#on the road to recovery

[ultimateblogfootball]

On the road to Recovery 😁✌🏼

[charliemorningstar-the-introvert]

I know it isn't a huge deal or anything, but I'm two days sober. The withdrawal sucks, but I know that if I can beat it, then I can make it even longer. Any encouragement would be greatly appreciated. 🖤

[beskarprincessjenny]

My current filthy fantasy: Getting up at 7:30am, drinking a cup of coffee on the patio, then going for a walk by the water behind my apartment.

🤞

[her-hair-on-fire]

I used to laugh. I had the memories. You only had the dances. I am not the one laughing last. Now you have both the dances and the memories.

His other half? Don’t make me laugh. (I always thought it was me).

His meant to be? The one cutting off his sentences when he tries to talk, the one whose hands aren’t tender enough, the one who doesn’t have answers to his 3am questions, even at 3pm?

I had that vicious satisfaction knowing that all he’d lived before, I knew about, whereas you’d just arrived. I had that pride in knowing him better than you did, immediately picking up in his mood changes from the sound of his voice, getting the inside jokes and the references he made about that trip to New York two years prior while you looked confused.

You get to kiss him? So what, I’ve been alongside him for the past years. You get to dance with him? So what, I wanted to say. So what? Have you known him so inseparable with his best friend until they grew apart (just when you arrived, nice coincidence, isn’t it?), have you seen him anxious and insecure about his acne, have you seen him forgetting again and again his socks or underwear when he visited his parents for holiday? (You have not).

I had watched him grow into the man he was, grow mature, confident, just for your long legs to come and collect him, in all his glory, like an apple I’ve watched and cherished as it grew, turning the most beautiful red but was always too small to reach. You pluck it off right in front of me. I hate your long legs.

If you knew now you’d be the one laughing. Because now I am not the one getting the inside jokes. Because now you have both the dances and the memories.

(He still was mine, even for a moment. Years weren’t long enough.)

[findmeinthefallair]

The healing and lasting love of a mom

[justc2world]

I'm about to cry at work. I can't see him like this.

[agentc0rn]

Legends Z-A (if: future)

More below:

This idea was brought to you by a close mutual of mine @/raikouswish and me :)))

Twitter: Ok I had a thought if legends za were to set up in the future, imagine a scenario where you meet az at some point and he’s standing before the gravestone of the protagonist…:)" / X

This time, Serena takes the role of a wanderer, substituting AZ's role. She becomes slowly hopeless and bitter about the turnout of events, uncertain why she has been ripped away from her home and her loved ones, until she meets AZ. Desperate for some sense of familiarity to cope with the changes, she proceeds to interact with him until she discovers the grim truth herself.

Comforted yet also guilty to bear with the fact that AZ was one of the few people that cared to attend to "Serena"'s gravestone (she assumes others moved on or are dead), she tries her best to provide him some closure in any way possible without spilling out her desires to reveal the truth and pour her emotions out in relief. Not only that, she seeks his aid to search for the legendary pokemon and maybe...just maybe...become a companion this time.

[metalomagnetic]

WIP Snip Monday

let's pretend it's Monday, and not Wednesday.

Thank you so much for the tag @mundrakan

Here is a snippet from "It runs" (This chapter is so stubborn! I promise I am working hard on it, but it's complicated and real life is Hell, so please, bear with me).

----

“Come back to me, yes, there you go. Breathe," his mother's voice soothes him, drags him back to reality. "Everything will be alright.”

“I-”

Sirius doesn’t understand what happened to him, how seamlessly his mind slipped away, one moment in his home, the next in Azkaban, and now his mother is there, and he's confused-

“It’s alright. I’m here. I know I wasn’t always, but I am here. My Sirius, my brightest star. You’re home, you’re safe. Your brother is safe. That monster is dead. No one will ever hurt you again. I won’t allow it, yes? Breathe.”

He rests his head on her shoulder, tries to breathe normally. He shivers, cold and miserable, but one of her frail arms wraps around his back, draws him closer.

“You will heal,” she tells him. “You will have the best Healers in the world, the best potions, and you will heal. You weren’t there that long, the damage is reversible still, I asked, I asked many experts. You will heal from this.” It sounds like an order.

