#play in recovery

[lucky-clover-gazette]

how are you guys (employed, over 18, living alone etc etc etc) planning to balance tears of the kingdom with being a functional adult? bc i am working on a plan and hooo boy it's going to be a challenge

[findmeinthefallair]

The healing and lasting love of a mom

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XXIV)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts 💚 (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... PHYSICAL!! THERAPY!! LET'S GET TO IT!! *80s aerobics music is piped in from nowhere* Also Flash numbero two was there.

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

“Green one,” the quickfast one says. The masked teenager groans.

Danny looks down at his cards. He’s got a green eight. He drops the card onto the pile, and waits, perfectly aware that the girl is only down to her last two cards. The card flutters vaguely toward the pile on Danny’s bed cot.

He’s sitting with his legs crossed now, he admires. Holy crap. This is what dreams are made of.

“Bruce two,” the teen in the leather jacket demands, slapping down a—Oh, it’s a green 2+ card. It’s take two. Right.

The blonde girl scoffs, but her two cards bloat back up to four. Quickly though, with a little shuffling, the four become three with a green three slapped down on top of the deck.

Everyone is down to only a three or four cards. Danny is sweating through his medical issue tee and shorts.

Danny has not won a single game yet.

Danny really wants to win.

The masked teen (why is he wearing a face mask?? Like…over his eyes?? Not even his mouth??) opens with a new complication: a red three.

The red-haired quick-kid flicks a wild card plus four down with a smirk, pleased to make this Danny’s problem. “Blue, cnytte four!”

Okay, so what is cnytte?? Danny just got used to ‘take’. What is this new synonym. Why is everyone determined to hurt him like this. Why couldn’t these people just use Esperanto.

Whatever. Danny bites his lip and pulls the trigger: wild card plus four. He quickly points to the leather-jacket teen. “R-red. Br-take eight.”

The kid splutters. “Hey! That’s not the riht!!”

That is for sure how he and Jazz used to play it in after-school. The other kids never complained. “Is.”

“No, it’s not??”

Danny sticks his tongue out. The leather-jacket wearer squawks theatrically; it takes the mask-wearing kid thirty seconds to find the official pdf of the rules of UNO, and a new argument is off to the races.

“Atredde!!” the teen demands, snatching the phone out of the masked teen’s hands to show Danny the screen. “Þær, there!!”

“I can’t read,” Danny points out cheerfully. He can read some things, sure, but not when he refuses to look at the phone.

The phone gets closer and closer to Danny’s face, and Danny looks anywhere else—at the ceiling, the floor, and his bed, all without letting the guy point it out to him.

“Atredde,” the guy demands, the glass of his screen mashed against Danny’s cheek. Danny struggles not to laugh. “Atredde, atreddeatreddelooklooklook, you wearg—“

“No aðs, no aðs!!” the only girl of the group yelps, grabbing the spare pillow from underneath herself to start beating him with. Danny’s assailant shrieks. “Do you want to get in trouble with Wonder Woman?!”

“Wonder Woman wolde take my sid!” the teen hollers. Danny ponders if biting him would solve anything for all of two seconds before the doors smack open.

Everyone looks at Diana. Diana looks at everyone.

“I win!” Danny cheerfully announces, and sets off more yelling.

Danny does not, in fact, win anything other than a late lunch. Still, it is enough that he won, even if he has to sit through a gentle, brow-raised scolding as the nurse cleans his port and replaces his stomach-hole bag.

Lunch is a smoothie with powered vitamins and some pain medication mixed in. Life goes on.

For the first time, though, Danny doesn’t eat lunch alone; since he can, like, keep his bed relatively clean now that he isn’t constantly leaking ectoplasm everywhere, there are four teenagers crammed onto his bed with sandwiches, wraps, and sodas of their own. Danny can phonetically pronounce the brands on the side of the can, he notices. He has no idea what they mean, but sometimes the girl in the blonde bob and the too-fast teen will ask him to pronounce them, and they only snicker sometimes.

The teen in the mask makes a noise. “I want a lið. Wha want anything?”

“Nah,” No,” “Na þancs,” all echo.

Danny sucks on his smoothie straw. It tastes like bananas today. Ew; potassium. “What is… lið?”

