#fuck quinn

[tommytomatoe]

i’m not seeing enough people talk about how quinn was considering turning darlin into his prodigy. do you know how isolated darlin probably felt to even consider that an option? the headspace they had to be in for that to even cross their mind, and the power it gave quinn to hang that over them? imagine if they never left quinn. he’d have complete control over them, whether he turned them or not. think of the person darlin would’ve become if they never left. just some shell of a shifter asher, milo, and david once knew. the darlin they knew was just some memory compared to the person in front of them. it actually makes me sick. they would’ve never met sam, they would’ve never met the mates, or gotten to see their best friends get married. they would’ve missed out on so much. i could go on and on about this…

[fedorabender]

I need need need neeed need neeed neeeeed someone to yap to me about fredrick and Brighteyes lore because i was robbed of so much angst and im clawing at the

bars of my

enclosure!!!!!

Anyway, here is what i envision my brighteyes like

I don't have a name for them yet. The third pic says, "Please, bat. I need you."

Headcannons(not much because idk much about brighteyes.)

They don’t give 3 fucks about gender or sexuality. So they mostly go by they/them but wouldn't blink an eye if someone call them a she.

I wouldn't call them aromatic because they wish to be loved like Vincent loves Lovley, but they feel like they don't deserve it... especially from Frederick, after what they did to him. They deserved to have died alone that night.

They want to watch the sunrise one last time... but they can't hurt Frederick like that

They have a pet bunny name skull crusher, it has eaten many hamsters.

They are 26, but they stopped counting and avoid Frederick whenever it's their birthday because they feel like its not necessary to celebrate anymore.

Their eyes aren't as bright as they used to be.

They are indian/African born and raised in an orphanage along side with fredrick. They were all alone in the world, but they had each other.

They are 6'0 and have a surprise in their shorts<3(its a bomb)

[asphodelles]

post work stress doodle that sorta turned into a lighting study? i miss inquisition

bonus:

[spriinglocked]

i hope everyone—jay, adam, lucien, any of jays friends, anyone who still supports what theyve done—i hope you all see this and feel fucking ashamed. you sent one of my best friends, who is already very ill, into hospitalization and gave them PERMANENT nerve damage just because youre too much a coward and a pussy to admit *your* friend is a fucking groomer, liar, and abuser. i fucking hate you all and im no longer afraid of saying that i want you to die. because i want you to fucking die. horribly.

to everyone who has supported us, and continues to do so—thank you. thank you so fucking much. we have been all but tormented by this and its refreshing to have people involved that arent ourselves, aka the victims, or people sending us death threats and lectures for reacting negatively towards our fucking groomer. i hope this teaches all of you a fucking lesson because i am sick and tired of how victims, and honestly, my friends by themselves too, are treated like shit. you have not gotten the full story. do not act like youre a fucking hero for harassing 14 year olds because theyre being mean to your friend. who groomed them. who made them think any of this shit was okay. who took healing hypersexuals, including myself, and destroyed all of that and made them relapse back into those thoughts because theyre sick. who traumatized already traumatized children. children. fucking children. do you not realize who youre protecting here? really? im fucking sick of you. if you still support jay i hope youre happy with whats happening to us. i hope youre happy with our best friends hospitalization and my suicide attempts and the overall agony thats been going into this. i hope youre fucking happy. if any of my suicide attempts succeed im blaming it on you, because apparently victims are only important when theyre fucking dead.

hello chat. um. it appears i was a little dramatic responding to those last few anon hate asks..

to contextualize, i had gotten 20+ that day (which were deleted) of death threats. i got sent death threats for being groomed. i was also a bit out of it on blood loss + general irritation with other more personal matters and overstimulation as i was in the hospital, which is what lead to the aggression.

and, about that, if you guys were hearing about some chronically ill 14 year old that got hospitalized from the stress of it all, that was me. i heard it got passed around in anon asks, which i didn’t send myself. i had some sort of stress-induced flareup of my very recent diagnosis due to all these events compiling which has somehow ended in me recieving permanent nerve damage.

i am not sorry though. i won’t sit here and apologize any more because i got dragged into a situation with a groomer and someone else posted something you didn’t like about it. that’s not on me. i didn’t fucking do that. and i shouldn’t have been pushed into a stress-induced flareup. and i get to be pissed about that.

i am fourteen years old and y’all stressed me into a hospital for being harmed by a known groomer. you are in the wrong and i do not apologize. goodnight.

