@ Hollywood, hire me. I fixed the new Mummy movie without even watching a trailer
Tom Cruise and Young Hot Blonde™ enter the crypt, Tom in the lead because he is the manly protector. Their flashlight beams eventually illuminate a sarcophagus carved in the likeness of a beautiful Princess.
Tom Cruise approaches the sarcophagus, moves to open it.
Young Hot Blonde™: Don’t do the thing.
Tom Cruise: I’m going to do the thing. *Shoves sarcophagus open*
They cough as dust fills the air. Just as it begins to clear, Brendan Frasier shoots upright, drawing his gun and immediately shooting Tom Cruise in the head.
“I thought I told Evy not to put me down for mummification,” he mutters as he looks at his surroundings. He is inexplicably not decomposed or mummified, just vaguely wrapped in Charmin. Glances at a now very dead Tom Cruise. “Oops.”
Young Hot Blonde™: How… how did this happen?
Brendan Frasier: Well, it’s a long story, I’ll have to start at the beginning.
Then they just replay the entirety of ‘The Mummy’ (1999).
After credits scene:
Young Hot Blonde™: That still doesn’t explain how you ended up alive in a sarcophagus in the year 2017.
I got the honor to participate in @jojofanzine (which is an awesome project btw thanks for having me!) a while back so I drew as many best girls as possible from Jojo which is hard bc all the girls are best girls.
opening a family sized bag of chips and having the feeling of “i never have to buy chips ever again because there are so many chips in this bag”
the feeling of a cold glass bowl full of ice cream making your hands nice and chilly
biting into a smore that you thought you cooked too much to find that it still tastes delicious
really hot hot chocolate with really cold whipped cream on top
the perfect state that cereal reaches from 30-seconds to 90-seconds after pouring the milk where it’s not so hard that it scrapes the top of your mouth but it’s not too mushy that it feels gross
the crunch of lettuce and onion you get when taking the first bite of a warm burger
opening a soda on a warm summer night sleepover
sorting fruit snacks by shape and then eating the extras so all of the groups are equal and then eating 1 fruit snack from each of the groups until they’re all gone so there’s no imbalance
having leftovers that still taste good after reheating them
otter-pops halfway through melting so ur not just eating ice but also it’s not just weirdly thick fruit juice
eating alone at home, allowing yourself to eat whatever comfort food or weird combination you want without the fear of people judging what you eat or how much you eat. tortilla chips in a ham sandwich? delicious. dipping carrots in ketchup? live it up. pancakes for dinner? hell yeah. speaking of which…
pancakes, bacon, sausage, egg, and hasbrowns for dinner
having a warm feeling in your stomach after eating some good soup
carrying a good-sized bag of snacks out of a gas station midway into a long road trip
movie popcorn. somehow popcorn at a movie theater ALWAYS tastes different than homemade popcorn
opening a box of pizza and seeing the full pizza there. no one has eaten any yet, and there is a 0% chance of opening it to be disappointed that there’s none left. it’s all there, and it’s all fresh, and it’s destiny is now in your hands
any/every form of potato based food. just, like, in general. tater tots, french fries, hashbrowns, potato medallions, mashed potatoes, etc. all of them are perfect foods and all of them taste perfect w/ ketchup
a big ol mouthful of sticky rice
eating on the couch while watching TV with your loved ones
tha cronch of appl
the feeling of satisfaction you get when you try a new recipe and it tastes good on the first try
having a friend cook you something that tastes good and seeing the look of joy on their face when they see you like it
eating something youve been craving all day and feeling 100% satisfied with it
do you ever think about how Problematic™ your early teen ships would have been if tumblr existed back then? like. jesus.
kids these days: you have no idea how great it was to enjoy, for example, violent possession/manipulative bodysharing hard dubcon in peace. thirteen year old me needed space to be freaky.
• pairing: jung hoseok x reader, sugar daddy! hoseok • genre/warnings: smut, oral, dirty talk, (cute) dom! hoseok • words: 15,413 → summary: your sugar daddy says you don’t have to sleep with him if you don’t want to…trouble is, you do want to. You’re just nervous and a little inexperienced, but he catches on quick and begins to teach you the true pleasures of sex, andboy, are they good…
He’s written the spoiler right on the first page, like a shit, and he’s ghastly. He really is. Only- of course he isn’t. Quite the opposite. She uses the book to hit him in the chest. He laughs.
