#quinn finite

[micsextras]

Quinn

[niplicious]

[darkchastity]

[fukktonyramos]

My wifey 😍

Sim of Quinn Finite is Canadian Internet personality.

Make sure that you have the latest patch update Sims 4 and complete Patch.

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Patreon download: here

(Early Access: 23 September 2023)

[holy-puckslibrary]

━ 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄

˗ˏˋ main masterlist ˎˊ˗

pairing(s) — (soft)dark!QUINN HUGHES x gray!reader word count — 4k

note — i am so sorry for this (not really)

recommended viewing — sorority row (2009)

bingo squares and additional content warnings under the cut.

bingo squares —orgasm control, non-consensual voyeurism (+ pictures taken) and implied past mutual masturbation (dubcon — you’ll see) additional content warnings — dom!reader + subby-as-hell!quinn (ngl he’s kind of a pathetic loser here, but that’s why we love him), m!receiving oral (perhaps too much idk you tell me) + cum play x2, quinn rendered dumb and speechless by his raging humiliation kink and his need for degradation (and an itty bitty bit of praise — quinn: new kink unlocked), i have been plagued w ball play as of late so im subjecting yall to it, mention of edging and orgasm denial, oh and just some pheromone kink bits and a cute lil oral fixation moment or two, nothing to see here!

QUINN HUGHES WAS ENAMORED the moment he saw you.

Three rows from the front. Laptop cracked, but more for show than anything. All your glittery, coveted attention fixed on the cellphone resting in your palm while you tapped away, your lips loosely draped over the pen you were gnawing on. 

You were positively mesmerizing.

He briefly contemplated sliding into one of the open seats beside yours, but a gaggle of your insipid "sisters" beat him to the punch.

As if he would’ve been able to capitalize on the golden opportunity anyway; it took half the semester for him to form a full, coherent sentence in your vicinity.

Ironically, Quinn was far more comfortable when you weren’t looking.

Or, rather, Quinn was more comfortable when you didn’t know he was looking.

He didn’t interact much with anyone outside of his coding cohort and the club team—athletic prowess only garners state-school clout when your sport is top dog, and this was a football school, through and through. As such, and at the hands of his tragic awkwardness, he rarely spoke to women, if ever.

And he never got face time with any as effortlessly beautiful and interesting as you.

Discovering that your large bedroom window faced the secluded side street he took to get home from practice each night felt like a sign. He’d struck gold, and it would be a shame not to put the knowledge to good use.

In his own shadowy domain, he could be whatever and whoever he wanted; he could be the guy who got the girl.

It was exhilarating, really. 

Quinn supposed some of that rush should be attributed to the feeling of unbridled control his daily routine sorely and consistently lacked. He hardly, if ever, felt like an active participant in his own life.

But in the privacy of his own head—and the safety of the very curb he’s stood on now—there were no alpha douche-canoes to eat up your finite attention or loud airheads to crave your tutelage. 

Between sundown and sun-up, you were his and his alone.

— Even if you were none the wiser.

As benevolent as you may appear, he knew you would never give a guy like him the time of day. Quinn was a lot of things, but stupid's never been one of them.

You wouldn’t even acknowledge his existence if it weren’t for your shared smaller sessions on Thursday mornings. Just you and him… and ten other students, with the occasional appearance of your slacker TA—how romantic.

And if he couldn’t even get a moment alone with you, he definitely wouldn’t get a night inside of you, either. 

So, he settles.

Quinn puts up with the bugs and tolerates the bushes, swallowing his pride (and his mortification), and takes what he can get.

He's accustomed to maneuvering in the dark—this stretch of pavement in particular—but he stumbles through the dimly lit street like he’s got two left feet that only grew in yesterday. 

If you were privy to his impromptu audition for Bambi, you don’t mention it.

And if you clocked the obnoxious bulge tenting his jeans, you don’t acknowledge that, either.

Quinn isn’t entirely sure this is happening in his real, waking life; it’s far too good to be true. 

This is not at all where he thought the night would go when your name flashed across the screen.