[pauls-mescal]

Joseph Quinn and Lupita Nyong'o answer which is scarier: Demogorgons or Death Angels?

[icallhimjoey]

our boyfriend

[runningupthatvecna]

terrified wet boi

x

[puckinghischier]

quinn eating you out after you come home from a long day, letting you use him as stress relief

you had been tense from the stress of your workplace all day, your muscles aching all over your body. you were tired, overworked, and ready for a glass of wine and trashy tv.

when quinn saw your state, though? he knew exactly what you needed. he ran you a hot bath—which he joined, of course—rubbing soothing circles into your tight muscles in the warm water. the bath quickly turns into a shower so you can actually feel clean, but quinn won’t allow you to lift a finger. he lathers soap onto your body and massages the products into your hair, nearly lulling you to sleep standing up.

he wraps your body in a fluffy towel as you step out of the warm stream of water, drying your body gently before working on his own. walking into the bedroom to get a fresh set of pajamas, quinn comes up behind you and stops you before you can get the drawer open.

“uh-uh. no clothes yet,” he tsks, pushing your hand away. you look up at him confused.

“quinn, i’m wet and cold, why can’t i get dressed yet? you’re dressed,” you point out his plaid pajama pants, appreciating the lack of a shirt, though.

he smirks at you, grabbing your hands, walking backwards while leading you towards the bed.

“because, your stress free evening isn’t over,” he lets himself fall onto the end of the bed in a sitting position, looking up at you while wiggling the towel off of your body.

once the fabric is on the floor, quinn admires your body standing bare in front of him. he sees the layer of goose-bumps on your skin from the chilly air of the apartment, your taut nipples staring right at him. he reaches around you to take a handfuls of your ass, pushing you towards him.

you instinctively separate your legs to stand on either side of his thighs, feeling his chin graze the skin right above your belly-button. soft, warm puffs of air from his nose hit your cold skin, causing the muscles there to twitch. you look down at him, seeing his soft, grey eyes looking back up at you. a small smile breaks out on his face, the weight of his chin no longer felt on your body as he pulls back barely an inch.

before you can miss the contact, you watch as he touches his lips to the skin, eyes still looking brightly up at you. you toss your head back as you sigh, the feeling of his warm tongue coming out to tease along with the movement of his lips sending shivers through your spine.

you bring your hands up to rest in his unruly curls, their damp softness providing just enough to ground you, worried you’ll float away as he goes from open-mouth kisses to fully just licking your skin.

still looking up at you, even though he can’t see your face, he licks a stripe up and down, from above your navel to dangerously low territory. when you feel his tongue dip to the very bottom of your stomach, your head flies up with a gasp.

you’re met with the sight of quinn smirking up at you, clearly pleased with the reaction. “s’it working?” he asks you, still kneading the flesh of your ass.

“mmmm don’t know, still feel a little stressed,” you respond with a teasing smile, taking your hand and pushing the hair off of his forehead, bringing your hand to rest on the back of his head.

quinn’s shoulders shake lightly, his forehead leaning forward to rest against your stomach now, his hair tickling the sensitive area as he shakes his head back and forth. he pulls back to look up at you once again, eyes bright with amusement.

