#CAN YOU LIKE. USE YOUR BRAINS.

[petewentzisblack1312]

me when i can recognize satire and context.

[pencildragons]

still insanely funny to me that ortus nigenad has canonically written 18 volumes of epic poetry about a bodyguard who was, in fact, Just Some Guy, and regularly quotes himself out loud in conversations on the regular. man had to die at the start of gtn because he was too fucking powerful to live

[jinstronaut]

kim seokjin, according to @aprylynn happy birthday apryl! ♡♡♡

[solarmorrigan]

The crack of thunder is loud enough to jolt Steve awake, and for a moment his sleep-clouded eyes search the room wildly for the threat, for whatever woke him, before another peal of thunder seems to roll the tension right out of him.

“Shit,” he sighs, relaxing back into the mattress. “Big one.”

“Yep,” Eddie says tightly from where he’s sitting up against the headboard beside him.

Steve squints up at Eddie in the dim light of the bedside lamp (which Eddie has no plans to turn off, despite the fact it’s gone past two AM). He’s clearly not quite awake, but something in Eddie’s tone has pinged in his brain, and he’s trying to work it out.

Another crash of thunder rattles the house and Eddie can’t help it – he jumps.

It’s small—maybe more like a twitch—but Steve catches it. He always does.

Frowning, Steve reaches out and soothes a hand up the top of Eddie’s thigh, stopping at the bend of his hip and rubbing circles with this thumb.

“Hey,” he says softly, half muffled by the pillow. “Okay?”

Eddie shrugs, hunching over the book in his lap that had been an adequate distraction until the storm had rolled right overhead.

“Not a fan of thunderstorms, I guess,” he admits, lowly, because he’s kind of embarrassed, but willingly, because he knows Steve won’t give him shit – not for something that really upsets him.

“No?” Steve asks, still looking up at Eddie through his lashes, still not entirely awake and an invitingly soft distraction from the rain spattering the window like bullets.

“Nah.” Eddie shrugs again.

Steve hums—a short, distracted sound—and leans in to press a kiss to Eddie’s hip. Then he’s sitting up and stretching with a sharp intake of breath before draping himself over Eddie’s side, kissing his shoulder and looking up at him with expectant eyes.

I’m awake now, he’s saying. You can talk to me.

And Eddie knows he can – and Eddie would, except he’s never really had to put into words why he—Eddie Munson, champion of chaos and discord—has never liked thunderstorms. He’s never had to articulate how the trailer walls had never felt thinner when he was a kid than when a storm was furiously beating at them, or how all the noise and destruction had been something totally out of his control.

Wayne is the only one who really knows, and Wayne had just gotten it. He’d started playing music for Eddie when those Midwestern spring storms started rolling in – and maybe Eddie didn’t love thunder and lightning, but that had been how he’d fallen in love with the idea of making music.

There, at last, had been a form of noise and chaos that Eddie could control and wield for himself.

But it’s late, and Eddie is strung out and wrung out and it doesn’t feel like he has the energy for that conversation.

“Never really liked them when I was a kid,” he says instead. “And then after all the shit with the Upside Down, I think it was the final nail in the coffin.”

Steve makes a little wounded noise, maybe at Eddie’s phrasing, maybe just in sympathy, and he turns his head to press a kiss to the side of Eddie’s throat.

“Anyway, it’s stupid, and I can deal with it. You can go back to sleep,” Eddie says, very much aware that he’s clutching one of Steve’s hands as he does so.

“Not stupid,” Steve says. “I’ll go back to sleep if you lay down with me.”

Eddie sighs. “Steve…”

“I’m serious. Hit the light and lay down with me.” Steve kisses Eddie’s neck again, twice, three times, trailing up to the hinge of his jaw, where he murmurs, “Trust me.”

And Steve is a bastard, because Eddie can’t say no to that, so with another (greatly put-upon) sigh, Eddie leans over to put his book on the nightstand and then, after just a moment of hesitation, he turns out the light.

The storm wastes no time in reilluminating the room with flickering lightning, followed by another crash of thunder.

But Steve’s hands are on Eddie, warm and sure, and he’s telling him come here and then pulling him nearer like he can’t wait.

Eddie lets himself be rearranged without complaint and finds himself lying face to face with Steve, legs tangled, arms caught between them, their foreheads brushing. He can feel Steve’s breath against his lips when he begins to speak.

“When I was a kid, I loved thunderstorms,” Steve says, voice soft.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, the word feeling small in the scant space between them.

