#Project Popcorn

[muttonchopsalley]

@rhetthammersmith

An episode of "Project Popcorn", a Russian homage/ripoff of MST3K (Turn on the captions for the English translation)

[malvalesmalvis]

An ordinary grade 9 fixer

[deerdoeb]

Rip Ricky Potts u would have loved popcorn

[idol-affirmations]

[prthedisaster]

It's wooloo time!

[imminent-danger-came]

Imp, have you seen the Pretty Pretty Please I Don’t Want To Be A Magical Girl pilot? If you have, I’m curious to know your thoughts on it because I don’t really know what you’d think of it. I know you hate when stories mock its tropes, but I feel the pilot intends to use the jokes for theme, which I know you appreciate. It also has set-up for a main queer black couple as opposed to the in-universe one-sided ship between the blorbo-bait white guy as a bonus LOL. Hope you have a good day!

I have!

I think it's a super cute pilot—the voice direction and a lot of the comedy isn't for me (kinda reminds me of of SvTFOE or TOH, which the creator works at Disney so that checks out), but that's totally just preference rather than a fault of the show. I respect what they're trying to do, it definitely doesn't feel like it's "mocking" the magical girl genre at all! I think my real issue is when a piece of media lacks sincerity, which PPPIDWTBAMG (does. the fandom have a better acronym) has plenty of. It's a fine deconstruction, and that "magical girl de-transformation' is just smart.

Obviously love a main queer black couple, they're goofy and fun (and feel arospec to me), and I love that the white boy is chasing after the black girl. It's just nice to see

"Blorbo-bait white guy" is fucking KILLING me

[luvflwergirl]

⸻ luvflwergirl ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

𓇢𓆸 stiles stilinski college roommate au!!

first week in, group project breakdown!!

The first thing you noticed when you opened the door was the volume. Not the music—though that was definitely loud, a tinny mix of ‘Eye of the Tiger’ blasting from somewhere between the couch and the kitchen—but the chaotic energy vibrating off every surface.

The second thing you noticed was Stiles Stilinski. One socked foot planted firmly on the ground, the other bare and twitching like it had forgotten its purpose, pacing in tight circles like a caffeinated hamster on wheels. His hands waved wildly, one clutching a battered highlighter, the other occasionally stabbing the air in emphasis.

And then there was the popcorn.

You shut the door behind you, eyes immediately drawn to the potted fern sitting in the corner by the window. It looked… different. Closer inspection revealed it was dusted in a fine layer of burnt popcorn kernels, blackened and brittle, some crumbled and scattered on the floor like tiny, crispy landmines. A faint wisp of smoke curled upward, carrying with it the unmistakable acrid scent of charred snack food — a smell that somehow felt oddly fitting in this house of academic horrors.

“Is that… popcorn in the plant?” you asked, your voice a mixture of shock and incredulous amusement.

Stiles whipped around like you’d just announced the apocalypse. “Oh my God — you’re home! You weren’t supposed to be home yet! And yes! No! I mean—yes, technically, but in my defense, there was science involved. And hunger. And a YouTube video that promised a fun twist on ‘traditional popcorn making,’ but left out the part where your microwave goes nuclear and tries to kill your houseplants!”

You stepped gingerly over a battlefield of crumpled flashcards, gummy candy wrappers, and an open biology textbook that had clearly given up and gone face-down in shame.

He was still talking.

“Okay, so—so the presentation’s tomorrow, right? But Jenny—you remember Jenny right?—Jenny who somehow made it to junior year with the digital skills of a confused raccoon—decides to redesign the entire PowerPoint last night, and now it’s got transitions that look like a Michael Bay film trailer and Comic Sans. Comic. Sans.”

Your lip twitched as you watched him, the urge to egg him on overwhelmingly strong. “The horror.”

“Exactly! And then—then—she adds these stock photos of smiling test tubes like the mitochondria is supposed to be cute now?! No. No, I refuse to let cellular respiration become a cartoon.”

You reached out and gently plucked a stray sticky note from his sleeve. It had a frantic scribble on it that simply read: “Mitochondria = POWER, not smiles!!”

You held it up, swallowing a laugh. “Compelling argument.”

“I panicked!” he wailed, tossing himself dramatically onto the couch, limbs sprawled like someone who’d just survived a shipwreck. “My brain imploded. I started color-coding and then lost the color order halfway through. And I—God, I don’t even remember putting popcorn in the microwave! I might be sleep-cooking. Is that a thing? It feels like a thing.”

“You’ve had like, six Sour Patch Kids today, haven’t you?”