“well, guess we’ll have to get straight to it then,” he lightly taps your ass, removing his hands as he lays back, now flat on the bed in front of you.

you stand there and stare at him, not sure what he’s doing. his feet are still planted to the floor, his arms now extended at the elbow, hands clasped together to cradle his head as it lays on them. it’s your turn to admire his body. you’ve always loved the toned nature of his abdomen, but loved the fact there’s still somehow a softness to it at the same time even more. you watch the rise and fall of his even, steady breaths, lost in a near trance-like state.

he lifts his head up only enough to look at you, the rest of his body planted firmly against the mattress.

“well…are you gonna come get your stress relief or not?” he asks you, gesturing to his face, then letting his arms drop by his sides.

your stomach jumps at the realization of what he’s insinuating. he watches the fire in your eyes ignite, his lips once again curling into a smirk.

you waste no time crawling onto the bed, resting your knees on either side of his head, lining yourself up to his mouth perfectly.

you hear him take a deep inhale, your scent always driving him crazy.

looking down at him for permission to alleviate the small burn starting in your thighs, you find he’s not even look at your face. his stare is held on your slick core, licking his lips like he’s at an all you can eat. which, in his eyes, he is.

“ready?” you ask him, missing his warm mouth already.

his eyes snap to your face. “stress reliever, at your service,” he responds, not waiting for you to lower yourself to him. with his hands on your ass again, he pushes you down as he raises his head up, wasting no time in burying himself in your folds.

you cry out, his tongue ferociously lapping and sucking at your clit, his large hands massaging your ass once again.

the quick pace of his tongue stuns you to stillness, not realizing you hadn’t moved until quinn starts rocking your body back and forth for you. he slides his tongue up and down your cunt as he did your stomach earlier, his nose bumping and rubbing against your clit deliciously.

your soft pants and his slurping are the only two sounds to be heard in the room, until quinn lets out a low growl as you start grinding down on his face harder.

the vibrations cause a jolt to run through your core, your body leaning forward just enough for his tongue to tease your entrance.

“scoot. up more,” he mumbles against you, guiding you by your ass right where he wanted you.

the feeling of his tongue sliding inside of you draws out a high pitched yelp. he stabs the muscle in and out harshly, loving the feeling of your walls sucking him in as he laps up every drop of your sweetness.

you bring your hands up to toy with your hard nipples, needing to occupy yourself with something before you lose your mind.

you ride his tongue as he continues to grunt and growl into you, feeling every twitch and flick of the thick muscle.

the added stimulation to the sensitive buds on your chest has your release growing faster than you can keep up with. it’s like someone’s blowing up a balloon inside of you, the pressure building and building until it finally-

“quinn!” you cry out, the graze of his teeth against your sensitive flesh being the needle that popped the balloon.

your whole body is bathed in warmth, limbs shaking as he doesn’t let his pace falter, still bringing your body down farther onto his now slick face, making sure not a drop of your honey goes anywhere except his awaiting tongue.

you start to come down from your high, attempting to slow the steady rock of your body, but quinn pushes against your efforts. he keeps your momentum going, tongue still exploring every inch of your now swollen pussy.

“q, i-“ you hiss at the sensitivity, not being able to finish your sentence because of the quick work his tongue is swirling onto your clit.

“one more…you’ve got one more in you, i can feel it,” he commands up into you, going back to work the second the words are out of his mouth.

your whine, already feeling the swirl of another orgasm approaching.

quinn’s assault is only getting more aggressive, now fully nipping at your folds, each little pinch another tick closer to your release.

“close, quinny, so close,” you tell him, breathlessly.

his tongue enters you once again, this time staying buried there, grazing every surface it can find. he brings a hand around to toy with your clit while his tongue is otherwise occupied, opting for small pats instead of fast circles.

the dull, repetitive nature of the pats is what has your second orgasm of the night bursting out of you. you scream quinn’s name like a mantra, nothing else on your mind other than him.

he smirks through your orgasm this round, feeling your walls flutter around him, milking your sticky sweetness from your body like he’s the thirstiest man alive and you were a fresh spring.

after you recover from your second high, you take a few deep breaths, trying to remember how to control your limbs. when you manage to lift a knee off of the bed, quinn’s hand is flying up to force it back down, his tongue still swirling and flicking inside of you.

