Beneath the Stars

just realizes olive oil comes from olives…. much to think about

i will not have y’all humiliate me like you did when i said i thought microwaves just blew hot air on the food

Bro.

i thought the spinning helped it cock faster leave me ALONE????

stop reblogging this i can’t be known for this

Eddie started finding notes in his locker his sophomore year. The first couple of them, he just tossed without reading. He didn’t need to read what those asshole bullies wanted to say about him. But curiosity won out after two weeks of constant notes and he finally opened one. It was the single most impactful thing he’d ever read. 

I think you’re the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen. 

He kept that note. And every other note he got from that point on. If anyone were to ask Eddie what he regretted most in his life, it would be those two weeks of notes he tossed without reading. Ten slips of paper with unknown writing that he wishes he could get back. Add them to his ‘mystery boys notes’ box. And he was a mystery, the note writer. Anonymous. Unknown. Impossible to catch. 

Eddie held out for a month. A whole month before he decided to stage a stake out. He watched his locker like a hawk. In between classes, during classes, lunch, after school and even one absolutely horrible day where he came in an hour before school started. But the mystery boy had to be invisible. He never saw anyone approach his locker but his daily note was always there. And Eddie; poor, unfortunate, infatuated Eddie dealt with mystery boys’ notes from ‘82 to ‘85. Four agonizing years of the most heart-warming, loving notes. 

I wish I was as brave as you.

Did you change your shampoo? Your hair looked so soft today.

God, your eyes have to be the biggest fucking eyes I’ve ever seen. So pretty.

I like how long your hair is getting. 

Saw you walking down the hall today and I’ve never wanted to kiss someone more. 

They started cute. Compliments here and there, even a doodle every once in a while. Hearts and smiley faces. But as the months and years went by, the mystery boy got deeper. Confessions and secrets. 

I think if I had a different dad, we would’ve been best friends.

Can you fall in love with someone you’ve never talked to?

I dream about us. 

I’m a boy. I’m sorry.

I want to hold your hand. Those rings are something else. 

I saw you trying to catch me. Adorable.

I wish I could take you on a date. Not give a shit what my dad would say or what people would think. 

I wish I could be brave enough to talk to you. 

You’re still the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen.

I’m graduating this year. I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you. I think I’m going to try to figure out a way to keep dropping these off next year. I don’t want you to forget about me.

The notes didn’t continue when the school year started. Eddie was embarrassed to admit he cried that first night. He wasn’t sure how the mystery boy was going to be able to get the notes to him but he fully believed it was going to happen. He went five weeks with no daily note in his locker. And then, it showed up on a Monday. He almost missed it, the tiny slip of paper. 

Sorry this took so long. Had to figure out how I was going to sneak these in here. I don’t think I’ll be able to call you pretty every day of the week this time around but I’m going to try my best! 

And mystery boy was right. The notes were always there on Monday. Just Monday. But Eddie didn’t complain. One note a week after five weeks of nothing almost had his heart bursting from his chest. It also narrowed down his search. Sort of. Mystery boy was either coming in on those Mondays to drop off the note, sneaking in on the weekends when the school was empty OR after school on Fridays. And look, he’s failed to graduate high school two times in a row now but he wasn’t stupid. Did it take him three months after the notes to start again for him to realize who it was? Yes but to be fair, for two of those months it was Eddie wallowing in denial. 

Five weeks into school was when he restarted Hellfire. Three weeks before that was when he brought in those new little freshman sheepies. The same freshman sheepies that got picked up by Steve Harrington. Steve Harrington who graduated last year. Steve Harrington who he catches staring at him from his beemer in the parking lot every Friday night before he takes the kiddies home. Steve who he categorizes as someone who is so far out of his league that it just couldn’t be him. But it’s been three months and there isn’t any other former Hawkins high student running around in or near the school. And now that Eddie’s almost certain Steve has been mystery boy these past few years, he can’t wait. He’s been in love with a figure made out of slips of paper for four years and his nonexistent patience has truly run thin.  

He calls for a break 15 minutes before they normally end their sessions. Tells the boys he needs to run to the bathroom and almost sprints out the door. His locker sits in the hallway just around the corner of the drama room. The door closing shut echos through the empty hallways, alongside the squeaks coming from his shoes as he hustles towards his locker. He freezes as soon as he turns the corner. 