Sirius always disobeyed her, even if he didn't want to, didn't set out to hurt her. He always ended up disappointing her. He doesn't want to do it again, but that word- 'heal'- it sounds foreign, impossible. It sounds like she's setting him up for failure again, because how can Sirius accomplish it?

“And what potions will heal me from finding my best friend dead? From knowing I had a part in his death?” he whispers, terrified that he has to live with that, forever. That he'll have to find a way to accept it.

How can he? How? It's impossible.

“His son will heal you,” she says, determined, her fingers combing through his hair. “Little by little. You’ll see. You’ll have a piece of him with you. The best piece. Trust me when I say, our children are the best parts of us. What survived of Potter, is the purest part of him, the brightest. And you’ll raise him, do right by him, won’t you? That boy needs you stable, needs your love and care, and he’ll love you back, as only children can love.”

Harry. Yes. That’s true. Sirius will see him soon, will hold him. Tomorrow.

“He killed Voldemort,” Sirius whispers, finally voicing it. It doesn't sound real. “Harry.”

His mother snorts, but she keeps her fingers so gentle in his hair. It makes Sirius remember he once felt safe in her arms. Long ago. So very long ago.

He was sick with dragonpox, so sick, and scared, but she never moved from his bed. She stayed with him, wiped his brow with cold cloths, sang to him, held water to his lips. She hugged him when he shivered.

“Mama, will I die?” he asked, because he’d never felt as sick in his life, and he leaned people can die from feeling sick.

“My brightest star, how do you think I’d let you die? Who would dare take you from my arms? Death? I’d destroy it if it even glances your way.”

Sirius looks into her fierce eyes, and for a moment he thinks his mother is just as strong as his father, perhaps even more, because she seems capable of anything, of scaring death away.

“I may not be the most learned woman in the word, I didn’t go to any Institute, but I have lived for some dozens of years now, Sirius, and I have traveled far and wide, read many books, met many people, heard many things. A baby cannot kill a grown wizard."

Sirius knows. He does. And yet-

“He died," he says, and he shivers savagely. His mother's arm clings harder to him. "I found him there. Dead. In front of Harry’s crib.”

He sees it, all over again. Voldemort's body, his empty eyes, the wand between his fingers.

No, no, no. Stop. Sirius can't, he can't think of it. He bites his tongue, hard, he leans even more into his mother, inhales, and her perfume brings him back from the memory.

“Good riddance," she spits, venomous.

All over Britain, people celebrated Voldemort's death, Sirius knows. 'Good riddance'.

'The monster is gone'.

'Let him rot.'

It's fair, Sirius knows it's fair, that Voldemort caused so much pain, to everyone, his enemies or allies alike.

But it hurts. It hurts so much. He was always alone, that beautiful boy from the picture, the angelic child Sirius imagines, in some muggle orphanage, the fiercest dark lord in the world that cooked for Sirius, that held him in his arms at night. It hurts. It's beyond painful.

“I loved him,” Sirius confesses, and his mother goes still, stiffens all over. “I slept with him. Ate with him. Lived in our- in his home. Will you abandon me, too, now?”

She should leave him. Sirius doesn't deserve anything. He doesn't understand why he still has his family, his sanctuary, when James is dead, when Voldemort is gone, alone and terrified somewhere.

Sirius deserves to be alone, too. They should have left him to rot in Azkaban. It's what he deserves.

She takes a long time to answer. First, she resumes petting his hair, and eventually she rests her chin on his head. She sighs.

Just from that, Sirius can imagine how broken and pitiful he looks, exactly how he feels. He is in such a deplorable state, that she doesn't spit on him, doesn't call him a deviant, a disgrace, a stain on her family name.

“That takes longer to heal from,” she whispers. “Loving a hard, cold man isn’t easy. Even when they are heartless, even when they betray you, over and over again, it still hurts when they die.”

“How long?” Sirius asks. “How long does it take to heal from that?”

She hums. “I will tell you when I have an answer,” she says. “I’m still waiting. You can wait with me.”

[fandomtrashcan]

The relevance of a good communication in the workplace

Next part

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Start Road to Recovery

The mission was a complete and utter success and no murder attempts were made, but the only person who actually had fun was Tony.

This went very quickly from discussing the evils of selling weapons to "I want to explore your body with my magic".

Please always ask for consent before exploring people's bodies with your magic, kids.

In a similar note, do not make "'I wish I was dead jokes". They are bad for your mental health and make people around you uncomfortable.

