#this is a bedtime thought

[acowardinmordor]

Hey. What if Chrissy was cursed, but she doesn’t go to Eddie to ask for ket, she goes to ask for carboprost. And maybe she doesn’t call it that by name, and maybe she doesn’t outright say that she can’t stay pregnant because it would mean that she’d have to marry Jason, but that doesn’t matter. Because in this version, Eddie is the child of an accidental pregnancy, and his mom and dad got married, and it destroyed his mom. So fuck that noise.

Normally, he’d have the meds on hand, and would offer to drive her out of town to a clinic. He happens to be out, and Chrissy is terrified (because Vecna is making it all so much worse) so Eddie changes something.

He offers to drive Dustin home, and has Chrissy with him. Dustin thinks this is hella weird, but Eddie says that he needs to talk to Claudia. Dustin still demands answers, but the kid knows that his mom is a nurse, and it has to be important to happen at 11 on a Friday. Chrissy stays in the car with her favorite music playing to help her calm down, while Eddie has a quick, awkward conversation with Claudia. She thinks Eddie got his girlfriend pregnant and gives him a look about it. She didn’t think that situation was a possible problem for Eddie tbh.

Claudia doesn’t have a random bag of abortion meds with her - that would be insane - but she works the next day, and can get Chrissy in quickly and quietly. Before opening.

Eddie goes back out to the van with the news, planning to ignore Dustin’s questions the entire way, and then leave. Thus. Dustin is with Eddie when Chrissy pauses the tape to listen. Thus. Dustin sees her cursed, and he’s a little shit, but he is always right. Cranks the music back up, manages, with Eddie’s help, to snap her out of it.

Dustin runs inside to grab his walkie, shout to his mom he’s having a sleepover, and starts the fight 16 hours early.

—-

Hot potato if you want it

[worsesart]

Nowhere to go but down

[sensorydephrivation]

Guys this isn’t funny anymore 😭😭😭

They went to a bar in these costumes. In a couple’s costume. Everyone there will Know or at least Assume. And they don’t care. They are GAY and HAPPY and FREE and honestly that’s what I’m here for. Just the freedom to let yourself be queer. Let yourself show all the love you feel. I don’t have it for myself, so I’m so glad that these fuckass twinks are getting it now. It’s about time.

[tombama]

Slippery Slopes

[awearywritersworld]

mdni

prisoner!toji x prison doctor!reader, anyone?

the first time you meet him, it's because he busts his knuckles so badly in a fight that he needs stitches.

"had i known there was such a pretty little thing hiding back here, i'd have done this a lot sooner."

the only response you offer is a roll of your eyes.

despite your evident disinterest, he visits the infirmary much more frequently after that day. the next time, he swears he feels ill and that there's something going around his cellblock.

"so, why's a nurse like you working in a place like this?"

"doctor."

"doctor, hm?" he muses. "i guess i really don't have a shot, then."

you let out a breath, something between a laugh and a scoff. the pads of your fingers prod at the lymph nodes below his jaw, and you conclude that he's probably feeling just fine. "not a chance."

a week later, he hurts his shoulder while weight lifting in the prison gym.

"you should really be more careful," you chide, rather confident his small winces aren't for show.

"if it means i get to see your pretty face, why should i?"

it's unbelievably inappropriate the way heat rises to your cheeks, but you can't help it.

so for the next two months, you just ignore it.

you ignore the easy conversation that seems to flow between the two of you. you ignore when his hand brushes against your thigh as you press your stethoscope to his chest. you ignore the fact you look forward to his visits.

but late one night, he's brought to infirmary after a fight with his cellmate. his eye is black, his lip is split, and his knuckles are bloody.

and you think fate must have it out for you, because you can't ignore it anymore. not when he's pushing you against the wall, a medical tray clattering to the floor in his haste. not when his lips devour yours hungrily, his grip on your hips brutal and unforgiving. not when he's sighing your name against your mouth, his soft tone a stark contrast to his actions.

finally you gather yourself enough to pull away, to ask him what the hell he's doing.

it doesn't matter though, because it's too late. you've had a taste of him, and you are so unimaginably screwed.

