#boy i should sleep

[starpros-sunshine]

I think the reason I'm so uncomfortable in conversation with cis men is because in my life the image I've grown up with is that from the American movies and while there's so much to be said about how women in those are basically objects or exclusively love interests or just Really Really forgettable I feel like there's also something to be mentioned about how most of these men are all the same pseudo-tough-guy character that's cool and suave and sexy and the only emotion he's capable of is nonchalant banter (it feels worth mentioning that the American movies I'm referring to are all from the last century I have no idea if that's changed in these last years but a gut feeling tells me no) and I also barely talk to the guys from my grade so the result of kind of growing up with that is that I just genuinely can not imagine real cis men with a complex inner emotional landscape. Maybe this is also an empathy thing but I genuinely can not imagine most cishet guys doing normal people things in their free time that aren't gaming or going to the gym or...idk. making music too I suppose. It's quite comical really but I just can not imagine cishet men with interests or doing stuff like having crushes and it's so strange because I know for a fact I am generally speaking not a sexist person but this little tidbit of apparently just not being able to view cishet men as normal people? Can't get that to go away even if I logically know it's silly. There's a point in this post about how toxic masculinity is a huge issue and affects even those not affected by it and runs really really deep or whatever but I'm too tired to coherently put it together. On the positive side now I get really happy when I see men online talk about how much they love their wives and all that because it's like "wow! Crazy you really are just a normal dude and not some James Bond knock-off like I thought every cishet man was supposed to be! Thank god!"

[azulhood]

Danny was tired, like 'I feel it in my bones and soul' tired. And he didn't want sleep at home because there's only so many nights, he could spend lying awake making sure his heart was beating in case his parents checked on him.

Currently he was flying aimlessly not really taking in his surroundings, but he could neither sleep while flying or fly forever. Normally he'd sleep over at Sam or Tucker's, but the Mansons had made it clear that he wasn't welcome at their house anymore and Tucker was grounded. Both would sneak him in if he asked, but he didn't want them to get in trouble for him. Which leads him to decide between his two choices, sleeping in a graveyard, or sleeping in a forest.

The graveyard was a little crowded with all the ghosts that called it home but he could probably find a quiet spot to sleep. The forest had a great view of the stars but was filled with traps from both his parents and the GIW after tracking his ecto-signature. Both options weren't appealing, but he wasn't about to chance sleeping on the roof of his house again. There were too many ghost detecting guns attached to it now. Danny sighed, graveyard it was, at least the ecto from all the shades/ghosts would hide him well enough. Decision made, now all he had to do was make his way over there. But first, where the heck was he? Danny looked around at the unfamiliar grey sky and gargoyles littered around and realized he had no clue where he was. He must have flown too far away from Amity without noticing...Again. It was really becoming a bad habit. Danny stared down at the city's inhabitants that were going home or heading to nightshifts or whatever and dreaded the long flight back to his town. And maybe it was ghost instinct, or maybe it was just his exhaustion. But his brain suggested 'What if I just possess someone?' And to him that seemed like a perfectly logical train of thought. He wouldn't control their body or anything, just sleep in their skin...That did not make it sound better at all. Before he could think twice, someone left a general store, arms filled with stuff and somehow projecting an aura of safety. The two thoughts of 'They look comfy' and 'screw it' clashed together in his head as he made the very stupid decision of performing a swan drive right into the someone. "WHAT THE-" "Don't worry, I'll be gone by morning I just need to sleep" Danny cut off the persons freakout-he should really get their name at some point- he would have explained more but the sleep gods had already done their job. This left one very confused, scared, and freaked out Batkid.

[shepscapades]

UHH MUTUALS ARE ASLEEP QUICK POST WELSNO

[somegrumpynerd]

Thinking about how Nightmare has 4 mortals and 3 of them are so so bad at taking care of themselves

[iwikpines]

i needed a break from studying and @arxistarts suggested this outfit for buddy so of course i had to make him wear it

live chase reaction under the cut

[artiststarme]

Steve couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a proper night’s rest. It had to have been before Vecna started haunting people’s dreams that made the entire Party afraid to close their eyes. Before Max fell into a painful coma and Eddie succumbed to bat bites in the Upside Down. Maybe prior to Spring Break completely, before the Russians under Starcourt and the demodogs and demogorgons. Maybe before his parents became too disappointed in him, before they started punctuating their disgust in him with well-aimed fists. Perhaps he’d never had a restful sleep at all, he couldn’t remember anymore.