The teen holds up a can of soda in his ungloved hand. Danny makes a face. He’d love a Mountainous Dunk right now, but gas in his bag…eugh. More trouble than it’s worth.

“No.”

The teen shoots him a pair of finger guns and darts out the door, leaving the rest of them behind to argue over UNO rules in at least two languages and without any expectation of resolving the issue.

Danny peaceably polishes off his smoothie. He’ll have to get the back done again, but eh. As long as no one’s directly looking at the process while it’s going on, he doesn’t super care whether or not anyone’s in the room, per se? Is that weird? Is this weird??

It’s probably weird. But also. Danny has fuzzy memories of roaming the building and leaking goo the entire time he was out and about, so… Suck it, he can do what he wants! He’s sick!! And maybe even dying??

“What is þæt andwlita??” the blonde girl asks, only for the quick-fast teen to poke Danny in what can be assumed to be a grumpy expression. Danny feigns a bite just to be mean. The other teens don’t even pretend to think it’s a threat—the blonde even laughs.

The teenager comes back and sits on Danny’s bed again, mattress barely bouncing as he makes himself comfy. It takes Danny a second to realize that he didn’t come back empty-handed, though—but instead of sodas, the guy brought back a tablet and a weird expression under his mask.

“…Look,” the teen finally says, and flips the tablet onto his lap so that the screen is visible. The teen clicks on a browser, and types in a word Danny isn’t familiar with, and pulls up a stock photo straight out of a photo frame Danny could buy at the craft store. He points to the smiling woman, the man, and the kid in the picture. “Moder. Fæder. Dohtor.”

Danny glances at the photo, and then at the teen. …Okay…?

The teenager bites his lip, and picks a new photo. This one has two men and a child, but it was basically the same. He points to each person as he named them: “Fæder and fæder, and sunu.”

Danny looks at the photo. He looks at the teenager. He looks at the photo again, and the masked teen backs out of the photo he onscreen to pick another one—with a woman and a man crouched around three kids and a dog.

“Moder. Father. Daughter. Daughter. Son.”

Realization breaks over Danny—oh. These are supposed to be families. These are family titles. Huh.

Danny scrutinizes the image. They…you know. They look happy. Danny used to…

…Mom, and…

It hurts too much to look at the photo for long. He knows that it’s fake, and he knows that models just get hired for show, but even the imaginary families hurt. Happy, loving people exist out there in the world.

Danny was in a box. Danny was in a box.

Danny—

The teen makes another noise, and Danny drags his focus out of his melancholy doom spiral with every tooth and claw. He manages. Barely. The masked teenager switches over to a drawing app and pops a tablet pen out of—nowhere, actually? Where did that come from??

The teen hems and he haws and he fills out a stick figure with some red and black clothing details—and a mask, and a bowl cut, which is how Danny figures out it’s a scrappy little self-portrait. It doesn’t look at all like the oversized tee tucked into the teen’s short shorts, but you know, whatever.

Next to him, the dude draws a giant, brick-wall-broad, no-eyed, man-shaped blob with upright pointed ears.

It’s. Uh. It’s sure…something.

“Son,” the teen labels himself, and then draws an arrow to the giant, colorless blob. “Father.”

…Danny squints. Is that normal? To have a huge hulking entity-dad, and then have a short, shrimpy-looking teen waif?

Like you, imaginary Jazz interrupts, since he was thinking about her.

He carefully bats the thought away before it can make him cry.

“My father,” the teenager adds, since Danny probably looks like he’s mostly paying attention. “Stincende.” And then the guy draws a bunch of stink lines coming off of him, just to prove a point.

Danny chokes more than he laughs. The teen’s friends laugh outright, teasing with words that are a little too quick for Danny to parse and snickering under their breath. The masked teen smiles quietly.

“So mean,” the teen in the leather jacket declares, cackling mercilessly. The orange-haired teenager wheezes breathlessly.

“Stincende hlaford of the trask,” the teenager adds mildly, cheerfully without mercy. “Very boring. Very stif. Very grimm.”

Okay, so some of those words were definitely straight-up cognates. Mr. Lancer gave Danny a C in English last semester, but Danny’s going to guess that, based on how their language is pretty much entirely similar, that the stink lines are more of a metaphor than anything.

