#not at all overrated

[dduane]

Status report, “Why Won’t My REM Sleep Work The Way I Want It To” dep’t

(Tom Sturridge's voice) When the waking world leaves you wanting and weary, sleep brings you here to find freedom and adventure; to face your fears and fantasies...

DD: (resigned not-for-the-first-time thought, off the usual admiration of the grace of the phrasing) Dammit, I really wish I remembered my dreams more often.

DD (that night, asleep, somewhere between 1:30 and 6:30 AM*): Experiences prolonged, convoluted and vivid dream about meeting up with a group of people as (understood) lead for an upcoming creative project of some kind. During the dream she is responsible for numerous infrastructure objects and events involved in this meeting, many of which go awry while the participants participate gamely all throughout and leave her feeling like an incompetent idiot. This then morphs into a far more prosaic dream about her being in a hotel room packing to leave, in which the stuff she needs to bring all suddenly turns out to be both heavier than expected and too big to fit in either suitcase. One of these items is a huge hardcover book which she regards in exasperated resignation, realizing that there’s no way out of it, she’s going to have to buy another suitcase and pay extra to check the fucking thing—

DD: (wakes up enough to realize with intense relief that this is indeed a dream and all unreal—while still remembering it vividly, down to textures and colors.)

(Quick bout of Even While Half Asleep analysis ensues, because asleep or awake, she's still been a psych nurse. A standard discharge-of-stress dream; and yeah, considering the usual worries that [for her] come with executing short-form fiction when she usually works where there's more room to stretch, the Gigantic Book’s a little on the nose as visual metaphor goes. But whatever. For the dreamer, dreams are inherently first draft. Editing comes later…)

DD: [Still fortunately only halfway out of the post-dream ex-psychopompic state, beckons over passing character] Dusty, do me a favor? Get Lord Morpheus on the horn and tell him I said “Ha ha, very funny.”

Herewiss: And was it really?

DD: (wakes up fully off his amused/ironic look, rolls eyes) ...Honestly, what even is my life. :)

*Timing indeterminate because the Fitbit, which has been losing power abruptly sometimes, had dumped its charge and failed to record REM or other data during this period. ...So annoying. Oh well, some other time.

#dreaming #not at all overrated #but sometimes so uncooperative #😏 #and also: having Dream walk through a dream (even when he's o.s.) is hilariously meta

[tempe-brennans]

forehead kisses

#not at all overrated #gotta say 10/10 #rebeccaspeaks

[iambecomeyourvillain]

genuinely none of us would survive a book from kevin day's perspective

#living is overrated anyway #nora.. what if. what if?? just hear me out nora. #nora.. #😔 #kevin day #all for the game #aftg #the sunshine court #tsc #the foxhole court #the king's men #neil josten #jean moreau

[tubbytarchia]

The bloodied moon cried for you, but you only heard the stars The weeping moon then bled for you, but you only saw her scars

#I was too motivated to draw this to not outright finish it. More Pearl art upon ye god. oops! All Pearl! #pearlescentmoon #pearlescentmoon fanart #trafficblr #tilly #double life fanart #the blood seeping from the moon is turning her fit scarlet <3 #cw blood #wolf + moon + Pearl imagery... too good to pass up on #god so ill #SO ILL #I LOVE DRAWING ANIMALS SO MUCH #GUYS I LOVE IT SO MUCH #WOLVES. WOLVES!!!! #Wolves are overrated and I like most animals more than that but THEYRE STILL FUN TO DRAW #sorry I wrote the. little poem thing wrong so I privated this for a bit teehee Im a failure #tubby art

[moyarb]

It’s not lost on me that when someone talks about how “Beyoncé is overrated” or that she’s “not that talented” I’m supposed to respect other people’s music opinions, but if I say Taylor Swift’s music isn’t my style or I don’t care for her that much it’s like I said the most heinous thing in the world and I don’t support other women.

