#tomorrow won't come for those without

[somekindofsentience]

tomorrow won't come for those without, or exploring disconnection in the procession of mental illness and trauma

SPOILER? WARNING: This analysis assumes you have played the game's noise ending at least once. I'll provide screengrabs of things where I can. I do believe it's a masterpiece of a game, and would highly recommend it.

CONTENT WARNING: Discussions and allusions to suicide, severe mental illness, grief and religious trauma/criticisms of religion.

Tomorrow won't come for those without (TWC for short) is really... confusing. To the extent where I've got a notebook with pasted cut-outs of dialogue and imagery simply to try and... understand it.

As with much of the things I write about, I don't think it's designed to be understood - etherane's work often revolves around very personal and complex depictions of mental illness, as is evident from the hello charlotte series, so this is to be expected.

I want to discuss Rem, celestials and the Dithyrambs in this, saving conversations of Mari and the Choir for when I better understand it.

Rem is not human, he's a celestial - this is revealed in the noise ending, where he melts into his true form. We can also determine what type of celestial Rem is, from the way his form manifests.

Domain: Shadow; The Eldest. Distorts continuity, converting affected areas into liminal spaces.

Now, at first, I spent much of my time trying to associate these cards (and as such, the Celestials) to specific mental illnesses, but I realised it didn't work. While 'Domain: Post-Truth' (Card Type 3) could be associated with PTSD and 'Domain: Thighs' (Card Type 12) could be associated with body dysmorphia, many cards do not fit a specific mental illness, and much of them instead reference dissociation or other specific symptoms. It's somewhat implied Mari had the celestial present in Card Type 12.

It makes sense for a different universe to identify mental illness in a different way, considering there's little evidence that the characters have information on "pre-humanity". Instead of our current system surrounding mental health, the Choir demonises Celestials, and attempts to 'purify' them.

One particular line during the noise ending stands out to me.

"Tell me, how do I stop the noise in my head?"

Ori is not, by any means, a stable character. That's not to say Rem is stable, but Ori is somewhat less rational, losing his mind over the Choir and his Rosary. He devotedly follows the Conductor up until the noise ending, where he loses his grip on purity and reality, wanting to stay in the 'Dark' and '...play in the forest', rejecting the suppression of creativity by the Conductor.

The Dithyrambs is the noise in Ori's head - somewhat implied to be caused by the celestial. When Ori first wakes up, the Rosary insists that he must "...find the source of the Dithyrambs," perhaps implying that the Rosary is corrupt in the same way Ori and the Choir are, although it does not state to destroy the source. This noise causes Ori a lot of pain.

Alright. That is my discussion of the actual evidence present in the game. The next section is going to be a lot of personal speculation, on what I feel the game is representing.

I compare the relationship between Ori and Rem to that of Charles and Scarlett in Hello Charlotte 3, although it is framed differently. Instead of Rem being portrayed as horrific and irrational, Rem is scared, small; humanised, distrustful.

I believe that Scarlett Eyler and Rem represent fundamentally the same thing - intrusive thoughts, anxiety and OCD. Unlike Scarlett, who is fixated on tormenting Charles, Rem's representation of this manifests toward himself, and his desire to be caged for safety.

Fundamentally, OCD is a disorder surrounding fear. As much as it feels like your brain just, absolutely fucking hates you, it's as scared as you are. In a similar way, Rem is terrified of the liminal hotel that he and Ori reside in, and he's terrified of the outside world. He responds by shutting himself away - rather than Ori's desire to reach the end of the veils, Rem begins the game locked in a bathroom, and must be coaxed out.

Rem is incredibly "human" for a nonhuman being. Humanisation of intrusive thoughts is an interesting concept, especially considering the demon Scarlett Eyler was in HC3. Rem is far more disconnected from Ori, far more skeptical of the world around them. Rem isn't there to punish, but more to question and doubt, contrasting with Ori's inherently trusting nature.

Hmm. I feel like I haven't properly explained it, but I hope it somewhat makes sense.