But ever since his eyes had landed on the bloody form of his new friend surrounded by carcasses in the desolate trailer park, he couldn’t sleep a wink. Whenever he tried to rest, he imagined the pain Eddie must have gone through (he knew how those teeth felt as they gnawed through thick layers of flesh). He thought of how they had been forced to leave his body down there to rot, how alone Eddie must have been in his final moments. He could vividly picture Eddie’s last breath and gurgling pain every night in his nightmares. Steve would snap awake every night, gasping for air and jumping at shadows.

For weeks, he isolated himself. He only went to work and back and even that was taken away from him once he dozed off at the counter on one of his shifts with Keith. Without Robin there to gently wake him up and cover for him, he lost his job then and there. Without anything to drag him out of the house, he began spending every minute cowering from his own thoughts. He couldn’t sleep at night and he would hallucinate during the day. He’d see shadow figures in the corner of his eye, hear distorted screeches and screams of pain. On the bad days, he’d even hear Eddie’s voice amidst the chaos.

Steve thought he’d lost his mind.

After so many years of dealing with the impossible, the craziness had caught up with him and poisoned his mind. Or maybe Vecna had finally caught by up to him. Had he finally decided to stop targeting teens in high school to move onto more traumatized targets (i.e., Steve)? Unfortunately, he couldn’t find it in himself to care either way.

He never expected his new turned dead friend to shake his shoulder gently to wake him up from a nightmare. Steve jerked awake to find soft brown eyes staring at him in concern.

His reaction was completely valid. He screamed his head off.

Steve screamed and cried as the Hallucination Eddie’s eyes widened in fear before frantic shushing and spastic hand waving began.

“Shh! Harrington, Jesus H. Christ, calm down. Holy shit, I thought you’d be the calm one. Calm down, please god.”

When his throat finally lost its ability to scream, he took a good look at Eddie. His eyes were dull, shadows bruised his face, and his skin was far paler than Steve had ever seen. New scars marred his cheek and lower jaw right where the bats had gnawed.

Was… was he really here?

“Eddie?”

The man in question beamed in response, “I see we’re on a first name basis now, Stevie. If I knew this was all I had to do, I would’ve almost died a long time ago!”

Steve threw himself forward into Eddie’s arms and ignored both his own aches and pains and Eddie’s oomph of surprise.

“You’re not going to be here in the morning, are you?” Steve whispered into the crook of his neck.

Eddie’s shaky hand latched onto Steve’s shoulder to deepen the hug. “Hell Steve, I’ll never leave you again if you’ll have me.”

Steve fell asleep in Eddie’s arms and when he woke up, he was curled against the warmth of his chest with a cold towel on his forehead. It hadn’t been a dream after all. Eddie had saved himself and had come to Steve’s. From that day forward, Steve had Eddie. He made the days meaningful and the nights restful, just as they always should have been.

[ssruis]

Good eye!

[skitskatdacat63]

2024 Azerbaijan Grand Prix - Oscar Piastri(pt. 2)

[ra3theemo]

after the last post i reblogged i cant stop making theseeeee

[inkieflame]

Okay so like what if (completely unrelated to my Lab AU).I write a fic where Joel and Lizzie are in an open relationship and Joel also has a crush on Etho, and Lizzie is so for it the whole time she proceeds to invite Etho on a trip to Japan with them. So the three of them hang out in Japan and Joel has to deal with his crush and also his wife teasing him about his crush. And what if I make them share a bed. What if. The possibilities are endless.

[yeahnohoneybye]

bout to pass out ✌️😛

[hitlikehammers]

wouldn��t it be WILD if steddie were heartbroken 💔 without each other (steve thinking eddie’s dead 💀 post s4/eddie in super intense secret WITSEC and couldn’t find steve if he tried 🫥) but they’re both actually secretly making 🎶music🎶 ABOUT EACH OTHER & THEIR BROKEN HEARTS?!?!?!????

…and both of them are hearing it?

