#i mean u are

[rystiel]

au where ford gets over himself when he gets to gravity falls and reaches out to stan sooner

stan thinks ford still doesn’t want him around and is gonna kick him out the moment he doesn’t need his help anymore ahaha. but like also they’re so sillayyyy

(plus a part 2 & part 3)

[guiiay]

jinx and isha visit a walmart

[monatoxin]

fish song

[alissicall]

Locked in because it reminded me of that one scene

happy late valentines 💜

[not-enough-eyes]

being an mcyt fan who doesn't use twitter is so much fun cuz every now and then its like

"oh wow a lot of the mcyt blogs I follow r suddenly posting a lot did something happ-"

[weirdgirlvampire]

If yes, tell me what it is in the tags!

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

that stupid little guy thar he hates

[pirate-cashoo]

Thinking about Half-Life.......

[ihatebrainstorm]

pupee

[malenjoyer]

WE'RE SO BACK

[inkskinned]

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[ninjasmudge]

last night i had a dream that i was playing minecraft and i noticed i had 77 blocks of cobblestone in one slot instead of it being capped at 64 and it was so jarring to me that it literally booted me out of the dream. like sure you can fly now and your childhood home is a pharmacy but 77 pieces of cobblestone? unthinkable. wake the fuck up.

[freakcliff]

many things about the chronicles of Narnia made me irrevocably insane at the small age of six years old but one of the big ones was the bit in prince Caspian where caspian blows susan's horn to try and summon help and it summons the pevensie kids like. that's crazy ok. that's insane. imagine at 12 years old you're given a horn thats purpose is basically summoning divine intervention & then years later someone blows it and summons YOU . I'm crazy !

[eraserbread]

i heard you like nanami kento.

it’s okay. he loves you, too.

he tells you so everyday. when he wakes up next to you, in the shower you share before work, over his morning coffee, as he’s fixing his tie, and as soon as his left foot leaves the front door. he makes sure you know you’re loved.

because, love is all he ever wants from you, too.

it’s hard being the only one of his colleagues that have a pretty little home to drag to every night, fitted with a pretty little housewife who’d polish his shoes if he asked. the only thing is, he’d never ask. you’re far too pretty and perfect to be on your knees in vain. and, if you are, it’s with him buried to the hilt.

the first thing he tells you when he walks in from work is, of course, “darling, i love you.”

you would smile bashfully and love him back with a kiss on the cheek.

then, he’d carry you to the bedroom and bury you full of his cock. all eight-something inches like it was nothing. and, it was nothing for you. he fucks you like this every night.

tonight, though, was different. there was a certain vigor behind his tight hips — a tension between his shoulders as he held you face down, ass up. his large hands swallow your waist whole, and he’s actually vocal tonight.

his grunts are mean and loud and so delicious. he’s combing out your name through them, telling you how perfect and spongy your insides are. how he wants to bury a baby inside of you and how marriage was never enough for him. being inside you wasn’t enough. he needed you. just you.

fuck, fuck, fuck he was going crazy.

“nana…nanami,” you moan obscenely, cursing when his cock hits that perfect left angle. drool drips from your lips into your once pristine bed and only one round in, you can tell you’re fucked. he’d need at least two rounds before his tension dissipated into exhaustion and he can go to sleep.

“talk to me, what’s wrong?” you manage between each thrust, biting your lip and pressing your forehead to the pillow.

“it’s two hours past my contract time.” he answers in thick, staccato bursts, driving his hips impossibly deeper every time you scoot away from him. “two hours that could have been spent with…” he stops himself, swallowing a gob of want so he can think straight.

he’s taking you so passionately, that his fingertips bloom red against your flesh.

“mphh, kentooo,”

“you know how pissed it makes me when they steal my time from you?”

“tell me, kento.”

“makes me want to say fuck the humans. fuck the righteousness of it all. makes me goddamn sick.”

nanami doesn’t cuss much, but when he does it shocks and dirties you. however, it’s so fucking attractive. you love watching your wound-tight husband come undone with one glance at you.

“love when you lie and tell me everything’s gonna be okay.” he mutters, suddenly soft. his lips are at the base of your neck as he leans over you. rutting hips and soft breaths back the moment, but all you can focus on is him. the soft beat of his heart and the stiffness of his muscles.

if he knows you’re lying, it’s okay. why should you stop now?

“i wanna save you.” you cry, carried by the sound of his lips all over your neck and back. it’s so sweet you could die. “i can be whatever you need me to be, just let me save you.”

“god. you’re perfect. i love you, you’re so perfect.” with his lips on your neck, you finally cum, and you two have it down to a science, now. his thrusts become sloppy, and that’s your sign to finally unravel.

he turns your head with two fingers pressed to your chin, kissing you as he carries you through your orgasm. it’s only when he knows you’re satisfied, that he bites your lip and finishes deep inside of you.

“darling, my darling. ‘m yours.”

[luguangs]

though the movie might be cancelled, yuri on ice will live forever in our hearts. thank you yoi fandom, it's been real ♡

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

elita pep talk