When he hesitantly clicked ‘accept’ and brought the phone to his ear, all while still palming himself to the memory of your head tossed back in ecstasy—the way it was before the lights went out abruptly —Quinn assumed he’d soon be gripping steel bars.

“H-How’d you get this number?” he asked after hearing his name.

You whispered it so ardently he could almost feel your breath on his cheek. It made him shiver and, momentarily, forget he’d likely been caught red-handed—literally.

“You made the group chat for our section, silly.”

Instinct compelled Quinn to chastise himself, but knowing you remembered that minute detail—a nothing of a fact, really—was enough to override the urge entirely.

And the complete lack of ire in your voice lured him into a false sense of security yet to be disproven.

He gulped and willed his hand to stop moving. “Oh, right. Uh, is there something you need? Did the outline for next week not go through? Because if not, I can just re-send it ri—”

“Meet me at the same door as last time,” you sliced through his rambling with a tone that was neither foreboding nor comforting.

Then, the line went dead.

For once, Quinn was grateful to be so eager to please. If not for that zeal, he couldn't have walked up to the service door of Delta Nu.

Risking the wrath of your underlings was never a goal of his, but considering how quickly they turned up their plastic noses at him when he came by to drop off notes from the class you missed, Quinn couldn’t imagine worse circumstances for Round Two. 

When the backdoor swung in, you spoiled him in all your glory and the assurance of an empty house.

Out of pure exhaustion—and in his excitement to resume his ritual after a long week away—it slipped his mind; tonight is the best and biggest Kappa Tau rager.

Hence the ghost town

“Do you stand out there all night, stalker?”

Quinn’s head bobbed despite the apt insult. Then, he remembered you couldn’t see his reply, given that you were leading him up a staircase.

“M-Most nights, yeah.”

At that, you spun on your heel. Quinn shook like a leaf as you stepped forward. Gripping the railing, a hand on either side of his shrunken form, you invaded his personal space for the sole purpose of degrading him further.

The sneer hadn’t reached your eyes, but it speared him just the same. “God, you’re fucking pathetic.”

Quinn launched into an attempt at groveling, but his own verbal clumsiness rendered the effort futile.

However, his sputtered half-thoughts and litany of sentences that went nowhere were brought to a screeching halt by a single, manicured finger. Unable to process the touch and the wicked grin on your otherwise cherubic face concurrently, he froze.

His predicament worsened when you gently breached the tight seam of his lips to rest your interruption against his tongue.

You stepped closer; he saw stars. “I like that.”

It was at that moment Quinn realized you came straight down to the side-yard...because he could taste you. As you massaged his tongue with the pad of your finger, effectively rubbing your essence into his body, it took every ounce of strength to keep himself from busting right there in your foyer.

Still, he managed the mortification he sought to avoid.

“Are you… Are you humping me?” you barked with an incredulous snort.

Humiliation blurred his vision as you backed away from him; it wasn’t his fault your perfume elicited a Pavlovian bodily reaction. 

You kept your finger in his mouth as you bit back genuine laughter, but that just made him harder.

“Y’know,” you hummed, contemplative. You paused to watch your pointer finger slowly thrust in and out of his needy mouth. Your smirk was noticeably wider when you spoke again. “My last boyfriend couldn’t even text me back—or remember that he was in a monogamous relationship.”

Quinn blinked. “Your last boyfriend?”

The question was garbled by your finger—and his own sucking. It didn’t matter, though. His reply wasn’t necessary.

At least, not yet.

“Mhmm, my last one.”

You repeated yourself as if you were speaking to a child and not to the grown man whose boner was digging into your skin. 

It made him whimper. Your condescension was his kryptonite, apparently.

“But...I know my next one will be different; you’re too devoted to hurt me.”

He wasn’t given time to respond because as soon as you got your desired reaction—mewling akin to a bleating lamb and the whites of his eyes—you were dragging him up the remaining stairs and into the president’s suite.

Quinn’s spent countless hours wondering what your bedroom looked like, and even more fantasizing about what might happen if he ever saw it firsthand. His mouth splits after working up the nerve to compare the reality of your space to his mental notes, but before he can shove out any words, you’re backing him across the room with a devious glint in your eyes.

“W-What are you doing?” he asks when his back hits glass.

