invisible scars (referenced previous talk here)
[ID: A colourless, digital Trigun comic of Vash and Wolfwood talking about Wolfwood's scars. They're both laying in bed and topless. Vash lays on top of Wolfwood, playing with the rosary around his neck. Then, Vash kisses a spot on Wolfwood's chest. Wolfwood asks, "What are you doing?" Vash smiles sadly, "You got shot here. In the last town we visited. You didn't even bother moving."
Vash props himself up over Wolfwood, who frowns slightly. Wolfwood is quiet for a moment before he says, "You remember that, huh?" Vash grabs Wolfwood's left wrist and brings it to his face. "And here." He kisses another spot there. "When you helped free the hostages from that robber..." Wolfwood dismissively says, looking away, "Was a lucky shot." Vash huffs, “Don’t brag. Jeez.”
Half of Wolfwood's expression is shown, eyes returning to Vash who is now sitting up, continuing to say, "And..." Vash goes on and kiss Wolfwood's right palm. "You got cut here, even though that girl was aiming at me." A moment from the past flashes, of Wolfwood grabbing a knife aimed at Vash, his hand bleeding.
At present, Vash moves down and puts another kiss on Wolfwood's right shoulder. "And here, from watching my back." Another memory flashes of Wolfwood and Vash back to back. Vash looks back as Wolfwood grins while holding Punisher, bleeding from multiple gunshots in his shoulder.
"And," Vash combs up Wolfwood's hair to reveal his forehead, "Here." A final memory shows Wolfwood with a regeneration vial in his mouth while getting shot on his temple. The next panel is framed in blood with Vash at the center, eyes wide and stunned in horror. The next panel is a closed up shot of Wolfwood's eye, locked on Vash's face.
Back to present, Vash’s head is bowed down as Wolfwood raises a hand to his nape and says, “Spikey.”
Wolfwood looks serious and frowns as he says, "We talked about this. Those were my decisions. They're not there anymore. Forget about them." Vash looks very sad before he smiles ruefully and says, "I still see them. All the time." He leans down so they touch foreheads. Wolfwood’s sorrowful expression can be seen as Vash says, "You protect so much. I could never forget what you've done to me. And many others..."
In the last image, they're drawn more cartoonishly. Wolfwood sweats and asks, "You don't actually remember every wound, right?" Vash points at a spot on his chest. "Kuroneko left a scratch here 7 times." Wolfwood, startled, says, "Why the hell are you keeping count—" End ID]
Credits for ID here and here
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Working on my own Disco Elysium skills! Individual art pieces and descriptions (in the style of the game) below the cut :]
DIALECTICS
Examine verbal landscapes. Get to the truth of the matter.
Cool for: Logicians, Philosophers, Asshole Devil’s Advocates
Dialetics urges you to look beyond the basics of conversation. It encourages you to discuss theories, truths and falsehoods, until you exhaust everyone around you with your sheer affinity for taking the most convoluted routes to your deductions—but, hey, it works! Those people are only *really* annoyed because you very accurately psychoanalyzed them.
At high levels, Dialectics will help you reason with even the most convoluted of situations. You will be an unstoppable detective, who may occasionally suffer from some unintended side effects such as: your brain and mouth moving too fast, overcomplicating little things, becoming an insufferable jerk, and joining your local debate team. With low levels of Dialectics, you’re going to have a difficult time seeing through both worldly and interpersonal deceptions. You may find yourself being taken advantage of.
EVOCATION
Recall emotions and imagery. Paint complete pictures of the past.
Cool for: Visualizers, Chronic Observers, Witnesses Of Crimes
Evocation allows you to call forth memories that may otherwise be lost in the recesses of your mind. Previous instances of sound, touch, taste, feeling, sight—all of these are at your beck and call: able to be summoned within and around you in a great miasma of experience. You will be able to relive important events, even those that were only mere seconds, and examine them closer to reveal what you couldn’t comprehend in the moment.
