Tumgik
#the irony
blueribbonbaby · 4 months
Text
Tumblr media
876 notes · View notes
yinyeu · 2 years
Text
Tumblr media
4K notes · View notes
Text
Tumblr media
911 + Text Posts pt121/?
111 notes · View notes
flowercrowngods · 1 year
Note
*checks time* a prompt for you. eddie's insomnia versus steve the human weighted blanket. 🥺
in which Eddie hasn’t slept in days and feels like he’s losing his mind. fairy lights, music, and Steve lying down on top of him with promises whispered into his skin are what saves him | cw: gets pretty heavy on the insomnia | 2.8k
Eddie doesn’t sleep. Hasn’t slept in a while. He knows it must have been two days. Maybe three. And before that it’s always just been one lucky hour, maybe two, his body collapsing into blissful darkness before black turns red and he’s back in the Upside down, before silence turns into Chrissy screaming at him, for him, because of him.
Eddie doesn’t sleep. And it’s starting to show. His movements are slow, thinking and speaking takes way longer than it used to, than it should, and everything is dulled. Sometimes he hears voices where there are none, sometimes he misses words directed at him before one of the shrimps call for his attention again, annoyed and only a little worried. Only a little, because Eddie is quirky, Eddie is dramatic, Eddie is like that, right? Right?
Wrong. Eddie is just tired. His hands won’t stop shaking, his mouth won’t stop talking, his thoughts won’t stop running. It doesn’t even feel like he’s in control of himself anymore, and it’s beginning to be real scary.
But even when he thinks, screw the nightmares, I just want some sleep, rest won’t find him. The constant thrum of anxiety keeps it all away and he’s starting to get frustrated, angry, desperate.
He just wants to sleep. Please. The laundry already starts talking to him, and he doesn’t remember hanging it up, and almost panics when it’s gone.
This is fine. It’s all fine. His joints ache, his scars itch, sometimes smiling hurts, but it’s all fine. He just needs sleep.
It all comes to a head when he’s hosting Hellfire for the kids two weeks since his last full night of sleep — and a full night is being generous, because his standards have gone so low as to that meaning he got five hours of almost uninterrupted sleep. Magically, the kids don’t really suspect anything, don’t even notice the bags under Eddie’s eyes or find their own completely misguided whiz kid explanations for it without so much as asking how he’s been doing. Part of him is glad, because they shouldn’t know, shouldn’t worry, shouldn’t see.
It also helps that even complete and utter sleep deprivation can’t ruin Eddie’s Dungeon Master headspace — and so what if the traitorous elf that asked the kids for help sounds a bit like the angry cabinet door he left open all day yesterday because he always forgot to close it? That’s between Eddie and his mind that he’s absolutely been losing.
Everything goes by without a hitch, the kids busy discussing each other’s moves and yelling and hollering, than watching Eddie massage his temples one, two, three times.
It’s fine. Everything is fine. Except his skin has started tingling three hours ago and he knows he shouldn’t drive the kids home, knows he shouldn’t even be hosting them in this state, but he can’t… He can’t let the Upside Down win.
They didn’t get him with red lightning and murderous bats, and now they won’t get him with nightmares or the lack of sleep.
Maybe he’s been cursed. What if he’s cursed? Fuck, what if he’s actually been cursed to die the slow, agonising death that Dustin gave Mike’s character in the one shot he hosted last week, his brain rotting inside his skull and the cure just out of reach, so close but so far? Is that possible? Is that a thing? It sure feels like it, and—
“Eddie?”
Wait.
Steve? Why’s Steve asking for him, calling his name, where is he?
Eddie blinks. And blinks again. Only to find himself in the living room, a shaking hand pressing the telephone to his ear.
He’s been calling Steve. He does not remember. Panic is building inside him and he swallows it down.
I’m not going crazy. I’m not going crazy. I just need to sleep.
“Eds? You there?”
“Yeah, man,” he says, his voice too shaky, not at all sounding like him, and he wonders if someone’s taking over his body. If Vecna is back. If he’s been possessed. Fuck, he might really he possessed, and he shouldn’t be calling Steve, he should keep them all safe, he should—
“What’s up?” Steve asks then, and Eddie sort of never wants him to stop talking, because his head is quiet when he does. Keep talking, Stevie. Please tell me I’m not going crazy. Tell me I’m not cursed. “You okay? Are the kids still there?”