He sat up abruptly. “Seven. But I chewed slowly. That counts as responsible eating. And I had gum. Watermelon flavored. That’s like a fruit. Right? That’s a fruit.”

You disappeared into the kitchen without a word, rummaging through the fridge until you found the emergency pasta—the one you’d made for exactly this type of situation. Emotional first aid in Tupperware.

He watched you with wide, frantic eyes as you microwaved it. “You’re not mad?”

“No.”

“You’re not judging me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Oh God.”

You brought him the plate and handed it to him like you were feeding a wounded animal. “Eat. Breathe. Maybe take the plant outside before it develops a complex.”

He looked down at the food like it was a holy offering. “You’re a miracle.”

You plopped down beside him, folding your legs up. “You’re a mess.”

He forked pasta into his mouth at lightning speed. “I’m okay with that .”

“Same thing.”

For a few minutes, there was blessed silence. The kind that follows chaos. The kind that settles over the wreckage like a blanket.

He finally exhaled. “Okay. Maybe I… spiraled.”

“Just a little.”

“My brain does this thing,” he mumbled around a bite, “where one bad choice triggers a full existential unraveling, okay? Like, why are we even doing school if people think Comic Sans is okay? Comic Sans is basically the equivalent to the pipeline who clap when the plane lands. How did we let that happen? What else have we failed to stop? Is Helvetica next? I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.”

You smiled, leaning your head back against the couch. “It’s not that deep.”

“It is. Typography is the visual tone of society, and right now society is screaming.”

“You sound like you ate edibles.”

He looked offended. “I would never. I’m too anxious for drugs. Could you imagine me high? I’d accidentally astral project and never come back.”

You snorted. “Sounds kind of peaceful.”

He gave you a flat look. “Rude.”

You stole a bite of his pasta. “You love it.”

“I hate you.”

You watched him finally start to relax, the knot in his shoulders loosening, his foot no longer bouncing at a dangerous speed.

For a second, the two of you just… sat. In the quiet. Amid the absurd wreckage of the living room, wrapped in the weird warmth of domestic disaster.

Then Stiles blinked, suddenly remembering something. “Wait. I never offered you snacks. Oh my god, I’m so rude. I live here now, and I didn’t even offer—do you want a Capri Sun? I have Pacific Cooler. Or the Kool-Aid ones that aren’t as good but have fun straws. Or maybe popcorn, though I’d have to… you know, unstuff the plant first.”

You just laughed and leaned your head on his shoulder. “I’m good. Really.”

He froze for a beat, then smiled—soft and lopsided, nothing performative about it.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Good.”

[hullaballoon]

Mike Morton your greed SICKENS ME!!!

What’s the lovely star’s favorite food :3?

"...Sorry Aes!! I have a kitchen to get to!"

[bluebluebacchus]

WHO IS SHE

[angelxd-3303]

Welp, I've officially fallen down the rabbit hole. Meet my current braincell consumer.

Excuse the bad quality, I'm working with a new marker set and figuring stuff out. This is Cloudrunner, a former Autobot warrior who defected to the Decepticon cause due to personal reasons. His superior sent him and his team on what was basically a su!cide mission, knowing they likely wouldn't survive. Cloudrunner was the only survivor, and was verbally and physically abused for years because he 'abandoned' his team. Eventually he got fed up with it, and fled to the Decepticons for help.

Megatron would have just had him added to the scrap heap, but reconsidered when Cloudrunner mentioned that he'd been a medic before joining the warrior class due to a lack of manpower. Since Knockout's medical expertise was... questionable, to say the least, Megatron decided to keep Cloudrunner around. Besides, it gave him yet another thing to throw in Optimus' face next time they crossed paths.

I know you guys probably don't follow me for my oc rants, but I still thought I'd share. If you're interested in more, let me know!

[battleonthebigbridge]

Dante's always on his head :")

[llycaons]

why are ppl giving ishmael anxiety in all these modern AUs. do they realize what an insanely dangerous and frightening life he must have lived? the man has fucking nerves of steel

[diegusting]

Peak gluttony

[ms-ninja-crab]

Apparently at my writing group today I should have said that my goal as a writer is to write something so real that an audience wouldn’t be able to tell my writing from reality even if I’m writing something with supernatural elements, instead of just saying I like to roll with the fact that a reader knows a story labeled “fiction” will have a narrative constructed by an author and it’s not weird to work off of that expectation.

Like sorry I’m not trying to delve into the recesses of my psyche to extract deep human truths about the universe lmao I’m working on something that I think would be fun to read!

[celo000o]

Art reposts

(faker fuzz by @super-mario-hyadain)

[creepyscritches]

High school things I miss: wandering through my day covered in mystery art stains :( my spots...