#*sf

[gigicaldwell]

JAWS 1975, dir. Steven Spielberg

[pixel--moon]

MLB NL West Fuku

Los Angeles Dodgers

San Diego Padres

San Francisco Giants

Arizona Diamondbacks

Colorado Rockies

reblog 🔁 / like 🩷

[stillfated]

ORANGE FLOWER (DREAM VER.) 🍊🌼 recreated the concept trailer version 🧡 edited & mixed by me!

[ahsung]

What about me? Can you trust me? Is someone digging up intel on me? That won’t happen because there’s no need.

Secret Forest - Season 1 (2017)

[harbingerofjoy]

Territory Studio UI and Narrative Concepts for Horizon Zero Dawn: → Core Modules and Symbols

[tamiettitami]

Gallavich & 25 please?

it's late, and mickey can't sleep. normally, ian is the one out of the pair who has trouble, but the days until their wedding are winding down, fast, and all mickey wants is for it to be perfect. sure, he can say it's to piss terry off all he wants, and while there is some truth to that (anytime mickey can annoy the fuck out of his father is a win in his book), he just wants it to be perfect for ian because, if it isn't, then what's the fucking point of getting married in the first place?

mickey reaches out a tentative hand, softly stroking his fiancé's cheek with the back of his palm.

fiancé is certainly not a word mickey ever thought he'd use to describe his relationship to a gallagher—ian fucking gallagher, at that—though he supposes weirder shit has happened.

mickey has always loved ian's freckles, specifically how they glimmer underneath the nighttime light when the moon shines through his blinds at just the right angle creating dozens of miniature constellations across his forehead and nose, like his own pleiades. he caresses ian's jawline using the pad of his thumb.

one.

slowly, but surely, mickey makes his way up to ian's ear, counting each freckle as his fingernail passes over.

two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine.

once mickey reaches ian's earlobe, he continues upwards along his hairline, still keeping track of what number he's on by mumbling as silently as he can underneath his breath.

ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen.

ian yawns and turns onto his left side. mickey's eyes go wide in panic; you weren't supposed to wake up, he thinks as he watches ian's eyelids flutter open.

"mick?" ian groans, lazily slugging an arm over mickey's hip. he slides his palm back and forth over the exposed skin, a sly grin flashing across his face. "whatcha doin'?"

"nothing—" mickey quickly stutters, but he's quickly cut off by ian.

"really? because it sounded like you were counting my freckles again, mumbling number and grabbing my face." mickey's jaw drops as his eyes are already open to full capacity. "don't worry, i think it's cute."

mickey's expression softens. "you do?"

"yeah," ian tightens his grip on mickey's waist, "i find it flattering that you think i'm pretty enough to wanna stare at all night."

"shut the fuck up, i couldn't sleep, alright. i thought it'd be, like, counting sheep or whatever." mickey readjusts so he's sitting upward, his back against the wall. he starts fiddling with the hem of his boxers, a nervous habit he picked up as a child waiting for mandy to return home from whatever guy she was out fucking on any particular night.

instinctively, ian mirrors mickey's position. "something up?" he asks. for now, at least, he decides keeping his distance is his smartest choice, so he does just that.

"wedding shit," mickey replies simply.

ian sighs sympathetically." i thought you had it all under control."

"thought so, too," mickey steadies his hand and clasps them together in his lap instead, his head dropping.

"hey, mick," ian ghosts mickey's chin with his fingers, lifting up his head once more. "you—we—have it all under control. i promise it'll work itself out."

"you promise?" mickey's eyes shimmer with hope like maybe ian is right, it will all work itself out.

"i promise," ian says sternly, wrapping an arm around mickey and pulling him in for an awkward side hug.

[toomucharitime]

favorite superfruit moments

it’s been awhile (amen)