#like how tf does that work

[acerlking]

Sorry I haven't been posting much, I received brain damage from physician-prescribed biperiden superdosage. On the bright side, here's the fun aspects of my brief vacations in the demented nine circles of hell headspace:

I didn't have any spider issues but! I had the conviction the air was made of cockroaches and as a bonus I had the cotardpilled insight that my bowels were lined with roach eggs. Also my mom was committing illegal identity theft by impersonating Marie Kondo and *only* speaking fluent Japanese with me the whole time I was on my prescription (she does not speak Japanese). My f*ther was also rambling to me about a TF2 fan-fiction he wrote in a racist "Engrish ranguage" accent the whole time (he has no idea what either TF2 nor fan-fiction are). My house was also populated with small blobs of flesh with loudspeakers for mouths screaming antisemitic insults at me at a frenetic pace. Famous Japanese manga artist Iida Pochi also came by my house to threaten (in fluent Brazilian Portuguese) to rat me to the authorities for my federal crime of filling every single computer in my entire 100-million-person country with infohazards by various means (none of this happened)

Eventually I was sent to the hospital because I was in labour -- I was pregnant with myself and I needed to have a caesarian childbirth (I am a cis male), which they did give me, but cleanly bisecting my entire body from top to bottom, which I don't think is how a childbirth incision is supposed to happen but it made sense at the time (none of this happened). They eventually sent me to the psych ward, which was only a few hallways into the hospital, but for me I reached there by a nerve-wracking situation where I had to pilot a Boeing aircraft that was the victim of a controversy of counterfeit jet fuel -- however, I was able to choose the correct fuel since I could rely on my mom's advice which she taught me ever since I was a child on how to spot adulterated jet fuel from the real thing (she never taught me that).

Eventually reaching the airport, I was barred since the immigration control caught on that a significant portion of the passengers in the flight were imaginary friends, which made the number of people in the database go into the complex plane (which was a severe stack overflow problem) and so my exponential complex number of imaginary friends and I were subjected to a protracted inspection which took place in a long winding tower built on top of an enormous tree that was in the center of the world (none of this happened) which in my mind was the true face of the psychiatric ward where I was staying.

[scrombit]

quick doodle from some like textpost i saw on pintrest 🌝

[ruinix]

Quinn actively losing his shit because you're sucking his dick

Lovely anon, wherever you are, I hope you’re eating well…I humbly present you what you asked… 🫣maybe…I’ve gone off the rails. I guess it's time for Q to get blown. [side note: I have taken ‘actively’ to my fave words. I liked it, a bit too much especially after seeing your ask. 🤣]

Payback

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Oral sex (m receiving) / Blowjob, Hair tugging, Choking (on dick) / gagging, slight Overstimulation (m), reiterating the ask: Quinn is LOSING it 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↔️

Count: 2161 words | Masterlist | Taglist

You’re kidding. You’ve got to be kidding him. Quinn shudders as you crawl from his lap, nudging his thighs to spread. You perch right there, panting with your lips slightly parted. You’re making him lose his mind.

He can’t focus on the game he has on the TV. Not with you gazing at him while sitting on your knees. Not with you just resting your cheek against his thigh. Not with your silence and your tantalizing desire for him. Not when your tongue darts out and licks your lower lip as your eyes slowly track down his face, his chest, his abdomen, his crotch.

His dick twitches at your attention. You notice it, smirking and looking so smug. Seriously. Is this a test? Are you testing him? He’s going to fail. He knows it.

Where the fuck did this come from?

Quinn is not sure.

You two were just watching game replays, leaning against each other. When you complained that you were bored, extremely bored that you were smooshing his face with your hands, Quinn let you take the rein of the other TV. No need for him to watch multiple games when the Love of his life was bored. It takes you ten minutes to settle on one Netflix show which Quinn also watched—half-watched, he still got hockey plays to analyze—with you.

After an episode, you were on his lap, legs tightly pressed against his waist, arms wrapped around his nape, head resting on his shoulder. Quinn was just half-lying and half-sitting. He’s just extremely relaxed with your weight on him, with your skin underneath his hands which he slipped in after you settled, with your heat comforting his soul.

It was just you two basking on each other’s company. It was just a simple lazy day. It was supposed to be.

