#I should go to bed and get some sleep

[rosicheeks]

-

[plagalkey]

ENERGETIC ⚡️

you make me feel so high

[valeriianz]

had thoughts about Dream being able to sleep, how soft and human he would look. for your consideration:

Hob announced his arrival from work with a long sigh, heavy with exhaustion, and leaned into the door as he opened it and stepped into his flat. He dropped his keys in the little bowl and toed off his shoes. He had just shrugged off his messenger bag when he noticed a pair of large black boots in the living room, stark against his off-white rug. They were about a meter apart, like they’d been kicked off or tossed aside without a second thought.

With one brow raised, eyes scrupulous, Hob deposited his bag on the couch and bent down to pick up first one boot, then the other, tucking them together and neatly placing them on the wooden floor next to a bookshelf.

“Dream?” Hob called out, straightening up and casting his gaze upon the room. It wasn’t like Dream, when he paid surprise visits, to not immediately be within eyesight of the door, let alone leave his shoes haphazardly on the carpet.

Hob’s eyes landed on the entryway of the hall, spotting Dream’s thick, long coat in a heap on the center of the floor. Worry began to creep in as Hob slowly stepped up to Dream’s mystical coat, his pulse thrumming under his skin. He stooped down, grabbing it by the collar and brushing it off with his other hand. The material felt luxurious in Hob’s hands, soft like cashmere or shahtoosh, but also durable– something akin to wool or even canvas. Hob’s fingers caressed the fabric, feeling the lip of the tall collar between his thumb and fingers. 

Gently folding the coat over one arm, Hob continued down the hall, stepping softly, carefully. 

Hob’s bedroom door was open, the rays of the setting sun streamed in through the window and lit up the entryway, revealing more dark clothes in a jumble leading into the room.

Swallowing, lips parting, Hob bent down once more to collect Dream’s t-shirt, his pants and, following the line of mayhem, his socks, taking them all into his arms. Hob wasn’t sure what he expected to see when he finally straightened up and turned, but it certainly wasn’t this.

Hob almost dropped all the clothes he had spent carefully collecting, his mouth going dry. 

There was a considerable, person-sized lump in Hob’s bed, buried under his thick gray comforter. The only indication that it was indeed Dream laying in Hob’s bed, was the mane of wild dark hair poking out from the mass of linens.

Hob took a step forward, then another, crushing the pile of clothes to his chest as he walked around the bed, his gaze transfixed to the top of Dream’s head– a smattering of black ink spilled on his white pillow. He held his breath as he finally came to face Dream, the only part of him sticking out was his nose and eyes, Dream’s impossibly long lashes draped down, threatening to brush the tops of his cheeks.

Hob felt his jaw drop, lips parting in wonder at this ethereal creature in his bed.

Dream was sleeping.

Or… it looked like he was sleeping. The shape of him steadily rose and fell, imitating breath that Hob knew Dream didn’t need. Hob didn’t think Dream needed sleep, either… or was even capable of it. Was Dream sick? Had he been injured?

Hob quietly deposited the bundle of clothes into a wicker chair in the corner of his room, turning back to Dream and leaning over him, slowly pressing one hand into the mattress next to him, and bringing the other up to lay it against Dream’s forehead.

Hob immediately felt foolish, of course Dream didn’t get sick, he’d nearly beaten it into Hob by now, how Endless never fall ill (not in the way humans do, apparently), but Dream did actually feel quite warm. Hob moved his hand from underneath Dream’s soft fringe, grazing his fingers down the side of his head, brushing the shell of his ear, cheekbone, and across his pointed nose, unable to get any further with the blanket folded up tight around half his face.

With his heart lighter than it’d felt in a long time, Hob couldn’t resist carefully hooking his fingers around the edge of the comforter, leaning in close as he pulled it down to expose Dream’s lips and chin. He looked softer, like this– human and vulnerable. There’s a trust here, Hob knows, his chest tightening, as his knuckles caress down the line of Dream’s jaw, free of blemishes and marble smooth. Hob swallowed again, his eyes flicking down in unrestricted interest at the line of Dream’s concealed body, cocooned in creamy grays. He looked back up, focusing on plush lips that are too red for Dream’s alabaster skin, like they’d been bitten.

Hob’s own teeth pull on his bottom lip, moving his hand to press a thumb against that mouth, barely touching, like a paint brush, dragging it from corner to corner.

“What are you doing?”

Hob huffed a surprised laugh, but didn’t remove his hand. Dream’s voice was lower than usual, thick, and rumbly, pulled from a deep slumber.

“Checking your temperature,” Hob answered in a whisper. His breath caught in his throat as Dream’s eyelids fluttered open, crystal blue eyes focusing right on him.

Christ almighty, he was gorgeous. Hob still couldn’t believe it sometimes, that he was allowed to see this, to be regarded by such beauty, such a divine entity. That he could call Dream his, and be confident in the knowledge that he was Dream’s, too. Hob felt himself begin to shake, his thumb was still at Dream’s lips, which had parted slightly when he’d spoken, his hot breath hitting Hob and causing something both carnal and pure to race through his blood, something devotional.

“You’re quite warm,” Hob tried again. Dream hadn’t spoken, only watched him, like he was waiting for something.

“Yes,” Dream’s voice ran over Hob in that velvety way of his; a warm tide crashing over him and lifting Hob up.

“I was seeking warmth. You weren’t home, and I know how pleasant you are after a long rest.”