At high levels, Evocation will help you reimagine scenes that may have happened years ago, lasted the length of a blink—or, perhaps, even allow you to picture memories that you were not present for. You will find yourself constantly transported to the past: a single whiff of a familiar perfume enough to completely derail your senses. With low levels of Evocation, you’re going to have a hard time remembering simple conversations and potentially important visual details. You will have to rely on others in such scenarios.
BODY OF LAWS
Know your rights. Remember fun courtroom trivia.
Cool for: Lawyers, Law-Evaders, Stick-In-The-Muds
Body Of Laws is responsible for your ability to follow the law at any given time—or don’t! Just because you know the rules doesn’t mean you have to play by them. Regardless, it certainly allows you to recall a, frankly, embarrassing amount of your government’s regulations, and may encourage you to ‘stay in your lane’, so to speak, regarding them. Governments aren’t the only entities that enact rules, though: you will also find yourself privy to understanding unspoken boundaries set by people, nature, and even your subconscious self.
At high levels, Body Of Laws will either make you an *extremely* insufferable goody-two-shoes, or a *wildly* effective cheat-of-the-system. You may end up feeling suffocated by all these restrictions you can so clearly see, causing you to become complicit with the movings of the machine—or potentially apathetic to why we need some of these restrictions in the first place. With low levels of Body Of Laws, you may find yourself accidentally violating boundaries you didn’t know existed—whether they be legal, personal, or cultural.
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"Oh no, someone's attracted to the aesthetics of my -punk movement but doesn't know the praxis and history behind it like I do--"
OK. Tell them. Make it a teaching moment. Everyone who's in your movement learned the background from somewhere at some point, maybe this is that point for that person. Give them a jumping off point that they can dive into later.
"Oh but I shouldn't be responsible for teaching baby -punks about the history and the how-tos and--"
OK. Then don't tell them. You don't have to be responsible for teaching people with a budding interest in your group the ins and outs and how-tos. That's fair and valid! It can be a lot of work. Someone else will handle it
"But I'm annoyed that they would try to claim to be part of/be interested in my community without knowing all the details that I know after being in it for months/years/decades, they're dumb, they're posers, they're--"
OK. Then don't engage with them, if it's that bad. Maybe someone else will come around and tell them the history, maybe they'll pick it up on their own, maybe they'll just enjoy the fashion elements for awhile.
"But they shouldn't claim to be part of the -punk community if they don't know the--"
I feel like we have a few options here. People can either talk to them, share the history, share the values, share the praxis. Or they can just chase off anyone who even thinks about dipping a toe in their community, and then wonder why it's dying off later down the line.
I dunno, maybe I'm too naive and patient or whatever. But if people are entering your -punk spaces without knowing The Rundown of what you feel they need to know, maybe being nice about it and informing people instead of immediately assuming stupidity and malicious intent could help you make a new friend. Even the loudest voices in a space had to learn from somewhere, and not everyone has the luxury of being in the space as the History was Happening--whether it's an age thing or a not being aware of the space thing. Or maybe I just don't see what the big deal is behind people hating people who like the aesthetic of something and don't know the behind the scenes history about it yet.
Because I believe in the word 'yet.' No one comes into this world knowing everything about everything, and we're all constantly learning new things. I'm not gonna degrade someone and call them a poser for not knowing what I know. Because if it were me, interested in a scene but getting chased out and called a poser? I wouldn't hit the books and study up, I'd go 'that fuckin sucks, those people sucked' and then avoid anyone and anything having to do with it.
So chase people off and call them posers if you want. But if your community starts dwindling, don't be fucking shocked.
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Puhpandas had a great idea recently (glitchtrapped Tony.) And I wanted to take a stab at the concept.
More specifically at the "What happens after." bit. Hint- Tony gets lost and ends up back near his old house.
Under a readmore because it could be triggering if you've been physically assaulted before. There's feelings in this that could touch on nerves.
********
He'd traced his steps, along a familiar road. Now he stood on the street, facing his old house. He felt all dazed, and confused.
Why?
Everything hurt- his back, his stomach, his neck, his arms. And something bad had happened to him. His head ached, but not nearly as much as his heart ached.
