#Quinn's Home

[enyasaints]

Rationing Insulin.

I have been rationing my insulin at the expense of my health because I simply do not have the funds to replace pens. As a result my blood sugar has been spiking and staying stagnant at dangerously high levels.

Venmo: EnyaSaint

CA: $Enyasaint

I do not know or want to know what possessed me to ration my medication knowing I could possibly die from it. I haven’t been in my right state of mind in a while.

Currently I am on the medication Toujeo and I am uninsured so I have to pay out of pocket. So I am utilizing GoodRx to get me the cheapest option. I would be so immensly grateful to anyone who could spare towards my medication. I am running dangerously low and I don’t want to die from DKA.

Goal: $365

Venmo: Enyasaint

CA: Enyasaint

[bruciemilf]

AUs where Harley and Bruce are siblings and Harley looks like Thomas while Bruce looks like Martha,,,,,

[giganticism]

The Hughes brothers actually are that close and obsessed with each other. You just have to accept it.

[captain-bubble-wrap]

Happy New Year!! Could you possibly do an imagine about kissing Q at midnight? Ty!!

10:43pm. 

Was it really New Year's Eve already? It was incredible how quickly the year had flow. So much had happened between Quinn and yourself; some for the better and worse. Right now, things were bad again. Not between the two of you, but with the team and with his ability to stay healthy. After healing fully from the high-sticking, you thought Quinn was going to get back to his old self, sniping wristers from the blue line and stacking up points for a back-to-back Norris run. Sadly, he was looking at another two to three weeks of off-ice rest, not counting the time off during Christmas. 

Quinn hadn't traveled to Calgary with the rest of the Canucks and you could feel the effects of Quinn not being with his boys while you sat beside him in his living room. He hadn't said a whole lot today, nor had you pressed him for conversation. If he wanted to talk, he knew you were available. Other than that, you had left him alone. However, it was nearing an hour from the new year and you were itching for something to do. 

"Wanna get dressed up and take a walk downtown?" You turned toward him on the sofa, crossing your legs up under you. You weren't sure how your proposition was going to over, but you would remain hopeful nonetheless. 

Quinn sighed deeply, "Not really. I'm not in a 'going out' mood. I'm sorry, sweetheart." He would look up from his phone and give you a sympathetic glance. It was all over his face that he had no interest in leaving his apartment that evening. Normally, you'd share that same sentiment, but New Year's was once a year, and it wasn't often that Quinn was home for the holiday. You just thought that maybe he would want something to get his mind off the raincloud over his head.

You both had watched the game together. He was tense the entire time, like he was on the bench and completely powerless to command this team. Everything was a struggle, but when they had finally tied it up there was some hope that they could still turn it around. Unfortunately, the score would end with a 3-1 Canucks loss and Quinn shaking his head. This was two games without their captain they would lose, and another two points they wouldn't be going home with. 

Leaving him alone with his thoughts and whatever business he was doing on his phone, you tried to keep yourself awake and the collective mood in the apartment from completely going to shit. Watching any kind of movie was out, because you knew his mind would be elsewhere, but what could you do where it wouldn't be back in the arena, replaying plays and fixing errors? You'd pout as you bounced from idea to idea before you felt your stomach grumble. 

"Wanna bake some cookies?"

This would cause him to put his phone down, like it had been the magic words he didn't know he needed to hear. "I'd actually love that."

You'd give him a warm, beaming smile before hopping to your feet and excitedly hurrying to the kitchen. Now, you nervously hoped that you actually had everything needed for cookies! 

"What do you need me to do?" Quinn would ask, looking at you on your tip-toes, going through the cabinet before finally getting up to help you. 

"Can you grab the eggs and butter? We should have enough eggs.... I hope so anyway!" You remarked nervously. 

"Sure," he replied flatly, taking a moment to scan the interior of the fridge. "Anything else?"

"Nope! That's it for the cold stuff, thank you."

"Mhm."

Quinn would shuffle around to the island, taking a seat while you messed about, adding more and more ingredients to the space in front of him. You knew he was trying his hardest to come off as happy, but you knew he was having a hard time. You wouldn't press him to cheer up, and if he had wanted to go back to the living room, leaving you to finish them, it wouldn't have bothered you.

"Sorry I'm not much help," he mumbled, like he had read your mind. 