“Pleasant?” Hob’s lips curled in a smile, distractedly pressing his thumb a little harder against Dream’s bottom lip.

“Tepid.” Dreams amended, parting his lips and allowing Hob’s thumb access.

Hob gasped softly as Dream bit down, his eyes blazing now, the black of his iris growing so there was no more blue. Hob hummed, his fingers curled around Dream’s chin, tilting it up.

There’s a tongue that swipes the tip of his thumb and Hob knows he’s lost, feigning nonchalance was never his strong suit when it came to this entity in his bed. His heart crashes against his ribs and Hob’s sure Dream can hear it, can hear the desire there.

A bare arm slips out from the pile of gray and latches onto Hob’s bicep, pulling him down. Hob goes along with a smile, getting one knee up on the bed, then the other, dislodging his fingers from Dream’s face to steady himself.

They lift the comforter together, allowing Hob to crawl in next to Dream. The shock of the sudden temperature hike against Dream’s bare skin makes Hob’s breath catch, desperately wishing he’d taken his clothes off first.

“Christ, Dream it’s like a furnace under here.” He’s never felt Dream radiate so much heat before. He truly was learning something new about this man– Endless, every day.

Dream’s long arm pulls the blanket back down, going around Hob’s middle and tucking it under him, coaxing Hob to be flush against his sinew body, usually firm with restrained strength, now soft from sleep. Dream’s chin tilts down, lips brushing Hob’s forehead.

“Could be hotter,” he murmurs, lips traveling down, his sharp nose nudging against Hob’s face, encouraging him to meet him evenly.

Hob is already panting, he’s sure he’s already sweating too, but he meets Dream’s mouth eagerly, pressing hard, getting his hand back on his face to cup Dream’s jaw.

“Well,” Hob pants as Dream wetly breaks the kiss, pressing his lips instead up Hob’s face and into his hairline. “I certainly wasn’t expecting this today.”

Dream hums, the sound reverberating down his body and tickling Hob’s senses. 

“I’m pleased I can still surprise you.”

[casterhex]

another thing people will say shit like “there were so many signs! how was nothing done sooner?” as if cops in the states don’t have a proud history of giving young cis white guys a mere slap on the wrist and a “don’t get in any more trouble young man”

[ghostbeam]

Fwb with Oliver who expects he’ll have to break things off once you get too attached but it’s worth it for a little fun except u never get too attached in fact ur the one who has to tell him it’s over bc he’s gotten too clingy

[keeps-ache]

i think i tapped on the explore page by accident some minutes ago, i've been scrolling for a good sec like 'why is this on my dash. i don't know any of these people. what's going on' lmfsvh

[whirligiga]

Experiences of rat owners with insomnia

[sandpapersnowman]

my therapist and i were talking about spacing out our sessions more since i'm generally doing okay and then i accidentally forgot to schedule more sessions so i'm going through like one of the worst things i've gone through in a while and like desperately want to talk to my therapist but her earliest appointment is december 5th (it is currently september 18th)

[whenthegoldrays]

oh god

[seventh-district]

.

[piplupod]

pretty sure i just got a spider bite while trying to fall asleep 🧍

[mousiefrotting]

was just mulling over some twst thoughts (overblot-related and such) noticing how most of the incidents so far end with the victim getting enough time to rest and get back to a fit condition to live their lives?- and then i suddenly remembered a canon fact that makes for suuuuch good recovery-whump happenings:

if blot accumulation in a magestone subsides when the caster's physical reserves are replenished (food, sleep, etc.), what about the post-overblot recovery?? after all the wreckage of an overblot is said and done, all the emotions have been had and harrowed- what about the physical rehabilitation process?

we see a few mentions of overblotters feeling sick right after the fact- or just generally being physically worse off after burning through a notable amount of magic- and it got me thinking; what about all those post-blot scenes we don't get to see? sure, they've got emotional (often literal also!) messes to fix ahead of them-- but what about that moment where everything just feels bad and gross and the failure of your best laid plans is just heaping onto how absolutely wrecked you are and everyone can see it?

(the thought of any of the prev ob!ers actually having to voice a physical need is just too good to resist imo- especially after the fact and having to see the ramifications!!! augugughghh and while i may have reasonings "blot bad, sleep and food good" does something to the brain i must admit))

just.. AUGH.. i need to see the emotional vulnerability and the walls betrayed by the all-powerful denial-shatterer: good old physical needs!

[hiding-under-the-willow]

I'm half asleep and running basically entirely on hyperfixation fumes so this thought process might be literally nothing but I'm thinking about how we as the viewer don't get to start making decisions in the Markiplier Cinematic Universe Canon until after the DA's death in WKM. We experience the entire series through their point of view and it's presumed we continue to inhabit their character throughout the canon (at least through date and heist, I'm ignoring space for my purposes bc my grasp on how that fits into the story is fuzzy at best on a good day lmao) but it isn't until after the events of wkm have played out that we start making decisions on their behalf

But anyways something something at the end of wkm they die at the hands of Wil, and they give up their body to Damien and Celine, and their story to Mark, and their autonomy to the viewer. Someone who isn't eepy as hell turn this into a more coherent line of thought for me

[twilightarcade]

that's a weird dog

[jaxyscreams]

me wondering why tf I’m suddenly so sleepy as though I didn’t just

1. Eat dinner

2. Eat a bunch of fish for dinner

so rest and digest + fish having that thing that makes u eepy in it

now am eepy

[dontmeanyoudontmissit]

Literally going to go insane