#WHAT IS GOING ON LMAOOO

[gerbits]

spring has sprung in Chestnut Ridge, which means tending to the neglected bees, training for comps, and...herbal remedies??

[chronalshifts]

i think a lot of people are calling viktor’s reaction to waking up changed and then almost immediately leaving for zaun unrealistic and like… yes it would be. for someone whose mind has not been affected by the hexcore. he speaks differently, he hears sky’s voice through its influence, he can no longer feel the cold, or the warmth of jayce’s hug. he walks away from jayce because he can no longer feel the affection that kept them together, and he sees no logical point in remaining when they have no common ground anymore. he might not be a machine externally, exactly, but his mind certainly isn’t human anymore.

[choccy-milky]

merry christmas !🎅❤️💚

[muirmarie]

jim being canonically the shortest one of the triumvirate is genuinely so important to me lmao, like yesssssss, let that beefy babe be shorter than both his boyfriends!!!!

[cultivateme]

[kingkat12]

got bored and found drunk Bill and Landon from Landon’s insta around 2014😭 it’s hilarious how they kept fighting all around town to practice for their fight-scenes I CANNOT💀 u can see it on both of them that they’re absolutely shitfaced in this vid too😭😭😭

and Landon has some other gems on his account from that time!! barking at the MOON for these two

and if you’re wondering, yes that is Bill passed out in someone’s bathroom💀 I CAN’TTTTT

icons. what else can I say?

[undertheredhood]

in an au where jason is going to college while doing red hood stuff, i just think it would be funny if a reconciliation between him and bruce gets kickstarted all because talia got invited to go to his college graduation and bruce didn’t even know that jason was in college or that he was graduating college until talia called him up just to brag about it.

[lesliemeyers]

they're listenin to the new the cure album... gotta be loyal to robert smith especially after he saved them from mecha streisand and all

+ closeup ⤵

[jetkast]

Arcane S01E04

I'm sure this has been mentioned -- this clip made me think about how Heimerdinger's long life experience is contrasted against Viktor's shortened life expectancy. This conversation/framing must have made Viktor feel undervalued. I don't know if the professor's species difference means he can't identify the clear deterioration his health has undergone, or if he's just too jaded by the shorter lifespans of humans, or what, but saying a decade will pass "in the blink of an eye" is brutal to say to someone in Viktor's position.

On top of that, on this rewatch and knowing what happens later, what is at stake, the microexpressions between Viktor and Jayce masterfully reference entire conversations that have happened off screen in the time skip. The animation style is able to capture that so well. Jayce's silent concern for Viktor, bracketed with getting swept away in the council and performance of it all, can be so easy to miss.

Comparing Heimerdinger's engagement with Viktor when he's known him longer with presumably significant positive regard... To Jayce's... It's just interesting to me.

[capquinn]

okay not to be like insane or anything but

i want quinn hughes to fuck me into his couch cushions

BAHHAHAHA it’s literally all i can think about and our like inside look of his apartment has NOT helped. it looks so comfortable 😭

anyways yeah hope ur doing great 🫶🫶🫶

MDNI — 18+ only

The evening breeze drifts lazily through the open balcony door, carrying with it the faint scent of the city. The room is filled with the quiet strum of music, blending seamlessly with the soft, golden glow from the lamp by the sofa. You’re both curled up on opposite ends of the couch, each lost in your own book, but your legs are intertwined in the middle, a comforting reminder of each other’s presence.

Quinn’s hand rests casually on your ankle, his thumb tracing small, absent minded circles on your skin. The touch is gentle, barely there, but it keeps you grounded to reality, your focus torn between the words on the page and the warmth of his hand, unable to fully immerse yourself into fantasy worlds.

You try to refocus, to dive back into the story in front of you, but it’s useless. Time seems to stretch, the moments bleeding into one another, until you’re no longer sure how long you’ve been stuck on the same page, reading and re-reading the same sentence, all while his hand continues its lazy rhythm.

