#what do you MEAN it's july

[ministarfruit]

exorcist🔄priestess fateswap

[anyosu]

I can't live love laugh in these conditions horikoshi

[the-pianist-from-accumula-town]

Just listened to Eddie's Big Lift again and

[starrysharks]

remember that i'm ALIVE but minty isn't unfortunately

[janebonbon]

[xx-sketchy-xx]

WIP

haha, this physically hurts me

Maybe doodles will make it better. I wonder why Wally has been spacing so much.

[burntblueberrywaffles]

YOU DONT UNDERSTAND I NEED TO BUY THE CD I NEED TO HOLD IT IN MY HANDS I NEED IT

[gay-ppl-real]

Outfit swap!

All the neighbours who usually wear trousers in skirts, and all the neighbours who usually wear skirts in trousers (or, well, dungarees and a jumpsuit...)

I had fun drawing these. Experimented with how I was colouring and shading a little!

Here's the full page and also a bonus dark version cuz I liked how it looked lmao

Eddie would still want to be professional in a skirt so he'd wear a pencil skirt even though they suck to run in because he's got to look the part!

Wally would think a flowy skirt was fun Frank would not.

[eugeniedanglars]

early s1 riverdale is so funny because there's so much drama about how archie and jughead ~used to be friends~ and had this ~epic falling-out~ and they keep saying shit to each other like "you don't even know me anymore!" "i used to know you." and the whole time it's because archie bailed on a roadtrip they were supposed to take, like, six weeks earlier

[itsnobodysproblem]

Most Sherlock Holmes adaptations I've seen tend to place their Final Problem towards the mid point of the series (or even a bit earlier) - it's also in my opinion the best way of going about it, so you have time enough for the characters to adjust after the reunion but they know each other well enough for the events of Fina to be devastating.

Sherlock & Co is done with 20 of the adventures. How many are there? Fifty-something? Almost sixty? Let's say we'll be entering mid-point territory after the 25th story.

So let's pretend for a moment that we have 5 more stories until The Final Problem. Ok.

Estimating an adventure at 3 episodes each, that would mean little over 3 months - maybe 3 and a half? Starting, of course, from the end of Sign of Four, which will be somewhere in December.

So let's say 3, maybe 4 months into 2025. That would be, what? Late march, early april?

Early april?

John having to tell the listeners that Sherlock is dead, in early april?

Quick calendar searck reveals what I was praying it would - the 1st of april will be on a Tuesday next year.

So what I'm saying

What I'm saying is Sherlock &Co has the opportunity to do the funniest fucking thing

[lottiecrabie]

choose your own smut adventure. part nine – matty healy

previous. start.

Matty’s mouth meets yours. His fingers dig into your thighs, as if he feared that you would melt between his limbs and disappear in the lines of his palms. It’s a greedy kiss, tongue coaxing the raw need out of you, the coiling desire you’ve never reached before. You’re surprised there’s still something left in you to awaken, but not surprised it’s him that shakes it up.

You’re exhausted, half delirious, clinging onto him like you’re not fully sure he’s real, but he kisses you like it’s the last time — and it might be, and it should be — and you think you might die on the spot if he’s not inside of you.

“Matty,” you whine, clawing at his shoulders. The tone is clear. He takes a few brittle steps, kissing and licking and nipping at your cheeks and neck, any skin he can reach and leave sweet love on. You giggle, pressing into him, shaking him off. 

He walks over to your desk, throwing a look past your shoulder, then back to you. He arches an eyebrow. His eyes are hungry and impatient, but still he takes the time to ask, “D’you mind?” 

You turn back, peering behind you. Your desk is neatly arranged, papers and pens in their proper spot, a meticulous system you’ve obsessively perfected. You flip back to him, catching his lips. “Fuck no.”

Matty chuckles in your mouth. One hand leaves your thigh and he reaches an arm blindly behind you, pushing away your careful construction. It shatters to the floor. You don’t even have the mind to care about the mess. Notes mix together on the floor, a meshing of dates and lessons that will take hours to undo, and you just kiss him harder, smile slack and happy against him. 

He drops you on the desk. He’s too gone to be careful, delicate. He climbs his hands to your hips, grips them with greedy, bruising fingers. Slides between your thighs, hard and ready. 

