#recovery order

[lousydrawingsforgoodpeople]

[skidcd-megamix]

Have you ever imagined what Slim Shady's movelist would look like if he was hypothetically in GG?

SORRY IT TOOK ME A WHILE!! I had this one specific move in mind but I didn’t know how to visualize it and I completely forgot to make Slim Shady’s idle animation so ermmm ermm ermm u. Mm

This move is called

[ratwithhands]

Fun fact I used to consume a lot of Land of the Lustrous stuff.

Anyways this is one of my many Land of the Lustrous OCs, Vivianite. Mohs hardness of 1.5, dark green/blue in colour, and very old. Due to the nature of his weak composition, Vivianite can't actually do much of anything, and has had to live under very specific conditions.

Vivianite wears a tight full body uniform to hold any chipped pieces in place, and is kept in a box stuffed with loose cloth to ensure minimal damage. If he comes into contact with light, he begins to oxidize and darken, so he's kept in a windowless room with curtains over the entrance.

That's all to say he's isolated and bored. He spends much of his time inactive, but he'll jump at the opportunity for conversation if there's someone around. Certain gems visit him to chat, get guidance, or give him the recent news. A task given to some gems is to clear his room of dust, and maybe bring him some books if he's up for it.

Vivian sees himself as an older sibling/friend to many of the other gems, and as such he's very keen on providing a listening ear and giving advice where possible to those who need it. He's essentially emotional support in a can.

Other notes/details:

not all gems know Vivian exists! He's hidden away so most gems wouldn't see him unless they were actively looking for him. A lot of the older ones know about him, but the younger ones don't

Rutile is endlessly tired of having to glue him back together so often due to his softness, which is part of why he has a tighter uniform to keep all his broken pieces in place

Vivian struggles with walking, he tends to be slow and stumbly

the tanks in Vivian's room are for jellyfish. Gems who are sent to clean his room have to switch out the jellyfish too. They're there to provide a faint light source so he doesn't go completely inactive

Vivian, despite living in a box in the dark, has a lot of technical knowledge about things as a result of millennia of going through the library collection. He' a living encyclopedia and can usually offer some answers if a gem has questions on a particular subject

his internal structure is basically a lot of shards stuck together like fibers, so he does minor repairs on himself by affixing strands of his hair into empty spots. He's had his fingers repaired and replaced this way often

In the few instances where Vivian has gone outside, he has an abnormally high amount of energy as a result of his inclusions being able to work at full capacity in the light

If I remember anything else I'll add it, anyways have a good day!

[torturedauthors]

“hey, A.”

“i don’t know if you can hear me, let alone remember me.”

“the doctors say that if you don’t w- if you don’t wake up within a week, then the chances you will… decreases.”

“i’m sorry.”

“i know this is my fault.”

“if i just wasn’t messing around, then none of this would’ve-“

“what i’m trying to say is…”

“you shouldn’t have saved me.”

“it should be me in that bed. not you.”

—————————

“hi A.”

“you’ve been like this for eight days now. they wanted you to wake up yesterday.”

“they- they said that they’re considering removing the life support.”

“i don’t like the idea of that tube being removed from your throat. but it’s for the best.”

“i know it must be uncomfortable.”

—————————

“i’m sorry, A.”

“they’re removing it now.”

…

“B..? don’t leave me..”

[il-predestinato]

george is me fr

[whatisitreallylike]

I would like to propose a new word: Siblow

Like a widow... but it's the sibling version. I will never class myself as an only child, but I am now the only LIVING child.

No one talks about how complex sibling grief is.

Socially, there's no easy way to say "Yes, I had a sibling, they died." without raising questions.

But I also don't want to say "No, I don't have any siblings."

So I propose "I'm a siblow."

[struggling-to-find-home]

Listen.

Look me in the metaphorical eyes and listen.

You do not need to forgive your abuser to heal.

Ypu do not need to confront your abuser to heal.

You do not need to let go of your emotions to heal.

Hell, you do not even need to have access to the direct memories of trauma in order to heal.

Healing is about YOU. It's about your feelings, your actions, your life. All of the consequences of abuse are woven into your life already; it doesn't matter what the abuser says or does, because healing from abuse is not about getting some sort of new and improved all-knowing attitude and a healthy relashionship with whoever hurt you. It's about taking those patterns which currently hurt you in their place and letting them go.

And if anyone tells you otherwise, fuck em.