“quinn, i-i can’t. not-“ you whimper as he presses a finger against your clit and holds it there, applying a constant pressure. “not another one. can’t do it.”

quinn doesn’t let you surrender, however, the one hand still on your ass lifting and coming down in a harsh smack, the sound nearly lost in the symphony of squelches and moans.

he removes his tongue, and mouth, from you long enough to bark out a gruff “three’s the magic number. you’re not done until i say so,” before his tongue is buried in you for a third time tonight.

you almost fall forward, the sensitivity nearly crippling. your body surprises you, though. somehow, without your knowledge, your nerves are already winding up again, ready to explode any second.

between the now smacks on your clit—his soft pats long gone—and his tongue reaching as far into your entrance as possible, you don’t even know how or when, but suddenly your vision goes white and you feel nothing but what can be described as total and complete pleasure coursing through your veins.

quinn is shocked at how easy it was to pull your third release from you, feeling spurts of your sweet juices expel his tongue from your clenching core. he lets the drops glide down his throat, groaning at how amazing you always taste, but especially tonight.

you didn’t even know you screamed until you felt the scratch of your throat, the stars subsiding from your vision as you feel quinn’s tongue gently licking around you, cleaning up every last ounce of liquid from your spent cunt.

he decides you’ve had enough, finally releasing your shaking thighs, letting you lift one over his head and fall back onto the bed to lay beside of him. he turns over onto his side to look at you, always enjoying how pretty you look after an orgasm, much less three.

the rapid rise and fall of your chest starts to slow as you fully come down from the whole experience, turning your head to look at him.

your eyes widen at the sight in front of you.

his face is quite literally dripping with your release. his nose, his mouth, his chin are all covered with your slick juices. he’s leaning on one arm, while the other is being used to ‘clean’ his face.

and by ‘cleaning’ you mean he’s taking a finger across the wet areas, collecting the moisture on his finger before licking it clean and repeating the process.

when he notices you looking over at him, his actions cease and he smiles down at your fucked out state.

“so….you still stressed?”

[chillinparker]

[reflection-s-of-stars]

I think it’s very important that Abigail Pent is a little bit strange and off-putting. Like yes, she’s the oldest non-lyctor necromancer on cast and she’s a maternal figure and she generally makes smart decisions, but also! She’s a spirit magician! She knows everything there is to know about ghosts! She makes overly intense eye contact! She got so caught up in her research she forgot her own anniversary! She’s definitely the best-adjusted compared to the other necros and yeah she looks pretty normal but as soon as she opens her mouth you’re like “oh she’s not all there is she.” I fully believe she clocked Cytherea on some level at the dinner party but she was too distracted telling her about her research to really think about it. And most importantly I think Magnus Quinn is the normalest guy you will ever meet and he loves his weird weird wife with his whole entire heart and soul

[timmydraker]

CW: so much angst but it’s mainly for villains

Tim had Ana hunt with Bruce who tells him that he’s too young to understand how the world really works, with Jason adding sneakily that he’s also a rich boy who’s never struggled before.

Naturally, Tim takes this as a challenge and decides to help and/or ‘fix��� every villains that he thinks he realistically can.

He goes big straight away with Harley Quinn. He goes to her and pretends to be asking for advice on a friend who’s in an abusive relationship, saying no one else seems to be understanding eh situation but as a score she might. He smoothly describes her and Joker and lets her rant for almost two hours before pulling the rug form under her and saying that Jason forgives his ‘friend’ for him dying by her boyfriend because he knows she was hurt just as bad when she tried to save him.

Harley takes another two months to leave the Joker and places herself in Arkham to contour her role as a doctor for her fellow maniacs.