#if you think both are overrated don’t interact because your opinion is useless and has nothing to do with what I’m saying #misogynoir #I’m kinda sick of it tbh #like if I’m asked what music I like I get the rudest response but if I try to be delicate expressing what I don’t like #I might as well have kicked a puppy or something #white feminism #Beyoncé #Beyoncé’s allowed to be raked through the mud because she dared to be a successful black woman but we must protect Taylor at all costs 🙄 #It's worse bc I'm a black woman and it looks like I'm the bad guy here #Yes I acknowledge Taylor's accomplishments but I also acknowledge the fact that she tends to use feminism when it's convenient

[biblically-accurate-dca]

day 2 !! self insert

i didn't want to draw myself so here's the only y/n art i'll ever draw lol

#my art #cringetober #daycare attendant #sundrop #sunnydrop #moondrop #dca fandom #i had no idea what to draw for this prompt tbh.. so thats why it took so long lmao #btw these will all have extremely varying quality !! bc consistency is overrated >:)

[somewhereincairparavel]

its 2024 why the fuck do y'all still hate Jason Grace. Also why is he still dead

#Like jason hate is so overrated smh #So 2012 :/ #Just came across a bunch of hate comments and videos about him today so it set me off #If jason only has only one fan then it's me #I've lost all hope of jason hate fading but I'll continue defending him with my life lol #pjo hoo #pjo #pjo fandom #jason grace #percy jackson #pjo series #pjo hoo toa #annabeth chase #piper mclean #leo valdez #frank zhang #hazel levesque

[hardly-an-escape]

Stormy Weather, or: Outside, the Wind (Inside, the Light) | Dream/Hob | 1600 words | Rated T

tags: I recently spent an evening without power therefore I must put the blorbos in a Situation, love confessions, first kiss, getting together, power outages, Hob Gadling throughout history, gratuitious use of mildly accurate Middle English

The wind tears around London like a living thing, a wild animal, a predator, intent on the hunt. It chases birds into their nests and people into their homes, moans around corners and rattles shutters, sending piles of leaves whirling into miniature hurricanes and whipping branches into a frenzy, sharpening its claws on roof tiles and telephone poles.

Except in Hob Gadling’s flat.

The New Inn, and the cozy home above it, is in one of those old buildings that’s actually been loved and maintained – thanks in no small part to Hob’s own care and attention. The walls are thick and strong, the roof is solid. The shutters may rattle, but the windows are double-pane; the curtains and carpets are warm and soft, and no drafts encroach on the sanctity of his living room, where Hob and Lord Morpheus, King of Dreams, are having a movie night.

It’s part of Hob’s concerted effort to introduce the Prince of Stories to the stories he’d missed during his imprisonment. Tonight it’s Blade Runner – the final cut, of course – which isn’t necessarily one of Hob’s personal favorites, but seemed to fit the stormy, rainy vibes of the weather. They’re installed on the couch, with hot chocolate and wine and snacks, which Dream has deigned to pick at. Harrison Ford is eating noodles and wandering through wet, moodily-lit streets. The wind is howling outside, but they’re safe and warm and surrounded by soft things and life is about as good, Hob thinks, as it ever gets these days.

And then his lights flicker. Once, twice; there is the impression of a sort of electrical last gasp, and the room is plunged into darkness.

The wind whips and the shutters rattle. A volley of rain spits itself against the windows.

“Bugger,” says Hob.

Dream says nothing, merely brings his wineglass – which had already been cradled in one elegant hand – to his lips.

“Hang on,” says Hob. “I’ve got some candles around here somewhere.”

He gropes his way to the kitchen. In one drawer he unearths some beeswax tapers and several tea lights, which he arranges on a plate. He rummages in one of the deeper cabinets and makes a triumphant noise as he discovers his prize behind disused mugs and a fondue set from the 1980s: a pair of old-fashioned brass candlesticks equipped with round reflectors, highly polished to catch the light and bounce it back out into the darkness.

“You are remarkably well-prepared for an event such as this,” says Dream, as Hob lights his various prizes and returns to the living room with his hands full of flickering flames.

“Well, you know,” Hob demurs. “When it comes down to it, I’ve lived a lot more of my life without electricity than with it.” He arranges the tea lights on the coffee table and sets the brass candlesticks on a nearby bookshelf. “You never really get out of the habit of preparing for the worst. Although I will say, these beeswax ones beat the hell out of the old tallow jobbies we had when I was young. Got ‘em from a local bloke who keeps bees not half a mile away, isn’t that cool? A beekeeper in the middle of London. There, now,” he says, and having arranged the lights to his satisfaction he plops himself back down on the sofa.

Outside, the wind wails. The lack of lamps on the empty street below and the gentle candlelight within make the night seem even darker, and turn Hob’s living room into something even softer and cozier than it already is.

Dream’s face, in the flickering candles, seems even more otherworldly than usual; and Hob, for his part, truly looks as though he belongs in another century. The very shape of his face has changed, somehow, into something older; taking on a new appearance in the candlelight the way a man’s tongue might curl differently around the syllables of another language.

