#and everything involved

[drarchibaldpeppermd]

yearly reminder, the Met Gala is a fundraiser that serves as the primary source of funding for the Met's Costume Institute. the money that invitees pay for tickets and almost all other proceeds from the gala is charity that goes towards a museum collection which otherwise likely wouldn't exist. please support public and private funding for information institutions

[satellites444]

sylus has a long day and he needs to eat you out.

simply because he's a giver, and he wants nothing more than to please you. that's his stress relief.

like, you're at home relaxing when you get a text from him, simply saying ‘need to see you’

so you unlock your front door for him and wait for him to arrive.

when he gets there you're on the couch in your comfiest sweatpants and your head perks up when he the door opens. you notice immediately the tension in his shoulders and the tired look on his face.

“how was your day?” you ask, your voice is curious. he meets your eyes as he walks towards where you're at on the couch, and he doesn't say anything he just drops to his knees in front of you.

“sylus?” you question as his fingers pull at the waistband of your pants. you let him take your sweats off, leaving you in just your underwear. he tosses the sweats somewhere in the living room and starts to leave a lazy trail of kisses from your knee to your inner thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

“long day,” he says between kisses, “just need this,” he mumbles into your leg.

who are you to deny him what he needs?

“whatever you need,” you say, running your fingers through his hair, watching his eyes flutter shut at the touch.

he pulls your underwear off, leaving you naked from the waist down. he spreads your legs, admires the sight for a moment and then he's diving in

your back arches off the couch, your jaw going slack. he normally likes to tease you, take his time, but right now he's not wasting any time.

“aahh, sylus,” you say, it comes out almost like a whimper. the pleasure hitting you so suddenly you feel like you can't breath properly.

he's just as vocal as you are, too. he's moaning as soon as he tastes you on his tongue, he's whispering, “fuck,” to himself before diving back in. he’s gripping your thighs to keep them open so he can devour you.

he knows what you like, he knows exactly how to move his tongue to get those noises he loves so much. he knows that if he sucks your clit in just the right way, your hips will buck and you’ll let out a breathy moan. that's what he does; he’s in heaven.

you're flooding his senses, the stress of the day melts away instantly. he doesn't even remember why he was so pissed, why he was so stressed before because he's in his favorite place.

he gets messier with it as he loses himself to the action. not caring that saliva and arousal are dropping down his chin, probably onto the couch—he’ll buy you a new one. “need you to cum for me, on my tongue, i need it,” he says, only breaking contact with your pussy to ramble out what he wants. he's drunk on it. slurping and licking at everything you have to offer him.

when you're close, you have tells and he knows them like the back of his hand. your breathing gets shallower, your moans grow in pitch and frequency, your fingers grip his hair tighter. he inserts two fingers because he wants to feel you clench around them when you cum.

ultimately that's what pushes you over the edge, too. the way he curls his fingers has you seeing stars and you come hard.

he cleans you up, though it's more for his enjoyment. he takes his time doing it, still relishing in the taste of you, the feeling of you on his tongue. he stays down there until you're pulling at his head.

he’s rock hard in his pants, but he doesn't ask you to return the favor because honestly, he got what he wanted. maybe later he’ll fuck you, or he’s going to touch himself to the image of eating you out but right now he's helping you put your clothes back on and ordering take out.

[ifartconfetti]

Hello neurodivergent people. I was wondering if I'm just weird or it is common to not being able to learn certain motoric skills at the same time as my peers and learned them MUCH later

[draculings]

an incredibly sensitive instrument.

[heilos]

I am not over Gerald calling Shadow son in Shadow Generations. That's his boy, that's his real son boy that he has to say goodbye to. He's so upset he put Shadow in this position from the very beginning, but he loves him and he's so glad to have created him and I fucking CAN'T.

[hinamie]

spiraling

[payasita]

who'd call proofreading an artform on its own?

[redeemed-wren]

Thinking about. Stanley Pines. Once summer, not long after Weirdmaggedon. Sitting in his seat, staring at the tv but realising slowly he's not really watching TV, he's listening.

Listening to Soos, taking a tour group around the Shack, his voice confident and happy, eagerly telling tourists all kinds of tall tales. Soos, with his young son strapped to his chest, held close and dear to his heart, always knowing he is loved and wanted by his father.

Listening to Wendy and Melody, laughter turning to deeper conversations in the gift shop as Wendy pours out her latest dating drama and Melody listens sympathetically--not quite a mother, but an older sister figure is all Wendy wants at the moment.

Listening to a distant boom coming from the basement, a cause for some concern that fades quickly as three peals of laughter follow soon after. One deep and familiar, as comforting and close as the sound of a ship's motor and the open sea. One young and high, cracking with adolescent awkwardness. One loud and cackling, a hint of madness never quite leaving it but more settled than it used to be. And Stan figures it's probably time to send someone down to drag Ford, Dipper and McGucket upstairs before they forget what light is and get too nerdy.