Despite that, this is just my own interpretation of it, and I don't feel it really aligns with the game, necessarily. It's just me. lol.

song i listened to while writing:

I enjoy playing TWC with the BGM turned down and this song playing. It makes me feel pure, like my regrets can be washed off. I suppose that's not the point of TWC LMAOO.

[shishkos]

some requests from ma friends and subbs,, don't really like this piece. ..

¹ Connie - Steven Universe

² Advine - Gummy and the Doctor

³ Maya - Ongezeling

⁴ Phill - Герои Энвелла (Heros of Envell)

⁵ Mary - Tomorrow won't come for those without ■■■■

and artsona doodles + pic for intro

[pankocrisps]

i love my horror rpg men BISEXUAL and CATHOLIC.

[chiiorio]

I have a love hate relationship with this artwork of mine

[hakainasaysstuff]

I'm thinking now...I should've switched them

[tamen000]

He kinda crooked but whatever

[bichikichi]

Tomorrow won't come for those without was a nice game :))

[gamingsugoi]

tomorrow won't come for those without ██████ Gameplay Full Game PC

tomorrow won't come for those without ██████ By etherane walkthrough part 1 and until the ending will include the full gameplay on PC. This video is recorded in 1080p 60FPS on PC. You can complete this game easy. I will show you how to play, watch and learn. If you enjoyed the video, please visit my youtube channel and leave a like and subscribe. It really means a lot!

[demaparbat-hp]

Almost

[prophet-of-thedigital]

Tomorrow wont come for those who are obsolete!!!!!!

[myersesque]

curly's dialogue from the last one and then another (the how fish is made dlc used to promote mouthwashing), because i feel like it's an interesting insight:

it's easy to get on this boat when you have to. you say to yourself, this is just temporary. just until i get what i need. got bigger things planned! then suddenly you're one year in, five years. ten. first i couldn't stand the constant, constant noise. now i can't sleep without it. a lot of things can't follow you out here. but it also means the outside world moves on without you. won't even notice until it's too late... easy to get on, hard to leave.

do you want to hear a joke? three men are in the hospital. the first man cries "i lost both my hands, they told me i'll never work again!" - the second man wails "i lost both my legs, they told me i'll never work again!" - the third man? he rejoices "i lost my hearing, they'll never be able to tell me i'm fired again!" hahahah! good one, huh?

next comes spite. first it stares back at you in the mirror. then it's those around you. they're wearing your face, and you theirs... you know. he joined because of me. what were the words i used? ah, right. "it's a great opportunity. easy money, just a trip or two." someone else's words in my mouth. hey, worked on me as well, right? change hurts, but worse things fester for a long time. i told him as much. i tried, i really did. we're defined by our past, but not slaves to it. we said tomorrow will be different. today would be the last day. the last one. the last one and then another. and another, and another, and another...

[somekindofsentience]

if i had a dollar for every time there was an older sister of a brother, of whom one of his names has 'Ori' in it, called Mari in an RPGmaker indie horror game where Mari is dead, I would have two dollars.

which is actually really weird. really really weird????

[majinbangus]

happy birthday little simon

"You're inviting me to the lad's birthday?"

At this point in time, he kind of expects to get a knock on his door more times in a week than he ever did during the entire duration he's lived in this flat. Most weekdays- when you leave for work and drop off your lad at school- the boy likes to make a quick stop to say good morning. It's become somewhat of a routine. Sometimes it's a sleepy greeting, but little Simon is a cheerful child who has taken an odd liking to him, and vice versa.

"If you can make it."

Then there's you. The sunny child's mother. An easy presence to be in. Refreshing like the ocean breeze during a calm day. Something addictive he can't get enough of.

"When is it?"

This is new. You switched up the routine by coming a second time at midday after he returned from the gym, freshly showered. You faired better when he opened the door compared to that one time. Granted, he was fully dressed, but it was a little disappointing; however, you did have a reason for visiting.

He could tell by the tension surrounding your eyes. Focused like you were on a mission. He supposes you technically are on one. Inviting Simon to your boy's birthday.

"Saturday."

He furrows his brows. "This Saturday?"

"Yes."

"That's tomorrow."

