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#They both have brain damage

write-it-motherfuckers · 10 months

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Hello Darling ones, as I'm sure a lot of you are aware, a few days ago I had to take the train somewhere and subsequently was unable to post during that time. What I never told you though, was why, mainly because the details were still being ironed out.

To keep an exceedingly long and exasperatingly drama filled story short, I am now taking care of two adult cats after the death of their former owner, and will be doing so on a permanent basis, since their ownership was officially written over to me as of half an hour ago.

Due to some serious health concerns for one of the cats, I've decided to take today off so that I can take them to one of the special vets a few towns over. Something I was unable to do before hand, as I wasn't given access to their paperwork until I gained full legal guardianship.

As of right now, I'm sitting outside with two very nervous cats, waiting for the taxi to show up, and I just wanted to let you all know what was happening before I got on the train and lost phone service again.

I'm sorry for being unable to write anything for you today, and I hope you understand my need for urgency in this.

I'll do my best to write things up early for you all tomorrow, I promise. Please take care of yourselves and stay safe Darling ones 🖤

#mod speaks #one of the cats has an untreated heart condition and possible brain damage and both have extreme anxiety. so I am Big Stressed right now #Do I know how I'm going to pay for all of this? No. Am I still going to do everything in my power to make sure they don't get put down #just because they're a bit of a handful? Fuck yeah I am #My babies now.

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werewolves-are-real · 6 months

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Time Travel Temeraire snippet

At first, Laurence assumes he's dead.

It's a natural conclusion. He remembers dying, after all.

He and Tenzing were at a function hosted by Wellesley. They were mostly there to support the dragons. Temeraire had long abandoned them to quarrel with Perscitia in the courtyard, with half a dozen ferals watching like it were a jousting match. Wellesley had laid out his grounds to allow room for dragons and men to mingle, but a good portion of the guests retreated inside to avoid the raised voices of the dragons.

Laurence wonders how Temeraire felt about that, later. About not seeing.

He was stabbed. He barely remembers it – just a quick pulse of pain in his chest, looking down. Red blooming over his coat.

Then he was on the floor. People screamed. Tenzing appeared, grappling with a tall and finely-dressed man; he used a dinner-knife to punch a hole in the stranger's throat, in a fantastic spray of blood, and dropped the body at once to kneel by Laurence's side.

He remembers Wellesley barking orders – bandages, water, a hot knife. Have to cauterize it, he'd shouted. Keep pressure -

But Tenzing never spoke. Just pressed down on Laurence's chest, over the wound, without particular panic. Laurence still remembers the grim resignation on his face; Tenzing knew what was coming. Laurence was glad to have him there when he died.

Then Laurence woke up.

The world sways in a familiar way, a rhythmic motion that Laurence registers on a soul-deep level. He's on a ship. But why? Where is Tenzing, Temeraire? Why would they put him on a ship?

“I think the fever's breaking,” says a voice. A naval doctor, disheveled and salt-stained, with long scars down his bared arms. “Oh, and awake too!”

“Well thank Christ,” says another man. One Laurence recognizes.

It's Captain Gerry Stuart – but he looks different, younger than the last time Laurence saw him, with smooth skin and dark curly hair.

Gerry died two years ago.

“Well, Lieutenant! You gave us a scare – how are you feeling?” Gerry asks.

“It's Admiral,” Laurence corrects rather than all the other things he does not dare ask. He hates the title foisted upon him; but it's at least more comprehensible than Lieutenant, and he clings to that rather than demand where did you come from.

Stuart throws back his head to cackle, though the concern doesn't leave his face. “Still perhaps a bit feverish, I think!”

“That might be the laudanum,” says the doctor, also amused. “Why don't you sleep a bit more, Lieutenant?”

“But where is Temeraire? Or Tenzing?”

“I can only assume you had some very vivid dreams,” Stuart chuckles. “You were babbling and babbling for Temeraire – isn't that a ship?”

“Perhaps the flagship of his fleet,” suggests the doctor, and Stuart laughs again. “Get some rest, Mr. Laurence. Holler if you need me.”

They both exit the sick-berth. Laurence stares blankly at the door.

What?

Laurence pats his chest. No wound. He looks down, startled by the pale thinness of his fingers, his youth-soft skin.

Well; not soft. Callouses cover his hands. But even these patterns are different – hard skin in places where he would hold a sword, or pulls ropes. His hands should be more wrinkled, yes; but these callouses faded years ago.

“Where am I?” he asks when the doctor returns. “And what is the year?”

“The year? 1793. You don't remember?”

1793. Laurence was 19 in 1793. A lieutenant for two years, on the Shorewise.

The doctor narrows his eyes. “What's my name, lad?”

Laurence swallows. His stomach churns; for the life of him he can't remember.

The doctor rushes off to retrieve the captain.

_____________________________

Laurence is diagnosed with brain fever, and partial amnesia. Gerry is horribly guilty about laughing, earlier; Laurence could not care less. He is given strict orders to stay on bed-rest for another week, in hope his strength will recover – and his mind.

Laurence doesn't think he'll have any issues working – he's forgotten many of the people around him, true, but he may never forget the way to run a ship. He's far more concerned with learning what happened.