[angelmush]

tomorrow i will make a rich and creamy cardamom custard and serve it with syrupy stewed plums and a spread of almond frangipane and maybe i'll also make some thick buttery slabs of seared salmon and braised leeks and eat it with herby lemon yogurt, but i'm not sure

[rivilu]

Trickster mythic 10. bad / good end.

Bonus little outfit:

[uncanny-tranny]

If there is one thing so many people need to deeply and truly internalize, it is that fear isn't love. You shouldn't be afraid of saying, "no" to somebody, even if you deeply love or care for them. You shouldn't fear what will happen if you are unable to do something for somebody.

Fear is not love. Fear is not patience, respect, or admiration. You can love and be loved without feeling afraid for your well-being, safety, or livelihood. The fact that so many of us are taught that to be loved is to be subjugated and fearful is dangerous, and if that is something you struggle with, you deserved better. You deserve better. Fear is not love.

[idolbound]

I know I joke about the lyrium addiction a little but in all seriousness, the Chantry truly leashes those who take up the Templar oath, knowing that it has addictive properties, and the longer they use it, the harder it is to come off it and survive. Not only is the Chantry the most powerful acting religious institution in Thedas, but it has a strong military arm, full of many who are religious zealots, serving to control (and in some cases, eliminate) mages. Some do enlist without necessarily having that as their intention, rather looking to protect people as opposed to kill them for existing (and, I will argue, that was Meredith's intention, given how she saw what happened with her untrained mage sister, and how many people, besides their family, died as a result -- her desire for power and control over the Gallows and mages in Kirkwall developed later, once she ascended the ranks and was able to make changes to the existing system).

In this way, Templars are at the mercy of the Chantry, which is, in turn, at mercy of the lyrium supply. Without adequate supply from the dwarves mining lyrium, the Templar Order faces destruction, and rather quickly. Every knight is an addict, only able to access their magic-suppressing powers because of their access to lyrium. While I do believe it would not be an instantaneous loss of power, given how much drugs do require a withdrawal period to be removed, it would gradually cripple the Order's ability to control and counteract the magic of mages directly.

And so, this supply is crucial, and without it, templars would fall (and we saw this, with the limited supplies during the Mage-Templar rebellion after the events of Kirkwall and into the timeline of the Inquisition, and how templars turned to red lyrium sources under Samson and Corypheus).

For Meredith, who never consumed red lyrium, but was nevertheless under its control (hearing its 'song'), Meredith was, by and large, addicted to power. Already a life-long (regular) lyrium addict and already paranoid because of her childhood trauma and resultant Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, she sought out anything that could give her an advantage over the perceived growing threat against the city of Kirkwall that she needed to stop; the idol made her paranoia worse, and in my opinion, made her experience auditory and visual hallucinations - she was never able to tear herself away from it, or understand that after 3 years of being in its presence, it was driving her mad.

While we do not know who exactly connected her to Bartrand Tethras, (and there are even more implications now, after the information we learned from the post-game slides in Veilguard) we do know that she spent a "great deal" of coin to pay for the idol, and then to have it fashioned into a great sword. She believed, in my view, that this would give her greater power and control over the situation. If regular lyrium could suppress magic (and do it powerfully so in the hands of experienced Templars like herself), then red lyrium could grant her powers above and beyond what she had (without knowing the deep secrets that the Idol itself held within it, or what the impact of the blight had on the lyrium itself).

Ultimately, the two-fold of addiction - to lyrium and to power - is responsible for Meredith's fall from grace. It is a never-ending desire to seek out fulfilment, paired with existing issues that have created the perfect storm; she slowly but surely unravels, but it is the Chantry explosion that acts as the catalyst to her insanity, taking the most extreme option available through invoking the Rite of Annulment in the name of justice for the people of Kirkwall (as justification), to then, in the end, seeing the Champion (regardless if they helped her and the templars, or if they sided with the mages) as the betrayer or the last person standing in her way of true ascension to controlling everything.

Addiction is at the heart of Meredith's tenure as Knight-Commander, and it is what brings her to her end.

[featherymainffins]

Peace and love on planet Earth but if I see one more post NOT about recovery and, in fact, encouraging eating disorders in the ed recovery tag, I might just turn into a chimpanzee and tear everyone's faces off.

[kaibutsushidousha]

What is peak Ashiya Douman comedy to you?

[furiousgoldfish]

like/reblog if you are intent on never forgiving your abusers, never want to see them or hear from them again, and your life is better for it.

