#like for her health and for mine

[hungerpunch]

i have never formally, officially been a people manager before but one thing i know about me is that if i were managing a tiny team who were up against a mount everest-scale of work with an actually impossible deadline, i would probably kick off our monday morning meeting by hyping them up and making sure everyone is as supported as possible rather than, uh, shitting all over them and complaining and demotivating them. idk! just. a personal choice

[timeladix]

Friends with benefits but the benefit is giving each other societally unacceptable long hugs and generally being more touchy while literally being friends and not actually a couple

[kinokoshoujoart]

scribbles based on my Another Wonderful Life file where i discovered Rock and Nami showing up together at Vesta’s farmhouse late at night on multiple occasions to cause various types of chaos and disturbance and havoc until Marlin and Vesta’s bedtime (which they both announce in unison to kick everyone out) this included

Rock levitating and attempting to rizz up vesta

Nami making a beeline for Celia’s room where she stands around making very subtle remarks (celia isn’t even in her room)

Marlin Enduring

haunting crime scene photos of the shenanigans:

[petrichorium]

pluvi begging you to expand on gojo not wanting what happened to his mother to happen to you 🙏

warnings: it’s all a dream so nothing is real aside from the flashback stuff but pregnancy as horror, (sewing) needles, implied gore/eye trauma, implied child harm, gojo is messed up yo!!! and its bc of his mama!!!

he dreams about her.

it’s an odd thing, really. gojo isn’t much of a dreamer—not much of a sleeper, all things considered, but it’s difficult not to give in when you drag him to bed and curl up in his arms. the soft rise and fall of your chest, the steady thump of your heart, the sound of your breath; it soothes him into slumber.

and he dreams about her. she was always young. he’s older now than she ever got to be. frail, thin; borderline skeletal, robes hanging from her body like webbing. she sits in a chair facing a window, swathed in moonlight, the silver of her embroidery needle glinting with each stab. her face is veiled. her stomach is swollen with child.

she doesn’t turn to him, but she beckons without noise. his feet take him easily to her, and he kneels at her side as she sets aside the embroidery hoop to let him place his head on her knees.

her hand is cold as it threads through his hair. it’s gentle, at first. then harsher a moment later. she grips firm, tugs him up by those electric white threads, stares down at him through all that elaborate lace.

he imagines she’s weeping beneath it. his mother never wept before him, but she was pretty in the aftermath, eyes puffy and pink and shining. they were a cold kind of loving when they regarded him. she must have been beautiful once, elegant and lithe and willowy, cruel like the heartless sea and sharp like a brilliant diamond, but whatever was there is long gone. he thinks all sons must empty their mothers, bleed them dry from within, because his was always a shell.

she trails her hand down the side of his face, and he turns into the palm and closes his eyes, and she is silent as she sets down her embroidery to lift her veil. she is silent and hollow and eidolic as her fingers brush down his jaw and tilt his head up to look at her.

but it’s your face that he sees when he opens his eyes.

it’s your hand against his cheek, your eyes pink and puffy and pretty, your stomach bulging by his own doing. it’s your fingers that pluck up the needle, still attached to a thread of brilliant cerulean, and raise it to his eye.

his mother never was able to pierce him with that needle. she stopped herself, each and every time, dropping it and tugging him close in shame. she never doted, never was kind, but she never did manage to harm him.

you do. he lets you. it’s only fair. whatever thing is in your stomach can’t be human—whether god or demon what does it matter, at the end of the day—and didn’t he put it in you himself? if his mother never got the satisfaction of spilling his blood, shouldn’t you?

but he wakes just as the tip pierces his iris, and you hold him in your lap, eyes wide with concern and not puffy from weeping, and you hold no child within you. your hands thread through his hair and they’re warm, your lips plush when you bend to press a kiss to his brow.

he turns inward to press his face into your (empty, blissfully vacant) abdomen. the wetness he leaves there, falling from his so very coveted eyes, is colorless.

he thinks it ought to be brilliant crimson.

[sbd-laytall]

[coulsonlives]

Omg, Dante Basco ships Zutara! My life is complete.

[bitegore]

if your ocs were bosses in a video game, what do you think their boss fight would be like?

[celebrate-lesbianism]

Love and support for femmes who don't wear makeup, get their nails done, or shave 💖

[raininyourblackeyes]

My cousin, a published writer, a well-known poet in my country and a literature professor, for whom I've always been no.1 support ever since her first attempts at writing in high school, told me that I must stop writing as a hobby because that's her thing and since I'm writing fantasy mostly my writing could never have any important artistic value anyways.

[penisbilt]

the bittersweet but absolute flood of relief that comes from admitting defeat at living independently, to have to move back in with parents. we tried! we gave it our best shot for almost 3 years! but living like this (being on our own) is just not possible for us at this time of our lives. we've finally proved it to ourselves that we can't do it. it'll be okay to let ourselves rest now

[aurorashard]

.

[kutyaharapas]

i dont think my brain can conceptualize love. or at least from the information i gather

[urloveangel]

growing up means realizing how much of your self talk is actually your parents’ words…

[sleepyagent]

Its ok, I know the door is closed

[redgoldblue]

just realised i have to get permission from two separate deans if i want to do a masters. i don't want to contact deans :( emails :(

Edit: made a list about it. am telling myself that if I got through year 1 med surely I can write six emails and also a cv. not sure i believe myself.

[themoonunderstoodmydadjokes]

Whenever someone tells me “I’m sorry you have to go through/deal with that alone” I just… don’t know what to say??? Other than like “oh it’s ok” or “it is what it is” like how am I meant to respond to that??