#you're my girl

[unabashedqueenfury]

Reign 2013-2017/01-13

Mary and Francis

[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.

[carlyraejepsans]

fandoms love to go ooooo you have to read this fic it's the most popular fic in the famdom it's a fandom classic and then you read it and it's bad

[demaparbat-hp]

She will (and he'll let her)

[dapper-lil-arts]

Anyone else finds it hilarious that pony posting not only is going through a Renaissance but simply does not die lmao. i'm having a good time!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

You keep telling yourself that Namari.

[sllooney]

Perfect.

Fic: One Good Honest Kiss

“What do you mean you don’t remember?” Eddie, pancaked on Steve’s bedroom floor, scrunches his shoulders up to his ears in an approximate shrug. He’s drunk. They’re both drunk. “I think he was nice.” “You think?!” “I don’t know, dude.” Eddie’s hands drag over his face, through his hair, his arms and fingers unfurling vine-like above his head. His back arches into the stretch. Steve’s eyes flick to the flash of skin between the hem of Eddie’s shirt and the top of his belt. “I was nineteen, it was dark, and he was nice. What more do you want.” Steve should let it go. It’s nothing. It’s inconsequential. But also no it’s not. It’s fishhooked deep within his chest cavity, yanking him off the bed and floundering to sit at Eddie’s hip. His hand closes around Eddie’s knee. “Your first kiss is supposed to mean something.” Eddie snorts. “Says who?” “Says—I don’t know, society?” “When have I ever adhered to the weather-vaning whims of society?” “…Weather-vaning?” “Like, uhh, like fucking…the ever-shifting winds of change…” “Ohhh.” “Like. The wind. Guh. I don’t know. I’m a…metal…guy…on peoples roofs?” “Uh-huh?” “You’re mocking me.” “Yeah. But go on.” “I don’t know!” His voice bubbles with laughter. “I don’t know. People want things in a way? And I’m different, in a way. Stop laughing.” It’s easy to be buoyed by Eddie’s exuberance. It’s easy to lose the plot in the sparkling, seafoamy burst of his laughter. His forearms flop to fold over each other, ringed fingers gripping his opposite elbows. His tongue rests like a meek chewing gum bubble between the rows of his teeth, his grin self-effacing. His eyes are fixed, unmoving, on Steve’s face. As if he’s searching for something Steve is unwilling or unable to concede. “I don’t know, man,” Eddie groans. “I wanted to get it over with.” At once Steve is dragged back, bereft, to shore. “Honey,” he says and he shouldn’t, sees how Eddie’s body jerks as if electroshocked.    “Yeah. Well.” Eddie is no longer looking at him. “What’re ya gonna do?”

“Do you want a do-over?”

Keep reading

[artist-rat]

Guys do not ask how this group is still together.. I'm too afraid to ask (the answer is magic of friendship and ✨Delusion✨)

[ghoopyghoo]

alternatively, this is Mouse and she is a fucking delight. absolute perfect angel

[ruubesz-draws]

Godzilla but it's GTA

Poor Tiamat... they did her dirty :(

It's okay Tiamat! I'll make your gijinka look beautiful!

[amourningcrow]

My artbook just arrived and what do you mean they could have looked like this?? Who looked at these designs and thought: No wait, I have a better idea :)

WHO WAS IT?? COME HERE I JUST WANNA TALK

[frenchublog]

buffi

[ministarfruit]

lucky star because I was feeling nostalgic

[dapper-lil-arts]

uh oh!!!!

[borgialucrezia]

"I had to be in a bikini for half of the small time that I was on-screen, and I had to dance with a snake, which I have a phobia for. So it seemed like a really bad job, but that I really needed at the time. I was really shocked when my five minutes on-screen became so memorable and that people are still talking about this film."

SALMA HAYEK as SANTANICO PANDEMONIUM FROM DUSK TILL DAWN (1996) directed by robert rodriguez