"I know it's a bit last minute, but..." You sigh, running a frustrated hand over your face, frowning at the ground. "No one RSVP'd."

"No one?" Simon nearly growls, offended on the lad's behalf. "What about his friends? The little fuckers don't want to come?

You purse your lips, crossing your arms. "We sent out invites to all his classmates, but ever since we moved, Simon's been having trouble making friends."

"He has trouble?"

"It's not his fault!" You snap before grimacing, lowering your voice, "Sorry, it's just... Simon tries to make friends, but kids are mean, you know? They're young, but they already have their established friend groups and exclude him because he's new."

New. Different. Any reason along those lines. It doesn't matter to kids. Or it does, and that's why they're unjustly cruel to their peers. He understands. Simon grew up with many of his schoolmates avoiding him for being 'weird', not knowing his home life. Tommy had 'friends' but they weren't exactly a good crowd.

"So you want me to come?" Simon asks, and he's met with a tired expression he's never seen on you before—not even when you were sick and weak and needed to be looked after. You look as if you hold the weight of the world on your shoulders, about to collapse.

"He tries not to let it get him down, but if no one shows up..." You bite your lip, a flash of pain in your eyes at the thought of your son hurting. "Please? He likes you, and even if you're the only one who shows up, it'll mean a lot to him."

Simon looks at you. Really looks at you and takes in the desperation in your eyes. You look as if you'd do anything to convince him to come. Even fight him. Tie him up. Anything to drag him to your son's party. You'd probably do it, mother bear that you are.

But you don't need to do that. You won't ever have to fight another battle. Not if he can help it. Simon will fight your battles for you from now on.

"I'll come."

You have his devotion. You and your boy.

"Really?" You brighten up, the hopeless look in your eyes washing away.

He nods. "I'll bring a mate with some brats around your lad's age. They're friendly. They'll like him."

"Will they? Are you sure your friend will be okay with it?"

"They will, and the bastard owes me one, anyway."

No, he doesn't, but Johnny will pull through. Him and his seemingly endless amount of nieces and nephews, although he'll only need to bring a few.

A wide smile breaks out on your face, bright like the sun, and oh- that's where your boy got his grin. Without warning, you leap into his arms, forceful enough to make him grunt. You hug him, burying your face into his shoulder with Simon's hands hovering at your waist, fingers twitching.

It's rare to catch him off guard. So many new sensations fill his senses. Your warmth, surrounding him like a blanket; your scent, sweet and calming with a freshness to it that makes him want to bury his face into your neck and inhale. Or maybe he would bite into your soft skin to see if you taste as pleasant as you smell. If he wasn't so controlled, he probably would sate his curiosity right now.

You stiffen, your body tensing as if you're aware of what you've done, and move to back away, but Simon stops you, resting his hands on your hips. You gently melt your body against his again.

"Thank you, Simon," You softly murmur into his shoulder. It's a quiet sound, but he hears it and lets his arms wrap you in a full hug. You melt against his body, sighing. He doesn't think he's ever felt so warm before. "And just so you know... it means a lot to me, too, that you're coming."

-

Simon: > Johnny

Johnny: > Yeah, lt?

Simon: > You busy tomorrow?

Johnny: > Yes? > I have a date with that bonnie piano teacher I told you about > ... why

Simon: > Cancel it > Have something I need you to do

Johnny: > Work related?

Simon: > No

Johnny: > Then why can't you do it?

Simon: > I'm already on it > Cancel your date

Johnny: > Then why do you need me? > I'm not gonna cancel my date you dobber

-

"Cannae believe ye made us come all the way to fuckin' Manchester. Do y'know how many fuckin' hours ye made us drive, Ghost? The wee ones didnae like gettin' up so arse fuckin' early, either-"

"Shut up, Johnny. You owed me one."

"I didnae?!"

A giggle from Soap's bonnie piano teacher. "You're accent thickens when you're upset, John."

"Today was supposed to be our date!"

"It's not so bad. I still get to spend time with you."

"... Guess not, but I'll take you out proper tomorrow, promise."

"See, Johnny? Everyone wins."

"Awa’ an bile yer heid, Ghost."