The circles he’s been tracing are getting smaller, his hand shifting just slightly higher with each pass. The faintest brush against your calf sends warmth rippling through you, soft and insistent. At first, it feels unhurried, unconcious, like he isn’t even aware of what he’s doing. But then, the movement becomes so precise, so maddeningly deliberate, that it feels impossible to believe otherwise.

You glance at him, trying to read his expression, but his face is serene. His eyes are on his book, his brow faintly furrowed as if he’s completely engrossed in whatever world the pages are painting for him. The steady rise and fall of his chest only adds to the illusion of calm. If not for his hand, you might believe it.

His thumb drags lazily, intentional and tantalising, brushing against your skin with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. You press your lips together, willing yourself to focus, but the words on the page blur into meaningless shapes. The sharp edges of your book press into your palms, grounding you for a moment, a brief reprieve, but it doesn’t last. The warmth of his hand keeps creeping higher, the soft and invisible shapes he’s tracing drawing your attention back to him like gravity.

Your hips shift subtly, almost instinctively, as his fingers slip higher, just brushing the curve of your knee. The contact is brief, featherlight, but it’s enough to make your heart skip. 

You steal another glance at him, and for a moment, you’re certain he’s smirking. It’s so subtle, the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, but it’s there. 

He knows.

“Quinn,” you say, your voice cutting through the quiet like a thread snapping. “You’re distracting me.”

His lips curve, just slightly, but he doesn’t lift his gaze. 

“Am I?” he murmurs, the words so casual they set your teeth on edge. His hand doesn’t falter, doesn’t pause, his palm continuing its journey upward, brushing just above your knee this time.

You narrow your eyes at him, but he stays perfectly composed, perfectly calm, his hand resting on your leg like it belongs there. The contrast is infuriating — how unaffected he looks, how completely at ease he is, while you feel like every nerve in your body is stretched taut. You try to shake it off, to reclaim your focus, turning your eyes back to the page in front of you. But the words blur together, their meaning slipping further from your grasp, leaving nothing but the pull of something deeper, sharper, building low in your stomach.

When his fingers graze the inside of your thigh — just barely, just enough — it’s like the dam breaks. Your breath stutters, the book snapping shut in your lap with a dull thud as you shift away, your knees drawing up to your chest in a flustered retreat.

The silence stretches, heavy with his triumph, before a soft chuckle escapes him. You glance over, and there he is, leaning back into the couch, his book discarded open on his lap, his eyes gleaming with smug amusement.

"Something wrong?" he asks, the feigned innocence in his voice doing nothing to mask the mischief dancing in his eyes.

Your glare sharpens, your cheeks hot, but the betrayal comes quickly — your lips widen into a grin, giving away your amusement despite your best effort to remain stern. 

"You're impossible," you mutter, the words carrying no real venom, only a begrudging acknowledgment of his triumph.

He shifts slightly, still stretched out on the sofa, legs lazily sprawled like he hasn’t a care in the world. The smirk tugging at his lips widens, the glint in his eyes daring you to make a move. It’s infuriating, and you don’t stop to think before you act. Tossing your book aside, you shift forward, crawling over him in a way that makes his brows lift in faint surprise.

When your knees press into the cushions on either side of his hips, his hands are there instantly, steadying you, fingers curling firmly against your waist, his own book slipping to the floor. You feel the way his body stiffens beneath you for just a second before he recovers, leaning back into the armrest with a confidence that only fuels your determination.

The smirk tugging at his lips is the last straw, the final push that has you leaning forward, your hands sliding up his chest to grip the collar of his shirt. You hover there for just a breath, your lips barely brushing his, a deliberate tease that makes his fingers dig into your waist. Then, you close the distance, capturing his mouth in a kiss that’s anything but gentle.

It’s heat and friction, his hands tightening on your hips, pulling you flush against him as he meets you with equal intensity. His lips part slightly, deepening the kiss, and the sound he makes — a low, quiet groan — sends a shiver rippling through you. You tilt your head, angling to fit against him perfectly, and his hand slides up your spine, pressing you closer as if there’s still space to close.