Right now, he’s pressed against his standing window into your most private moments. It feels wrong to be on this side of the wall.

Quinn gets none of the bubbly warmth he assumed he would if he ever found himself here. Instead, he feels unbelievably small as he drowns in a sea of poor choices.

“I think a little exhibitionism would be good for you, Hughes.”

"I-I don’t understand…”

You smile. His stupid heart flutters.

God, love’s fucking embarrassing.

Again, you crowd his space. This time, though, until there’s barely enough room between the window pane and your body for his wilted one. You press a single, fleeting kiss to his pulse point, your breath fanning over his clammy skin. His hitches in his throat.

“I want you to see things from my point of view.”

The words seep into his neck. Your intentions slam into him like a semi-truck going full speed. Anyone walking on the path—his path— would need only to venture a peek at your window to know exactly what was happening.

It would be too easy to watch him the way he’s watched you for weeks. 

A taste of his own medicine.

The candy-coated threat shouldn’t have the effect that it does. Given how emotionally charged the air’s become—for him, at least—it makes sense for his body to get some wires crossed; the same sticky emotion causing him to wither in fear should not be making him harder than ever.

He isn’t expecting you to kiss him, so it takes Quinn’s mind a beat to catch up. Still, he melts into the affection like it's the only thing keeping him alive. Though, as soon as Quinn regains enough composure to actually participate, you kill the kiss as swiftly as you brought it to fruition.

He chases after your mouth, much to your amusement.

“What, sad there was no tongue?” you tease as if you weren't the one to ruined the moment. 

Quinn doesn’t find you very funny right now.

“We’re going to play a little game.” 

Your lips brush his as your hushed words march out, but he remains still. He knows better now than to ask questions prematurely. You hum in acknowledgment, satisfied. 

Quinn beams. He's always been a quick study.

You take him by the wrist and guide him into the space you just vacated.

Physically, he knows he’s stronger. It wouldn’t take much to overpower you, but that means nothing in the face of your mental sway. Quinn can’t move because you don’t want him to—because you haven’t told him he can.

And any hope of gaining the upper hand crashes out onto the concrete the moment your bare knees hit the carpet.

Quinn knows he’s a dead man when your hands coast up his thighs.

“Put your hands on the window sill.” He does without hesitation. “Keep them there. You move, I stop. Understand?”

“Yes, I-I understand.”

“Good boy,” you say.

It’s more of a taunt than true praise, but his bulge twitches all the same before your eyes. The slight betrayal announces the internal chaos in the wake of the unexpected praise.

Quinn knew he liked that, but he didn’t want you to know it, too. What little control he managed to horde dissipates.

The delight on your face confirms the worst; you plan to do with that information what he hoped you wouldn’t. “God, I am going to have so much fun with you.”

It's an uphill battle, trying to keep his eyes open and his hands where they are supposed to be.

Quinn tastes nirvana when you finally flick the tip of your tongue over his cherry-red tip, the skin having adopted a luminous intensity courtesy of the few street lamps nearby. Glowing, after too much teasing.

Normally, he veered toward edging and denial JOI content, especially if the voice actor sounded anything like you. Tonight, he’s never hated a concept more. Still, he's making sure he behaves because he knows you’ll reward him handsomely.

You can be sweet when you want to be.

Like right now, for instance. You’re snuggling your face into his body, generously nuzzling his painfully stiff length with your cheeks. Whenever the friction mounts to anything substantial, you pull back to decorate his hips and inner thighs with little pecks.

They're reminiscent of the chaste parting kisses you’ve given his cheek in the past just to make him squirm.

You lap up what you can of the escaping arousal, hungrily drinking down all he has to offer. You do your best, you really do, but there’s just too much. The successor to each puddle arrives faster than you expect, and quicker than you can keep up with.

So, you stop trying.

You’re both so desperate, anyway.

Quinn bites back a scream when your dominant hand loops around the base of his cock; the cruel, beautiful beast only settling once the middle finger finally reaches the accompanying thumb. The pressure is light, but encompassing enough to make him dizzy.

So dizzy, in fact, that he actually appreciates your one rule.