"What? Oh, you're okay, baby! I'm glad you're here, that's enough!" Your smile had brought a little glimmer to his eyes while he continued to sit and watch. Quinn had been the only boyfriend you had had where just being in the same space with him brought you joy even if you were both doing different things. You could feel him watching you, making you smile more when you had your back to him. The slight squeak of him moving back his chair had been the only indication that he was on the move. 

"What can I do to help?" He would say, snuggling in tightly to your body, making it near impossible to move anywhere. 

You'd take a minute to think of what you could have him do, but you also didn't want to take him out of his comfort zone. 

"Can you just keep doing what you're doing?"

"Just...holding you?"

"Mhm!" You giggled, reaching for the sack of flour and measuring cups, struggling to reach due to Quinn's grasp. "I'm not asking for too much, am I?"

"Not at all. I just feel guilty watching you do everything." His voice was low, and sprinkled with the sound of depression and anguish. You knew that's how he had felt watching the games he couldn't participate in: hopeless and useless. 

"Well, I can't hold myself," you laughed, overlapping your hands on his at your waist. "You're doing a great job."

Quinn would playfully scoff at you giving him a verbal gold star, but deep down, he was so thankful that you didn't ridicule him when he got in these moods. He knew he could be so hard to deal with and the fact that you took every one of them at stride meant so much. Tonight was no different. 

The minutes would tick by quickly as you measured numerous ingredients into varying bowls before finally combining them into one, homogeneous mixture resembling chocolate chip cookie dough. From time-to-time, Quinn would dip a single finger into the dough, and each time you would softly tap him on the hand.

"Baby!"

"Quality control test," Quinn teased.

"You've said that three times now! Don't make yourself sick!"

He would let his arms fall from around your body, when you hinted that you needed to move away from where you had been standing. He seemed to be in a slightly lighter mood, having peppered you with delicate kisses the whole time you worked. How you loved having him home with you, just doing silly little domestic things like a normal couple did. However, having a partner like Quinn, and his profession, you never took the little things for granted. 

"Okay, fifteen to seventeen minutes," you said, putting the filled pans into the already hot and ready oven. You'd set the timer and walk back to him as he leaned against the counter. Quinn smiled at you, taking your hands in his at his sides. 

"Now we wait?" He asked, blinking slow, like he was fighting sleep despite being awake at this time rather often. 

"Mhm, come on, baby. You look exhausted," you confessed, trying to drag him back towards the direction of the living room. 

"I'm okay. I'm afraid if I sit down I'm going to fall asleep."

You acknowledged the truth in his words before another brilliant idea came to your mind. "Oh! I know! Wait right here, 'kay?"

Regrettably, you'd let go of his hands so you could cross the room and dim the kitchen lights to a low, golden glow. 

"Alexa, play Moonlight Serenade," you'd ask, returning to Quinn's arms. 

"Playing Moonlight Serenade, by Glenn Miller on Amazon Music."

Quickly, the apartment was filled with the crackling of a vintage record recording and the 1940s orchestra that was responsible. It was an easy enough waltz to sway to in the comfort of each other's company, there in the kitchen while the cookies bubbled and baked in the oven. Quinn would smile over your shoulder the whole time, having finally been able to shake off the feelings of failure. 

"Everybody loves somebody sometime~," Dean Martin would croon through the apartment's speakers. "And although my dream was overdue, your love made it well worth waiting for someone like you~

You couldn't help but giggle. It was like the song was saying what you were feeling and Quinn held the same sentiment. Silently, you two would continue to dance together to the love songs of old until the beeping of the timer pulled you apart. You'd both turn to see that the clock also read 12:00. 

"Happy New Year's, baby," Quinn would say first, tipping your chip up towards his awaiting lips. 

"Happy New Year's!" You replied, your lips just hovering next to his. The kiss was long, and sweet and everything you wanted to welcome in the new year with. Neither of you would let the other go for several minutes after, sharing multiple more affections until Quinn reminded you of the cookies.

"I'd really hate for your hard work to go to waste. We can always finish this later," he chuckled, pulling you in for one more heartfelt kiss. 

"Well, we'll have another fifteen to seventeen minutes," you winked, taking the pans out of the oven. "Does that work for you?"

"Oh, absolutely."