[b0amagination]

Tastes of Whumptober: Day 30

Let's see what Payge and Nicolai have been up to! We met them on Day 12, which this post references and continues from! They also showed their faces on Day 16 and Day 26, should you want to see more of them <3

Content warnings for: the slightest moment of nail whump, creepy whumper, and painful wound cleaning.

Recovery

Payge had been confined to the basement bedroom for… two days now. This was the third. He awoke the same way each morning so far. The same padded cuffs kept him in bed on the mattress by his hands and feet, only mercifully allowing him to change positions.

The first day, Nicolai had sat down and trimmed his nails.

“Of course I have to, dove. I know you’ll come up with a thousand keen solutions, and it’s my job to think of each one before you do.” They gestured for his hand then, and he handed it over reluctantly. 

“I wasn’t thinking of that…” They trimmed his thumb down, leaving the thinnest sliver of white at the edge.

“Of course not. But you would have.” The pointer nail was cut even closer, if there was such a possibility. 

“For Christ’s sake, leave a bit of nail! They aren’t used to being so short.”

“Don’t ask my permission for your delinquency, Payge. I wouldn’t have to take such precautions if you would accept my care.”

“I am, aren’t I?” He protested, false hope in his voice.

“You should have seen yourself on the table.”

A full-body shudder shook his hand and caused them to clip too far. 

“Come on!” He pulled his hand away and observed the nick as it slowly wept a single drop of blood. Nicolai snatched it back and continued their work.

“You’ve had worse. On the table, for example.” They had the foresight to grip his wrist hard before he flinched again. 

“Forgive me for never wanting to remember that.”

“Well, I don’t plan on letting you forget.”

He did remember. Every night. Payge was a side sleeper now. 

The second day, Nicolai changed his bandages.

“Sure you don’t want to look? You could have supervised access to a mirror.”

“I’m sure.” 

“Well, then.” 

They turned on the tap, slowly adjusting the temperature before filling a bowl. A rag was dipped in, wrung out, and pressed over the bandages to moisten them before unwrapping.

“Aren’t you grateful I’m not ripping this off with the scabs, dove?”

“...I am. Thank you,” Payge whispered.

The dressings only tugged mildly at a few stubborn parts. Probably where they cut deeper, he thought, and just as quickly shoved the idea away. A separate rag pressed against his bare skin, starting at the edge of the wound. 

He caught a glimpse of it at some point: stained various shades of brown, red, and something on the yellow spectrum.

“It’s not infected, is it?” An infected wound of that size… it spelled a death sentence without medical intervention.

“No, no. Just severe.” 

Each fiber of the cloth was tangible as it pressed him into the back of the chair, scratching whenever Nicolai adjusted it.

“It’s looking lovely so far. Red suits you.”

“My mom always said it clashed.” She had, really. Always said he looked better in neutrals. Burgundy or merlot, orange blossom or cream. Not red.

“Nonsense. Nothing could clash with you, dove.” 

“Sweet-talking me gets you nowhere.”

“I quite enjoy it, actually. Sweet-talking you is a favorite pastime of mine.” The rag drifted over his collarbones, tracing them absentmindedly, before it returned to the bowl to soak. After they were done, Nicolai would disappear upstairs and bleach them, rinse, and fold them up like new for next time. They’d made him help before.

A brown bottle emerged from the cabinet and tipped onto a third cloth.

“Oy, you told me peroxide only makes scars worse.” Payge held up a hand and pointed at the offender, as if it could be anything else.

“Yes. Put that hand down.”

“Did you forget? You try to minimize a lot of those.” A glare told him he was pushing his luck.

“You’d be a fool to think I worked so long and hard on nothing. I wouldn’t do that to you without reason.” 

He held his tongue on the truths that itched to spew forth, too aware of his current position. 

He’d felt the burn of that the rest of the day, especially when Nicolai refused to rinse it with water. Even the unharmed skin around seemed inflamed.

And this morning Payge was still wearing the shirt they’d dressed him in. Breathable, flexible fabric that zipped up to his neck in the back, still tight enough to compress his torso. He could reach it if he tried, but it would be a chore. The point of the barrier, of course.

He was stuck in bed until they came down and unlocked the cuffs. But it wasn’t all bad.

The windowless room could only be lit by the switch next to the door. At all other times, a projection shone on the popcorn ceiling. A window into a fishtank, towers of kelp swaying as different species swam by. A simple night light in the nearest outlet created the illusion, shooting light out when it didn’t detect another source.

It was strangely comforting. 

So long as he glanced up at it from his side.

[ehhgg-art]

a little something about putting yourself back together