However, nothing could have prepared him for what torture you enact next.

Blinking up at him, you rub the leaking tip over and between your lips. With one hand braced against his bare thigh and the other unchanged, you gently tug downward as you suckle the bulbous head.

The sensation is unlike anything Quinn has felt in his limited experience, which he wears like a scarlet letter. The little huffs that make him feel like a dog panting in mid-July remind him that while he's gotten a blowjob or two before, they were nothing like this one. They weren't from you. It might be unfair to lump those instances in with the magic of your mouth.

You can’t compete where you don’t compare.

So, Quinn showers you in soft, airy whispers. Even when you pull back until only the ridge preceding the tip rests past your spit-stained lips, he goes on and on about how good your mouth feels and how much he adores you. 

And, if he were slightly more coherent, maybe he would’ve caught the obvious squeeze of your thighs at his flushed cheeks and the reciprocal effect your lazy teasing.

His hips go rogue when you try to swallow him a little deeper, jerking forward and sending the firm tip to the back of your throat. Naturally, you lose your grip and gag around him, your eyes watering more and more with each subsequent unintended impact.

Quinn is bashfully apologetic, but you’re quick to remove him from your mouth.

“Shouldn’t you already know I like to choke on it?” your raspy voice goads.

You shoot him a wink before hollowing your cheeks to accommodate his wide girth, your tongue flattened and pressed tautly to the underside.

The shallow movement triggers images he shouldn’t have, bright and flashing through his head: of you, on your knees like this for that jerk-off ex-boyfriend of yours—of you, from a distance and fuzzy, forever immortalized in a single film unit pinned to the back wall of his closet.

Quinn does know you like to choke on it. He knows you like to be choked, too.Quinn knows a lot of things about you—likes, dislikes, sleep patterns, study habits… sexual preferences.

Your bizarre reaction to his Peeping Tom antics makes him wonder what you might know about him…

He’s given no time to fall down that rabbit hole on account of your nose brushing his public bone once more. Quinn cannot fathom how his length disappeared down your throat so smoothly, and it's useless to try, given how thoroughly muddied his head’s become with your tongue gently petting the delicate skin of his sack.

With your lips stretched around the base—and your thumb tucked into your palm to subdue innate reflex—you begin massaging what you can. Until you realize quinn has absolutely zero volume control. As crazy as his loud and breathy moans make you, you’ve come too far only to get this far.

Viscous, glasslike threads hang between your withheld mouth and his anguished cock in the lower fringe of your vision. Above you, Quinn is struggling, whimpering like a lost puppy caught in a storm. 

Lips parted ever-so-slightly, his forehead rests against the frame, limp. He's white-knuckling the historic, but recently refurbished wood, trembling in your barely-there hold because he’s that aroused. Mindlessly teetering on the border of “too much” and “not enough," all the while mumbling unintelligibly between choppy breaths.

You could get drunk on those pretty sounds; you’re sure of it. 

Maybe next time, you will.

“I know I said everyone was out, but I don’t think you want Ms. Patty busting through the door before you have a chance to.”

The thought of your sixty-year-old, strict-as-fuck house mother catching him with his pants around his ankles is just horrific enough to coax him a bit closer to the ground.

Quinn bites his lip in a show of good faith.

“Good boy,” you hum your approval while stroking him. “Now, tell me what you want. Tell me what you need to cum in my mouth, Quinn.”

“I need—f-fuck!” he grumbles, at war with himself. Ultimately, primal need overpowers the fickle social invention that is a shame: “I need you to play with… with my b-balls again—please.”

Delaying his wish, you wrap your mouth around him one last time. You need to elicit that one-of-one sudden, uneven intake of air—the giveaway gasp, the tremor of truth. Insatiable, you fill your throat to the brink. The distinct, thick scent of the day’s natural musk swirling with the sheen of hard work on the ice keeps you there until your vision blurs and drool pools under your tongue.

Motivated by a sticky, overdue reward and a whine bursting from deep in Quinn’s throat—the sweet sound of total surrender—you succumb to your own desire to make him feel the best he’s ever felt.