“Gross,” Danny decides. He’s not sure if the word actually means gross or if it’s more of a medical-trash-and-waste-disposal sort of word, but his audience of four snicker and bump his shoulder and that’s good enough.

“Mmhmm,” the masked teen agrees. He clicks on an eraser tool, enlarges it, and wipes himself clean off the image. In his place, he puts a little white-haired figure in a white medical gown.

…Oh.

Between them, the artist puts speech bubbles, giving both the drawn Danny equal part in the imaginary conversation.

“Talking,” the teenager says without looking at Danny. Eventually, when the speech bubbles are done, he lifts his head. “Yes? No?”

…Is this a request? Is this a demand? Danny fists the sheets between shaking fingers. Nowadays, they always shake at least a little. There are no perfectly still days.

“Have to?” Danny asks, hesitant. It’s a common enough clarifier to use when he doesn’t want to do something. They try to explain what they can to him here, but the language barrier is thick and impenetrable in many places.

“No. He just wants to.”

“…Why?”

The masked teen frowns. He takes the tablet back from his lap and begins to draw something way more complex.

Everyone else slowly works on their food, but the masked teen doesn’t return until he has, from what Danny can tell, a thickly complicated organizational tree chart.

He recognizes a few headshot photos in the middle. The green guy. The human-looking guy in red that Danny does PT with sometimes.

Towards the bottom are the teenagers—both ones Danny does and doesn’t recognize, and some of the teens around him are photographed in different hats and outfits and masks. The quick-fast-red-haired teenager Danny’s come to recognize used to have shorter hair, apparently? Now it’s down to the teen’s neck. Meanwhile, the blonde girl’s got a haircut; her new look has a shaved undercut and a body too short to prop back up into her photographed pigtails.

The guy in the leather jacket looks the same.

…Danny holds up the tablet to compare to the teenager himself, who kindly poses the same way as he does in the picture in the same way: suns out, guns out. Yep. That’s him alright.

At the top of the organizational tree are three people—a dark-haired guy who Danny’s seen in passing, Diana, who is both a superhero and a super-minder, and some scary lookin’ dude who looks exactly like the doodle Danny just saw absolutely smothered in stink lines.

The tablet falls out of Danny’s hands. He’s not mad or anything, but he tends to drop stuff when holding it becomes too much of a burden.

So.

The masked teen’s dad, is, like…one of several bosses. One boss is the person watching Danny at all times, which is…weird. Danny isn’t sure he warrants, like, constant security from a high-ranking super-someone. He mostly just sits around all day. Sometimes he gets his stretches in. Sometimes he gets wheeled out to look at the stars, and then he just…sits some more.

Danny shifts in his seat. So maybe he. Maybe…

…Okay, so even if talking isn’t good, per se, at least maybe he’ll figure something out? Maybe?

Like. Maybe he’ll be able to figure out, like…why he’s here. Why he’s in space. Why they’re taking care of him.

Danny doesn’t look forward to talking. But it’s. Fine.

Probably.

He nods.

“…Yes?” the teen asks again, double confirming that this is what Danny wants. Danny doesn’t want this, but he wants answers, so he nods again, more firmly. But still. Staring. At the sheets underneath him.

“Okay.” The teen opens up a messaging app, and types something into the address bar. “Now? Or later?”

“Later.” Danny’s got to rest and digest lunch first.

“Okay.” The teen types into the tablet with the little pencil. Danny sees verbatim what the masked teen wrote when he turns it around: very literally, “Yes,” and “Later.”

There’s a little spot for Danny to sign his name. The teenager gives Danny his pen.

…Danny just hits the send button and is done with it.

[suburbansuns]

me & my dog by boygenius (2018) // letter to an old poet by boygenius (2023)

[airrec]

DSMP x Manhunt crossover where M!Sam gets yeeted into the DSMP and meets c!Sam during the prison arc before he meets anyone else.

Cool! He thinks. Instead of a running game they did an escape room thing!

Then he actually sees the prisoner and uh-oh, there has been a Miscommunication somewhere here. c!Sam is one nasty piece of work, apparently. M!Sam should... solve that.

(POV you're c!Dream and a much friendlier and more understanding version of your captor and Warden appears with him, they disappear off together, and then he returns bloodstained and he hauls you up and over his shoulder kidnapping-a-bride style and takes a leisurely jaunt straight into another dimension, thoroughly ruining all of your plans but also rescuing you from torture. What a day.)

