb state of his mind.

For a moment, he panics. That’s a lot of blood spilling out over his fingers, his grip on the glass slippery. He doesn’t want to die, does he?

But he has to get out. He can’t live in this place any longer. He can’t take it, can’t be a pet for the rest of his life, can’t kill person after person at the whim of a maniac—

He digs the glass in further, and feels his head go fuzzy before his vision blacks out and he crumples to the floor.

For a long time, life passes from blur to blur. He’s aware of what’s going on, he knows he is. He recognizes that the drugs are upped, that he’s a high-risk case and there’s always someone at his side. He hears when they tell him that his wounds are healing well and he’s gained a bit of weight, so they’re sending him on a seventy-two hour hold to the psych ward. They tell him he’ll be safer there.

He floats by all these blurry moments, crying one moment and unresponsive the next. The day they put him in a wheelchair and take him away is a day where he can barely feel anything, thoughts slower than molasses crawling down the side of a bottle.

When he arrives, they don’t give him much. A room. With a roommate. Some clothes.

He doesn’t really process any of it. He just lies on the bed and stares at the ceiling. He takes things that are offered to him—pills, food, water. When a voice tells him to shower, he obediently gets up and limps to the shower. When a voice tells him to go somewhere, he follows them and sits in that place until he’s led back to his room.

He’s not sure how long he’s there before things really start to register, but it starts with his roommate’s voice.

“Are you ever gonna stop being a zombie? When they told me you were a suicide risk, I thought you’d be way more exciting.”

He blinks.

“What?” he croaks, because that really is a weird thing to regain awareness to. His roommate laughs, and it’s a laugh that he recognizes as somewhat sad.

“Yeah, it’s okay, half the people here act real weird for the first couple of days on the meds. That’s what my last roommate told me, anyway. I’ve only been here for a week.”

He doesn’t remember much. But he knows now, with a strange clarity, that the horrible detached memories of that place from before are not of the lab. This may all be a dream, but he hasn’t been taken back to that place.

Taken back? When did he leave?

They call him TJ, for some reason. Drugged-up him had been happy to accept that, not really sure that there was another option.

But he’s TJ now, and that’s okay.

Josh (his therapist, who is actually really nice) explains to him, in as little detail as possible, what happened when it becomes clear that he’s confused.

Josh tells him that they know he’s the Canary, that he was rescued by a group of heroes and that Xornoth is dead.

Maybe it’s still the drugs working, but he doesn’t feel much more than a small sense of vindication at learning that. Not that he believes it at first, of course, but Josh explains at length the various pieces of evidence for him actually being here.

He doesn’t really believe that either, not until the next day, when he is suddenly vividly eating green beans in a common room, a dead-eyed woman eating the same beside him.

And Jimmy’s properly here, and he knows he’s here, and he wants to cry from the relief of it. Because that means it had all been real, and Xornoth’s dead, and he’s out.

He’s been rescued. He’s alive.

Maybe he does cry, a little. No one judges him.

Josh is proud of him for having that breakthrough. Unfortunately (or fortunately, according to Josh, despite their emotional exhaustion), that breakthrough is just the first in a line of many.

It feels wrong to talk. He hasn’t willingly spoken in close to a year, and it’s definitely taking some getting used to—but it’s really the easiest of his issues. He still thinks of himself as a pet, he still expects punishment at the slightest provocation, he struggles to remember to walk instead of crawl and sit on chairs—and each of those come with a plethora of their own issues, such as the hour he spent sitting at the feet of a nurse, the closest figure of authority he could find.

He knows he locked away a part of himself, compartmentalized his brain until he could truly be subservient for his master. But reintegration is difficult, and scary, and Josh is his only guide.

“I know I’m in here,” he tells Josh one day, his quiet, raspy voice not an adequate instrument for conveying just how frustrated he feels. He picks a bit at his sweatpants, not quite daring to look Josh in the eye. “I can remember. I know I’m different. Supposed to be different.”

“That’s a very normal feeling for those who have been under the influence of a telepath for a long time,” Josh says gently, and Jimmy just . . . doesn’t bring up that he wasn’t. He knows it’s lying, and he knows it’s wrong, but someone had given him that cover story and it somehow kept him from going to jail, so he’s keeping it.

“Is there anything I can do for you right now?” asks Josh not ten minutes later, when it becomes clear that Jimmy isn’t going to say anything else.

And there is something he wants, actually. The only way to find out is by asking, and he knows logically that Josh isn’t going to hurt him for such a request, but he can’t shake the fear.

“Long sleeves?” he whispers eventually, and he doesn’t miss the way Josh’s eyes fall to the word scarred on his left arm.

