#nerd sleep

[trevlad-sounds]

Ambient drone mix. 👇

1-Trevlad-Brushed Sunrise

2-Chris Otchy-El Chapo

3-Scanner-Deer to Village

4-Roel Funcken-Part 2

5-Arbee & v e n n-HP10 [Meditation]

6-loscil-Upstream

7-theAdelaidean-Floating

8-Stellardrone-Ultra Deep Field

9-IDRA-Lighthouse keeper

10-Sulk Rooms-An Old Friend Returns

11-Jeremiah Chiu-Eighteen

12-Simon McCorry-Daydream as the Rain Gently Falls

13-John Haughey-Abyssal Benthic

14-Inner Vision Laboratory-Ended

15-René van der Wouden-When the Coastline hits the Sea

16-Nils Frahm-Right Right Right

[blumineck]

His name is Zorro, and he's a paid* actor!

Join Patreon here for more nonesense!

[seren-dipitous-art]

Am I pretending Tim is drinking coffee from a horn in vaguely medieval times? Maybe.

Only the tiny spiky child is to come. I am excited.

[han-ban-bam]

💤💤💤💤

[screwpinecaprice]

When your boyrfren is a morning person.

(Idk if Connie's not a morning person, but it'd be funny if she isn't.)

Connie doodles (and a Steven!)

[kitmarlowe]

[melancholicmarionette]

Don’t know how much real world stuff people choose to include in their own fics but the fact that you can buy single-use medical grade staplers at the tractor supply store is very much going in the “haunted Midwestern teens rawdog EMT training on a nightly basis” file cabinet

[captainkirkk]

How long was it between when Iroh convinced Zuko to take up the Fire Throne, and Sozin's comet? A day? Less??

AU where Iroh convinces Zuko to be the next Fire Lord MUCH earlier in the series. Zuko, who hasn't been in formal education since was 13yo, understandably panics. He barely remembers his lessons on How To Be the Fire Lord, and they were all focused on how to rule during wartime. Not peace. What does an international peace treaty even LOOK like and how does one go about making it???? How does trade work when you're NOT trying to eradicate every other nation????

Book 3 Zuko spends all of his time teaching Aang firebending, interrogating the other members about their culture's traditions and politics, going on Blue Spirit journeys to raid any passing libraries, and reading everything he can get his hands on. He barely eats. He doesn't sleep. He's info dumping about the DRIEST political texts. The gaang are THIS close to holding an intervention or having Toph sit on him until he sleeps.

[mewmewbeenz]

Brennan provided Spicese and requested the remaining 11… how could I NOT immediately make food astrology puns?

Because alt text has a character limit here is the full original text:

my submissions for calorum astrology

Capricolacorn

Aguarias (agua)

Spicses

Areeses

Taurpas (tapas)

Geminartini

Crabster

Leomenade

Virgon olive oil

Gheebra

Scorpviche

Sagphetti Sauce

[dustykneed]

not a SINGLE day goes by where i don't think about that post with the photo of andrew's death grip on alex's waist. you know the one

(i have, regrettably, once again, lost the damn post. if anyone has any clue as to its whereabouts i would be much obliged if you could drop the link lol. but at the very least i had the presence of mind to download the photo so here yall go xDD:

[arkangelo-7]

Imagining the absolutely chaotic day when Bruce Wayne tried to teach certified nerd Jason Todd how to defend himself against opponents fighting with a sword. Cause you know that training sesh instantly devloped into Jason running around like:

… and Bruce just gives up.

[trevlad-sounds]

Just sleep

[between8to12or5overload]

F808z on insta

[phonydiaries]

Beautiful Dreamer - P x Reader

Notes: This is a bit of a shorter fic from me and it's pure unadulterated fluff and sap and nobody gets stabbed! Which is really stretching myself as a writer, to be honest. You guys know I love nothing more than a good life-threatening injury. Anyways, no warnings for this one! Enjoy the cozy vibes <3 

---

It seemed somewhat magical in the beginning. 

Pino came running to you once, at the very break of dawn when you had just barely opened your eyes; too-bright sunlight stinging them as the puppet shook you from sleep. It was difficult for you to grasp what he meant, at first, to wrap your head around what he was trying to describe. His speechless manner of communication and your general grogginess certainly didn’t help matters. But through a series of signs and expressions from Pinocchio, you came to understand. In his slow but sure gaining of humanity the boy had begun to dream at night. 

You were vaguely aware that he did not dream before, and didn’t exactly sleep in the way humans did (although he did something similar enough that you personally couldn’t tell the difference). 

“Is it… pleasant?” You asked him, genuinely quite curious as to what a strange thing dreams must seem to someone who had never known them. It had the potential to be wondrous and peaceful, but at the same overwhelming and utterly confusing. P seemed to take your question into careful consideration, really mulling it over. His eyes shone bright as he finally nodded decisively. 

For all his excitement over this newfound ability, Pinocchio was frankly dreadful in his attempts at describing his dreams to you. You tried earnestly to follow along, but his gestures and expressions would eventually become too complicated and frenetic for you to follow and so you found yourself utterly lost in his recollections. It was after one such frustrating night that you gifted him a pocket journal to write in. This was much preferred for both of you, and you came to enjoy the routine of him eagerly handing off his scribblings for you to interpret in the morning. You would sit elbow to elbow at the table, sipping morning tea and reading his writing aloud, while he listened and nodded along captivated, his chin resting over his hands on the table. 

His writing was uncharacteristically scratchy, with words often misspelled or crossed out implying that he was simply transcribing for speed and not coherence. Now and then there would be an addition of a crude drawing, sometimes the vague outline of a rabbit or a rushed impression of beaming stars. 