'... Because it's not my home, it's their home, and I'm wanted no more…'
He couldn't go home. Because it wasn't his home anymore. It was someone else's now. He couldn't remember how to get to his Grandma's from here. He couldn't remember a lot of things.
(He didn't want to remember.)
What had happened? He'd gone to the pizzaplex? Gregory had been there?
Did someone jump me on the way home?
He knew what really happened. But he couldn't believe it- didn't believe it- it hurt too much- He could feel something poking around inside his mind. Something he'd been trying to ignore.
He didn't cry. Or sob. He just hurt.
Get out of my head get out of my head get out of my head-
He was on the swings suddenly, in the park that sat down between their street, and the next street over. He hummed a song absent-mindedly. One of those old songs that Grandma would play on her old record player. A song that his Mom sometimes sang along to.
I'm missing time? Did I got abducted by aliens?
Ellis would laugh with him about it next week, when they'd meet up at school again.
They used to play here a lot, when they were in elementary school together. Pretending the playground was a pirate ship. That the floor was a crocodile infested river- so you'd have to jump from circle to circle, never landing on the soft blue floor. Making the merry-go-round spin so fast, that they both would get thrown off it after a dizzy spell, and collapse to the ground laughing and carrying on-
It just made his heart ache more. His brain pounding against his skull.
He kicked his legs uselessly. He wasn't swinging. Not really. Just sitting. Just trying not to be still. He wasn't going anywhere.
The playground didn't have any lights that stayed on at night. It wasn't that kind of playground, where you'd need to worry about teens going there and doing bad things in the dark. This was a good part of town. Nothing bad could happen here.
The only lights were distant street lamps, and the starlight filtering down.
What time is it?
Tony had a watch. Had a watch- it was missing now. So was his entry pass to the pizzaplex.
Did someone mug me?
He also had a different shirt than he'd worn to school- a Bonnie longsleeve? Hadn't they stopped selling these? Where did he get it?
Did someone… reverse mug me??
The sun was starting to rise in the distance. He could understand why they'd given him a new shirt- his old one. That had... gotten stained, hadn't it?
How long have I been here?
His arms and belly felt weird. He lifted his shirt and sleeves to look at them. Well... He wasn't gonna stain his new shirt, at least. He stopped looking- it just made him feel queasy.
Lights were coming on in the houses, one by one. He could see a light on over at Ellis's house, through the back yard.
He could go there. And they could have breakfast together. They could pretend they'd had a sleepover together, like old times. Ellis could loan him a sleeping bag. A watch. A new head. And nothing bad would have happened to him and there would be nothing weird poking around in his head and his heart would stop aching and-
And Ellis's Mom was there. Standing in front of him.
How long has she been there?
He started a little, nearly falling backwards before clutching the chains tighter.
"Tony- It's okay. It's Olivia, do you remember me?" She had her hands in front of her, in a way that should probably have been calming.
He caught his breath, and felt panic start to ease out of him. He nodded. And she seemed to relax a little, too.
"Oh, good. Sweetie- listen. I've rang your Mom. She's on her way now. And so are the police. Okay?" She looked at him intently, and kneeled down in front of him. While he kicked his legs and stared off into the distant sky. The stars were going out.
"Tony? Did you hear me?"
"Um. Yes. Sorry Mrs Martinez."
He couldn't look at her. This is so embarrassing. Having to be picked up by his Mom like this. Had he and Ellis broken another vase trying to play skip rope indoors? That was a silly thing to do, Tony. You know better-
He could feel her eyes looking through him.
"Do you… want to talk about it, sweetie?"
He shook his head frantically, and choked out "No- no- no-"
"Hey, sweetie. It's okay. You're okay now. Everyone was so worried about you…"
Why?
She looked at him so pitifully. Had he said that out loud?
A car pulled up, on his old street. A familiar car. Mom's car.
And she was there. So quick, he'd barely seen her race up to him. He thought she'd grab him, and swing him around in a spinney-hug. She used to do that, when he was little.