“We can do that,” Josh says. “That shouldn’t be a problem. I actually saw a nice hoodie the other day while out shopping, so I can pick that up on my way home tonight. They’ll take out the drawstring, if that’s all good. Or do you want, like, a long-sleeved shirt?”

“Hoodie,” Jimmy says, not wanting to cause more of an inconvenience.

The next day, he’s got a grey hoodie, a little large (but everything hangs loose on him) and without drawstrings.

He wears it every day.

Jimmy knows he’s getting better, even if it’s frustratingly slow. Josh helps him map out his progress one day, reminding him that he went from nearly vegetative to actually asking for what he wants.

Sure, he doesn’t really eat the way they want him to (he’s always got one of those terribly chalky protein shakes in hand now), but he’s trying. He wants to eat more, and he always tries to get at least a bite down at every meal (they’re too frequent, too regular, he never gets to eat that much there must be a catch).

And of course, all of his other problems that he hates to get into. Problems that have him changing bandages around his wrists and stomach and thigh. Problems that leave him crying on the floor at random times, mourning pieces of himself that he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get back.

But, like Josh says, he’s getting better. He’s really starting to think for himself again.

Until it all seems to reverse.

One day, he’s fine. He talks about a happy memory (as few as they are) with Josh. He’s brave enough for the first time to actually venture out into the common room, play a game of Battleship with his roommate Peter. He actually considers joining the group therapy session when it rolls around. He eats half his meal at dinner that night. He takes his evening pills without complaint and sleeps through some of the nightly checks.

The next day, everything is wrong.

The next day, Jimmy collapses on his cell—bedroom—on the floor of the place where he sleeps, certain that there are people surrounding him and grabbing at his clothes and pulling on his hair and he thought he was safe, they told him he was safe—

And then he’s back, Peter shaking him and calling for help.

It keeps happening after that. He can’t go more than an hour or so without believing he’s back there, without being strapped to a table or kicked by a heavy boot or having knives thrown at him. Each time he comes back to reality, he’s more exhausted and scared than before.

Josh calls them flashbacks, and as soon as Jimmy hears the word he knows it’s right. He has one during therapy (he’s so hungry, he was left here for hours with no one and nothing and it’s a test, he knows it’s a test), and when he comes to, he’s laid out on the couch with Josh speaking quiet words of reassurance.

“Sorry,” he mutters roughly, and Josh just shrugs and gives him a list of grounding activities, and breathing exercises for homework (not that he has a home to take it to).

It doesn’t work, though. It should work, and it doesn’t, because half the people here dress like they’re from the lab. The whole place smells like a hospital, sterile and awful. He’s alone—Peter had gone home that day. It’s just him, in a white room, and he’s fine by himself, he’s always been by himself, but he can’t help but think that maybe, if his caretakers had put a bit of thought into it, they wouldn’t have left him on his own. Not that he’s going to try again—he wants to be here, to some extent, he thinks—but he’s been alone for so very long and he can’t control what he does while in a flashback.

He tells that to Josh—Peter had apparently been here for a longer period of time than expected, struggling to handle an eating disorder, but had finally been deemed well enough to return to his life (with constant check-ins and therapy appointments). And while that was all good for him, there don’t seem to be any other viable roommates at the moment—those safe to share already have roommates, but Josh assures him that he’s first on the list for either a new admittance or a leftover patient when their roommate leaves.

Jimmy has another flashback that session, one of a noose around his throat that he is being forced to tighten. He doesn’t know where he is afterwards, or what’s going on, and a smiling man with dark hair who smells funny leads him to a bed and gives him a pill to swallow. Jimmy doesn’t care if it’s going to kill him. He swallows it, and falls asleep shortly after.

The days go on like that. Jimmy wakes up, struggles through a day lived half in the past, at some point panics badly enough that he has to be drugged to sleep, and so on. His eating habits slowly go downhill, only managing half of the daily protein shake that he’d always pushed to finish before.

And he’s really, genuinely trying—on days when he can find his voice, he talks in therapy. He starts attending group therapy, even if he only listens. He sits in the common room and watches TV with other patients as often as he can drag himself there. He tries to eat every meal, tries to talk to other people, tries to get better.

It’s those vile flashbacks throwing a wrench in everything, of course. One day during therapy, Josh theorizes that the flashbacks are so frequent and so awful due to a constant trigger, and when Jimmy wryly points out that he has a lot of trauma around medical situations, Josh grimaces and tells him to keep a trigger journal.

Which only serves to prove what Jimmy had suggested. His most common trigger is the smell of rubbing alcohol or hand sanitizer, as far as he can tell. And right after that is the sound of someone snapping on a pair of rubber gloves. Things aren’t looking all that hopeful until one day in therapy, when Josh mentions a very familiar name.