You lick at them gingerly at first, and with a doughy, flattened tongue. You meant to test the waters, to take things slow and drag out his orgasm, but a string of colorful language tumbles from his pretty, pink mouth to derail your plans.

With the dam crumbling, you have to suck one into your hot, wet mouth.

His reaction does not disappoint.

Your spit-soaked hands rise to his recently abandoned length as you devote equal attention to the pair with your mouth. Quinn swells and heavies on your tongue and everything is throbbing.

Including the tight heat between your knees, pulsing around the mere thought of him fucking you there instead.

“S’close, ‘m gonna c-cum soon—Shit!”

Amidst the drawn-out expletive, you detach in order to aim his release on his behalf (though very reluctantly), knowing full-well Quinn is far too gone to be capable of anything.

His eyelids flutter seconds before snapping open, intent to watch you watch him fall apart.

Oh, and fall apart he does…

Crude and ear-piercing, and over faster than either of you would’ve preferred, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little flattered by it. You enjoy how easy he is—how pliable.

His hips jerk too easily and his hands wander aimlessly, and you can’t bring yourself to chastise him, entirely consumed by the show unfolding at your hand. It's like he can’t help himself; can’t help but twitch and drip, can’t help but whimper and beg for anything and everything.

He won’t even let you pull away to catch your breath without whining. At one point, whether by accident or designed to keep you from retreating, Quinn’s knees squeezed together, effectively caging you in from both sides.

A messy concoction of cum, spit, and tears paints the lower half of your face. Quinn’s chest heaves as he watches it collect and drip down your neck and into the valley of your chest, soiling your delicate pajamas beyond repair.

Unfazed, you leave the emotionality to him while you lick your fingers clean. Once you’ve finished, you mop up the dissenter spray on your cheeks, chin, and décolletage, and greedily swallow it down, too. It's when you delve between your tits to scoop out the remainder of his spill that Quinn just about keels over.

He falls back against the window, and you shift back into your heels.

He rights his pants, and you wipe your mouth with the corner of your bathrobe. 

For a while, you observe one another, having not been this close—or alone—together before.

That’s not to say you didn’t notice him, though.

You actually struggled not to, and it drove your now-ex insane. His enmity toward Quinn came to a head this afternoon. Unable to deny your raging, juvenile crush, you finally pulled the trigger on something that was a long time coming—and for reasons beyond that not-so-unfounded jealousy.

“C-Can I have a head-start before you call the c-cops?” Quinn asks.

He’s so timid, you can’t help but laugh. He blinks down, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he rifles through yours, searching for malicious intent or knotted strings—fury behind an unspoken threat.

You let him look; this is a conclusion he needs to reach without you holding his hand.

When the investigation runs its course having turned up nothing dubious, he slides down to the floor beside you. He’s reverted to avoiding eye contact, unfortunately. Quinn watches the tremor in his fingers instead.

“I am sorry, y'know, about… Well, uh, you know.”

You find the way he dances around committing a felony (repeatedly) weirdly endearing.

While you very well could put him out of his palpable misery—you can actually smell it on him—there's no fun to be found in that. As such, you force Quinn to wrestle with his words a bit longer.

Eventually, you offer him a shrug that isn’t the least bit pacifying.

“You’re going to make it up to me, don’t worry.”

His eyes snap to yours just as you knew they would. His throat quivers in the wake of a sharp gulp.

The nervous tick cracks your nonchalant demeanor. You roll your eyes. “If you’re going to keep watching, you might as well make yourself useful.”

Quinn’s eyes narrow, perplexed. You grin in anticipation.

“My vibrator’s dead, and I can’t find the right charger. Time to get your ass off the bench, Hughes.”

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[micsextras]

Quinn Finite

[krakenbait]

bragging rights bracket update #3

greetings, bracketeers!

i think the hockey gods are looking down at avs fans and laughing. not only did the colorado avalanche get eliminated by their divisional rivals, they lost their seventh straight game 7 AND their spurned ex scored a hat trick! sure, a dallas team traded away luka doncic, but a different team acquired mikko rantanen- and in the latter trade, the avs are the one with egg on their face.

in other news, i'm now taking suggestions on who to bandwagon for the rest of the playoffs. i'm leaning towards the caps, but i will hear other arguments.

commentary under the cut. be prepared to see the collapsing swing busted bracket gif a lot today! also one more reminder: please let me know which bracket is yours if you have not already!