(POV you're c!Techno and you arrive to an empty prison bar the Warden screaming that his evil alternate self just took The Prisoner and that they've both escaped with no trace. What the hell.)

[duskiily]

"do you think we're bad people?"

[blmpff]

📢 LOVE UPON A TIME UPDATE: James withdraws from the show, Net stays on

29.02.24

ETA: James' message

29.02.24

[maithefluffychicken]

I love that BG3 is about... rediscovering who you are when you finaly meet the right people. And to heal PTSD, and fuck, that hits right in the feels.

Astarion knew all the time that he was a slave and he was unable to run away from Cazador, and he opens to Tav with time and once Tav shows him that Astarion can indeed trust them. Astarion's goal for 200 years was just to survive. To survive! That's like, PTSD 101.

I could spend years talking about Astarion, but let me move on for now.

Let me talk about how sweet it is when Lae'zel decides to follow you against her people in the creche githyanki. Because Lae'zel was convinced her people will help her, she was convinced she could trust her people. She never thought herself as a Vlaakith's slave or pawn (unlike Astarion, who always knew Cazador was a monster).

The moment when you tell her "these giths want you dead, Lae'zel, can't you see it?" And her heart breaks in acceptation. When she says "Your path is mine to follow", I just want to hug her, because she has to accept that she has to betray her own beliefs about Vlaakith and the giths. She has to give up her goals to ride her own dragon, to be Vlaakith's right hand.

Something quite similar happens to Shadowheart. Our fave cleric has to reject her own beliefs once she realizes that everything was a lie.

Karlach is more like Astarion, she knew she had to find a way to leave Zariel behind, she knew that she was a slave.

Gale and Wyll were, to me, in denial and delusion, about Mystra and Mizora. I think they both knew, deep down. They knew that they were doing wrong, or that they were deceived (in Wyll's case).

And then the tadpole thing happens and they meet Tav or, well, they meet each other and they have to put aside their wrong beliefs because life.

I just think it's beautiful that they can actually choose, and that they're not alone. And that they have a new family to rely on when they have to mourn and grief. That they all are their own support group.

I love that bg3 is about found family, about deciding again, about recovering after your own traumatic event.

[thevirgodoll]

always remember that they made the choice to see what life was like without you. always remember that even if they might have “loved” you, their idea of love wasn’t enough for them to consider your feelings.

people leave our life and leave words unsaid with such cowardice that we shouldn’t even want to rekindle such a futile fire. it will only give you warmth for a little while… and then the spark is gone.

if they’re not going to work on making you feel warmth and feel held the same way you do for them, then there’s nothing to talk about.

and trust me, you don’t need to figure out a “get back”. stop trying to be seen and heard by someone who played themselves by playing you. one day, the universe will deal them a nasty hand as a lesson. let God’s vengeance and plan outweigh your ego.

[leclercskiesahead]

Excerpts: [First stints] The opening stint saw graining and high degradation for all runners and lap times rose sharply from around Lap 10 onwards. On Lap 14 [Norris] was called to box for new hard tyres. He then emerged behind Ocon – and Ferrari saw a small opportunity to cover him, and so boxed Leclerc the next lap. Unfortunately for Leclerc, it didn’t work out for him and he was undercut by Norris. Leclerc’s complaints on the radio at stopping to emerge behind the McLaren were met with reassurance that the race was most likely a two-stop, and it was the correct point to box. Piastri then covered both one lap later. In [Sainz’s] opening stint, he was too far behind Norris to attempt an undercut and Ferrari were still considering the one-stop possibility. Therefore Sainz pushed to extend as he thought it was too early to stop. Later, he reported that the graining was improving and lap times may recover. This was important information for Ferrari. Sainz was then called to pit before being undercut by Hamilton so the lap time improvement was crucially not seen by the other teams. [Second stints] As graining emerged on the hard tyre for all three leaders, [they had to decide] when to stop for the final set of hards. Piastri was asked if he thought a one-stop might be possible, but said no. [On Lap 32,] Leclerc is given the ‘box to overtake’ call on Norris as Ferrari looked to attempt an undercut. But Norris then pitted, prompting Leclerc to stay out. He was then told they will extend the stint to build a tyre delta. In the second stint running in largely free air, Sainz pushed Ferrari discussion on the one-stop strategy possibility. The pit wall and Sainz discussed whether they should cover Hamilton’s second pit stop or remain on the one-stop option – with Sainz favouring the latter after reporting that his tyres were still good. At this point the information is given to Leclerc that Sainz is targeting a one-stop strategy. Leclerc agrees that it is the best opportunity to win and immediately begins work on the tyre saving required to pull it off. [McLaren third stints vs Ferrari staying out] [Having boxed with 15 laps remaining,] Piastri needed to average 1.5 seconds per lap quicker [than his pre-stop pace] to make the pit stop beneficial. His first lap after the pit stop was indeed 1.5 seconds faster than before. However, he had five back-markers to overtake as well as Sainz. The back-markers cost variable amounts of lap time and Sainz then cost Piastri around two seconds of race time – which is crucial when considering Piastri only finished 2.6 seconds behind Leclerc at the flag. So although Leclerc then took the plaudits and the glory on the Monza podium, he couldn’t have pulled off such a famous victory without the help of his Ferrari team mate.