Steve probably only had 30 seconds after hearing the door open and shut to process what he was going to do. He could’ve run or hid, maybe pretend like he just needed the bathroom while he waited. But Eddie watched him pause as they made eye contact instead. Watched as Steve looked him up and down. Watched him relax and lean back against the lockers behind him with a lazy smirk. His arm slowly moved up and Eddie could see a slip of paper held between his fingers. Steve didn’t break eye contact with him at all as he proceeded to shove the paper between the vents of his locker. They stayed like that for what felt like hours. Staring. Broken when Steve pushed himself off the wall and walked towards him. He didn’t stop. Side stepped around Eddie before they could collide. A faint brush of his fingers along the back of his hand as he walked past him. And Eddie just watched him pass. Just like he watched him slip that note in his locker, he watched Steve walk back down the hall and out the front doors.

He waited only five seconds after the doors closed behind Steve before he jogged over to his locker. Grabbed the note and shoved it into his pocket before running back over to the drama room. Told the guys that they stopped at a decent spot and would meet again next Friday. Walked with them to the parking lot to head home. To catch a glimpse of Steve. And there he was, sitting in his beemer, staring again. This time though, Eddie smiled at him. He smiled at him and pulled the note out of his pocket. Opened it right there in the parking lot while he stared back at Steve. It only took him a few seconds to glance down to read. And as soon as he did, he threw his head back and laughed. Cackled really. He looked back at the beemer and saw Steve with the widest grin. Watched him lift his fingers off the steering wheel and wiggle them at him before he started pulling out of the lot. He looked back down at the note in his hand and chuckled again. Who knew Steve Harrington knew DnD well enough to draw a perfect rendition of an eight sided dice?

Wanna go on a d8? - Steve Harrington xxx-xxx-xxxx

i don’t know where the notion that if you don’t give big bucks to an artist then you’re not really supporting them came from, but when people say even a tiny bit of monetary support saves an artist, it’s not for the aesthetic or the gesture of it all. i’ve been able to have actual drinking water on days i’ve been incredibly broke simply because someone bought a brush pack for 2 euros. in the most actual, literal way i could possibly convey this: the SMALLEST amount counts. in practice counts. people-get-to-eat-today counts. especially in this age of everyone and their mother being out to deplatform artists. there’s value in the tiniest of ways

#don’t get me started on how sharing people’s works helps bring in the money down the line even if all you did was reblog something#a little bit goes a long way#that is all

Just realized that the reason I love making friends on tumblr is because it’s exactly how you make friends on the playground as a six year old. No, I don’t know their name but they love mermaids too and built this awesome sand castle. No, I don’t know their age but their imaginary cheetah is friends with mine. You like this show? You like this character?? You can sing the theme song really loud??? Here is a flower crown. Here is a juice box. You can share my time and I might never see you again but part of you stays in my soul forever. In my mind we’re still on the swing set and the sky is blue and nothing will ever be wrong again.

Reblog and put in the tags how often you “clean” your tumblr account, deleting old posts.

Tumblr actually has an auto clean function! Where the search function immediately forgets tags and posts making them un-findable

2.07 | Message in a Bottle

Sun

I believe that measured amounts of being a hater is necessary. We define ourselves by what we resist, and homogenization is the death of culture.

Consider the art of the kvetch. Haterdom is the art of performative criticism. The art in haterdom is control. Artful haters can mock in a way that the hate-ee laughs at, agrees with, shares with their fellow hate-ees.

miles “who’s morales” morales’s biggest weakness is the cover story

peter, lying out of his ass: i was, uh, married to his uncle aaron. he just never let you know

Jefferson, later: Do you think Aaron never told us because Peter’s…

Rio: …Tall

Jefferson: I didn’t think Aaron liked … Tall people.

Jefferson: “But listen: Aaron might have married a white boy just to annoy me, specifically. It’s a thing he would do!”

Rio: “I can’t hear you. I’m asleep.  I have a shift in four hours.”

I really wish there was a way Uncle Aaron lived and came back to meet his “husband” at some point now.

Aaron: …Miles…I love you, and I am proud of you…but you are somehow the smartest and dumbest boy I have ever known.