Jimmy’s drawing during the conversation, little squiggles and spirals around various words—emotions, mostly. It’s something that Josh had introduced fairly early on, a place for him to identify his emotions without getting too far in his head trying to think about them. Here, he can just write them down and move on with the knowledge that what Josh just said makes him feel anxious, or sad, or angry. And then, Josh can ask why that statement made him angry, and it’s easier to explain with a marker doodling in his hand.

“Now, TJ, I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but Major made arrangements for you to be here.”

That draws Jimmy up short. His marker point bleeds into the paper as he looks up, forces himself to speak. “Um—but, the hospital—with the, uh, the hold—”

“Right, but Major had been in brief contact with them—along with some other important people, I’m sure—to make sure you got the help you needed. He offered to take care of any bills, I think.”

Jimmy bites his lip, jots down a quick ‘anxious’.

“He wanted to make it clear that you don’t owe him anything,” Josh says, clearly noticing what Jimmy’s written. “And I know that for a fact—I talked with him yesterday. I asked if he would meet with you, and he said yes.”

And if that doesn’t send his blood pressure through the roof.

What on earth does Major want with him now? To make sure he’s mentally okay before sending him to prison?

Not that that’s turning out very well for him so far.

“I think meeting with Major might help you get a proper goal,” Josh hints, and Jimmy frowns. This whole time, Josh has been on him about getting a goal. Doesn’t he realize that Jimmy hadn’t expected to survive? Doesn’t he realize that Jimmy was stuck with no future but the one that Xornoth had planned for him, that he’d been willing to kill himself to escape it and it’s a little difficult to regain his footing after that?

“It’s up to you, but I think talking with Major will help a lot. I think he’ll be able to open up some opportunities for you.”

Well. It’s not like he has much else to do, does he?

#empires smp #empires smp fanfic #jimmy solidarity #empires superpowers au #esh au #mas writes #031224 #monthly reminder that i am not back yet #if i was back i'd delete that tag #i really didn't want to edit this one bc it's another of the heavy kind #the type that's just sort of emotionally exhausting to work on yk?#so if the editing is a bit lacking that's why #i really just skimmed it #in the main story we already vaguely know what happened in this fic #this is just the description of all of it from jimmy's pov rather than just what we had heard #in bits and pieces #lmk what you think!#love you guys

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orcelito · 6 months

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ooooookay so i havent seen anyone on tumblr talk about this directly yet so i figured i'd make a post linking to ppl talking about it. im not personally involved, but since this is an artist i recognize & see around, i figure ppl have the right to know

so uh. long story short. @/valdrickvile on here is kinda uhhhhhh not someone you'd wanna interact with, maybe.

^ this thread goes into it

& in case anything happens to the tweets, here's the big document that goes into it. ive read thru a good amount of it and uh........... yeah.

im not sharing this as a call to harass the people involved (Please Dont) but just. people have a right to know. so pls just block and move on.

#speculation nation #adding the disclaimer there. i am NOT doing this as some toxic callout post or anything.#there's just some... really bad shit in there lol & it makes me personally very uncomfortable with interacting with his stuff anymore #so. people deserve to know.#i contemplated posting this in main tag but decided against it. bc i really dont wanna poke the hornet's nest lol #but for my followers. Here You Go.#twitter goers have probably seen this already but i havent seen this on tumblr yet (aside from a vague mention of it that alerted me to it)#had to dig. ended up getting this post from someone in my server sldkjfsldkfj #SO. sharing so u guys dont have to dig for it.#i spent too long reading thru all these screenshots and just. eugh.

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un-pearable · 1 year

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“ohhh nya actually had water connections all along. actually she loved it and-“ no!!! literally no. why would that be more interesting than an elemental who had absolutely zero thoughts about their element and spent so much of her time in the beginning of the show outright rejecting the idea that powers were necessary to be important and heroic and then had a hard time connecting with her element when she desperately needed to. she could not have cared less about water as a concept, it did not come easy to her, literally HOW is that a less interesting concept than the most generic character trait an element-themed show can have

#ITS LITERALLY HER ARC why am i so steamed about this #sry i am vaguing about a fic on main i am annoyed and although nya is not a top fave i adore this part of her so much #text✨#ninjago #nya ninjago #when will the nya tag return from the war

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enhanced-operatives-division · 1 month

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for the songs stuff Don't worry I'd love to go listen to them in the future >:] BUT ALSO.. feel free to drop the junper playlist id love to see that :eyes:

That calms my mind a lot abt the song requests tysm ^^

ANYWAYS!!!!!!! I technically have 2 Juniper playlists but one of them is my main one filtered down to just him & his villain arc, here's the main one here (I've had it FOREVER):

I really need to put it into character arc order but alas I have not yet..