[h3adph0nez]

SFTH as text post part 12!! :D

Part one / previous / part 13

[buwheal]

...Unfortunately, no. I don't doubt that you hear something, but we can't hear anything on our end. What does it sound like?

(If you’re going to help out, it’d great to also add something to distract him :-) )

[the-physicality]

thinking this labor day about all the athletes in women's sports who didn't have a stable league, who were only making decent money from a spot on their national team, who had to fight to get even a fraction of what they deserve. who spent their prime without a club league or the infrastructure to propel the sport. who came of age after title 9 in the usa [forcing schools to fund women/girls’ sports], the ones who fought for cbas and are only seeing big change at the end of their careers or after their careers concluded. who didn't have the media attention before, but are now showing just how much they can sell out stadiums and arenas. the players who played year round because overseas teams paid athletes what they were worth. athletes who endured and reported harassment but the league never took appropriate action. athletes who never had the media attention or ability to monetize their talent but who had careers that were just as impressive as the stars of today. who did it without the help of the science, technology, and medicine we have today. who set records with less support and fewer games in a season, which will be broken by kids who have had personal trainers since high school. athletes who played great games that are no long available to view, their talent no longer archived and accessible for young or new fans. athletes who still don't have a league or are just getting one in 2024. athletes who took it upon themselves to create change for which they will never reap the full rewards.

[inkskinned]

maybe i'm a bitch but if i hear you go out of your way to judge someone's weight, i immediately lose trust in you & will probably forever find you a little unbearable . yes also the little floating bar over my head will start reading [hostile]. this is natural and u caused it.

[fulcrvm]

I'd really really love a Retired!Dreamling fic where Dream doesn't immediately become immortal upon becoming human.

I want to see what would happen when Dream and Hob both suddenly realise that Dream can still get hurt in some way, and I want it to take a long time for Hob to convince (beg?) for Dream to actively decide to 'not die'. I think it would be a very painful thing for Hob (who is inherently selfish and greedy, and needs to realise that he can't just ask Dream to be immortal simply because Hob wants him to be) to now justify why he think Death is stupid to a Dream who now can't contact any Endless, and isn't protected by the universe or whatever. I think it'd be very difficult and chracter-revealing considering their last conversation during The Kindly Ones, and I want their love and domesticity to feel earned in the retired setting. And I really want to see Dream have a reason to live fully, without fear, and actively decide to become immortal with his hand in Hob's, no matter how long it takes.

[dat-lil-shark]

Just to inform you, guys. I’m intending that, for the majority of our Sparkling AU, it’s an AU, so it’s not about the characters when they are actually babies anymore. It’s basically about the whole entire TFP story except it’s set in a universe where there are no actual wars. The whole ‘war’ thing is just some sparklings going into groups and play-fighting with their imaginations. Every character that ‘died’ in this universe are just either moving to another school (ex: Cliffjumper & Elita One) or got tired of the game and didn’t wanna play anymore (Ex: Skyquake, Dreadwing, and Breakdown). And all the human characters are all little ragdolls that are brought to life by the sparkling’s imaginations.

cause the actual show crippled me and this is my denial mechanism.

(read the tags)