I'm convinced that Tony Stark can smell sass in the air like a shark sensing a drop of blood in the water.

Thanks @moosemonstrous for helping me edit Hunter's comeback in the second panel.

Watch and learn, kids.

BONUS:

I headcanon that Hunter can use her healing magic like some sort of scanner to find what's wrong before healing. After looking what was going on inside the Rider before the mission she spent like a solid minute staring into the void with a completely blank face.

[grunklefordpines]

Ok, since you find it charming that people are calling you a silver fox, has it helped improve how you see yourself? I feel like a therapist right now, sorry-

Haha!

I scarcely use the mirror—I have better things to be spending my time doing.

[herotome]

me: looking at the entire cast of very attractive love interests

me: *points at Evil Eye* I want THAT one

lord help me when the full game comes out bc i'm just gonna be staring at evil eye and wishing :,)

LOL well.... The only reason I don't announce him as a love interest is because idk if I'm capable of pulling it off (morally - he is a severe alcoholic and has many Issues that might make his route Problematic; and physically - I haven't even finished one route!!; other - Smokescreen would be greatly opposed to MC dating his nemesis) but if it seems feasible in the future I can make Evil Eye into a crowdfunding goal.

I definitely first designed him with the goal of making him an LI though. That's why he Looks Like That.

[ultimateblogfootball]

the road to recovery starts now 🫶🏼 Netflix recommendations below plz x - via Instagram samanthakerr20

[popsicle-stick]

What do you imagine the Drac Attack Pack look like a year or two afterwards when they a permanently changed but no longer Going Through It (and may have just possibly changed out of funerary garb)?

circa 1900

i actually can't decide if jon's hair grows back brown or stays grey/white! i think a lot of ppl like the latter, but i do like the symbolism of both.

but yeah! quincey the younger is on the way and all being said they're very happy!!!! and they look it. i think they (especially mina) take pains to make sure they, uh, come across as Normal as possible.

[spread-the-influence]

Post-Influence Rags not only being afraid of touch cause she's paranoid and scared she's still infected, but also convinced that Pomni hates her.

// honestly ? she'll be convinced that Everyone hates her as much as they try to convince her otherwise . it would be easier for her to work through the guilt if she was Completely unaware of what she's doing - which isn't the case .

. i realized this is possibly her worst nightmare - just having hurt everyone she cares for , being a selfish bitch during it , and being completely vulnerable by the end of it . yeah . no . she's staying in her room for weeks thank you //

[hampop]

What makes Outlast a special horror game is that it very easily could have been just another story about “scary crazy mental patients!!” but it takes the time to explain that these patients are victims of exploitation by the megacorp that bought the asylum. Like the true horror is corporate greed and warfare and Outlast hammers that home.

[meadowziplines]

Damsel in distress/ self rescuing princess ?caught my eyes👀

dream in a human au but still defining himself by stories and story tropes! it's basically a dreamling fic 4+1 of 4 times Hob rescued him (ranging from not too serious and/or amusing, to actual serious rescue/serious injury, and then one time he became a self-rescuing princess and saved himself)

snip:

(Dream … likes fairytales. The gilded kind, because the true stories are ugly and dark and bitter, and he is afraid of them; afraid of being nightmarish and cruel and unworthy of saving. It is not something he admits to many people, how desperately he wants someone to sweep him off his feet, carry him from the tower, save him from the dragon.)

(ONE)

"I'm fine," Dream starts to say automatically, and then sees his hand, bleeding profusely. The air shimmers. He clutches at his hand. Blood oozes around his other fingers, and nausea spools in his gut as his surroundings start spinning. His ears ring a little, spots floating in his vision.  He hears Desire say, "Dream?" in a tone that might indicate concern, and then everything goes dark.  He blinks, vision swimming back, to see a holy vision sinking to his knees above him. Well. The field medic isn't Jesus, but Dream does have a massive crush on him. Desire has teased him all afternoon, for they know what Dream looks like when he has a crush. "Hello," says the holy wonder, smiling. Dream simply stares, lost in his brown eyes, and then smiles like an idiot.   "Oh, you're kidding," Desire says, somewhere to his left. "Dream, really, this guy?"  Dream blinks. "Hello," he finally answers. A sharp pain in his hand caused him to wince, and he looks at it, at the blood, and winces. His vision blurs again.