76 points

djoker's bracket - the only perfect bracket still standing. let's see if the jets ruin your streak.

75 points

ki's confusion - okay, so how are the nuggets doing?

66 points

here we go again :| ( @morganfrost) - i think the oilers are the only orange team still in? so enjoy some le poisson steve

63 points

@andreisvechnikov's bracket - how about that miami gp?

60 points

witchmarner ( @connordewar) - congrats to mitch marner and his wife on having a kid. i saw some post about “new dad strength” which always sounds weird.

59 points

Do it for Stromer ( @stromesquad) - i can get behind the dylan strome revenge tour.

56 points

the mcstrome agenda - it's like last year's vancouver-quinn hughes bracket doppelganger situation all over again!

53 points

jt's kombucha tap ( @assistantcaptainmitchmarner) - your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries.

Baracket ( @donnorcewar) - now leave or i shall taunt you a second time!

50 points

@builthebobder's bracket

you can pretty much only go down from here

49 points

MLE's bracket - i also can't believe we lost to those green motherfuckers.

define insanity ( @tavaresfucker) - there’s that one kid who stands up, “cat. K-A-T, I’m outta here.”

46 points

nat 2 serious ( @natashastarkk) - i fully didn't notice that you picked the kings to the cup final. that is incredibly unfortunate.

43 points

abeja's bracket

press F to pay respects.

NewJerseyNates ( @puck--off) - what’s your opinion on frilly toothpicks?

33 points

Carpe_history's bracket - sluttering (v.): pontification under duress (happy jawbreaker day)

so that's a nope ( @shea-theodore) - as odious as your champion pick is, your outlook is more promising than most of your neighbors.

Infinite Jets - watch the very-finite jets get taken out by the blues tonight…

ottawa state of mind ( @arsonandhockey) - for reference, you finished with 118 points last year.

30 points

i want this yes. - oh buddy, this just keeps getting worse by the day.

23 points

deepest desire - you still have promise.

Blasphemy! Heresy! ( @circle--of--confusion) - at least you've unglued yourself from the bottom

one lost bruins fan ( @patron-saint-of-boston-hockey) - may the fourth be with you.

20 points

brackeT, t stylez ( @imperatorrrrr)

don't look at your max points (it's 58) 😬

several "hey"s later (me)

well this is just embarassing.

[sofya-fanfics]

Tu seras toujours une partie de moi

Fandom : Bridgerton

Relationship : Anthony x Kate

Voici ma participation pour le Be My Valentine challenge 2025 pour le prompt : « Tu seras toujours une partie de moi et je suis une partie de toi indéfiniment. »

J’espère que ça vous plaira.

Résumé : Un rayon de lune passa à travers le rideau entrouvert de la chambre. Anthony regardait Kate qui était profondément endormie.

Disclaimer : La Chronique des Bridgerton appartient à Julia Quinn.

@bemyvalentinechallenge

AO3 / FF.NET

Un rayon de lune passa à travers le rideau entrouvert de la chambre. Anthony regardait Kate qui était profondément endormie. Cela devait faire près d’une heure qu’il s’était réveillé et il savait que Kate serait mal à l’aise si elle se doutait qu’il l’observait pendant qu’elle dormait. Mais il ne pouvait s’empêcher de sourire. Il était si heureux qu’il n’arrivait plus à trouver le sommeil.

Aujourd’hui cela fera un an que lui et Kate s’étaient mariés. Cette année auprès d’elle avait été merveilleuse et il n’aurait jamais cru être un jour aussi heureux. Tout cela, il le devait à sa femme. Depuis le moment où il l’avait rencontré, sa vie avait changé. Même si le début de leur relation avait été plus que compliquée et qu’il avait tout fait pour combattre les sentiments qu’il éprouvait, il ne changerait cela pour rien au monde. Tous ces moments passés avec elle, bons ou mauvais, l’avaient conduit à cet instant.