After a moment Eddie finds his breath and his voice, hoping it sounds more like him now. “Yeah, actually, I was wondering if you could come pick them up around nine-ish? I’m not…” okay, he wants to say, but doesn’t. “I can’t really drive. Today.”
There’s a bit of rustling on the other end of the line and Eddie listens, because listening to Steve, to his voice and his movements, is easier than listening to all the things inside his house that suddenly have a voice now.
“Sure,” Steve says. “Yeah, I can come pick them up, no problem. You okay, though? Do you need anything? I can come over sooner if you want, grab them and end Hellfire early. Just say the word, okay?”
Despite himself, Eddie scoffs. “End Hellfire early? Peasant. Heathen! Heretic!”
And Steve just laughs that soft little laugh of his and Eddie listens like his life depends on it.
“Alright, Munson, you little shit, I’ll be there at nine. I’ll just do two rounds, grab you, Dustin and Will on the second one, yeah?”
“Sure, whatever,” Eddie says. Then Steve’s words process and he asks, “Wait, me?”
“Yes, you. I’m not leaving you alone when you sound like… Like you could really use a hug but don’t wanna ask for it, alright? Trust me, I know all about how that sounds. And you don’t gotta be alone, okay? We can just hang out here, don’t even have to talk, just listen to some music or whatever.”
And Eddie doesn’t know what to say. It’s not the sleep deprivation this time, though, it’s Steve Harrington and the way he always seems to know when something’s up. Maybe Eddie’s voice really didn’t sound like him just now, or maybe Steve is just really fucking perceptive and sweet like that.
“The things you listen to are hardly music, Stevie.” That’s all he says. All he can say without breaking into tears, because hanging out with Steve outside of these walls that mock him, laugh at him, talk with him, sounds exactly like what he needs right now.
Well, what he needs is sleep, but Steve feels like second best. And isn’t that something he never expected to feel.
“Shut up, Munson,” Steve laughs, and it’s soft, soft, soft. “But that’s not a no. So I guess I’ll see you then.”
**
Just as promised, Steve is there at exactly 9:00pm. Not one minute early, not one second late. Eddie scoffs and shakes his head as he jogs to the front door.
And maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, but Steve looks really fucking pretty with that smug half smile and another stupid polo shirt under his grey jacket. Eddie swallows. It’s probably the sleep deprivation. It definitely is. Because suddenly he wants nothing more than for Steve to come and hug him.
Sleep, hug, hang out. That’s his list now. It’s growing.
He obsesses over that while Steve brings Lucas, Erica and Mike home. Dustin and Will are talking strategies and Eddie busies himself cleaning up, sorting his notes and carefully storing his Hellfire stuff in the little cabinet unter his desk.
When he’s done, because maybe this took longer than it should have after he forgot what he was about to do a grand total of three times, Steve’s just pulling up to come get them for the second round.
Eddie grabs a bag with a change of clothes, a notebook because he doesn’t expect to find any sleep anyway and he wants to keep himself busy with something, even though writing takes precious brain power he’s going to be lacking for basic things such as making himself breakfast or remembering to get into the house when he’s standing by the front door.
Not like that has happened before. More than once, that is.
With his bag packed, he goes to grab Will and Dustin and together they head out to where Steve’s waiting outside his car, just leaning against it like he’s the goddamn protagonist of some shitty movie. Maybe he’s seen too many of those. Maybe Steve should stop working at Family Video, the movies are a bad influence apparently.
The car ride is blessedly silent, the only noise being the quiet music coming from the radio, and Eddie closes his eyes as he lets street lights wash over him. In the back, Will and Dustin do the same. Everyone’s tired after Hellfire, Eddie knows. Sometimes he catches Steve smiling when he comments on how he hates driving the kids home after their sessions because they always manage to fall asleep on the short ride home and he gets to be the asshole that wakes them up.
Eyes closed, the vision of Steve’s fond smile and faux exasperation in his mind’s eye, Eddie smiles. It’s only when the constant, pleasant rumble of the engine stops and the world is cast in absolute silence, that he opens his eyes. Steve’s watching him, but instead of that smile Eddie’s been dreaming of, there’s a worried expression waiting for him.
“You look like shit,” Steve says so, so quietly, and Eddie sags into the seat, twisting around to face Steve completely as he loses every ounce of fight left in him.
“Can’t sleep,” he says, rasps, whispers.
Steve just looks at him. He’s always looking, always seeing. “Nightmares?”