[kittykatninja321]

Thinking about how Bruce treated Jason’s legacy after his death is kinda pissing me off and the only consolation is knowing that whatever peace Bruce created for himself by warping his memory and telling himself that Jason’s death was due to his own recklessness and anger in order to cope was greatly disturbed and shaken by Jason’s return. Pain and suffering on planet earth <3

[vellichorsdesire]

f/o making up a small sign such as tugging the end of your sleeve to coax you into a hug— each time you notice the sign and allow them to hug you, you can’t help but notice it grows more and more longer… them even resulting in maybe rubbing your back as comfort or even adjusting their grasp and hugging you a little tighter as if you’ll slip away so easily from their arms.

(you can’t help but notice either than when you return such a secure hug back, the type that silently reassures that ‘i’m here,’ they sigh so contentedly near your ear that you’re sure that’s probably the reason why the hugs last so long)

[skeptical-saniwa]

The Sunday thought of the week:

Ok what if when Sunday’s frustratedly jealous & upset because you’re clueless about his feelings towards you (how many times has he made it obvious?) & you go on dates with other people

& since he doesn’t want to admit that, he just subconsciously flaps his wings real fast as he listens to you talk about your dating escapades🧍‍♀️

[lazylittledragon]

parenting is hard y'know

[kiarrahatesboys]

Realistically, today had been a good day. Most of Lena's technology worked perfectly, and any tweaks she needed to make went smoothly. Nia had bought her coffee. At a private moment around noon, Kara had kissed her cheek before flying off to do rounds on the city.

Lena, however, stands in the hallway of Kara’s apartment building wishing she could punch a hole or twelve into the drywall. Her keys - including the spare key to the loft that she had been given - fall out of her hand to the floor, and she feels the tension in her chest build.

It takes an eternal four seconds to pick them up, unlock the door, and step inside.

Kara stands by her kitchen sink, sipping from her purple water bottle. “Hi, baby.”

There is no will to look over and smile in response. Lena drops her purse on the floor and trudges straight to the bed. She falls face-first into it, feet dangling in the air.

All the blankets and abandoned clothes from this morning smell familiar. Lemon and woodsmoke – Kara. Lena likes to joke that the woodsmoke smell is because she flies so fast she burns up.

She can feel the furrow in her eyebrows, and what's worse is that she has no idea why it's there. It was a good day. She didn't even have to make a pit stop at Luthor Corp to put out any fires. There's nothing wrong.

The lack of explanation for her frustration makes her even more frustrated.

“Hey.” The mattress dips as Kara sits down. “Rough day?”

“No,” Lena says into blankets, suddenly near tears. She rolls over onto her back. “That's the thing, it was good. So why am I in meltdown territory?”

Kara’s hand is in her hair – soothing, home, safety. “I’m sorry. Let me help you?”

Lena nods, toeing off her shoes. They clatter to the floor. Kara offers her hands and pulls her into a sitting position. She helps Lena out of her day clothes and expertly offers the right pajamas. Good texture, good match, good breathability.

It takes a moment for her to start pulling them on as she prepares to go from stationary to in motion. The clean air surrounding her body after she changes helps to lessen the dread in her shoulders. Kara knows the little details to make her comfortable - hood up over her head, a fresh pair of socks. Once dressed, Lena flops over onto her side and curls up tight.

Kara leans over to kiss her head. She draws the curtains. The room becomes dark, and Lena feels her eyebrows relax. It’s a warm summer day outside, and the sun has made its presence clear. The darkness now dampening her vision offers peace.

“Do you want me around?” Kara asks, voice soft.

“Yes, please.” Lena sounds childlike. Her voice is fragile, muffled under her hands.

“Okay, scooch. Make room.”

Lena falls limp as a smile ghosts her face.