[krytus]

it's okay. you're safe. we're home.

for @oklotea

[emo-batboy]

Battinson going toe-to-toe with Harley Quinn, but every time he fights her, she diagnoses him with another mental illness

—

Battinson: *monologuing to himself about the constant nightmares*

Harley, appearing from nowhere with a baseball bat: Sounds like PTSD :/ Are you okay, hon?

—

Harley, swinging from the chandelier of a bank she’s robbing: Ya know, I’ve been thinkin’! Have you ever been screened for autism?

Battinson: Wut

Harley: Oh, nothing! Just take it into consideration!

—

Harley, mid-arrest: I’m licensed to diagnose anxiety and depression! If you’d like an appointment, my door’s always open :D

Battinson: Please just get in the car

[jo-speaks]

LIFE IS GREAT

LIFE IS GOOD

CANUCKS HOCKEY IS WORTH WATCHING AGAIN (joke)

[penumbra-mayhem]

Do You Want to Leave? - Darlin’/Sam fic

“If there was any color left in Darlin’s face, it dissipated at the soft question. They’d fucked up. This was it. Time to go. Grab the bag and run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Ru—”

(I hc that Tank has a stutter; there's more on that here if you'd like. This takes place a couple months after Darlin’ moves into Sam’s place.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam hadn’t meant to find it. He wasn’t snooping, he’d just been cleaning. Between him and Darlin’, they didn’t own that much stuff, so stumbling across a black backpack shoved to the back of their closet peaked his curiosity.

He pulled it out, scanning over its nondescript exterior before unzipping the largest pocket. His brow furrowed. Clothes. Money. A knife.

A quiet, sharp inhale—Sam’s head shot up at the noise. Darlin’ stood frozen in the doorway, eyes fixed on the open bag in Sam’s hands.

“Darlin’,” Sam spoke, his voice low and laced with hesitation, “What’s this?”

They didn’t say anything. They couldn’t. Sam waited for a reply. When it appeared he wasn’t going to get one, he asked again,

“What is this?”

Darlin’s hands began to tingle. The doorway began to shrink around them. What could they say, besides the truth? Anything but the truth.

Sam looked back down at the bag. Clothes. Money. A knife. He didn’t want to ask. He already knew the answer.

“Is this a go-bag?”

If there was any color left in Darlin’s face, it dissipated at the soft question. They’d fucked up. This was it. Time to go. Grab the bag and run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Ru—

“—are you leavin’ me?”

Darlin’ finally resurfaced from the whirlpool of their thoughts. Sam’s countenance toed the line between despair and disbelief. He began to tremble. The distance between them was unfathomable, the bedroom stretching before their eyes.

“N-n-no,” Darlin’ replied, before weakly adding, “n-n-n-not unless y-y-y-you w-w-want me t-to.”

Sam shook his head, “What do you mean? Why would you think I’d want you to leave?”

Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. R—

“—baby,” Sam pleaded, trying to pull Darlin’ out of the spiral he could see them sinking into, “talk to me…please.”

Darlin’ knew they couldn’t avoid this. Couldn’t avoid him, with his damned loving gaze and soft downturned lips. Yet they tried all the same, shaking their head and biting the inside of their cheek to keep from talking.

Sam set the bag down on their bed and slowly moved towards Darlin’. They resisted the instinct to flinch as he raised his hand towards their face. He wasn’t Quinn. He wouldn’t hurt them. Right? Run. Run. Run. Run.

His fingers brushed softly against their cheek—a motion like he was brushing away a tear. Were they crying? They were, fuck. They felt his other hand grasp one of theirs as he spoke again, “Darlin’, please. What’s goin’ on?”

They stared at his chest, unable to meet his gaze as they finally whispered, “It’s j-j-just in c-c-case.”

“In case what, love? In case…in case I hurt you?”

Darlin’ felt sick at the question. They gripped Sam’s hand tighter as they met his teary gaze and tried to quell his fear, “N-no! N-n-no, I kn-kn-know you’d n-n-never….you’re n-n-not….”

Not Quinn.

“It’s j-j-just….in case y-you w-w-w-want me t-t-to leave. In c-c-c-case I-I f-f-fuck this up.”

Sam’s jaw set. Something flashed in his eyes before he let go of Darlin’s hand and turned around, heading towards their bed. Darlin’ watched as he grabbed something from the bag. Clothes.

“W-w-what’re y-you d-d-doing?”