One day, when it was particularly gloomy, you and Pino wandered to the library. Silence between the two of you was not uncommon, nor was it in any way awkward or uncomfortable. With the heavy fall of rain against the roof on this day, you found the quiet between the shelves especially peaceful. By the orange glow of a lantern, you turned the pages of a dream-interpretation guide. It was a small and somewhat battered thing and had been picked up eagerly by Pinocchio of course, who sat on the floor with crossed legs, chin resting in the heels of his hands as he listened to you, enthralled. In hushed tones, you ran down bulleted lists of common dreams and all the cryptic mysteries they may contain. 

“Here, how about this one, have you ever dreamed that your teeth were falling out?” You asked, pointing to a passage in the book. P slapped a hand over his mouth and shook his head vigorously, looking suddenly very concerned with keeping said teeth firmly in his mouth. You couldn’t help chucking as you turned the page. 

The day wore on, and the oil in your lantern burned down to nothing, the dim light flickering across an eerie illustration. You’d been leafing through an art book of the romantic era painters and left off on a Fuseli painting of a tormented woman being peered upon unknowingly by some manner of devil. You found the page quite off putting honestly, and closed the book. 

“I figure that’s enough of that. What do you say, Pino-oh.” 

As you addressed your puppet companion in the dark, you came to see that he sat on the floor still, slumped against the foot of your chair. His cheek was sunk into his left shoulder, eyes shut, breathing soft and shallow. The serenity of the scene warmed your heart some, and you leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. “Pino…” you whispered, and ran a hand through his hair in an effort to wake him. But he didn’t stir, seemingly in a deep sleep. You were sorry for the uncomfortable condition he seemed to be posed in, but you didn’t want to disturb the poor puppet. You gathered your things and left quietly, shuffling off to your quarters. 

It was around midnight that the puppet woke with a panicked gasp. He was surprised to find his legion arm held up defensively, as if in anticipation of an invisible attack. His eyes searched his surroundings frantically, and only when he recognized the library did he hesitantly lower his arm. In the darkness he felt quite uneasy and disoriented. He tried to recall your soothing hushed voice. It had put him into quite a state it seemed before he eventually drifted off. It was in stark contrast to the current thrumming of his mechanical heart and the uncomfortable quickness of his breaths. He had dreamed something wholly unpleasant, and with some sadness realized this new facet of humanity came with drawbacks. He did not care much for these dreams at all.

Pinocchio made his way down the corridor to your quarters, his steps echoing eerily. He threw pointed glances over his shoulder frequently, half expecting some monstrous creature to appear suddenly in the halls of Hotel Krat. The simple casting of shadows had never before made him so on-edge. When he reached your room, he opened the door slowly and peered inside. You lay there in the dark beneath silk sheets, curled in on yourself and sleeping soundly. With great care not to startle you, he knelt by your bedside and nudged you in the back. Your head flinched momentarily, but you otherwise remained still. With some urgency he took your shoulder and shook until you stirred. Rubbing your eyes wearily, you rolled over to face him. 

“Pino, it’s ah…it’s late isn’t it? Can’t it wait til morning..?” You grumbled. He shook his head almost apologetically and squeezed your shoulder. As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you were able to make out unfamiliar anxious creases in his expression. You willed yourself into a greater awareness and sat up promptly. “What is it, what’s wrong?” You asked, your tone softening significantly. P gestured in the direction of the library and rummaged around in his pocket for a moment. He retrieved the pocket journal you’d given him and pointed several times at the most recent entry. You squinted. On the left page he had simply blacked out the entire thing with a pen, and on the right page the phrase “strung up” was written several frantic times with increasing disregard for legibility. 

When you looked up at him to clarify, he raised his hands limp above his head and dropped his chin to his chest. The image was admittedly shuddersome and he cast a long and spindly shadow across the wall. 

“I see.” You said, closing the journal. “You had a nightmare, hm? All strung up like an ordinary puppet.” Your heart fell for the poor boy. It must’ve been terribly frightening for him. 

Pinocchio nodded solemnly, not meeting your eyes. He stared off blankly and rubbed his wrists, as if easing a phantom feeling of restraints. You took note of this and hummed softly. 

“Here, may I see?” You asked, and pulled his arm towards you. You made a show of inspecting it and tapping your chin thoughtfully. Holding his arm with one hand, you stuck up two fingers like a pair of scissors and pretended to snip the invisible puppet string. You repeated this mimic on his other arm and then took his hands in yours, placing a kiss on the back of each. 

“All gone.” 

Pinocchio looked at you with a kind of boyish wonder. He raised one fist to the crown of his head with a smile, making a  pshhh sound and opening his hand, giving the impression of a miniature explosion.

“Think you’ll be alright for the rest of the night?”

At this he shifted a little. His fingers busied themselves, twisting in the bedsheets. He was obviously still shaken up somewhat. You could understand that, although it was a bit of a surprise to learn that someone so nearly indestructible could be afraid of the dark. 

“Alright,” you sighed, lifting the sheets. “Get in here.” 

P’s chin jutted forward and his brow furrowed at your offer. You just gestured to the space beside you with your head. “Go on, before I change my mind.” You teased. At this, Pinocchio clambered up into your bed and nuzzled his face into the pillow. As he got settled. You pulled the sheet over his shoulders and snaked your arm up around him from behind. Your nose pressed against the nape of his neck and you breathed in the smell of him, like fresh rain. 

“Have no fear, my puppet.” You said sleepily against his skin. “Your trusty human won’t let anything steal you away from me in the night.” You heard him snicker at this, but you knew without a doubt he felt safer here with you and vice versa. It was sweet, really. 

By the time the sun rose you were both still sound asleep, all tangled in each other’s limbs, looking like lovers in the warm morning light. The day could wait a little longer. 

[goatunderthebridge]

Kenma calls kissing and make-out sessions power-ups when he's sleepy. send post