Miles: Says the man who used his big brain to become a criminal when he could’ve been a black Tony Stark with that gear he made. And thought working for the Kingpin, who everyone knows will throw his minions away like tissues, was a good idea!

Peter: He makes a good point, babe, you did kind of mess up first–

Aaron: Call me babe again and see what happens. I’ll whoop you with a collapsed lung.

All I see is “fake marriage au, but it’s also enemies to lovers”

If I ever stop reblogging this post, assume that I have yeeted myself off this mortal coil

It is actually way better for 100 addicts to get their fix on pain pills than a single person in pain go without. I call this the "Torture is bad" principle. You should be able to get the good stuff forever after a single doctor's visit. If you're worried about addicts fund rehab centers and needle exchanges instead of torturing people.

Among other things if you can't use the legit market you turn to the black market anyway.

if you're worried about addiction, build a society where people get their basic needs met, including pain management.

Wanderer

thank you for all the preorders i am truly moved by the support, cant believe we are really doing this. BUCKAROOS ASSEMBLE bit.ly/CampDamascus

I was having a sensible chuckle and then as the music swelled I suddenly got overwhelmed with a feeling of hope in a common cause and found myself sobbing? I mean I already knew I wasn’t okay but hello??

What’s the word for a found family, except it’s less of the finding along the way, and more of the bewildered discovering yourself caught up in a katamari damacy of equal temper of heroic hearts???

it is okay chuck kind of started to tear up when i was making it. this moment on our timeline has been very profound for me. i have spent nearly a decade saying HELLO TIMELINE THIS IS MY WAY, and shouting my unique voice from rooftops, and proclaiming that buds may think my art is silly but it is all very sincere to me.

slowly i have seen online buckaroos change and watch as their feelings of 'i like this ironically' slowly erode into 'actually i can just like this for real'. it is MAGICAL watching irony seep from peoples veins like this, flooding the streets.

this timeline can break down unique ways like a river sanding rocks into smooth marbles, but every once in a while a jagged, perfectly imperfect stone can BEND THE WHOLE TIMELINE AROUND IT.

that perfectly imperfect stone is not just chuck tingle, it is ALL OF US BUCKAROOS.

i can feel the timeline bending

The whole Reddit thing is an especially striking example of corporate brain rot because, like, they managed to build their entire business model on the back of exploiting vast quantities of unpaid volunteer labour, and successfully convinced the entire Internet that this is a normal state of affairs. How do you fuck that up? How do you convince yourself that instituting a de facto demand for your very nearly 100% volunteer workforce to pay you for the ability to use the tools that are required to do their job is anything other than cutting your own throat?

Like, do they just not grasp the fundamentals of their own business model? Do they not realise that they're a for-profit business in the unimaginably envious position of employing a largely volunteer workforce? That's the only place I can imagine the idea of going to people who doing the work of employees for free and saying "actually, you should pay us for the privilege of working for us" coming from.

i fucking LOVE creating things with my friends!!! let's talk about our ocs and put them in situations!! let's make a song together or share our writing!! let's connect on a meaningful and artistic level!!!

Roommate went out of town once, asked me to look after her cat.

Night one she comes down meowing at me. I go check her food/water, they're full. Litter box empty. Make sure my roommate's door is still open and she's not locked out of her room or something. I try to pet her and she dodges me, offer her treats and she won't have it, try playing with her but she won't play, try just ignoring her and she won't stop following me around meowing at me.

So I call my roommate, concerned maybe she was sick or in pain and that's why she was being so insistent despite having all her needs met.

Roommate goes: "OH! She wants you to go to bed. Go upstairs to my room and just sit in my bed with her for a few minutes. She should curl up and get comfortable. Once shes laid down she usually lets me go back to what I'm doing she just can't seem to go to bed on her own"

Sure enough, I go sit on roommates bed and she just happily jumps up, curls up on the blanket, and purrs herself to sleep.

I like when cats try to give their humans healthy habits.

From Theophile Gautier, mid-19th century, about his very floofy white cat:

Cats : trying to make us go to bed at a Reasonable Time since forever (so they can wake us up at 3 am for treats)

Billionaires have bigger character flaws. Friends don't let friends simp for billionaires.