It takes the help of several doctors but he finds the cure for Freezes wife and hands it over while telling the man that his wife probably won’t forgive him for his various murders.

Freeze understands, saves his wife anyway and accepts her request for a divorce willing, just as long as she stays alive.

He gets Arnold Wesker a real doctor who can better treat his Dissociative Identity Disorder and helps him keep Scarface out of the front by playing along as if rhetorical puppet is real and under heavy custody.

Arnold starts to live for more moments of peace than he has in years, even if there are still some really bad days.

With Poison Ivy he doesn’t actually do anything as Robin, but instead goes to her as Tim Drake and asks for her guidance on how to make his medical company and by association Wayne Industries completely eco friendly and even help to stop climate change. Tim Drake was already borderline political, he might as well lead the charge on action for climate. He does say that if Ivy does any more large scale and fatal attacks he will stop everything, which she agrees to after a week of though with her plants council.

Pamala cries for hours when she sees Tim’s plan to de-plant the entirety of a forest that she had once tried to save.

Tim doesn’t tell his family about any of this until he asks them to visit him in his city office about a gala he wants to hold, his very first, and they find Pamala and Harley helping with decoration plans and Victor and Arnold discussing how their therapy has been going together.

Bruce nearly had a heart attack.

[krytus]

"he's a murderer!" "he's a monster!" he's perfect.

[ho-for-joequinn-fics]

He looks like he needs a good fuck and cuddle and oh how I am here for him 😩🥺

[gottabescientific]

hockeyblr is awesome bc someone will go "this is the hottest man I've ever seen" and 9 times out of 10 you could find twelve of him in any gas station in florida

The 1 out of 10 its Leon Draisaitl

[pauls-mescal]

JOSEPH QUINN

for L'Officiel Hommes USA photographed by Danny Kasirye

[capquinn]

hear me out…… no kissing sex with bf!quinn right now.

it would be its own kind of torment, the kind of heat and frustration that makes your skin flush before anything even happens. it would start slow, almost awkward, both of you trying to work around the glaring fact that his lip — split, stitched and swollen — has taken away one of your favourite things about being with him.

“This is so stupid,” he’d groan, his head falling back against the headboard as you straddle his hips, your hands resting on his chest.

His fingers grip your thighs like he’s holding himself back, his touch firm but not nearly enough. His hair, all tousled and soft from a restless night, frames his face in that boyish way that makes you ache to kiss him. But you can’t, and it’s killing both of you.

“You don’t think I know that?” you shoot back, your voice soft but laced with the same frustration, your lips so close to his that he can feel your breath against his skin. “So hard for me to sit here and not—”

“Don’t,” he groans, cutting you off with a sharp exhale, his eyes flickering to your mouth and then away just as quickly, like it’s a temptation too great to bear. His hands tighten on your thighs, his grip firm but still trembling with restraint, like he’s barely keeping himself in check. “Do you even know how hard this is for me?” His voice dips, low and rough, frustration simmering beneath every syllable.

You don’t, not really. You couldn’t possibly, because if you did, you wouldn’t be sitting there looking like that — lips parted, eyes heavy with want, your body pressed so close but not close enough. His eyes trail over you, lingering for a second too long, and it makes his chest ache. God, you look good like this. So good it’s unfair. And you’re right there, on top of him, inches from his mouth, and he can’t even close the distance.

“I can’t even fucking look at you right now,” he mutters, his voice breaking on the words as his head tilts back against the headboard, exposing the sharp line of his jaw. “Not without wanting to kiss you.”

His fingers dig harder into your thighs, a low, frustrated groan slipping from his lips as he fights every instinct to kiss you the way he wants — needs — to.

Now one of your hands is splayed across his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat pulsing beneath your fingertips, while the other rakes through his hair. You lean in, your lips brushing the faintest, most tender kiss to his forehead, just enough to make him tense beneath you.