Your fingers knot into his shirt, clutching at the fabric as you shift in his lap, a slow roll of your hips that makes him break the kiss for half a second, his forehead pressing against yours as his breath stutters.

"God," he murmurs, voice rough, his hand sliding under the hem of your shirt, fingers splaying warm against your skin. “Didn’t see this coming,” he chuckles, breathless, as your lips trail down his jaw, soft and deliberate, leaving his skin tingling with each press.

"You knew what you were doing," you murmur, your lips brushing the shell of his ear, soft and teasing. His grip on your hips tightens ever so slightly, his body tense beneath you.

"What did you think was going to happen?" you continue, your tone light but laced with challenge, your breath warm against his skin.

His head tilts back just enough to meet your gaze, his pupils dark and blown wide.

"Something," he admits, voice rough and edged with amusement, though it cracks slightly at the end.

"Something?" you echo.

Quinn exhales sharply as your hands slip beneath the hem of his shirt, your fingertips brushing over the taut muscles of his stomach. His skin is warm, firm under your touch, and the way his abs flex beneath your fingers sends another ripple of heat through you. You push the fabric higher, palms flattening against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your fingertips.

His lips twitch into a smirk, his eyes darkening as they roam your face. But before you can press further, before you can make another move, he shifts. His hands slide from your waist to your thighs, gripping just firmly enough to draw a gasp from your lips. He leans forward, his lips brushing yours in a way that feels almost teasing, and then he moves with a confidence that makes your breath hitch.

In one smooth motion, he flips you, easing you down onto the cushions beneath him. The weight of him hovers above you, one arm braced beside your head while the other slides to your hip, holding you steady. Your legs part instinctively to make room for him, his body pressing into yours, his presence filling every inch of the space between you.

"Something like this," he murmurs, his voice low and rough, the sound sending a delicious shiver down your spine.

His lips crash into yours again, deeper this time, hungrier. His hand moves, roaming upward, fingers grazing your ribs before his thumb brushes just beneath your breast. The touch is light but it sets your nerves alight, and you arch into him, craving more. His mouth trails from yours, sliding along your jaw, down the column of your neck, each kiss deliberate and slow, his lips warm and slightly parted.

“Quinn,” you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper, your hands slipping under his shirt again, this time tugging it upward. 

He chuckles softly against your skin, a low, throaty sound that makes your stomach tighten, and he lets you pull it over his head, discarding it somewhere behind him.

His now bare chest presses against yours, and the heat of his skin against yours makes your head spin. His kisses grow rougher, more insistent, as his hand roams lower, skimming your hip, brushing over your thigh. His thumb strokes the inside of your leg, teasing, before sliding higher, closer, until his hand grazes the edge of your shorts.

Quinn smirks faintly as he feels you lift your hips, a silent invitation that makes the air between you feel electric. His gaze flickers to yours, and there’s something in his expression — equal parts knowing and teasing — that makes your breathing slow. He bites down on his bottom lip, the faintest groan escaping as his hand slides further up, slipping under the waistband of your shorts with deliberate ease.

His fingers move with agonising precision, tracing slow, measured circles over the thin fabric of your underwear. The friction sparks through you, sharp and undeniable, pulling a soft gasp from your lips. Your back arches into his touch instinctively, seeking more, and the faint curl of his smirk presses against your neck as his lips graze over your skin.

When his mouth finds yours again, it’s searing and unrelenting, stealing the quiet, broken sounds spilling from you. His hand shifts, slipping under the fabric with unhurried ease, his knuckles brushing against your skin. His fingers find you, warm and slick, and he stills for just a beat, teasing, testing, like he’s savouring the moment before finally moving.

The first press of his fingers is deliberate, enough for your breath to catch in your throat and your hands clutch at his shoulders for balance. He explores with a confidence that feels like a slow unraveling, tracing over every sensitive point with the kind of intent that leaves no doubt — he knows exactly what he’s doing, exactly how to pull you apart.