“I miss it, sometimes,” he says lowly. “This kind of world. Before the wires and the phones and the cars. It was… quieter.”

“You speak often of your delight in change and progress. Do you truly long for your past lives?” asks Dream.

“Yes and no,” answers Hob. “Some things are better now, no question. Antibiotics, wouldn’t want to live without those again. Vaccines and X-rays and chemotherapy and antidepressants – almost all the medical stuff. Mass transportation. Cars and planes have never been safer. Honestly, I’ve never understood the people who moan about the olden days and oh, life was simpler back then. Don’t they know how many people died? How many kids? Because they caught a cold or fell out of a tree or had a case of the runs that lasted a little too long?”

He leans forward to adjust one of the candles, which is dripping unevenly, and when he sags back into the couch there is just the hint of a frown between his strong brows.

“And yet…” he says, staring into the flames, voice quiet. “Nights like this. I do sometimes think…”

Hob trails off for a long moment.

“There was a rhythm to life, back then,” he says finally. “You counted hours by the church bells and days by the tasks that needed done. And there was so much that needed to be done… cows milked and fields planted and clothes knitted or mended. And it was all so important, so… necessary. Regimented. But in the in between time – Christ! your time wast thine.” As he speaks, his voice has slipped into an older register: his Rs grown rounder, his vowels longer, curling from his mouth to mingle with the candlesmoke hovering over his coffee table. “I remember fair hours as a lad, even into my manhood, of which I spent lyende in th’ fields, watching ants in th’ grass. And later, too, we’d hie us to bed with the sonne, the fire banked in the hearth. An’ it happen that if we awakened before dawn, ’twas a simple thing to pass the time in simple ways, be it in prayer or in pleasure…”

The innuendo in his words is clear, but Hob is not looking at Dream; his eyes are unfocused as he stares into the middle distance, revisiting the past via candlelight. Until one of the wicks lets out a small pop, and flares, and he shakes himself, coming back to the present.

“God, sorry,” he says, voice back in the 21st century. “Woolgathering. I’ll go on for an age, me. More wine?”

But Dream’s eyes have also gone unfocused, his lips parted slightly, chest rising and falling with unnecessary breaths as he stares – no, gazes – at Hob. He, too, must shake himself into the present moment at Hob’s offer of more wine. He silently holds out his glass.

“May I ask you a personal question?” Dream says.

“Anything. You know that.”

Dream pauses. Sips. Outside, the sound of the wind has not abated; has grown, if anything, even more dramatic. There is the muffled sound of branches scraping against the side of the building.

“Why,” asks Dream finally, “do you pretend to yourself that you do not want me?”

Hob chokes. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Why do you pretend thus to me?” Dream pursues. “Who has known you longer than any being on this planet or any other; who can know your innermost dreams?”

“What do you mean, other planets?” Hob demands. And then: “Have you been peeking at my dreams?”

“I need not peek, as you put it, to see the truth of the matter. It is writ plain on your face and in your every word and deed. I merely wonder why this truth has hovered before us for over six hundred years and you have yet to press your suit. Do you doubt, after all this time, my affection for you? Do you find me – unworthy?”

Dream sounds, impossibly, almost uncertain. Even vulnerable. Hob sighs heavily and leans forward, elbows on his knees and face in his hands.

“I – God. Dream,” he stammers. “Yes, Christ, I am full of doubts. You stormed away from me when I implied you might be lonely, I… I have never, once, thought I had a suit to press at all. What on earth has brought this on? Now, of all times?”

“I do not know,” Dream murmurs. “Perhaps… this darkness is working on me, as well. Perhaps I am as susceptible to candlelight and nostalgia as the next anthropomorphic personification.”

He smiles, a little quirk of the mouth that contains worlds, and Hob leans over, listing helplessly into Dream’s space as the tapers flicker.

“Fuck,” he whispers, pressing their foreheads together, turning his head to butt his cheekbone against the sharp line of Dream’s nose. “Art thou rēal? Speak you treue?”

“Aye, my Hob,” answers Dream. “Min herte is treue and bilongeth to you.”

A sob catches in the back of Hob’s throat at the words. “Fuck,” he whispers again, “Dream, I’m yours. I am. I always have been. My Dream, min sweven, my leof. Alwei, allesweis…”

Their mouths find each other, then, finally, lip against lip and breath against breath. They kiss for a long, long moment, desperate and hungry and soft all at once, as outside the wind howls coldly around the corners of the New Inn, and inside the light cast by Hob’s candles bathes their whole little world in a cozy glow.