“Please,” you moan from the back of your throat, trying to show you’re just as ready, as though the sopping mess between your legs wasn’t indication enough. “I can’t wait anymore.”

Matty lines himself up with your entrance. He grinds against your clit, smirking on your cheek as you hitch your breath and shudder. “Matty, I swear to fucking God—” You start, ready to threaten him with anything— everything— if he dares tease you again. 

He enters you with one quick thrust. Your head falls on his shoulder, words dying in your throat, and all you can manage is a drawn-out cry. Relief spreads through you, heat following behind it dutifully. He’s so right— inside of you, around you, with you. 

“You swear what?” Matty teases, bucking into you, making your mind melt down your spine. You shake your head on his shoulder. He laughs; it resonates, settles in your heart. “Got nothing to say?”

You hum. “I do,” you pant out. “Harder.”

Matty has another laugh, but he complies. He thrusts quickly, hitting the perfect spot inside of you, the one that has you screaming and clawing at him. Ecstasy swims through your body. You can’t believe pleasure this great, this intense, this true exists. How you’ve been missing out. 

The desk rocks furiously. You’re overwhelmed, brain leaking out of your ears. His name chants from your mouth, a plea, a reverence. You bite his shoulder to hold back the screams, to reattach yourself to reality. Matty’s hips stutter inside of you. 

“Fuck,” he moans. You giggle, releasing his skin and kissing it, over and over. He grabs your cheeks, digs you out of his neck. His hands rake through the sweaty mess of your hair. To see you better. To kiss you. 

It’s a sloppy thing, wet and lazy and filled with the pathetic sounds you both can’t swallow down. He’s relentless between your thighs, searching that final fatal end like a dedicated devotee. 

Matty breaks from your mouth, panting, “You’re perfect.” Pride circles your head, leaving you dopey. “My best girl,” he repeats, worships. “You were made for me, weren’t you?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod slackly. 

“Just for me.” And it’s true. It thrums in your chest, how perfect this all feels. You’re left wondering if it’s not so much about what you know, but who you’re doing it with. If the meticulous, precise list is useless when you’re holding Matty between your greedy arms. 

He kisses your cheek, then pushes your shoulder until your back lays on the desk. He presses you there, fucking you harder, grinning down at you like he knows.

“Are you gonna come?” He says, cheeky. You moan. Your head rolls on the desk. “Gonna come all over my cock?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, choked from his quick strokes. “Shit, Matty.”

His thumb finds your clit. He rubs at it with little technique, just his focused aim of making you break apart. “Do it,” he half-demands, half-begs. “Come on, baby. Come for me.”

Your face scrunches. You reach for his working wrist, gripping it vengefully, just to touch him. Just to feel him as your body snaps and you finally come. A scream bursts from your lips, his name deformed and reformed on your tongue. Euphoria spreads through you until you might choke from happiness. 

Matty bends down to kiss you. He thrusts into you sloppily, a messy pattern as he gets closer and closer to his own release. “I’m gonna—” he warns, breathless. You dig your fingers into his hair and tug. He rips from your mouth, whining against your lips as he finally comes. 

You hold him there as he spills into you, sliding in and out a few times to ride out his orgasm. He’s flushed and sweaty, and he falls on you with a satisfied sigh. You stick together. You stick together.

You caress his hair as you both come down from your mountain high. You’re drowsy and satisfied. Thoroughly, thoroughly satisfied. Years of stress have spilled out of you and you lay there, on your desk, your life a mess on the floor, and you can’t find any other emotion in you but happiness. A disbelieved giggle slips out of you. 

“What?” Matty mutters against your neck, still catching his breath. 

“Nothing,” you say. A smile shines on your face. Matty’s eyes flick towards it, then he grins, too, catching them for a quick kiss. He leaves it just to kiss your cheek, your temple, your forehead.

Your legs are sore, hanging from your desk limply. You make a little grimace, saying, “Maybe we should move.”