-

Despite all his complaining, Johnny is a good guest and keeps the children entertained, playing the part of the fun uncle by letting the kids wrestle or play tag with him, not minding the grass stains as they roughhouse in the park. Currently, he's playing an informal football game with them—six vs. one. He's mostly blocking the ball from entering the goal, but it's still fun for all of them.

Little Simon is extra happy with his new friends. He's been smiling nonstop since they all introduced themselves, grin extra proud when he revealed his name.

("Like Uncle Simon's?"

"Yeah, he says it's a fine name!")

You also haven't stopped smiling ever since they arrived. Not quite as big as your boy's grin, but it still hasn't left. You and Soap's date get along swimmingly, too. He can already tell you'll be good friends with the teacher.

"Not gonna join them?"

Simon looks to see you standing next to him under the tree, watching the children as Soap 'misses' a shot from one of his nephews.

"Where's your friend?" He asks instead.

"Went looking for a bathroom." You gesture vaguely in the direction Soap's date disappeared off to. "So, not gonna play?"

He shakes his head. "Johnny's got it."

"Oh?" The suspiciously innocuous tone makes his eyes narrow. "Is it because he's the better footballer between you two?"

Simon slowly turns towards you, glaring with no real heat, but it still doesn't stop your panicked giggle when he takes a half step in your direction, making you back up against the tree. He gets closer and leans into your space, nearly brushing his front against yours. You audibly gulp, and Simon places a palm on the tree, hand right next to your head. He gets close to your face, watching your eyes widen then dart down to look at somewhere on the bottom half of his face before meeting his eyes again. You bite your lip.

"Repeat that for me, sweetheart." Simon growls softly, and you give a sharp, little inhale.

"U-um. I'd rather... not." Your voice comes out breathy, and you place a hand on his chest as if to stabilize yourself.

"I wasn't asking." He doesn't give you a chance to breathe, leaning in closer, and your fingers dig a little into his pec, making his muscles flex under your touch. "I'll say again: repeat that for me."

With nowhere to run, pinned to a tree, you tremble against his body, breathing heavily and barely able to meet his eyes, licking your lips. It takes you a moment to build up the nerve to speak with Simon surrounding your senses.

"I um... I um-"

"Simon, Uncle Johnny said to come play with us!"

Instantly, he backs away from you and turns around to see your boy running over. Behind him, he hears you exhale a quiet, little, "Fuck..."

Fuck, indeed.

He turns his attention to the lad once he comes to a stop in front of him. "Is that what he said?"

"Uh-huh! He said we're giving him trouble, and it'll make it more fair so he's not the only one guarding."

Simon looks over to where Johnny stands with the football held casually to the side between his arm and waist. The man smirks knowingly, glancing between you and Simon before giving a cheeky wave. He glares back. "I'll show him trouble."

"What did you say, Simon?"

He looks back at your boy. "Nothing. I'll come play."

The lad's eyes brighten with a celebratory cheer, grabbing his wrist and leading the way to the field. Simon looks back to see you better composed, if a little disheveled, but smiling nonetheless at the two like they're the only ones who matter.

-

After cake and presents, the children return to playing football with the new football that Soap gave as a present for little Simon, along with your boy wearing a jersey from the Scot's favorite team. A petty move from Soap, in Simon's opinion, but he'll let him have this one. He'll get your boy cheering for Man United soon enough.

The adults hang back in their own pairs. Soap and his date finally getting a moment to themselves, nibbling on cake and talking about whatever it is they talk about at the picnic table, and you and Simon are back under the tree, keeping a respectable distance between each other.

"Kid seems happy," Simon idly notes, watching your boy laugh and play with the younger MacTavish's. "You did good."

"Me?" You glance at him. "You were the one to bring a tiny tribe to Simon's birthday. Look at him. That smile is because of you."

"That smile is because you're a good mum," Simon states in a way that leaves no room for questions. "You were the one who made today happen. You gave your lad the birthday he deserved. He'll remember this."

Like how Simon remembers his mum doing her best to give him and Tommy the birthdays they deserved, no matter how small the celebration was.