Eddie shakes his head, plays with one of the loose threads where his jeans are ripped at the knees. “Not even nightmares, just… Insomnia, Nancy called it. I love how she has a fancy word for everything.”
“Shit, man. I’m sorry.” Steve sounds like he means it, and Eddie wants to wrap himself up in that. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Tell me I’m not going crazy?” The words leave his mouth before he can hold them back and Eddie hates how small he sounds, how scared, how tired.
But Steve, oh, Steve, he’s not small or scared or tired. He’s none of that. He’s not weak like Eddie, because after looking for five, six, seven seconds, Steve turns to open his door and gets out of the car. Eddie’s heart sinks and he rubs at his eyes — his dry, aching, burning eyes, protesting at never getting to close anymore.
Then the front passenger door opens and Steve is there, kneeling beside him, taking Eddie’s hands from his eyes and holding them in his own.
“You’re not going crazy, Eddie. I promise you, you’re not going crazy.”
Eddie doesn’t look at Steve, can’t possibly meet the eyes that belong to this incredibly sincere and kind voice. He keeps his eyes on the dashboard instead, watching as the unmoving shadow of a tree morphs into different shapes right before his eyes, his mind playing tricks on him without hiding it anymore.
“Sure feels like it, though,” he whispers. Or he thinks he does. He’s not so sure anymore, watching the one shadow become two, then three. He closes his eyes, clenches them shut like it would make all his problems disappear.
Maybe it does, because like this, there’s only Steve’s voice as he’s talking so gently, so quietly, so unlike anything and everything Eddie has ever known.
The words don’t really register, but one moment Eddie is sitting in the car, the next he’s standing, and it’s warm and it smells like Steve and— oh. They’re hugging. Steve is hugging him. Holding him. Talking still like he knows Eddie needs it, like he knows the world will fade and shift and morph if he doesn’t, like he wants nothing more than to talk Eddie down from this brink of madness.
Then there’s a hand in his and the air is cold again, but it’s fine because there’s a hand and its guiding, holding, soothing.
A door falls closed, a lock clicks, and the hand is still there.
They’re in Steve’s house. Then in Steve’s room. And then there’s music. The hand is gone, and Eddie blinks, his eyes aching, so dry and tired and angry him.
Steve gently, so very gently pushes him to sit down on his bed, but Eddie doesn’t have the strength to sit, so he falls backward until he’s lying on Steve’s bed. It’s soft, comfortable. There’s a string of lights on the wall behind his headboard casting the room in warm light, and Eddie wonders if it’s Christmas soon.
It’s not. It’s August.
It doesn’t make sense.
But they’re pretty.
Eddie is only staring for a while while Steve is off doing something or other, and then he’s back in Eddie’s line of sight.
“Can I try something?”
Eddie just stares.
“It’s absolutely cool if you don’t want to, man, but I do this with Robbie sometimes when she can’t sleep. It doesnt work on me this way around, I always have to be on top, I hate having something on my chest, but—“
“Stevie, I have very limited brain capacity right now.”
“Right, sorry,” he laughs sheepishly and then rests one knee on the mattress. That’s when it hits Eddie that he’s lying in Steve Haddington’s bed, and that aforementioned Steve Harrington has nothing better to do about it than to fucking smile at him.
“Tell me if it’s bad. Seriously, tell me. Uncomfortable, bad, panic-inducing or just plain wrong, yeah? Tell me.”
And Eddie doesn’t understand what on Earth he’s supposed to tell Steve, when…
Steve’s lying down on top of him. They’re touching from knee to shoulder, Steve’s head landing on his collarbone. He’s warm. He’s heavy, and for a second Eddie can’t breathe and it’s too much, his lungs can’t fill, he can’t—
“Breathe, Eddie.”
And he does. And it’s the easiest breath he took all day. He takes another. And another. And all of them smell of Steve, all of them are warm, all of them a promise that he’s not losing his mind or his sanity. His heart, possibly, but that’s a problem for a different day.
“Better?” Steve asks, his breath leaving goosebumps on Eddie’s skin.
He nods. His hands coming up to wrap around Steve because part of him is still scared that this is a dream, a hallucination, or that Steve will decide it’s enough, he can leave Eddie to his business of losing his mind again.