“Take me to bed,” murmurs Dream against Hob’s mouth. “Make me your lover. Show me how you pass the time by candlelight, and in darkness.”

“Oh, darling. Dearheart,” Hob answers. “Nothing in this world or any world past could make me happier.”

And he suits his actions to his words.

#my writing #the sandman #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #a needlessly complicated title for a truly simple little fic #I've already written this basic premise so many times AND I'LL DO IT AGAIN #the archaic English Hob uses in this fic is based on the most cursory googling #just tell yourself it's all over the place because historically English is.... all over the place #my unpopular opinion is that I think Blade Runner is overrated and yes I will project my opinions onto fictional characters #as usual this started in one place and went in another direction entirely #may post on AO3 tomorrow if the spirit so moves me

[il-predestinato]

5 out of 6 said “I believe in Lestappen supremacy.” 🥰

1 remains unenlightened.

📸: F1

#max verstappen #charles leclerc #lestappen #season predictions #sam collins has always been an idiot - fucking weirdo called max overrated all those years ago… so his opinion is irrelevant #gotta love how no one believes in Perez 💀

[allgremlinart]

people who like Sokka more than Katara I dont get. but I think thats because I was born to be every beautiful woman's Yappy Purse Faggot. and well, not everyone was born with that calling in them. if you're obsessed with their lamer older brothers that's your prerogative <- the call is coming from WITHIN the house (Zuko blog)

#I see people on here saying 'Sokka is so underrated 🥺' peace and love no he's not. #I'd say he's appropriately rated. Katara is underrated. Zuko is overrated but we all knew that. #atla #I LIKE SOKKA. dont come for me <- scared of you hoes

[charlottan]

stephen king that ive read chart based on scaryness and "good"ness. he actually doesnt have that many straight up horror books but the ones that Are scary hit hard

#it is way overrated #also a lot of the left ones would be further to the left but. cant put them all there without overlap of course #book talk #stephen king

[anonymouscheeses]

so…

about this human verse you got…

how does Al fit into all of this? Is that where Vaggie got the spell or is the gang she’s a part of also a monster hunter org?

This is Alastor's human design! I wanted him to give off a old money rich vibe. I didn't look up a reference for old money attire 😭 i jjst looked at some randim char from a show i watched that kinda gave off Alastor vibes. This may change but tbh I kinda like it the way it is. Altho one day I may change my mind <3 lore drops under cut!!

(Sorry if he doesn't look like Alastor, these human designs are mostly based on my redesigns so they look even MORE different than usual ill get better hopefulllyyyy)

Husk(left) is Vaggie/Valerie's dad in this au cuz I said so unfortunately. Sorry i dont make the rules! Husk is Salvadoran like Valerie cuz ofc, like he's 100% black but I wanted him to be Valerie's dad soo I was like.... yeah win sum lose sum. But dw I have SO much black characters on the way. It's kind of terrifying!!

Alastor tries to be like a dad to Valerie but she resents him. Her mom died to a sickness, and Valerie has no room in her for another parent figure in her life except Husk.

Also, Al is gay aroace, so when he fell in love with Husk he was SO surprised likeee how??? He was his first love ever and Al just loves him dearly despite never loving anyone ever before. He's still a girls girl ofc but brutha is gay u can't tell me otherwise 😍

Charlie gave him the headband with the antlers that she cheaply made herself. Alastor loves them genuinely. (If Alastor cares abt Valerie or Charlie is purely up to viewer, but if you want to see him care for orr like be toxic to them send a request fr fr imma draw that shi 😍🙏). Alastor is the only one who knows that Charlie is a demon because he's the one that taught Valerie how to summon a demon(YOU'RE SPOT ON. HOW??).

(Also I forgor the stripes. Sorry I was so sleepy drawing this you can probably telll.😭)

Alastor is still a cannibal, his husband and step daughter just doesn't know it yet, and NO he will probably never tell them unless forced to or he feels like he can. This man is the friend the smiley bro 😭

I'll maybe soon draw what happened between Valerie, Lute, and Adam during the fight, since ALOT happened. But it may be a bit before I get to that

Alastor taught the kids young how to summon demons the WRONG way. Because obviously he didn't want literal immature kids to end the world completely. The trio spent years finding ways to summon just one demon. Adam did it to create chaos, Lute just followed, and Valerie just loved having fun with her friends.