Then suddenly, you parted from him. He thought you would just get water or a snack—you like snacks. But no. You slipped down him, made yourself all too comfy between his legs. You’re seducing him like a minx. Like a mermaid drawing in sailors into the water. But you’re not singing—you don’t have to, no. You’re just…staring at him, panting so subtly and your eyes extremely hooded. Those are more than enough to seduce him.

“You should watch your game,” you mutter.

‘How will I do that?’ is what he wanted to ask, because literally how.

You lift a brow at him as if to say, ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’

You’re taunting him, aren’t you? There’s no way you’re not. It’s working. His cock aches. He wants nothing else but to fuck your pussy. You’re probably wet. Not probably. He bet you are. Especially now that your eyebrows meet, your teeth dig into your lower lip, subtly shifting on your knees.

Oh, he knows you so well. He knows he can just kiss you and you’ll fold and forget whatever evil plan you’re brewing. He can—

“Quinn,” you scold, pouting which means you’re begging.

You are begging him. That’s a privilege Quinn wants to never lose.

He clears his throat, trying to ease the tension enveloping his whole body. It’s so hard to resist because he really wants to kiss you now. He needs a kiss. Just a kiss. One small peck. Or your tongue against his—

Releasing a sigh, exercising restraint, he forces his body to relax and look at the screen. Instead of analyzing every play—imagining what to evade, how to get the puck, how to score—like he did before, he sees nothing. Just fucking mush of blur on ice. Nothing makes sense anymore because of you.

He's so hyperaware of how you nuzzle your cheek against his thigh. So aware of your tiny compliment of how his sweatpants are the softest—probably plotting to take it for your own. So aware of the kiss you press right fucking there—over his pants yet he still feels it like it’s your lips on his skin. Of your delicate fingers running over his shins. Over his knee. Over his thighs. So aware that you’re up, coming closer, thumbs rubbing circles on his inner thighs.

He can feel everything you do.

And he can’t do shit.

Not yet at least.

Quinn grips the armrest and the nearby pillow. His knuckles turn white. He swallows the knot in his throat, gritting his fucking teeth when you graze his cock, then you grab it over his pants.

“Fuck,” he grunts. He looks up to the ceiling, stopping the urge to thrust into your hand. Meeting your eyes, he pleads, “My Love, what do you need?”

He needs answers. He needs you to say what the fuck you want from him because he’s going to come from the anticipation itself.  He needs your words, so he can at least control himself.

“I want to suck your cock, Quinn,” you say so breathlessly, so beautifully, so innocently like you’re just asking for sweets when you’re already lying on the bed and ready to sleep. “Please?”

Holy shit.

“Anything you want,” he nearly stumbles over his words. His heart is lurching so hard in his chest as you smile at him.

So pretty. Your eyes are gleaming with excitement. No way. Really? Quinn might faint if you don’t stop looking so adorable just because he said yes.

“Then take your pants off already, handsome.”

Quinn follows, barely able to throw it behind him because you’re on him, pressing kisses on his thighs. Your tongue darting out as you lick and kiss and suck on his skin. One thigh after another. Back and forth. Trailing up. Leaving your marks. You’re turning him into mush. He’s so hard that pre-cum dribbles down his length.

“You smell so good, Quinn,” you mutter against his skin. For every kiss, you say, “I love you.”

He’s burning. Every breath against his skin. Every touch. Every lick. All of them leaves a trail of fire that shoots right to his dick. He’s so hard. So hard that all he can do is lay back, forearm covering his face, locking his body down. If he doesn’t, he’ll be pouncing on you.

You don’t want that for fuck’s sake. You want to suck him off. You’ll get that. Sure. But why do you need to worship his body like he does with yours…

Realization dawns on Quinn.

You’re worshiping him.

His heart is racing like he has been running mile after mile after mile. Like warhorse destined to run to its death because its heart would not handle the exhaustion of the run that it was ordered to, of the run that will be its last. However, death doesn’t await Quinn. No. What awaits him is you. Just you. Especially you.

So, he watches you, panting, rasping, “I love you.”

“I know,” you chuckle. “You can touch me, Quinn. You know what I like.”

You don’t even let him reply or process what you said. You simply lick his fucking tip, tongue flattening over his slit, taking his pre-cum.

The growl that escapes him is downright animalistic.

He wants this to last but he doubts it, because as you ran your tongue from his base to his tip, he’s already seeing stars.