From all appearances, it is indeed 1793. France is undergoing riots, and declared war against Britain in February. Temeraire has not hatched. Napoleon is probably a corporal or general himself, at this point. If he exists at all. God knows, perhaps Laurence is only mad.

But he doesn't feel mad. His memories are too vivid to be mere fever-dreams. A man cannot dream up twenty years of life!

But neither can a man go back to his youth, and live it all again.

I have a dragon, he thinks of saying. There is no war, because I captured Napoleon – an unknown man who makes himself emperor.

Mad. It sounds mad even to Laurence himself. But to imagine that Temeraire was a fever-ridden dream... Tenzing and Granby and China, all of it...

Laurence doesn't share his turmoil with anyone – not even with Gerry, who checks on him fretfully. After a week the doctor declares him well enough, physically. He's paired always with another lieutenant for the first few days on duty, and his shipmates watch him carefully for signs of permanent debilitation; but aside from a moment or two of hesitance, Laurence competently resumes his duties. The oversight lessens.

Laurence thinks about writing letters.

He thinks about writing to Tharkay's late father, who ought to still be alive, inquiring after his son. He thinks of writing to Prince Mianning, asking about the health of Lung Tien Qian. He thinks of writing to young Midshipman Granby, his unwed brother, his dead father...

Not all of them would reply. But he could ask questions. Could verify the truth of things. Unless this, instead, is the delusion.

Is he in 1793, imagining the future? Is he in the future, imagining the past? Or maybe he is already dead, and this is the reality of hell. He came here burning with fever, and now he burns with fear. Surely that is it's own form of torture.

Laurence is ironically given the task of tutoring the midshipman and lieutenant-hopefuls more than any other duty as the weeks pass; his crewmates still look askance, and the more eager of the midshipman become protective. Laurence remains perfectly capable of command; it is only that he can't help but be absent-minded, sometimes, staring at all the crewmen that pass him like they are nothing but moving paintings. Images of a world that no longer matters.

One evening the midshipmen drag him away to a meal with the other officers. It's a noisy crowd; Laurence would find the friendly bustle comforting in another life.

One of the senior officers, Lieutenant Moore, waves him down as Laurence enters. Evidently they used to be friends, given his notably concerned behavior of late. Laurence can't remember the man, and has a sneaking suspicion he died too soon to make a lasting impression.Moore jostles him when Laurence sits at the long table. “Will! Did you get any letters with the last batch?”

A patrolling gunboat brought a satchel of letters just this morning. “I did not,” Laurence says. He's grateful for the fact. He'd found a few pieces of correspondence in his quarters that he dutifully sent on; he cannot imagine writing a letter now, in this confused state.

“Then you've had no news! Robespierre has gone mad. Madder than before, I suppose.”

“Robespierre?” asks Laurence blankly.

Lieutenant Moore double-takes, as does everyone else around them. “Good lord, Will, please tell me you remember Robespierre?”

Right... Robespierre's reign was brief, but this is when he led France. Some of the things the papers published...

Well, at least Laurence has a well-worn excuse for his ignorance. He plays up his malady: “Yes. I think I recall he was... French?”

Groans of horror mixed with amusement echo around the table. “...Well you aren't wrong,” says Moore, looking pained. “He has styled himself the 'President' of their Assembly, which is some stupid way of being king; the French are all mad about removing and adding words right now. I don't know how they expect anyone to hold a conversation.”

“We should... probably educate Mr. Laurence about the war at some point,” some midshipman mutters. Laurence doesn't recall his name.

Moore sighs again. “Anyway. Robespierre is a tyrant, of course. But he's elected someone else to rule France! Barely more than a boy, too.”

Laurence frowns; he doesn't remember what Moore's talking about. “Why would he do that? Did they capture one of the Bourbons?” Declaring himself regent of a child-prince would at least make sense.

“Well, at least you remember them. No; it is some nobody, a young soldier. Not even French! I cannot fathom it.”

It feels like Laurence has been dunked in ice.

For a moment he can't respond. “What was his name? The soldier.”

“Napoleon Bonaparte. He has been chosen as head of their new heresy, the 'Cult of the Supreme Being,' they're calling it; and now de facto head of the government, too. Must be a priest? I don't know, nothing the French are doing makes sense. I expect his little group will be as short-lived as everything else about these riots.”

But Laurence doesn't think so. “...Excuse me; I'm feeling a bit poorly,” he says, rising on wavering legs.

“Yes, you look it! Go on, we'll tell you about the war later...”

Laurence flees.

#posting bc i have no idea where this is going or if I'll do anything with it #it's just a funny stupid idea #Laurence travelling in time: I have gone mad. I am plagued by visions. God is punishing me for my Sins. This is purgatory.#Why is this happening? What moral course of action can I take under these circumstances?#Napoleon travelling through time: No idea how this happened. Neat. Time to hijack a cult and rule my country even earlier.#basic concept is Laurence has an ongoing existential crisis about his Place In The Universe #but also he is determined to stop Napoleon #who is delighted and fascinated they BOTH came back and sort of indulgently lets him try #basically resulting in Laurence becoming Napoleon's unwilling advisor frantically trying to do damage control in between bouts #of philosophical dread and despair #“Poor Mr Laurence was loyal before the brain fever we swear”#meanwhile Laurence is in France just trying desperately to make Napoleon Stop #etc etc #Temeraire

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the-crimson · 7 months

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Why people judging bbh’s story like it’s already over. Either y’all are approaching it with bad faith or don’t know how narrative structure works.