When he finds the spot that makes your thighs tense and your breath catch in your throat, his grip on your hip tightens, anchoring you in place as his fingers work. 

“Yeah?” he murmurs, his voice low, rasping, barely a question. It’s almost like he’s talking to himself, a rough edge of pride in his tone, but his gaze flickers up to yours, watching every glimmer of emotion on your face.

Your nails bite into his shoulders, your head tilting back against the couch as your body arches into him. He hums softly, like your reaction is all the confirmation he needs, and his thumb drifts lower, adding a new layer to the building tension. The circles he draws are unhurried, every movement precise, every press coaxing quiet, shuddering sounds from your lips.

His mouth doesn’t leave your skin, trailing along your jaw, nipping lightly at the curve of your neck as his rhythm builds, steady and confident, like he knows your body as well as his own.

You gasp, his name breaking on your lips like a prayer, and then he leans back just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes are dark, filled with something between determination and adoration, like you’re the only thing in his world right now.

His fingers still, and for a moment, the world narrows to just him — the way his lips part slightly, the way his breath hitches as his eyes trace your face, taking in every flush of your skin, every uneven rise and fall of your chest.

"Quinn," you whine, frustration lacing your voice as his fingers retreat, leaving an exasperating void in their absence. 

Your hips lift instinctively, seeking the contact he’s denied you, and his lips twitch into a crooked smile, like he’s thoroughly enjoying the effect he’s having on you.

“Patience” he murmurs, his voice a mix of teasing and heat, though the fire in his eyes betrays how little of it he has himself. 

His hands move to your waistband, fingers hooking into the fabric with an ease that feels practiced, familiar. In one smooth motion, he slides your pants down, taking your underwear with them, his movements steady and deliberate. The cool air brushes against your skin, sending a shiver up your spine, though it’s nothing compared to the heat radiating from his gaze as he takes you in.

Your thighs have already fallen open around him, and he kneels there, his hands pressing gently against your legs, encouraging you further apart. He leans in, his lips brushing against the inside of your knee, soft and lingering, before trailing further down. His kisses are slow, deliberate, igniting a fire everywhere his mouth touches. 

The tension in the air is palpable, every second dragging out as his lips work their way closer to where you want him most. Your breath catches as his stubble grazes your skin, the sensation sharp and electrifying. His hands tighten slightly on your thighs, steadying you as you instinctively shift beneath him, anticipation coiling in your stomach like a live wire.

When he finally reaches the apex of your thighs, he pauses, his warm breath fanning over you, making you squirm. His eyes flick up to meet yours, and the intensity in his gaze nearly undoes you on the spot. The crooked smile returns, softer this time, but no less devastating.

“Just relax,” he says, the words low and rough, more of a reassurance than a request, before he finally closes the distance.

The first touch of his tongue is soft, exploratory, but the effect is immediate — your head tips back against the couch, a gasp escaping your lips as your hand flies to tangle in his hair. He hums against you, the vibration sparking a fire low in your belly, and his grip on your thighs tightens, anchoring you to him.

He doesn’t rush, doesn’t falter, taking his time to draw you apart piece by piece. His tongue moves in deliberate strokes, circling and pressing in ways that leave you trembling. Your other hand clutches at the cushion beneath you, seeking something to ground you, but it’s useless. He’s everywhere — the heat of his mouth, the firm press of his hands on your thighs, the sheer focus in the way he devotes himself to unraveling you.

“Quinn,” you gasp again, your voice cracking as your hips lift toward him. His hands press you back down, his touch firm but gentle, his control both infuriating and intoxicating.

He glances up briefly, his eyes meeting yours with that same mix of adoration and smug satisfaction that makes your pulse race. Then he doubles down, his tongue finding a rhythm, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Every flick, every swirl is calculated, the kind of attention that only someone who knows your body so intimately could provide.