Sam didn’t reply as he opened their shared dresser, placing each article of clothing inside. He walked back to the bag. Money.

He grabbed Darlin’s wallet on their bedside table, stuffing the money inside before returning to the bag.

“Sam!” Darlin’ exclaimed, taking a step into their bedroom, “Wh-what are y-you d-doing?”

Sam turned to face them, his gaze firm, his voice resolute.

“This is your house. Your home. You’re not leavin' unless you want to leave. Do you want to leave?”

Stunned by the blunt question, Darlin’ didn’t respond. The silence carved anguish into Sam’s face, causing panic to rise again within Darlin’. Run. Run. Run.

After a moment, they whispered, “N-n-no.”

The answer covered the floor between them like a varnish and slowly dried as they stared at each other. Sam reached back into the bag, murmuring, “C’mere.”

Darlin’ hesitated, then closed the distance. Sam held out his hand. The knife.

“Go on,” he urged quietly.

Darlin’ took the knife from Sam’s shaking hand. They placed it in the drawer of their bedside table before glancing at him and whispering, “I’m s-sorry.”

Sam shook his head slightly. His fingers trailed up Darlin’s arms and caressed their cheeks.

“Oh sweet thing…” He placed a gentle kiss on their forehead. “It’s ok…” A kiss on their nose. “I understand….” A kiss on their lips.

“You want to leave?”

“N-no. N-n-never.”

[grumpyoldhag]

me every time to a slugged survivor whose teammates wouldn't bother to pick up

[cartersblogabtnothing]

i mourn the loss of getting parksborn in the MCU (it’ll never happen, i need to come to terms with it tbh), but i am excited about getting spideytorch (assuming after the F4 movie comes out, they’ll interact eventually).

they were SOOO chaotic husbands in the comics, and i believe that joseph quinn and tom holland can and will achieve that very well.

yes, disney, everyone wants johnny to write peter love letters in the sky with his flames. no, disney, please do not make it some bullshit best friend story. yes, disney, you can give us homosexual undertones and not outright say it.

even if i’m salty about parksborn never happening, i will settle for spideytorch.

[puckinghischier]

HI QUINNY BABY!!!

the grey is working for him, it really brings out his inner melancholy 🥰

[cryscendo]

Home, let me come home. Home is wherever I’m with you. (insp)

@giftober 2024 | day 8: home

[thespianwordnerd]

Scotty being played by an actual Scot is something that can be so personal as a scottish trekkie, guys.

The point of putting Scotty on the Enterprise was to prove that Scots can be as highly skilled, qualified and competent as anyone else on that bridge, and casting Martin Quinn feels like another nod to that - you don't have to be a big name to play an iconic Scottish character. And with all due respect to the actors who brought him to life first and helped him get to this point, some characters are just long overdue to be played by a Scot and Scotty is one of those long-beloved characters in Scotland. SNW has made a real effort with casting and developing our favourite underutilised TOS characters so far and I'm excited to see where they take him next. And yes, I WILL be expecting Scottish independence jokes.

We've been ready and waiting for him and now we're finally bringing Scotty home and i will never stop talking about it. Welcome aboard, Martin Quinn, and welcome home, Mr. Scott!

[pushing500]

Yes, yes, sad goodbyes all around. Still, we're shuffling the crash survivors off with Kristy to form a new outpost to the east (henceforth known as "Arno") because Arwell was beginning to get a bit crowded.

Mechi is probably the only cheerful person on departure days like this.

On the way out, the group bumped into a Mysterious Man in Black on his way into Sparks. He says he knows Mechi, and he needs a doctor to help him with something important. Flapjack has medical level 9, so he agrees to tag along for the Man in Black's mission.

The Man in Black- none other than XiaoLiang, of course- and Flapjack arrive at Sparks, much to the chagrin of its two misanthropic residents. XiaoLiang is introduced to Kwahu for the first time and then must explain his reason for making the trek from Arwell in the first place...

XiaoLiang is not proficient in deception, but fortunately for him, Mechi and Kwahu have the social skills of a rock at the bottom of the Mariana Trench and can't tell when someone is lying.

Alright, the Jones boys are out for the count. Hopefully, that will give XiaoLiang enough time...

Godspeed, XiaoLiang...

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[auss2egr2t]

nhl player head stickers |

[sunsburns]

a quiet place: day one kindly reminded me how attracted i am to joseph quinn