Now that they aren't childhood best friends. And that whole fight happened. Valerie doesn't know what to do. Alastor suggests she gets a bodyguard from hell, any demon at all(Demons are devoted to you as long as you keep a part of your deal with them or you break the contract of summoning one). Aaaaand that's how Charlie came to be summoned! Valerie got her eye stabbed out, Alastor was being silly and taught his kid how to summon a demon, Valerie was like "aight ig", then summoned her future wife.

(WILL ALSO ONE DAY DRAW THE FIRST TIME CHARLIE AND VALERIE MET.... ONE DAY....)

Fun fact: Alastor has a radio station of his own that he plays 1920's music in. Although most people would rather NOT listen to old times music, somehow he makes it work that people always listen to his radio. Maybe a deal with a demon of some sorts...? Perhaps... :>

#THANM YKUUU FOR THE REQUESST!! I HAVE SOME IN MY INBOX BUT LIKE. I WANT MORE PLEASE. GUYS SEND REQUEZTS ABT MY AU. ANYTHING. #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel vaggie #husker hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lute #art #fanart #artists on tumblr #digital art #THANK YOU SMM I LOVE RAMBLING ABT MY STUFF HUGS AND ALL 💜💜 /P #its lillith. im not gonna make you wait for an obvious reveal lmao. lillith is the one who gave him power. but in return whaT did he do..? #hazbin hotel art #hazbin hotel fanart #husk x alastor #alastor x husk #radiohusk #chaggie #rainbowmoth #varlie #human au #hazbin hotel au #hazbin hotel human #hazbin au #yall.... i kinda like him ngl.... like. usually if someone asks me who i think is overrated asf it wojld be Alstor #IT STILL IS RBAHABHAHA but now i kinda get it...... no. no i still dont get it 💀 i usually fall in love with characters once i draw em. #OK OK I GUES I LOVE HIM?? HES PRETTY NICE I THINKKK. STILL NOT ONE OF MY FAVS THAT GOES TO THE LADIES BUT HES... SOMEHWRE UP THERE

[servalsahara]

me waking up in the morning

#having to get out of my cozy bed and face the horrors of the world is overrated and cruel #my life should be sleep all day and play and run around and hunt and then sleep some more #alterhuman #nonhuman #catkin #felinekin #otherkin #feline therian #therian #therianthropy #cat therian #cheetah

[teganorsara]

Rina Sawayama — STFU!

How come u don't expect me to get mad when I'm angry? How come u don't respect me? Expecting fantasies to be my reality Why don't you just sit down and…

#rina sawayama #STFU! #hold the girl reloaded #chanté #summer jay jones #rinasawayamaedit #my edits #denver #09.26.23 #the filmore #PATIENCE OVERRATED IF U WANT IT COME AND GET IT #THAT FEELING EATING AT MY CHEST RIPS ME OPEN RIPS ME OPEN #anyway loved the ring around the rosie of it all ok

[la-pheacienne]

This is such an unreal exchange. You do not get it. We're having a rebellion, people are dying and grantaire is behaving like a THREE YEAR OLD saying the most unserious shit he could have possibly thought of like he was starring in a telenovela. You don't get it. YOU WILL SEE. WHO EVEN SAYS THAT after monumentally fucking everything up, you pathetic delusional trash, character of all time. haha you're doubting me huh? you think i'm useless huh? guess what I am STILL useless and i have no intention of ever changing that so instead of sincerely apologizing and doing sth useful for a change i'll just throw an edgy enigmatic retort that means nothing because I HAVE to have the last word-

but then he actually meant it. OOPS. let me kms real quick

#14 yo me when #still remember reading this at 14 yo putting the book down and screaming #the brick #les miserables #I will never get over this as long as i live #and the fact that hugo added this ON THE MARGIN?? #as an AFTERTHOUGHT?? #all this talk about relatability being an overrated quality in a character #but this accusation by enjolras #i felt it IN MY BONES #because i also often feel like i'm incapable of believing thinking wanting living and even dying like i'm a waste of space basically #enjolras x grantaire #grantaire #enjoltaire #aspa rambles #tu verras #aspa reads les mis

[louslovelyland]

Calling william willy to piss him off so he keeps track and makes u call him mr. afton for each time u try to be funny

#“daddy” is overrated as hell give me sir or mister #thats all #bye #william afton x reader