#aughh i have a REALLY dumb mental block that if I'm even vaguely considered as annoying in a fandom even ONCE i can no longer interact #and ieytd is so near an dear to me that i am SO SCARDT of that happening #it's part of the reason i lowk restrain myself from posting too much i digress #im just silly #anyways!! sorry for the mental issue from me have a juniper headcanon:#idk but i always thought he was polish/polish decent like his mom moved to america or something #like the way he talks abt his family it's like they were no-names before his stardom and idk....i think it could be interesting...#i digress #i don't think im gonna main tag this post but i may put the play list in my pinned #just uhh #john juniper #asks

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elftwink · 1 year

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saw a video about 2 player ttrpgs and one of them was like "this one's about a pretend marriage" and i was like oh? and i looked it up on itch (eyes on the prize, fyi) and it's 50% as of right now and i was like OH? and i bought it immediately & ive read most of it and i am a big fan. and i KNOW that i have friends who would have fun playing it (it's a 2 player or 4 player game; the 4 player variant has 2 fake couples) but asking them is going to be so cringe. yeah we're gonna make up people and pretend to be them and then pretend to pretend to get married and the characters when they start their pretending they're gonna be like "oh we don't have any romantic feelings towards each other this is strictly plot" but then (get this) they will start to develop real feelings for each other. and we're gonna act it out together and pretend to be them but don't worry! we have no romantic feelings towards one another. this is strictly plot. when WE (irl) pretend to be in love it's actually platonic, unlike the people who we are pretending to be to each other. so do you have like 2-5 hours you wanna dedicate to that next week

and the worst part is that's 100% what i want. like i have roleplayed romance before with friends it is literally not a big deal because the whole point of roleplay is that the character ISN'T you. but with a fake relationship the crushing weight of dramatic irony hovers behind me

#i do want to play it though it seems fun. i actually think it would be more fun to do the 4 player variant #just bc like. to me fake dating is all about the audience. the way you act alone vs in public #it's about the drama. the show. having other people to bounce of off in rp i think benefits that #eh. im overthinking it i'll get over myself & bring it up. i at least wanna talk about it to people even if we don't intend to play it #i also kinda think you could use the game as more of a writing prompt than a roleplaying game if you wanted?#like. ideally you're still have 2 or 4 people who have a character they mainly control #and you'd like. co-write a story by hashing out responses to each card (which is the main game mechanic) & writing it down #but you would lose some of the imo more like... silly (affectionate) parts of the game?#because some of it is really about the improvisational aspect of both ttrpgs and the fake dating trope #but i still think it would be really fun. and i have done a lot of text-based roleplay before #so i am biased towards it just in general.#i also think you could probs play with 3 players with slight bending of the rules and in and out of game acceptance of polya relationships #esp because the setting is like. vaguely period piece fantasy nobility. you go to fancy parties and shit #i feel like those people had very complicated love lives i think a throuple would be fine #also We Are Playing Pretend #good idea generator #unrelated but did wtf when did they update the post editor the tags are so ugly LOL

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lumen-tellus · 3 months

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[Constellation, 'Florist of Afterwords and Afterwards' sponsors 1001 coins.]

hey so is it cringe to design a constellation form/self insert or

DESIGN NOTES TO IGNORE THE CRINGE!!

colors tbd; i mean, i always design my avatars with a pink-purple-white scheme, but some of the design elements for this one are really specific in my head with equally specific colors that unfortunately clash with that scheme if i try to incorporate it all, so. Final Scheme Colors TBD ww

frankly the whole outfit design is kinda tbd because all i had in mind when drawing the concept art was "Lots of Flowers" and "Long Trailing Fabric, Maybe A Big Poofy Skirt" so. mm.

all the flower-loopy things, minus the ones on the sleeves, are supposed to be modified chinese knots

the loops attached to the flower headpiece are feathers and a string of prayer beads (or rosary beads, still a bit undecided) respectively

yes, the loops purposefully resemble halos.

my notes (badly) mention it, but the gold rings on the clothes are inspired by the rings typically seen on a monk's staff. yes i am pulling All the religion-adjacent symbols into this design, that's just what i like in clothes apparently ww

#angel draws a thing #angel reads orv #i am Not putting this in the main orv tag it's only vaguely related also i am partly dying of cringe how does kdj Do This #fun point but i actually have two constellation forms in mind bc i said so + if u can have more than one modifier i can have more forms

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