Besides it's nearly dinner time, and he's listening to Mabel's steady, unrelenting chatter in the kitchen, punctuated by a few grunts of acknowledgment from Abuelita as they prepare a meal.

And Stan feels a strange, unusual sensation wash over him, something he hasn't felt for over half a lifetime, by a boat on a beach. A sensation of contentment, of security, of peace. And he realises that if he stood up and walked into any one of the rooms in the Shack he would be greeted with smiles and faces lighting up to see him and cheerful cries of his name.

And he looks down at the darned pig sleeping beside his chair and things, with oddly misty eyes, that he spent thirty years trying to find his brother again. And he succeeded--but somehow, he got more than that. He had formed around him, without even realising it, a family.

[flwrkid14]

Tim Drake Accidentally Takes Over the World (and Didn’t Think to Mention It)

So, Janet somehow spent decades climbing her way into every government worth a damn, ruling the entire world from behind the scenes. And then, because the universe is apparently wild, she left it all to Tim.

Cut to Tim Drake, the brand-new, completely reluctant secret ruler of the entire planet. And he just… never really thought it was worth mentioning?

The Batfam finds out when Bruce stumbles across an encrypted memo traced to a mysterious Gotham office with Tim’s name on it.

Bruce, holding up the memo: “Tim. Want to explain why this document about, oh, international finance reforms is signed with your encryption key?”

Tim, not even looking up from his laptop: “Oh, yeah. That. Janet left me her ‘global influence portfolio’ or whatever. Mostly paperwork.”

The Batfam stares in total shock.

Dick sputters nearly dropping his coffee: "Wait—you’ve been managing world policies?!”

Tim, shrugging, barely paying attention as he emails the president of Germany: “Well, yeah. I figured someone had to keep things running. It's not that big a deal. I mostly just redirect some policies. You know, keep things running smoothly.”

Jason, absolutely cackling: “Are you telling me that little Replacement here is the reason for half the ‘global cooperation’ headlines?”

Tim, scrolling through emails: “They send me reports; I send suggestions. And honestly, they make it way more dramatic than it is. It's not that hard."

Barbara stares at him, half horrified, half impressed. “How did we not notice this?”

Tim blinks. “I mean, it’s not like I was actively hiding it. I assumed you guys knew I was… kind of managing these things?”

Cue utter disbelief.

Stephanie, laughing too hard to breathe: “Tim, do you have world leaders on speed dial?”

Tim, completely unfazed: “Only the important ones. They text, mostly. Oh—by the way, I might’ve influenced a minor arms control thing last week. Don’t worry; it’s all sorted.”

Bruce, looking like he’s two seconds from fainting: “Sorted? Tim, we're talking about you having global authority here. People notice these things."

Tim shrugs again as his phone buzzes with notifications. “Sure, but it’s not like they’re going to do anything too crazy. I just suggest stuff, and they listen. Honestly, it’s like herding really powerful, really overdramatic cats.”

Damian, scandalized: “You mean to tell me, Drake, that you’re manipulating world politics like it’s a game of checkers?”

Tim, still casual: “Manipulating’s a strong word. Like I said, it’s more just nudging things along.” His phone buzzes again. “Oh, hang on. France is panicking about their energy policy again.”

The Batfam tries to process the fact that Tim—Tim, who routinely forgets what day it is—is now, somehow, running the world.

And then his phone buzzes with a message from the UN Security Council.

Tim sighs, glancing down. “Oh, great. Looks like they’re debating nuclear arms again. Be right back.”

Meanwhile, the Batfam is left absolutely speechless, processing the fact that their Tim—scrawny, coffee-fueled Tim—is apparently one of the most powerful people on the planet. And to him its just another tuesday.

[limbcom]

créme de la créme aftermath...

i refuse to believe that either one of them would leave each other after winning. they're friends, the winner would soo pull the other so they'd hold hands and stand atop the 1st place podium together. like

it's real it's canon trust me i'm pure vanilla's hat

[shawsimmer]

copy & paste

[kittyoverlord]

Andy "Dang" Litefoot joining Gorgug Thistlespring in the D20 canon as characters who think they're stupid but end up being the first to figure out a major plot point.

[theninjazebra]

[rolanslide]

Losing my fucking mind over this passage. you're telling me, after physically and emotionally torturing him, tricking him into building a doomsday device, emotionally manipulating him for YEARS, and ruining his relationship with his only remaining friend, this is what Ford counts as "crossing a line"? This is Fords breaking point? After everything? It's been over a decade since he's seen Stanley. He has no reason or intention to contact him. After all this time, he's still angry at him. And yet, Bill using his body, his voice, to tell Stanley that he hates him and never loved him is too much, too horrible even for Bill. THIS is what forces Ford to take action. AFTER EVERYTHING. Stanford Pines the man that you are. aa. aaaaaa

[teadrunktailor]

Brb gonna go do some 100% normal Inquisition shit