#THIS IS SO SWEET STOP IT

[bakatenshii]

Finals are killing me so in case I don’t say it enough, it made me so happy today getting tumblr notifications that you’re posting again. Love you Angel, thank you for being you❤️🫡

aaAAAA I BELIEVE IN YOU!! I’m taking a cleaver to your finals and homiciding it for u <333 YOU GOT THIS YOU GOT THIS DO IT FOR THE 2D COCK !!!!

[beif0ngs]

Over the Garden Wall 10th Anniversary stop motion short by creator Patrick McHale and Aardman Animations

[mochasucculent]

Dumb thing that would not leave my brain

[atompalace-official]

Sweetheart Sylveon 🌈💌🎀✨ Happy Valentine’s Day!!! 🩵💕

[nyanrial]

making little snowmen ⛄⛄

[inkskinned]

okay i almost never address the very small amount of internet fame i have. and sometimes yes it sucks. people often repost my work, or clip it out of context, or flat-out steal it. but like it can be very funny. once a follower dm'd me to say a guy on hinge was pretending to be "inkskinned", and actually had even started his own insta. when she said "i've followed her for years i don't think you're her", he said - actually r.i.d is like seven people, we just made those initials up. (rude). when i found his insta and messaged him, he begged me to just lie and say he was r.i.d because "it's hard for men to date."

once someone said she should be allowed to plagiarize my work because she was a body-positive influencer and that if i "made a big deal" about this and "got her cancelled", i would be doing damage to my own community and i was never "actually" an ally.

i bear these things with the aura of a martyr, the way my catholic father raised me to. i message privately. i handle things quietly and quickly. i do not complain because i am very, very, very, very blessed and i know that. mercy and gentleness literally pour out of me every morning when i wake up, and then i have to mop the floors for how very Good i am.

however today is the first time i have ever had a very specific problem that neither requires me to correct this person nor throw them to the dogs but is somehow worse than years of hatemail, reddit thread death threats, and pinterest reposts:

someone quoted me and just got it, like, a little wrong.

[vader-anakin]

Paul Mescal will debut as a guest host on Saturday Night Live, on December 7

[iojun]

Proud snail owners when their snails:

[thefabledpheasant]

One of my favorite merthur scenes is Merlin’s “I didn’t want you to feel that you were alone” and it’s so beautiful for so many reasons, but what I don’t see ever mentioned is the moments right after Arthur opens the doors. Merlin doesn’t look at Arthur or give any indication he’s awake until he says Merlin’s name.

I think it’s so special because he’s giving Arthur the choice of what he wants to do. He can leave Merlin there and be alone or he can ‘wake him up’ and have a friend. He knows Arthur might not want to engage with anyone after an entire night spent with his deceased father. It’s a beautiful, understated act of consideration, love, and empathy.

[yuwuta]

satoru physically withers and crumbles every time you return his belongings. he doesn’t know how to tell you that he can only accidentally on purpose leave his glasses on your nightstand, or his jacket on your couch, or his shirt in your laundry so many times before he loses his mind. every time you don’t take he bait, he folds into himself and wonders why you don’t love him anymore and it costs him $22.50 to hear ieiri tell him to suck it up and use his words because he literally has to buy her company (and drinks).

but when you do take the bait, when you do wear his things, satoru thinks it’s all worth it. he can’t explain why it does what it does to him. it’s a sinister kind of possession he wants to have over you, knowing you’re your own person, free to do as you please, but also knowing you’re caged in him. it’s a lovesick kind of gooeyness that melts his heart seeing you fumble with the sleeves of a sweater that’s too long for you. it’s the vision of you seeing you drowning in him—in his clothes, in his things, in him, in him, in him. he’s selfish, he wants to consume you in as many ways as possible, wants you to drown in him, would die happily knowing you were one tenth as enraptured by him as he is with you. he doesn’t know how or why or when you gained so much power over him, but he doesn’t care, he doesn’t want you to ever stop, so if he has to keep pretending to leave his clothes and bags and glasses around then so be it.

[thebreadmantm]

Itty bitty cutie patootie baby girl bisexual I love you✨✨

I love you but you were so hard draw for no goddamn reason

[bixels]

fuck my stupid father issues life.

[parkercore-69]

hey its the cute, marketable versions of sam and max!!

[petricorah]

scenes i loved from Real Enough to Get Me Through by @marriedzukka <333 [ids in alt]

[mareestoermers]

ZENDAYA with her fans "Challengers" Premiere in Paris, France

[ghostlysoaps]

John MacTavish used to spend parts of his summers in England visiting extended family and this is where he ends up meeting a boy a couple years older than him named Simon. Surprisingly enough, they hit it off. His bombastic, extroverted personality somehow manages to compliment Simon’s rather timid, introverted one. Joined at the hip, the two of them quickly call themselves best friends, and, as children tend to do, develop a bit of an innocent crush on each other – going so far as to promise to marry one another if they haven’t found anyone else by the time they’re both twenty-five.

But then autumn arrives and goodbyes are made and their promises to meet up again never come to fruition.

He doesn’t forget him though. Their friendship remains a fond memory, even a decade later, though much of the details are blurred with time. Perhaps it’s because they’d been each other’s first kiss – if the chaste peck of lips-on-lips can be called as such – or it’s the ring of twined straw, brittle as tinder, he has tucked away in his box of mementos that make that particular summer an unforgettable thing.

That and his steadfast insistence no one else is allowed to use a certain nickname for him.

In any case… those faded months are far from his mind when John Price is showing him around their base of operations, introducing him to people as they go along. The one-four-one consists of near enough two dozen operatives though he’s told it’s not uncommon to be mostly paired off with a select few of his fellow soldiers if they play to each other’s strengths. He nods along and pushes for the use of his callsign when folks wish to be friendly. Until, eventually, he finds himself face-to-face with a man who needs no introduction. A living legend as it were; who’s records Soap had worked hard to beat.

“Well then, last but not least. MacTavish, this is Lieutenant Simon Riley. Also known as–”

“–my future husband,” John finishes for him, based on a name, twelve percent of a full thought and the manc accent he’d spied when hearing him dismiss a batch of recruits.

Youngest to ever make the SAS and about to be the quickest one ousted, he thinks miserably when the eyes assessing him narrow at his declaration.

“Johnny?”

Oh.

“So ye do remember me!” Pivoting from mortification to delight, and heedless to any gawking voyeurs, John slings an arm around Simon’s shoulders to draw him into a loose side-hug. “No’ long now ‘fore we need t’ get hitched, aye?”

“Courthouse is a twenty minute ride,” Simon says drily.

Soap laughs, brighter than he can remember doing for a long time, before he immediately starts teasing Ghost about not proposing properly.

(He does, of course, do so years down the line.)