Your breathing stutters, your thighs trembling as the pressure builds to a breaking point. His name falls from your lips in a mantra, broken and desperate, and he doesn’t let up, doesn’t stop until the world shatters around you.

You arch against him as you come undone, the sensation crashing over you in waves, leaving you breathless, trembling, and utterly consumed. Your hands are buried in his hair, gripping tightly as he hums against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your already-overwhelmed body. It’s more than you can handle, your hips shifting instinctively as the sensitivity becomes almost unbearable.

You try to push him away, your fingers tugging gently at his hair in a silent plea, but his hands hold you steady, firm yet tender. He keeps you there, pressed against his mouth, his movements slowing but never fully stopping as he coaxes every last tremor from you. The sensation lingers, both grounding and electric, until your body melts into the cushions, utterly spent.

Finally, he relents, his movements slowing until they’re just soft, tender kisses against your inner thigh, letting you catch your breath. When he lifts his head, his lips glisten, his expression a mix of mischief and pride that sends heat pooling low in your stomach all over again. His hands glide up your sides as he rises, pressing kisses along your stomach, over your ribs, until his lips find yours. The taste of you lingers, warm and intoxicating, as his weight presses against you.

Quinn pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his breath mingling with yours as his forehead rests lightly against your own. 

“Still with me?” he murmurs, his voice low, roughened with need. 

His hand slides along your thigh, fingers curling just under the curve of your knee, lifting it to press snugly against his hip.

You nod, your fingers threading through his hair again as your legs instinctively wrap around him, pulling him closer. His lips quirk into a crooked smile as he leans down to kiss you again, deeper this time, his body aligning perfectly with yours. 

The moment stretches, charged and electric, every brush of his hand and press of his body sparking anticipation that coils tightly in your chest. His breath ghosts over your lips, his touch firm but unhurried as he keeps you pressed against him, as if savouring every second. 

There’s no rush, only the quiet, unspoken understanding that this is just the beginning — a promise of what’s to come that makes your pulse race and your body hum in anticipation.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

Snap: *draws a Megaman-inspired Magneto*

Me: ...Perfect modernization.

wait now that its not 3AM i can do you one Slightly better

bonus:

[spiritsong]

there are shenanigans occurring in the full version of this image (bsky) and yet Im stuck on the look they are giving each other

[beebeeazzy]

admiration for his muse or whatever!!1 thank you BoB for the mental illness <3

[choccy-milky]

Hello! When your Seb x Clora pregnancy one-shot is complete, will it be on ao3 or wattpad? (or both?)

waiting with bated breath btw

not pressuring a finish tho, take ur time Choccy 🥰

it'll be on both ao3 and wattpad!! and omg ik its taking long IM SORRRY, its bc its gonna be way longer than i expected LMAO, i just recently finished my outline and the outline ALONE is 41k words💀and im currently at 8.3k written😩🙏 IM GLAD YOU'RE LOOKING FORWARD TO IT THO🥹💖💖i defs hope to get it finished by this month or die trying...but heres a lil sneak peek in the meantime of impatient seb who cant wait to bring baby celeste into the world LMAO🤰👼

(seb is a freak but so is clora)

[deimosatellite]

like idk it just seems actually nefarious to take one of the very few widely known instances of queerness in older history being a symbol to show queer people that we've always existed and aren't alone for CENTURIES and taking away the queerness from it. like. i know some people say that ''the queerness isnt important in the book" which i mean in my opinion i could go off for 10k words in an essay as to how basil's love for dorian is integral to the story BUT EVEN APART from that its really just. having a real explicitly queer character in such an old and widely regarded classic novel is HUGE for queer history and this is just. literally like. its 2024. why are you doing queer erasure to DORIAN GRAY

[deoidesign]

Time and Time Again comes back tonight!

Thank you all for being so patient with me, I know it was a long hiatus.

My health was struggling, my arm was (is) hurting, and I decided it wasn't worth it. I'd rather be slow!

So thank you for giving me that grace, and I hope you'll be there with me for the rest of the series.