Instead she stopped next to Mrs Martinez. It looked like she'd been crying earlier. She was still crying.
His head kept hurting. Pounding in a rhythm now. He couldn't take it much longer-
She couldn't get any words out. Mouth gaping open like a fish's would. But he could get the message- What happened to you?
He went to answer, but felt… sleepy. Really sleepy. He was gonna fall off this swing any second-
But he didn't fall. Instead he heard his voice talking to his Mom. It sounded strange to him. Like he was listening underwater…
"Mom, I… I lost track of time at the pizzaplex. It got dark, and someone h-hurt me when I was walking home… please don't be mad…"
He went to sleep as Mom pulled his imposter into a hug.
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There is a universe in which i was caught up properly on CR whenever what the fuck went down and Imogen verbally and definitively declared that- after everything leading up to this and the back and forth and indecision- that she'd be willing to take down her mom if need be. and i would have been deeply insufferable and writing 20+ separate meta posts and liveblog yelling posts and shitposts. This is not that universe so instead we will put this post here where i can have wildly uninformed (aka 20 eps behind) Emotions about it until someday i actually catch up.
(I know. i accidentally wrote potentially wildly off base/deeply out of date meta again. what can i say. i like shaking the concept of An Imogen (even if it is Outdated Imogen) in a jar. sorry.)
Because i was watching long enough, I think, to see Imogen in the throes of the hope for something better, to understand that Imogen was viewing her mom was a figure and an idea and an answer, that would make things easier. Her mom was- gone, so early. And so her mom, in her mind, was not a person she was an idea, and there was so much hinged on that! Dogged determination and anger at her father and a deep seated dislike of the powers in her hands and head even as they gave her a guilty rush. There were promises there that maybe no one else had made, but Imogen believed. Things built up. Expectations made. Lore crafted, even unconsciously, around someone who was, yes, important to Imogen, but more importantly: Missing. Gone. A blank slate to be filled in. A promise of an answer guide to open questions.
And then she meets her mom, and Liliana Temult goes from a figure to a person- with all the bells and whistles and rough edges. She meets her mom and her mom turns her away. Tells her to run. Tells her she should go. Tells her to leave.
And Imogen doesn't. In the same way she kept visiting libraries, keps asking, kept pushing for answers when it was just about her magic and her headaches and the voices. Imogen always, always wants to know. She keeps digging, she keeps trying, she reaches out, over and over and keeps trying to touch this figure in mist until she's real under her hands, and. Evidence piles up- of deeds gone wrong, blood on her hands, a figure standing next to Otohan (her friends bodies scattered, lifeless, around Otohan). She keeps reaching out, keeps trying, and is rebuffed, over and over. Things get worse and the skies get redder and magic goes dead and she's still- unsure, because what if there's a better reason, what if there's a better way, there has to be a reason, why. There has to be, right- maybe if- maybe. Maybe-
Its just like- a person as an idea. As a symbol. As a promise. One you build yourself up around and towards. One you talk about, not talk to.
And then the fog clears, and they are a human.
(And she's your mom, and she's not what you imagined. She's done you wrong. She's done your loved ones wrong. She's hurt you. She's hurt others. She's going to keep hurting you. She is going to keep hurting everyone. She is too far gone to reason with. She is not listening to you. She is flawed. She is. dangerous. She looks so much like you. You look just like her. You are so similar. You have always known you were similar. You always hoped. You.
Are not her. You are not hers. She is not yours. She is not who you thought she was. She was always someone else. So are you.)
Imogen walks through the bases pretending to be her mother. Liliana is a known face- a powerful one, a figure people fear. A well known silhouette. Imogen slips into the shadows of it, sometimes, when it serves her, but we know- she knows- its all an act. All a lie.
Liliana, after all, is alive, and well, making choices that she believes in and fighting for things with a dogged determination maybe only matched by her daughter.
Imogen knows this. I think. There's a part of her that maybe wishes that wasn't the case.
"There is no loyalty with this blood." And after all- only living people bleed.
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