You're looking at him as if you can't quite believe he's real, a cute, astonished look adorning your face. He's tempted to make a comment about it until you give a quiet, amazed laugh, reaching for his hand to give it a grateful squeeze. You don't pull away, and he doesn't let go.

"Even so, Simon had a great seventh birthday, and a lot of it is because of you. You did more than you had to- more than his father ever did! Bastard didn't even send a happy birthday text, son of a bitch." You exhale a heavy, calming breath. "But never mind that... What I'm trying to say is thank you. You didn't have to do what you did, and ever since we met, you've been really good to him."

You shoot him a teasing look. "What's your secret? Have a hidden family out there or something?"

A darker part of Simon is tempted to laugh. You're kind of right, in a messed up way, but he doesn't hold it against you. He hums, contemplating. "I had a nephew."

"Had?" The information takes another second to process. "Oh! I mean..."

"Don't have to say anything." Simon stares out to where the kids are playing. He imagines another boy running among them. Both younger and older than the children out in the field. Taken too young with no opportunity to grow. To live. He squeezes your hand. "He reminds me of him. Joseph. Would have been a couple years older than your lad by now, but I think they would have gotten along."

"Think so?" You send him a soft smile, stepping closer to hug his arm. "Tell me more about him?"

Simon looks at you, the warmth of your body pressed against him, and it suddenly feels like there's no one else in the world. There's just you and him under this tree, with your boy's laughter ringing like bells in the air, and that's when it hits.

Settle down... He's finally starting to get it, Tommy.

-

soap's piano teacher is something i want to write out, but idk if i'll get to it

[sweeterelease]

regulus needs someone to kiss. pandora got him into this stupid muggle romance novel and while he can admit it's good writing, all the kissing going on inevitable makes him remember his past experiences, experience. he can't get his brain to stop comparing every affectionate scene with the three-way incident he had with barty and evan in third year. it wasn't even a kiss for merlin's sake, just awkward lips and cheeks pressing against each other, honestly, what were they thinking?

anyway, now he can't help the memory coming back whenever the male lead grabs his partner's face in his hands, it's actually a problem. so he'll listen to dorcas' just kiss someone else, that way those bastards won't be your only reference. dorcas is always right, maybe it could work. the issue now is where in earth does he get someone to kiss him?

he'll figure it out tomorrow. now, dinner is ready and he'll do pretty much anything to get his mind off the book’s happenings for a bit. regulus came in later than usual, the great hall is filled and it's kind of hard to walk through the sea of people, so he bumps into someone's back. shit, a gryffindo— oh hi reg, are you looking for sirius?

regulus stares into james potters' eyes, the boyish grin, he ponders. do the cons outdo the pros in this situation? would the consequences be worth it? hmm. james calls his name a second time and waits patiently, after a couple of seconds without response his eyes wander around nervously.

would you like to kiss me? he finds himself asking, in the middle of a crowded room, with his friends waiting for him at his house's table and his older brother looking at him curiously from across the hall.

james blinks once, twice, three and four times. he clears his throat and sorry, don't think i caught that right? it sounds out of breath, regulus can't tell if it's a good or bad sign.

regulus repeats himself, not sure what's so difficult about a yes or no answer. he continues with i need, um— experience, regulus feels a growing blush at that, definitely not a good sign.

experience. james calls, it's then when regulus catches the deep crimson around the older's cheeks, nose, neck? merlin, it's everywhere. is it really that embarrassing to be asked for a kiss by regulus? well then.

right. i apologize for asking that was— hands wrap around regulus' neck to pull him up. he can't do much but melt into james' embrace and take his kiss.

regulus blinks, he expected james to kiss like he does pretty much anything else, big, loud, unapologetic, and without holding back. but this kiss is tender, a tentative brush of the lips, almost fragile, and he holds regulus like he's made out of glass, like he's sad it has to end. frankly, it's sweet.

james pulls back and stares into regulus eyes, searching. he's shaking, regulus notices, and it takes until his feet meet the ground again to recover from whatever spell this man has put him through, actually— he's not sure it's over quite yet.

was that 'experience' enough? james rasps, brown eyes now glued to regulus' lips. he snakes both hands up the taller's back to mirror the ones still holding his jaw, relishing in the shivers he feels erupting. regulus stares into james potters' eyes again, the slightly bruised lips, he ponders.

no.

