“Eight, seven, six, five, four, and fifteen: the small forward, the shooting guard, the power forward, the center, the point guard, and the phantom. We are the Generation of Miracles.”

He loved her in a subtle kind of way. It wasn’t the kind of love you see in movies, with swelling music and giant gestures and running through the streets to catch a departing train. It wasn’t the kind of love that Byron or Shakespeare wrote about, with flowery language and hyperbole and iambic pentameter. It was still and deep, like water that you might mistake for shallow if you just watched the surface. It was entirely his, not dependent on her own feelings for him, and it would still be there whether she, or him, or everyone else on the world disappeared. It was a subtle kind of love, but it was true.

whitepool:

rnannco:

IUM LAUGHING  REAL LY HARD I THOGUHT THAT PATHWAY WAS HIS HAIR AND  I WAS LIKE ‘SUCH VOLUME!’

“Sorry, Happy!”

disneyprincest:

i hate when you voluntarily tell your parents some information about your life because you think you can trust them and then they bitch at you for it like congrats you have guaranteed that i will never tell you anything ever again 

okurodesu:

ユッキ！

Shibazeki Suiren (Hibi Chouchou) - Colored by ✭

fartgallery:

I SPENT 6 HOURS MAKING THIS BALLOON PIT AND IT DOESNT EVEN WORK

Karneval bishies (♥‿♥✿)

shay-sama:

{♥}

i don’t know how to talk to you guys so i don’t

mileyhighrus:

i could never be a politician because every time it was my turn to talk in a debate it would start off with “listen you fucking prick” like idk how these people don’t do this

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