You’re a savage. Cruel. So cruel. You’re just giving him kitten licks now. What the fuck? He thought you wanted to suck him. Are you playing with him? He can’t play games right now.

Tangling his fingers with your hair, tugging at it impatiently so you’ll look at him, Quinn tries his best to meet your eyes, but you persist with your torture. When you trace once fucking vein with your slippery tongue, he has physically pull you back. He’s going to come.

“That’s mean,” you whine. “Don’t get in my way, Quinn.”

“I’m gonna come,” he grunts, flinching when your hand pushes up his shirt, flattening over his abdomen. “Stop teasing me, my Love.”

Quinn’s basically whimpering. He’s aware you haven’t even started yet. He’s acting like this is the first time. It’s not. You really did shake him up with this unprovoked torture. Out of fucking nowhere.

“Oh?” You grin, moaning when he tugs on your hair again. “You want me to stop?”

You can’t stop. He’ll explode. It will hurt. He’s already hurting. Why the fuck did he pull you away? Oh right, he’ll come if he didn’t.

“No,” he says too quickly, voice quivering.  He lets go of your hair, holding his shirt for you. He begs, “Don’t stop.”

You finally start, sucking around his crown, greedily taking every drop of his weeping cock. Your eyes are closed yet Quinn feel as though you are gazing down at him from your throne. His Queen. His Love.

The way you’re focusing on him, moaning for every suck, is taking him out. It’s like you’re savoring him. Oh, fuck. You are.

You’re taking him so well.

You feel so good.

He can’t think straight. Not when you take half of his dick, creating a delicious suction that has his eyes groaning and moaning helplessly. Not when he feels your tongue flattening on his sensitive underside. Not when he can feel the vibrations of your moans. Not when you suddenly open your eyes to see what you’re doing to him. Not when your hand wraps around the rest of him that you couldn’t reach yet. Not when you made him put one foot between your legs so you can hump him.

You’re so wet that you’re soaking through your little shorts.

You’re gonna kill him.

Now, you’ve done it. When you bob down his length, taking more of him, he just thrusts into your heated mouth. His hand is over your head, pulling down much harsher, hitting the back of your throat.

He’s desperate for more.

The sounds of you gagging on him make him mutter a ‘sorry’. But he doesn’t mean it at all. You are teasing him so fucking much and taking your sweet time.  Both of you know that.

He starts using your beautiful lips, your mouth, your throat.

“Fuck,” he pants, shaking his head to clear it but he can’t.

He really can’t.

Good. Perfect. You feel so amazing around him.

He can’t help chasing after the pleasure of fucking your sweet mouth.

You look so pristine doing so. Sure, your cheeks are red and tear-stained, but—shamefully—he likes seeing you all ruffle up for him. Your hair is so messy in his grip. You’re drooling around him. Your nails dig into his thighs now—no longer teasing his member, because you can’t when he’s using you like this. Your hips messily roll, trying to match his rhythm, chasing you high desperately like him.

You’re so pretty. How can you be so beautiful? On your knees, yet he feels like he is on his knees for you. Always doing your bidding. Always receiving your grace. Your permission.

He’s so lucky.

“My Love,” Quinn grits, vision spotting at the edges. He warns, “Close.”

You up your ante. Your tongue swirls against his underside. The vibrations from your hums.

“Mmmfuck,” Quinn groans.

He can’t help but force you down, pushing his cock deeper as he spills hot cum down your throat. Spurt after spurt. He swears he blacks out for a brief second because you are sucking and gulping whatever he gives you.

He tries to get you off, give you your whole airway, but hell, you keep on going, going, and going. Not letting him get fully soft.

No. Seriously. Are you trying to kill him? It’s like you’re sucking all his soul, making him sag against the couch, blood pumping harder. He swears he hears you sob—which sends torturous vibration all over his fucking body, not just his cock—like you’re disappointed he can’t give you more cum.

He needs at least a couple of seconds to rest and get his shit together.

Your eyes meet his as you finally let his sensitive cock out with an obscene pop. With a pout, lips glistening with drool, you mutter, “More?”

That made him fucking hard.

Fine.

Fuck a couple of seconds.

If his World want his cum, you will, but this arrangement won’t do. It’s not fair. You can have your fill, and he can’t? The simple thought of just coming alone makes his heart ache. Like something’s missing after just had one of most intense orgasm—which is always the latest orgasm he has with you—in his life. He’s not used to this.