Today for @steddielovemonth y’all are going to be subjected to a very indulgent snippet for a fic I have about a million words of headcanon and backstory for, but can never be allowed to write.  EVER.  Quick summary for the context: post S4, Eddie’s whisked away for treatment and healing and then given a new identity so everyone who ever knew him thinks he’s dead. This is not appreciated by Eddie at all bc he thought he and Steve were…that they had a ✨SPARK✨ He eventually settles; finds musical success in paving the way in some metal-adjacent genre fusion (can’t outright be as he was, ofc, he is IN WITSEC) Weird, then, when a masked, intentionally anonymous and deeply private metal-fusion-y group (think 🎵🎸Ghost meets Sleep Token🎵🎹) start climbing the charts to encroach on join his territory. Extra weird that their lyrics are all about either metaphors that only barely hide viscerally-disturbing violence that sometimes ping Eddie’s nightmares a little close to home, or even more often: love. Lost love. Lovesickness because of the lost love.  So much love. Again: weird.  The fact that the lead singer reminds Eddie of Steve from the first roll of his hips onstage means nothing; to this day, everything reminds Eddie of Steve.

rating: t ♥️ my only remaining note is to encourage that you listen to the link in the prompt 🎶

for @steddielovemonth day eighteen: 🎵 I wanna dance with somebody - Sleep Token

Eddie had done the calculus in this head. No one had seen him in public for years, now. He’s far from Hawkins, and the government locked the truth down hard: there hadn’t been coverage that went widespread. He’d fought them on the whole fucking thing as soon as he was conscious and understood they’d taken him to treat him, but had no intentions of letting him go back.

Disappearing under interdimensional-WITSEC was one thing. One already unacceptable thing he never agreed to. But…when he found out everyone thought he was dead?

That…that—

Even take out the way things had, like, Eddie could have sworn there was something real sparking between him and Steve—not just because the way he held himself back from kissing him goodbye luck, good luck when they split up in that last stand would not have been their first, Eddie’d gotten actual proof that all the taffy-thick tension and the fucking looks weren’t just things he was weighing up with his own want in the shape of Steve’s lips on his own. In the knowledge of what Steve Harrington fucking tastes like.

It was an all around dick move, is the point.

And he misses his people. His friends.

For the way he’s yet to pass a day without thinking of Steve: he misses the man he was already most of the way in love with.

But that’s how it ends up even being a question: can he risk leaving the house and entering a place so crowded and contextually ‘risky’ as a fucking concert.

He sells it mostly as market research, rather than him just trying to the fuck out of the house. It can be both, really, but in reality? It’s not a threat to him directly—sure as shit couldn’t convince his G-man handler out the gate to try and be a metal musician the way he’d always wanted to, but he’s found (not easily, <i>not</i> easily) a way to weave genres so he’s as unrecognizable now in his discography as he’s been forced to be physically: scruff on his cheeks, head always covered in some absurd new hat, part of the bit, part of how he gets away with being too lazy, still to maudlin to keep his hair shorn tight—he needs something to tear at on the worst nights or he will fucking lose what laughable grasp on sanity he has left, so.

But the whole multi-genre thing’s kinda his corner. So he tells himself that’s the real reason he’s here. At this show, in public. For a metal-adjacent fusion act that’s rocketing up the charts for their cross-genre innovations, not to mention their rip-your-heart-out approach to lyrics.

So maybe part of Eddie’d come to size up the competition in person, seeing as these motherfuckers are the gods of anonymity—paint and masks like KISS on steroids, but a little flair of mystique, like robes and veils and just…drama that walks the tightrope of being too much in a way that’d ruin it, that’d take them down hard just as they’re still on the rise but they…they manage it.

Fuck if Eddie knows how, walking in to the venue that night.

By the encore, though, now?

Well, shit.

They don’t talk on stage—Eddie’s heard they don’t talk at all, the bare number of interviews they give all being written exchanges, save for who he thinks is one of the two fucking drummers, but they use some kind of voice alternation like they’re the motherfucking FBI and this is Deep Throat calling. Eddie gets that it adds to the drama, but also their claim to not want the attention on themselves, only their music: good or bad. And if that’s honest, Eddie can respect it.

And in person, after this: he can certainly respect the effect that it has on the music itself in how it’s received on the ground, Jesus.