“Yep,” Steve says. He takes one of Eddie’s hands and pulls it to his chest, pressing it flat there where Eddie can feel the beat of his heart, calm and steady. “My favorites were the ones just like this. Loud and strong, in the middle of the night.”

Frankly, Eddie can’t imagine a worse type of thunderstorm, listening to the deluge falling on the roof of the tiny house he and Steve share, his body practically rattling along with the windows when thunder booms overhead.

Still, he dutifully asks, “Why?”

Steve is quiet for a moment, still collecting his words.

“The world didn’t feel as empty, when there was a storm outside,” he finally says. “If there was noise, it didn’t feel like I was alone.”

It’s a much more thoughtful admission than Eddie was expecting, much more somber, and he’s not quite sure what to say. He presses a little closer to Steve, nudging their foreheads together.

Another rumble of thunder passes over them, still so loud that Eddie can feel it in his bones, and Steve sighs like he’s perfectly content.

“I liked that, too,” he says. “When you could feel the thunder in your chest like a second heartbeat. Like there was someone there with me.”

Eddie finds Steve’s free hand with his own and squeezes.

“I think I just forgot after a while. Or maybe it wasn’t enough. When I got older, I went out and surrounded myself with people instead. The noise at a really big party felt like a storm sometimes.” Steve gives a subdued little laugh. “But when I was a kid… just this was enough.”

“What about now?” Eddie asks, practically whispering, just loud enough to be heard over the percussion of the rain.

Steve tilts his head forward until their lips meet, sweet and certain.

“This will always be enough,” he says when they part.

He doesn’t go far; their foreheads are still pressed together, their noses are still brushing, hands and arms and legs are still tangled like Steve wants to pull Eddie inside of himself so he can feel the storm the way Steve does.

So Eddie closes his eyes and he tries.

He and Steve lay there quietly, listening as the storm finally begins to pass from over their heads. It isn’t great—it’s loud, it’s violent, it’s nerve-wracking—but Eddie never has to check to know that Steve is still awake, still with him, keeping Eddie’s hand pressed to his steady heartbeat.

Eddie doesn’t start to magically enjoy the storm. He’s not sure he ever will. But – for the way Steve loves them, for the way they had given him comfort for so many years, Eddie thinks he might just be able to make his peace with them.

[Prompt: Touching foreheads]

[umblrspectrum]

ive been drawing a couple things but they're all sekaiju or oc stuff so i don't think you guys would care about any of that

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

i am asleep much in the way that Wally is asleep. that is to say, I Am Not Sleeping

[cobaltfluff]

so i started playing persona 4

where are the QoL features

[spaciebabie]

"but spacie, i have no followers why should i reblog things" let me answer this question using myself, a person who has been using tumblr for almost a decade now, as an example. pre 2022 the most followers i ever had was like 125. most of them were dead blogs. killed in the porn ban or just people who had left for whatever reason. out of the people left who were still active, i had like 3 people at the most interact with my blog on a monthly basis. for years b4 this, i had ZERO FOLLOWERS but upon making my blog i saw all the other ppl who had been using this website longer than me talking abt how important it was ta reblog shit, and throughout all these years on tumblr, even when i had no followers i reblogged things. b/c i understood that it was integral ta the way this site functions.

now mind you, just b/c i had no followers didn't mean ppl wouldn't stop by and reblog things from my blog. every couple months id have a new person find me and reblog something. maybe they'd reblog a lot of stuff! the point is that id go months without any interaction at times and i STILL reblogged things because i knew people could find me and see something they liked on here. eventually people who frequently checked my blog ta see what i would reblog followed me!! im sure there’s ppl who dont follow me that ta this day who still reblog the stuff on here!! the point is that it genuinely doesnt matter how many followers you have. sure, it certainly helps, but ppl can still find and interact with the things on your blog without you having thousands or even hundreds of followers. so PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE reblog things.

[sergle]