He needs to taste you on his tongue.

He would rather eat you out for hours, but you want this.

So, Quinn will just compromise. Good thing that you’re already fucking horny humping his foot. He’ll just persuade you to a different position where he can feast on you as well. By the way you shuddered, resting your head over his thigh, it won’t be a hard proposition to sell.

-> Next (Part 2: Fifteen)

[gunstellations]

home cook

[cut-aare]

[viktorarcanedeservesbetter]

tbh I don’t think therapy would have fixed Jayce and Viktor lmao. maybe would have softened their self-destructive tendencies but there’s no fixing that co-dependent relationship. Heimerdinger Mel and Sky are told “yeah, I can help treat their individual depressions but nothing is gonna reduce their co-dependency. I’m pretty sure separating them makes it a lot worse for not only them but much worse for everyone else. for everyone’s safety I suggest they’re not allowed to be more than a buildings length away from each other and even that is pushing it.” That therapist then quits on the spot cause now they’ve literally seen everything.

It’s like that scene in Brooklyn nine nine where all the physiatrists are observing and talking with Gina but instead it’s a whole crew of therapists and neurologists and physiologists trying to find out how these two men literally mind-melded together. They go to couples therapy but it’s literally just individual therapy held together because why tf not it’s the only way to get them to go.

[madcoincidence]

Related to this beauty of a post. Thank you @sightseertrespasser and @keferon for sharing the angst and fluff moment with me!

[mychemicalbrromance]

Eeeevil toxic yaois

[damianito]

"Aaaa" is 15!Chuuya is showing 15!Dazai yo-yo tricks. Dazai with a child like amazement while Chuuya looks prideful.

"Assffg" is multiple doodles of Hirotsu dealing with Catzai & Chuunya.

[snuffysbox]

something tells me I'm gonna have to learn how to draw Tom McKay's face.

[fogdraws]

Watching The Empty House and oh my god Watson literally fell to the ground when he saw Holmes alive again THAT'S emotion and then LOOK AT HIS FACE he's so happy my heart 🥺🥺

Holmes, always keen to a dramatic touch. Like, my man's throwing ballet poses while he stretches just look at that

Also going from David Burke's To Edward Hardwick's Watson wasn't as shocking as I thought it'd be. He's just as charming as Burke.

Also also! I am SO drawing this frame:

[aelyxiae]

Just had a thought. Does Swerve do everything to open his bar by himself? Cause it kind of seems like he would (at least definitely at the beginning when he’s just getting set up). But also, that’s a lot of work to be doing essentially alone — opening, running the bar, closing — and yet a lot of that work goes seemingly unnoticed. The bar is just there for everyone when everyone needs it.

And by extension — Swerve is there for everyone when they need it through running the bar.

And it doesn’t seem like that far of a stretch to think of Swerve’s as a representation of Swerve himself. The idea that he put all of himself into this one effort. And it largely gets played off as no big deal. Because the truth is, everybody just assumes Swerve is always there, in the same way that Swerve’s is always there for them.

Until it becomes unavoidably clear that Swerve isn’t there. And that while he and Swerve’s have been such a steady constant for everyone else that their presence can basically be taken for granted, no one has truly been there for Swerve.

And only then does the lost light crew come together for him. In a similar way to how others helped Swerve rebuild Swerve’s when it was destroyed by legislators. But only after they’d lost what the once had.

[sweetestflow3rs]

would you believe this is a face of a man who only got worse in his new enriched environment?

[mrmeepsmadmind]

they are ignoring my big beautiful pathetic himbo wife and his cute little platypus tail that he has for some tank part reason im too dumb to understand why

[imaninsanefanboy]

Can we just like talk about how the fuck does bill's anatomy work.

Also where did he get his powers? bc like it seems that his parents and every other euclidian was powerless, including bill during his time in Euclidia. So what gave him powers? Also, ok PLEASE someone tell me where this is from but everywhere I've seen people saying bill's species bleeds silver, including himself. But why when dipper shoots him in his hat it's all meaty? And if that hat what his dads, did he meet some sort of otherworldly creature to fuse it with him, and change his anatomy? Like I need answers NOW

[opens-up-4-nobody]

This is me promising to become a Wikipedia editor for the explicit purpose of studying from my comprehensive exams lol