You’re the worst gift giver in the world, she informs him. He waggles his eyebrows, and she’d kiss him if Sirius wasn’t here. You two should kiss, Sirius says through a mouthful of crisps, looking on with mild interest. James shoves him sideways and then does, in fact, kiss her. He tastes like tea and mint.
The boys wear party hats all round London. Remus has five coffees, Peter loses his scarf to the wind and Sirius throws away a twenty pound note because he thought it was a very poorly made napkin. It might just be the best birthday she’s ever had.
Naturally she can never tell James this because he’ll just be unbearably smug, as opposed to the bearable level of smug he is normally. He buys her an ice block and then precedes to rip into her for picking lemonade flavor, which he has been told by Remus is the ‘most basic’.
Pathetic Lily, truly embarrassing, he says, and she reaches up and snaps the string of his party hat. Being eighteen feels no different to being seventeen, still being told by a choking James that she’d just ‘broken his throat’, still laughing when Remus says that it’s probably a blessing, still liking them all an inordinate amount.
Afterwards they go home, the two of them, back to the tiny apartment where they eat and sleep and make breakfast. When they’d moved in she’d used James’ wand to flick all the dead moths off the windowsill and to get her back he froze hers in ice. Sometimes when she can’t sleep and her brain is a blank wall she’ll get up, walk around, breathe. She can look at any surface of their place and think here. I kissed you here. I loved you here.
She goes through the door and there is a cake on their bench. The top slants to the left, lopsided, and the icing has melted all down the sides. She freezes, staring. James bounds past her and tries to prop up a drooping candle. I didn’t know you weren’t supposed to ice it while it was still hot, he confesses, guiltily.
She keeps staring. You made me a cake. She says, fumbling around the words. I don’t know if you can still call it that, he says, distracted, trying to even out the slanting top by shifting the icing. She cannot believe him- waking up early just to make her a cake. Her heart is swollen. She could break a rib.
Happy birthday Li- he starts, but she has surged forward and is kissing him instead. His hands are sticky from icing, on her face and jaw and neck and he made her a cake. In this kitchen, in this apartment, in her space, he was here. There has never been a better boy than hers, and here. She loves him here.
This is that fic I was talking about the other day, the one I wasn’t sure I wanted to post. I ended up writing TWO similar but distinct fics (different POV, different ending) based on the premise of this fic because I just kept tinkering with it, so this is the second version. The first one… idk, maybe I’ll toss it or maybe I’ll post it later for the curious among you.
Sterek high school AU, G, 1.7k words
Stiles thinks Scott is joking at first, mostly because he’s laughing so hard he can barely get the words out. “There’s a guy backstage asking for you by name. He’s got flowers.”
Stiles rolls his eyes and goes back to wiping the lipstick off his mouth. After four performances, he can get in and out of the dress and the wig in no time flat. He can even walk in heels without too much wobbling. But the lipstick? Bane of his existence. It still takes him a good five minutes of careful wiping and rubbing with petroleum jelly, and even then his mouth always has this odd orangish-coral tinge by the time he goes home for the night. By that point he’s usually too frustrated by the whole thing to even begin to bother with cleaning off the mascara.
Thank god this is closing night, and in a minute they can all go out for tacos and Stiles can set to work forgetting about lipstick for the rest of forever.
Scott’s still hovering at the door, anticipatory. “I think he likes you. Like, like-likes.”
“Ha ha,” Stiles says flatly. He tilts his head to the left and then to the right in front of the mirror, angling his face up into the lights. “Do you think I got it all?”
Scott gives him a careless glance. “Yeah, sure. Looks fine. But no, seriously, the girl who sells the tickets told me he’s shown up to every single performance.”
Scott isn’t joking. He’s laughing at Stiles (and okay, if their positions were reversed, Stiles would totally be laughing at Scott, too), but he isn’t joking. Fuck. Not even Stiles’ dad has come to every performance.