The whole thing is a well oiled machine made of human fucking emotion, which is kind of goddamn absurd. But the impact, the fact that it works, feels like it’s mainly credit to the lead singer—he’s got a code name thingy but fuck if Eddie remembers it; fuck if Eddie remembers anything with that figure, not even a face, but that body mostly hidden by paint and a robe he could swear had a twin he used for Hellfire in the old theatre room—but the lead singer. He’s conducted the stage for the whole fucking show less like a director with their annoying pointy stick and more…more half like a king, but higher, a nameless deity, and god-emperor with no face but then at the very same time, leaping in like a battle master, a general rallying troops he will die for before he loses, and so will push them past the brink to keep them safe, no matter the costs. He seems to push himself the hardest, by far.

Maybe too far.

There’s a danger in the whole display, that way—something spellbinding; riveting. It grasps Eddie from the inside, those big hands on the microphone reaching to squeeze his heart and stroke his lungs as much as to stroke something lower, lower, harder—

Fuck. Well.

Here he is. And if the lights weren’t still down, he’d think the set was over.

But then Mr. Lead(-me-down-a-dark-alleyway-and-have-your-way-with-me) swaggers back on from the wings, to the kind of insanity, the pitch of screaming and applause that Eddie thinks requires ear protection all on its own. And the Lead has been keeping the crowd in order as much as his band, the mastermind behind the offensive, with the protective drive he exudes, this weird feeling like he’s…proud when the fans move and sway and push and break and sing and sob—like they matter. Like he cares, without saying a goddamn word.

Now he hold his hands up: peace, still, quiet, and they obey. Everyone. It’s…uncanny.

A piano appears behind him, and anarchy unfolds again in an instant.

Eddie noticed a lot of piano, especially from the Lead-man, and how it’s been used in unexpected ways, especially with the doubled-up drums, hell, the multiple players on various instruments, the way they’ve put together an orchestra without it sounding forced or overcrowded, pretentious or unnecessary.

The lone figure walks toward the edge of the stage, away from the baby grand, and tilts his head, extends a hand again but only one this time—it quiets but doesn’t wholly quell the noise and then he shifts his body weight, a hand settling on his hip; his judgement playful but powerful.

Everyone is silent again. Eddie is…fucking floored.

The Lead waits, surveys every inch of the crowd in a way that feels like he actually sees everyone from behind his mask, Eddie included, and isn’t that a thought for lonely night in the near future, goddamn.

Eventually, though, he nods, satisfied with..something, and struts to his piano.

Eddie is left in those moments being too fixated on how unsatisfied he is by comparison, in very specific ways, until the keys ring out.

Like starlight. Like drops made of angel tears or some shit.

And then Eddie recognizes the song.

It’s all over the fucking radio—the original—so much even he can’t avoid it, but in truth he doesn’t really want to. Whitney is a massive fucking talent and the song’s catchy as hell.

But this man. This man.

He’s reshaping it into something deeply other.

And maybe later Eddie will marvel at how the song’s being reimagined, at the technical level. Will pick apart the genius, wonder at the inspiration of transforming what’s on the charts into this.

But for now he can only watch. Jaw dropped. People around him are actually crying for the feeling in this man’s voice, spare and personal and otherworldly—and Jesus H., Eddie feels fucking close to tears himself, what the actual fuck.

He doesn’t play the whole thing—ends. Stands. Bows. The crowd erupts on a delay as the Lead’s mostly out of sight. Eddie…

Eddie is still stuck on what he just witnessed.

Mainly—unexpectedly—the words.

He says man, like the radio version: need a man who’ll take a chance—

Which could mean nothing. Could just be respecting the masterpiece as written.

But then Eddie, replaying it all in his head, doesn’t think he’s making up that the Lead on stage just now failed to change up the lyrics, as the original did intend in one specific place.

He’s clear about the call of his loneliness. Fuck, half their songs make that real clear. But.

He never once sang this song—picked deliberately, crafted so elegant and raw—but never once did follow the original and sing about his lonely heart.

But again.

Could just mean nothing.

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @allmyfavoritethingsinoneblog @anthrobrat @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @disrespectedgoatman @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @friendlyneighborhoodgaycousin @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @madigoround @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

divider credit here and here and here

[eggsdrawings]

shuffles in… hiiii klance!!!

[temporarywelcome]

Yeah sex is cool but what about having a genuine connection with someone and being able to hold them in your arms and kiss their forehead when theyre feeling down and take care of them and protect them and make them your world????

[somegrumpynerd]

A few more Freaky Friday au doodles, Dream is trying to keep up the act and Nightmare has been worn down

[ruinme-please]

𝑰𝑽𝒀

oh god