But Steve’s not going anywhere. He shifts, getting comfortable on top of Eddie and promises into the skin of his throat, “I’m not going anywhere, Eddie. I’ve got you and you’re safe. Close your eyes for me, I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”
And, miraculously, Eddie believes him. The weight of Steve on top of him, his promise now eternalised in Eddie’s skin, and the quiet tunes coming from the record player take him where he hasn’t been in far too long.
He doesn’t even have the time to think about the way his past self would scoff at him for letting Steve Harrington lie down on him like this. For holding him close.
There’s only Steve who keeps him safe from the brink of insanity and guides him to a much gentler, warmer, kinder place. It’s a bit like insanity, actually, but at least here there’s someone to take his hand and hold it.
The last thought that crosses his mind is the list he made earlier. Sleep, hug, hang out.
He falls asleep with a smile on his face.
**
This quickly turns into the only way Eddie can fall asleep, and he’s embarrassed about it at first. Feels like a burden and doesn’t ask for it, spends most nights alone and with the resolution that he just won’t sleep. But Steve finds out and makes him come over again or just kidnaps him in broad daylight.
Every night they spend like this, Steve promises the same thing. “I’m not going anywhere, Eddie. I’ve got you and you’re safe. Close your eyes for me, I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”
Every night they spend like this, Eddie believes him as he winds his arms around Steve in turn and holds him.
And then, over time, words whispered into skin turn into the tentative press of lips there. They turn into kisses, into more promises, declarations, pleas.
Some nights turn into most nights, into every night, and Eddie doesn’t lose his sleep again, not like that. Sometimes it’s Steve who wakes up from a nightmare but Eddie is there to soothe him, to make promises of his own and to hold him until he’s asleep again.
They make it work. And somewhere along the way, somewhere between sleep and promises, underneath the fairy lights Steve never takes down, they fall in love.
It’s a different kind of insanity, and one that Eddie never wants to run from.
639 notes · View notes
axristes-styseis · 9 months
Text
I think starting ghosting people seems like a good idea , and peaceful
223 notes · View notes
ricomola · 11 months
Text
Tumblr media
"You're a pain in the ass, Tsukishima"
303 notes · View notes
asukiess · 11 months
Text
I like that Adrien keeps saying they “have time” to figure things out together; meanwhile, multiple people are in fact running out of time
291 notes · View notes
ronkeyroo · 10 months
Text
Tumblr media
I continue to be silly filling my sketchbook with even MORE weird and vague 333 lore art 👁️‍🗨️👁️‍🗨️
152 notes · View notes
suledins · 1 year
Photo
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
The frog said, 'I do not want your pearls, and jewels, and fine clothes; but if you will love me, and let me live with you and eat from off your golden plate, and sleep on your bed, I will bring you your ball again.'  — The Frog Prince, Brothers Grimm
571 notes · View notes
alish-artie · 6 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Documentaries can be rollercoasters of emotions-
125 notes · View notes
sueske · 2 years
Text
sasuke’s the one with the sharingan but it’s naruto’s eyes that he can’t escape
Tumblr media
600 notes · View notes
chennnington · 2 months
Text
I spent the evening obsessing over the LotR movies and art and the soundtrack and bigatures and sets and a video of a concert of the ride of the rohirrim and all the Silmarillion fanart on my dash and I wish Tolkien knew how much of an impact he had on the world. So much beauty came from him and his creation and gets forwarded and transformed and shared and loved and then it inspires another generation and then it goes on and on forever.
30 notes · View notes
fluffysharkss · 3 months
Text
idk i kinda wish those irritating old men WOULD ask me to name 3 songs whenever i wear my band tshirts so i can talk about my favs at least once in my life with an audience that actually asked me about it so im not the annoying one in that situation.
42 notes · View notes
roz-ani · 2 months
Text
Tumblr media
WAIT IS ALTRUIST HIS SURNAME?!
I was wondering why it's capitalized BUT ALTRUIST BEING ALASTOR'S ACTUAL F-ING SURNAME WOULD BE INSANE- but also really weird sounding
Edit: the wiki people are sure working fast; it being more of a reference to a type of person he'd become rather than his actual surname makes more sense, so I'm going with that
51 notes · View notes
raimagnolia · 22 days
Text
Someone brought this up but I wasn't able to refind the post again.
It's just really weird that the last volume of RWBY winds up being something that is, like... completely unrelated to the rest of RWBY
19 notes · View notes
alicenthightcwer · 1 year
Photo
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Every Otto Hightower moment in HOUSE OF THE DRAGON (2022-) part 6/??
205 notes · View notes