My warrior cats fanfiction, The Story of Snow
And my fac based on the song “The Ballad of Sara Berry”
A fanfiction for the Odyssey (That I did not Proofread):
https://archiveofourown.org/works/64353151
A self indulgent peice of a completely unfinished Dragon quest builders two fanfic
https://archiveofourown.org/works/78488571
And you can also find some snippets here on tumblr under the tag #Frosty Writing
im so sorry i never participated in the reblog game you tagged me in i love you very much im just so tired
game with the conceit that you are a swarm of medical nanobots injected the patient as an experimental last-ditch effort to save their life. you can expand your swarm and create all sorts of specialised bots, but all the resources to do so are ultimately from the patient's body, so if you drain them too much they die. you are fighting against tumour cells, though, who have no such concern, so maybe sometimes taking too many resources for yourself is better than giving it to the cancer?
envisioning the gameplay as divided in stages, the first one being just 'get rid of all the cancer cells before the patient dies', where you have to balance aggressive expansion to improve your capabilties with not throwing the patient's vitals too out of whack, researching better 'weapons' that kill cancer cells faster or with fewer deleterious health effects, etc,
then a 'solidifying' phase where the cancer is gone, but the patient might be in poor health and you start building systems to catch opportunistic infections, automated systems that respond when something about the patient is off (fever, low blood pressure, broken arm, whatever), and some rudimentary communications capability. not enough of whatever mineral in your resources? you could communicate with the little wearable medical device the patient has on their wrist to tell them to change their diet! or, y'know, you could give them a craving for a specific kind of food. either works
and then in the third stage, you really go deep into host manipulation and host cooperation mechanics. you can make your host superhuman, get messages from them about what changes they want to their body and implement them, and in return they do things for you. change their diet, buy a better communications interface, tell all their friends that medical nanonbots are great. or you can effectively turn them into a zombie, just a vessel for the bots. or split the difference, and make the patient want specific things that the swarm can easily provide to build 'trust'.
yes this does mean you can induce your host to want to be a girl and then be really happy with you for speedrunning their medical transition
Congratulations!
You reached the bedrock after u scrolled ur feed so deep.
I love this post bc mutuals will reblog this and itll be like. 3 posts from the top
hOw DiD yOu FuCkInG kNoW
👏👏👏
So--when I was in my mid-twenties and the Disaster Ex tried to make me kill myself, the local mental hospital didn't have any beds open in the usual ward for attempted suicides.
What they did have was a single spare bed in the small, comfortable, quiet, wildly expensive facility for girls with eating disorders.
They asked each of the young women currently living there if it was acceptable that I might occupy a bed in one of the rooms for a while, just the long weekend while I was waiting for a doctor's evaluation. I hadn't been violent, I had gone with the cops without putting up any fight at all, and I was still and I was small and all those things were sufficient for me to be deemed safe. So up they sent me, to somewhere high in Western Psych, above the smells and sounds of the denser-packed wards, above where the care workers were harried and frustrated, to a gentle space with seven or eight young women in it.
I was five foot three, and I weighed about 115 pounds. I was underweight for my frame, as a fair amount of that weight was martial arts muscle; I would probably have been ten pounds heavier if I were healthy, with the amount of activity I got.
I was at least two inches shorter than pretty much every other young woman there, six or seven inches shorter than one of them, and I had at least thirty pounds on several of them. The tallest was not allowed to walk, she had to sit in a wheelchair and be pushed around, because her condition was so advanced that the motion would undo what good her hard work had done.
And over the course of the four or five days I was there, multiple of them came up to me alone to quietly tell me that I had the *perfect* body, and they wished they could be as skinny as I was. That I needed to live, because I was beautiful, and if they were as beautiful as I was, they wouldn't need to be here.
Their eyes were on me all the time, in the hours that I wasn't sleeping. I spent a lot of time sleeping, and we took our meals separately (I not needing to be monitored while I ate, and not having my food weighed), but we spent a fair amount of time sitting around in the little shared living room space, talking about movies and magazines and books we'd loved, talking about our families. I didn't talk about my family; they didn't pry.
They were all so fucking nice.
And I could have broken any one of them over my narrow knee.
They each thought they were bigger than I was.
Their brains lied to them, every time they looked at a mirror. Every time they looked down at their own thighs. What they saw was not what I could see. They had bright, beautiful eyes in dark hollows, and I could count their vertebrae, could see their ribs winging when they breathed, could see the motion of every tendon on the backs of their hands.
They weren't celebrities. They weren't being paid to have particular bodies, nor were they deep in the toxic sea of having strangers take photos of them to sell to gossip rags if they stepped out of doors in old jeans. They had families and loved ones who were doing everything that they could to protect them, to uplift them and help them be healthy. They were just everyday people--a nurse, a couple of students, a couple of recent college grads, a young woman who had decided it was time to really get help because she wanted to be a mother--and still they'd been so injured by the neverending fucking deluge of body-image bullshit that they were dying of it.
That was in 2009. Things are worse now.
I think about them still. I hope that they're all right.
And in case some people aren't aware: anorexia is deadly. There is a point at which your body looses the ability to digest food and you are no longer capable of improving.
you disagreed w me in an intellectually honest way. we're friends now.
Ever since I was a little girlthing I knew I wanted to see women, bleeding all over, barely alive, stumbling through the rain, knocking on a door with what little force their delirious limbs can muster, collapsing onto the floor in front of someone who's very horrified and confused at their current state, but who drags them inside and bandages them up, preparing to demand answers but ultimately being so gentle with her. Normally
Ok, playing Date everything, and its painful, yet funny how you get replaced by AI in the first few minutes of playing.
Guess who’s watching Smile 2 (2024)!
I already watched Smile (2022) and did a train of thought thing, and Im doing it again.
Spoilers ahead!