“Wow. Okay.” Kara heaves a dramatic sigh.

She feels Kara’s arms snake under her body. For a moment, she’s weightless, and then she’s gently set a foot or two over from where she was before. The mattress bounces again as Kara settles.

Lena reaches behind her to pull Kara's arm over her stomach and takes a deep breath.

“Good girl,” Kara says innocently.

“Hmm?”

“The deep breath. Proud of you.”

Lena’s body feels warm with love. “Thanks.”

The conversation lulls. Lena keeps breathing. Cool air keeps her temperature regulated under a hoodie and Kara’s body. Tension still weighs in her chest, but the accommodations matter. Kara doesn't even ask what she needs, she just knows. Lena barely has to move. She's surrounded by so much love.

“I wish I knew what was wrong.” she says into silence.

Kara hums, sounding sleepy and content.

“Like, nothing bad happened. I had a good day. Why do I feel like I want to implode?”

“You’re autistic, love.” Kara slips her hand beneath Lena’s hoodie to hold her tummy. “That happens. Sometimes there's no answer. I know you don't like that, I’m sorry.”

Lena hates how whiny she sounds. “But I want an answer! I want something to fix.”

“I know, baby.”

She sighs, then rolls over into Kara’s embrace. Having nothing to blame makes the situation feel unresolved. Agitation swirls in her gut, but she knows there's nothing to be done. Sometimes there are just days where the world is too much.

“Too much world.” Lena mumbles.

Kara puts a hand in her hair. “I know. I’m sorry. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

As much as the lack of answer makes things unfinished, the hoodie helps. Having the hood up helps. She has clean socks and a dark room. Her girlfriend loves her, and is warm and solid against her.

Despite it all, she's loved. And that’s important too.

"Thank you." she whispers into darkness.

Kara scratches gently at her scalp. "Always, baby."

Always.

[starkspi]

these sketches are all inspired by @miribalis fanfiction "Managerial Liberties" where Adam stays at the hotel (spoiler - he is not happy and he is still stupid) [and please everyone who sees this post also has to read "Bedtime Rituals to Try out Before the Next Angelic War" so we can scream in each other's faces how INSANELY good both fanfictions are]

[basket-of-radiants]

Sorry, this was gonna be a comic with an actual punchline, but this part was funnier just on its own.

[thedomesticanthropologist]

The abandonment wound that turns into a deep, never healing "I want someone to take care of me" is just

So

Big sometimes

And so often we become the one who takes care of people - those of us with this wound.

The hard thing is, learning how to take care of yourself really well doesn't heal it. Learning how to ask for help when you need it doesn't heal it. Learning to live with it doesn't heal it.

Nothing really does, when that "step" in your early childhood was either missed, mishandled, or otherwise fumbled spectacularly enough to cause this kind of wound. It's hard in complicated cases too, where you were cared for in many ways but maybe not the one that mattered. Or you were cared for in ever way but inconsistently. Or it was from a source that betrayed or abandoned you, even if you were handed off immediately to someone else that took care of you. There is no wrong way to receive this wound, nor is there a competition for who gets to feel it the hardest or the deepest.

But those who have it recognize each other, I think. We do, even if we don't know what it is we are recognizing. Even if the wounds were caused in different ways, even if our stories look so very different.

"I want someone to take care of me"

It may just always be there, in some way or another. It may even be unwanted, where you can't articulate it or you become hyper independent. It may be desperately wanted and cause clinging and limerance and all those painful things. It may be witnessed and cared for and managed by someone who sees their wound and does all the 'right' things.

But it doesn't really ever leave, does it

And we find each other, don't we?

[moeblob]

The year is 2038 and we're still suffering bisexual erasure.

[vcrnons]

woozi loves his team, he loves his crew.

[brainrotisseriechicken]

(heaven is you,)

(heaven is you,)

(heaven is you.)

everything else was stressing me out so i drew a bunch of hands to relax (thus me not bothering to polish them) (did its job for the first couple hours then i got anxious again)