Bbh has been drip feeding us this story for literal months. It started around the end of the election it’s not going to end just like that. I doubt it’s even going to end when we get the eggs back.

Regardless of whether or not Ron is real, this is a temporary high in bbh’s story that we’ve been building to over several days. Stories are like waves in the ocean. They push and pull and rise and fall. Bbh has been in a low for a while with all of the sabotage and self harm and that culminated in his mental breakdown. Since then, he’s slowly been working to an emotional high point which was last night. You know what that means is gonna happen next? Another low point. That’s how stories work.

Ron might be a hallucination. Ron might be taken by the federation now that he’s in the open. Ron might run away after he’s had time to process everything. Ron might return to the federation willingly. Ron might be killed/taken by a third party. Who knows. Without emotional highs, the emotional lows won’t feel as impactful. That’s basic story telling folks.

Pls stop judging bbh’s story like it’s over. We’re literally in the middle. I have no idea what’s gonna happen next but I have faith in cc!bbh to take us on a wild ride that will have a satisfying conclusion.

#qsmp #crimson speaks #badboyhalo #just wait and let him cook #I’m perfectly happy either way #I would have loved if bbh ate ron but I’m also excited to see what happens if ron is alive #both options are exciting!#bad has faced punishment for his actions #he literally gave himself brain damage #it’s not as black and white as many people seem to think

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galaxynajma · 9 months

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* fandom’s reaction to when sukuna is badly injured or like literally does anything *

" fraud!!! He’s a clown!!! Fraud!!! How embarrassing fraudkuna!! "

* vs when gojo gets injured *

" he’s fine my goat fr fr gojo really is him he can beat fraudkuna "

I’m tired of this every 1 to 2 weeks of seeing these dickriders

#now now I have seen people also say gojo is a fraud and say he’s not the strongest #they both got brain damage ok!#hope to see sukun beat up gojo some more in the next chapter #sukuna*#jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #jujutsu gojo #gojo #satoru gojo #sukuna #ryoumen sukuna #jjk #jujutsu sukuna #sukuna ryoumen #jujutsu manga #jjk spoilers #jjk 232 #jjk232

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clonerightsagenda · 1 year

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Possibly my *least* popular w359 opinion is that postcanon Doug and Miranda are friends and everyone else hates it. The others have all these preconceived notions about who they are/should be, and that has to get stressful. Doug has seen like 5 humans and isn’t an ableist jerk about Miranda’s eyes. Miranda tolerates him because he’s not weird about her. He’s the only one who knows her well enough to notice when her memories start trickling back and doesn’t say anything because that’s not anyone’s business. She offers to make him new lungs. They hated each other for personal reasons. They killed each other. They’re the only ones who understand this aspect of each other. They sit quietly in a room while the rest of the crew is piled outside the door trying to supervise out of paranoia but they are literally Just Hanging Out.

#also there is something both unsettlingly and comfortingly familiar about each other #she knew a more social man who talked to people so she didn't have to #he gave a girl brain damage once and then tried in a very fucked up away to make it right #maybe this time it won't go wrong (because it already did)#perpetual perpetual ladies night #wolf 359 #ok now I will log off for the night I promise #just think it's funny that like. Eiffel and Pryce would both hate this #Doug and Miranda know that

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peaches2217 · 3 months

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TW: Self-harm

I don’t know what it is. I feel so completely impossibly drained and I’ve relapsed enough times in the past week to consider it an active episode. There’s six pairs of scissors in our tiny office building and none of them do what I need them to do, so whenever I haven’t been busying myself I’ve been fantasizing about getting home and prettying my arms up even more and I might just bring my scissors in to work tomorrow so I can keep myself occupied. I’m tired and I’m severely overloaded and even talking takes all of my energy anymore, not typing but like the action of speaking, and I can’t just relax or take a day to myself, because there’s some dire stuff going on right now and it’s my responsibility to be on high alert and ready to respond at all times. Life goes on no matter how much feels like too much and it’s my duty to keep up because this is nothing all things compared. And I don’t really know where I’m going with this, I’m just counting down the minutes until I get home because even if I can’t take it easy I can at least cut to my heart’s content, and that’ll keep me going until it’s time to do it all over again, and I guess that’s all I can ask for right now.

#not to worry! we’ll return to our usual content ASAP #in fact I am to have a new fic up tomorrow or Tuesday~#*aim #I wish you could edit tags on mobile…#tw self harm #I acknowledge that this likely makes little sense because I’m both sleep deprived and sensory deprived #it’s weird actually #like… I’m in a complete state of sensory overload for all of my senses except tactile senses #and those are severely UNDERstimulated #I wish banging my head against shit didn’t risk brain damage or eventual dementia because it’s cathartic 😅#delete later

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