[rotisseries]

happy fourth of july to fall out boy fans, sufjan stevens enjoyers, and the city of versailles

[deus-ex-mona]

when the slowburn makes the ship extra cute~~~

[enjoythesilentworld]

Simon's Month - (Under the) Stars

day 29! only 1 day late! woohoo @youngroyals-events

Simon and Wille have a chat while star-gazing.

read below or on ao3 (G, 600)

“Wille! The big dipper!”

“What?”

“Do you not know about the big dipper? What did they teach you in all those posh schools growing up?”

Wille chuckles. “I know what the big dipper is, Simon.”

“Are you sure? It’s the one that looks like a spoon.”

“Yes, love. I see it now. Do you see the Leo constellation? It’s just below the ‘spoon’, as you called it.”

“Oh, now you’re getting all fancy,” Simon teases.

“It’s the triangle and the little tail.”

“There’s lots of triangles, Wille.”

Wille makes a noise of annoyance, so Simon laughs and apologizes, “I’m sorry baby. I’m just teasing, you know that.”

“I know,” Wille says, and Simon can hear the smile in his voice. “You should get one of those apps that you can point at the sky, and it tells you what constellations you’re looking at. You can click on the stars too and it’ll tell you the name of it and how far away it is.”

“Or I can just keep you around since you seem to have all the constellation knowledge.”

“Or that. I much prefer that. Forget the app.”

“Where’s the north star?”

“It’s right by the big dipper. It’s real name is Polaris, did you know that?”

“I didn’t.”

“Yeah. And pretty soon it won’t be our north star anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Um,” Wille pauses. “I don’t remember. Probably shifting magnetic fields or… tilts.”

“Sure. That sounds right.”

“I’ll look it up later. Sorry my star knowledge isn’t good enough for you.”

“Your star knowledge is perfect, mi amor,” Simon tells him earnestly. “You’ll always be my north star.”

There’s a moment of quiet. When Wille speaks again, his voice is watery.

“Simon…”

“Wille! Are you crying?”

“No, no. I mean. A little bit. That just makes me really happy.”

“You make me happy.”

“You’ll always be my north star, too. I love you.”

“I love you, Wille.”

“So much.”

“So much.”

They fall into a comfortable silence for a while, in the dark of the night, under the stars.

Wille breaks the silence.

“Do you think there are aliens out there?"

“Probably.”

“Do you think they fall in love like we do?”

“Maybe, Wille. You should ask them.”

“Hey,” Wille calls out. “Do you guys love each other?”

Simon cackles at his boyfriend’s antics. “I think they’re a little too far away to hear you, Wille.”

“You don’t know that. You’re not an alientologist.”

“Is that the official term? Alientologist?”

“Yeah. It is now.”

“You’d be a great alientologist.”

“Thanks, Simon. I think I would be, too.”

“Hey, what about me?”

“You, too. Of course. Then we can work on a rocket ship together.”

“That’d be pretty cool.”

“Do you think kissing in zero gravity is different?”

“Probably not that different.”

“Would you still love me if I was an alien?”

“Of course I would. You’d be a cute alien.”

Wille giggles. “Thanks. You would, too. You’d be a beloved king of the aliens.”

“I thought we established that monarchies are a bad idea.”

“Oh. Right. You’d be a beloved democratically elected leader of the aliens.”

“Thanks, baby.”

“Are you tired?”

“A little bit.”

“You sound cold.”

“What do you mean I sound cold?”

“You just do. I know you, Simon. You sound cold. Do you have a blanket with you?”

Simon is quiet, and that’s enough of an answer.

“Simon! It’s cold down here, I know it’s gotta be cold up there!”

“I know, I just didn’t think about it! Usually you’re my blanket.” 

“I’m sorry I can’t be there tonight to be your blanket.”

“That’s okay. Only a few more days, right?”

“That’s right. Then I will give you so many kisses and be the best, warmest blanket you’ve ever had in your whole life.”

“I like the sound of that,” Simon giggles, then sobers. “I miss you so much, Wille.”

“I miss you, too, Simon.”

“Will you stay on the phone with me? Until we fall asleep?”

“Of course I will.”

Maybe Wille can’t be here with him tonight, but at least they’re going to sleep under the same stars.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

So you're telling me that Barnaby's RGB weed isn't even REAL?

its real! it is a physical Thing!

[iamfarfromvibingrightnow]

no thoughts just flynns oh moment