“I’m the one who’s perfectly capable of kissing you on the mouth right now — I’m just not allowed,” you murmur, your voice low and teasing, though the weight of your own frustration bleeds through.

Then, with slow, deliberate precision, you lower your head, your lips hovering over his jaw, just barely brushing against his skin. His hands tighten on your waist instantly, dragging you closer, his restraint slipping. His chest heaves under you, each breath shallow and uneven as his frustration and desire bleed into one another.

“Fuck,” he mutters when his lips twitch toward yours instinctively, the pain pulling him back with a sharp wince. Yet even then, he doesn’t let go, his hands gripping you tighter, as though he’s determined to keep you there, despite the torment of what he can’t have, desperate to hold onto what he can.

It’s almost comical at first, the way you both try to navigate around the glaring absence of your usual kisses, but then the humour fades, replaced by something heavier. You start pressing kisses to his neck, slow and wet, trailing your lips along the warm expanse of his skin. Each touch earns a low, shaky breath from him, his chest rising and falling under your palms. You nip lightly at his shoulder, letting your teeth graze the muscle, and he groans again, his head falling back.

“You’re not helping,” he rasps, his hands sliding up your back, gripping the fabric of your shirt.

And then it's all heat and frustration. There’s no teasing this time, no soft kisses to ease you into it, because the second his lips even try to skim your skin, he winces, the sting of his injury pulling him back with a startle.

Your knees are pressed against his hips, and you can feel the tension rolling off him in waves in the way his hands slide up your thighs, rougher than usual, tugging you closer with a strength that leaves no space between you. It’s desperate, like he’s trying to make up for everything he can’t do with the touch of lips. His chest is heaving under yours, and when your hips shift against him, his head falls back against the headboard with a sharp exhale, his jaw tightening.

“You’re killing me,” he groans, his voice strained, and his hands move to your hips, gripping you tighter as he guides your movements. There’s a rough edge to the way he’s holding you, his need for you consuming every thought. His eyes flick to your mouth, then away again, like even looking at your lips is too much. “I can’t even fucking kiss you,” he mutters for what feels like the hundredth time, his voice breaking with the weight of his frustration.

Your lips find his neck again, dragging slowly across his skin, your teeth grazing his shoulder until he lets out a sound that’s halfway between a groan and a plea, vibrating through your entire body.

“I’m frustrated, too, but,” you trail off against his skin, your voice thick with your own desperation. Your hands slide up his chest, your nails dragging lightly over his skin, and he shudders beneath you, his hips jerking up into yours. “Just gotta make do.”

He doesn’t respond, not right away, but the way his hands drag you closer, harder, says everything. Like he’s trying to make up for every kiss he can’t press to your lips, against your neck and down your chest.

His head tilts forward, and his lips, though injured and off-limits, press lightly to the curve of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. It’s not enough, not for either of you, but it’s all he can manage, and it only makes the ache sharper.

“You don’t get it,” he mumbles softly, his voice rough, almost pleading. “You’re right here, and I can’t even…”

His sentence trails off but the words still hit you like a match to gasoline, and your hands move to his shoulders, gripping him tightly as you rock against him. You can feel his restraint slipping, the sharp edge of his desperation bleeding into every touch, every movement. When you lean down, pressing your lips to the curve of his shoulder, his breath hitches, and when you bite down, just enough to leave a mark, he moans, his fingers digging into your waist so hard you think you might bruise too.

“Fuck, you’re making this worse,” he groans but there’s no mistaking the way his body responds to you.

The way his hips press up into yours with every movement and the way his hands slide up your back, his touch firm and unrelenting. He buries his face in your neck again, his breath ragged against your skin through parted, swollen lips that are stinging with the pressure he's placing.

It’s raw and messy, the desperation between you heightening every touch, every sound. He’s rougher than usual, his movements fueled by frustration and need, and when you finally fall apart, it’s not with the usual gentleness but with an intensity that leaves you both breathless.