[chippedshake]

Darry helping Pony out with some bullies and a six-year-old Ponyboy running up to him a week later with a comic in his hand, saying "Darry, Darry, look, he's just like you!"

And it's a Superman comic book, open to a page where he's fighting a villain and bringing some civilians to safety

"See? He's helping people like you helped me!"

Darry just laughing and ruffling his hair

"Sure, Pony, I'm Superman."

And going back to his homework

But Ponyboy won't let it go. He starts calling him Superman and gets Soda in on it. Two-Bit absolutely cackles the first time he hears it and instantly plays along. Then Johnny starts saying it too, maybe a bit as a joke, but also because he's thinking about how Darry helps him with his homework sometimes and helped scare those Socs away and gave him a hug when he found him in the lot. Steve starts once Darry grows up and actually starts looking like Superman and by the time Dally gets there, he doesn’t even question it.

Darry laughs at first. Jokes about it. Then he starts hearing people talking about Superman and thinks, for a second, that they're talking about him before he remembers that it's just his family that calls him that.

By the time Ponyboy's eight, no one remembers how it started, no one cares about how it started, it just is.

Then it's a Tuesday evening when Darry's twenty and he's getting home from ten hours of heavy-lifting and has to cook dinner and the bills are due and he feels like collapsing onto the couch and sleeping for three days, but he doesn't have the fucking time to sleep because Pony has to go to school and Soda has to not oversleep and they have to have something to eat for dinner and he needs to convince Johnny he can stay over and isn't a burden and Two-Bit can't be getting too drunk because he needs to graduate goddammit and Steve might be kicked out tonight and needs to have somewhere to sleep and Dally needs some sort of constant in his life and it's too much and Darry's just twenty, he can't do it anymore–

"Darry, Darry, look, he's just like you!"

And suddenly Ponyboy's hopeful eyes are looking up at him, seeing Superman instead of his big brother because he helped fight off some Socs.

But that isn't enough anymore. He can't just fight off some Socs and come home and do his seventh grade homework. He needs to somehow keep his family together, make sure they all have a place to sleep and food to eat. And he can't falter, can't fail for a second because he's Superman, and Superman is invincible. Doesn't feel pain. Doesn't get tired. Doesn't let anything get him down.

"Hey there, Darry. Everything good?" Steve walks into their house without knocking.

"Yeah, just a bit tired." Darry sits up from where he’d been leaning back on the couch. Can't be tired. Can't be weak. "You kicked out again?"

"Yeah. Cool if I hang out here tonight?" Darry nods, stifling a yawn as he gets up. "What's for dinner?"

"Uh..." He glances towards the kitchen, trying to remember what they have. "Not sure. I'll figure it out."

"Need anything from the grocery store?"

Darry shrugs. "I can get it myself."

"I don't mind. You look beat."

"I'm fine," Darry says instinctively.

Steve snorts. "Okay. Need anything? I'm gonna go buy some cigs anyway."

"Uh..." Darry opens the near-empty fridge and sighs. "Some spaghetti for tonight. Get some chicken, too, we'll make it tomorrow. And a couple apples so you idiots eat some fruit."

"Got it."

Darry starts digging around for his wallet.

"Don’t worry. S'on me. Still got some from when the old man kicked me out two weeks ago."

"Steve, I can't ask you to–"

"Then it's a good thing you ain't askin'."

They stare off for a few moments before Darry relents.

"Thanks, Steve."

Steve nods. "No problem, Superman." He gives a mock salute and walks out the door.

Darry stares at the empty doorway for a couple seconds before he snaps out of it and starts cleaning up in case the state decides to poke around. He knows it isn't sustainable. They can't go on like this forever, he can't take care of his brothers alone forever.

He knows he isn't really Superman.

But maybe if he lets himself get help, he doesn’t have to be.

[hakainasaysstuff]

"I quietly prayed that tomorrow would never come."