There's something about like. A certain genre of posts / Online Opinions about insecurity/depression/misery/complaints that are so unhelpful that they wrap right around to being straight up hilarious. and it's the ones that are more or less written to the tone of "Feeling bad? That's gross!" Like, just so you know, don't voice your insecurities/ have low self esteem, because that's offputting! You're gross and weird. Don't be insecure about that, though. That would be stupid if you felt insecure about people disliking you for being insecure. Not attractive. You should be thinking about being as attractive as possible. You shouldn't make comments about suicide, even if you're suicidal! Keep those thoughts entirely to yourself. Make sure nobody around you knows you're thinking about this. It would Make Them Uncomfortable. It's better to keep these thoughts in your head where they can fester. Don't post OR talk to friends with complaints about you feeling miserable or depressed. Tbh people who are sad/upset a lot? Kinda a red flag! You are probably miserable because you're a bad person and you've brought this on yourself. If you don't have friends, it's because you're awful to be around. Easy! Solved the problem for you. And no, there is no nuance to this, got it? So, make sure to feel bad about feeling bad, but don't feel bad about it, because, well, that's just gross. And annoying! You might've wanted your brain rotted thoughts to be Peer Reviewed, you might have just needed to vent- you might've been hoping for some comfort, to get things off your chest. Well, don't! Don't talk about thoughts or feelings that are negative with your friends, you'd be burdening them and that's only meant for THERAPY. #SponsoredbyBetterHelp #MentalHealth like, DAMN. that's so helpful. you're so good at helping. I um really liked the part where these are all hard and fast rules that encourage keeping feelings bottled up and keeping your friends at arm's length. That's really funny of you.

[moeblob]

[gale-force-storm]

You know, I think my favorite thing about Gale's whole "watching you in battle makes me horny" scene is like. He's not wrong. A brush with danger does in fact increase one's desire for "other forms of stimulation". Studies have shown that being in situations that cause a rush of adrenaline, be that going on a roller coaster, seeing a scary movie, walking across a swinging suspension bridge, or something else, increase feelings of attraction. It's literally a Known Thing that adventurous stuff is great to do on a date because it will most likely make you more into each other.

Idk, I just love that his come-on is not only extremely nerdy, but also scientifically accurate. Feels correct and I'm glad they did it lol

[slocumjoe]

Anyway do you ever think about how piper is given weight in the main plot only to be shoved into a ditch to make way for Nick Valentine Synth Detective, who has large presence in the main plot + a personal quest + a whole ass DLC

[lovelyrotter]

can we all remember to just say 'oh no thank you, i dont like that kind of food' but apply that logic and rules to shipping and letting other people ship again

[wis-art]

Women, so pretty, so shaped, i am so lesbian,,,

[aalghul]

I don’t think it makes sense to assume that Jason was mocking Mia’s past. At all. The thing that got jason painted as violent back in the 80s was his anger against rapists…how does that turn into mocking a victim? and that entire story was written by winick. Do we honestly think winick intended to communicate that? The same writer who made Jason’s first kill a man who was trafficking children? Who had Jason pause in his mission of madness to make sure those kids were found by the right people so they wouldn’t be in further danger?

[tennessoui]

wip wednesday

(but where i got 2k into 3 different projects and dropped them all to write a silly gffa oneshot about the jedi thinking anakin was married to obi-wan)

When Anakin decides that he must tell the Jedi Council about his marriage, the whole thing has painfully little to do with his wife.  Really, it’s all just the perfect storm.  It’s a series of coincidences and conjoined events so convoluted and instantenous, stacked one on top of another in rapid fire, that Anakin’s head hasn’t even fully wrapped around one before he must begin to process another.  And Anakin’s always been pretty great at multi-tasking, but not when it comes to the thornier, immaterial kinds of things.  Give him four droids in need of fixing, a pod-engine that’s making a stubborn clurk-claank sound, and a recipe to make for dinner, and he can do it all at the same time. Give him a disappointed former master, a distant, angry wife, and a rebellious padawan, and his brain has a tendency to just sort of stall to a halt. So what it really all boils down to is that Anakin has had a rough couple of days, and he’s spent most of that time sleepless and pacing around his quarters.  All because four days ago, they’d gotten word that Obi-Wan’s ship had been shot down in a dog fight on some Mid Rim planet Anakin’s never heard of in his life. Allegedly, the man had been recovered alive and healthy, but the crash must have knocked his ability to answer a kriffing comm call straight out of his master’s head, because Anakin hasn’t actually heard from him since he was downed. It’s been four days in total, three and a half since he was recovered. It’s all bordering on unacceptable, but Anakin knows he can’t personally fly out to Obi-Wan’s forces—if only because he has been assigned duties at the Temple and to leave the planet would be to abandon his post, and he doesn’t want to assume that his master is so bedridden that he can’t get up, yell at him, and drag him by his ear back to the Council. And he would be assuming, because he hasn’t heard from him at all. Which is why he’s here, walking back and forth in the living area of his quarters, from the threshold of the door to the threshold of Obi-Wan’s sleeping quarters. Over and over and over again as his mind spins in circles akin to that of a whirlpool: he’s fine and he’s alive and he’s been found and he’s fine and he’s alive and even if he lost both of his arms, surely he could use his nose to answer his fucking comm but he’s fine and he’s alive or I would have been fucking told about it so he’s fine and he’s—