Kate lui avait appris à ouvrir son cœur et à aimer. Dire qu’il y a encore peu de temps, il s’interdisait d’aimer. Il était persuadé qu’il allait mourir jeune, comme son père. Il était tétanisé et cette peur l’empêchait d’avancer. Mais maintenant, il savait qu’il se trompait et il refusait de vivre une vie sans l’amour de Kate.

Kate se mit bouger et Anthony rit légèrement lorsqu’elle fronça le nez. Même lorsqu’elle dormait profondément et qu’il lui arrivait de ronfler, bien qu’elle le traitait de menteur car elle ne ronflait jamais, il la trouvait magnifique. Il mit ses bras autour de sa taille et elle se blottit contre lui.

« Tu seras toujours une partie de moi et je suis une partie de toi indéfiniment, murmura-t-il à son oreille. »

Kate sourit comme si elle l’avait entendu. Anthony ferma les yeux et finit par s’endormir en se disant à quel point il était heureux d’aimer Kate et d’être aimé par elle.

Fin

[corinneecrivaine]

Arcane - Silco/Jinx - Joker/Harley Quinn

Je n’ai pas encore fini la série Arcane mais ce sont mes premières impressions à chaud après avoir visionné les épisodes 1 à 5 de la saison 1.

La relation entre Jinx et Silco présente des similarités avec celle entre le Joker et Harley Quinn.

La scène où Silco plonge Jinx dans une rivière, lui demandant de laisser Powder derrière elle, évoque fortement le moment où le Joker pousse Harleen Quinzel à se jeter dans une cuve chimique, marquant sa transformation irréversible en Harley Quinn. Ces actes symbolisent une forme de renaissance, où l’ancien soi est abandonné au profit d’une nouvelle identité façonnée par le manipulateur.

Cet acte marque la naissance de Jinx, une version instable et incontrôlable de Powder, façonnée par ses traumatismes.

Silco, comme le Joker, est un manipulateur hors pair. Il exploite la douleur et le besoin d'amour de Jinx pour la garder sous son contrôle. Il lui offre une forme d’acceptation qu’elle ne trouve plus auprès de sa sœur Vi, mais cette acceptation est conditionnée par son obéissance.

Là où Harley voit le Joker comme un amant et un partenaire de chaos, Jinx perçoit Silco comme une figure paternelle. Elle cherche désespérément son approbation et sa validation, tout comme elle les cherchait auprès de Vi.

Sous l’influence de Silco, Jinx renonce à Powder, tout comme Harley renonce à Harleen Quinzel pour devenir Harley Quinn. Jinx, tout comme Harley, finit par perdre son propre sens de l’identité dans cette relation. Elle s’accroche à Silco pour compenser ses blessures, mais cette dépendance ne fait qu’alimenter son instabilité et son incapacité à gérer ses émotions autrement que par la violence.

Contrairement au Joker, Silco exprime un attachement plus sincère à Jinx. Il la considère comme sa fille.

Silco, tout comme le Joker, est un personnage manipulateur, charismatique et sans scrupules, qui perçoit le potentiel destructeur d’une âme brisée et s’en sert à son avantage. Là où le Joker voit en Harley Quinn une alliée capable de perpétuer son chaos, Silco considère Jinx comme une arme idéale pour ses propres ambitions. Ces deux hommes utilisent leur influence pour remodeler ceux qu’ils dominent.

Ces deux relations illustrent la manière dont les traumatismes et les manipulations peuvent détruire des individus, tout en montrant les conséquences dévastatrices de ces liens sur leurs entourages.

Silco tout comme le Joker sont des antagonistes fascinants et impressionnants. L'analyse pourrait être poussée encore plus loin en les comparant l'un, l'autre. La naissance de Silco et celle du Joker, voire leurs traits de caractères et physiques, en particulier leur visage.

#shaniaangedejustice #corinneecrivaine #autrice #biography

[prpfz]

(I've updated my ad so please use this one) Hi guys! ☠️🌸

32 F rper from GMT  seeking discord 1x1 writers 25+ to rp with! 

Open to most genres, and dynamics.  Really looking for someone who I can create a plot/world with. Something we both want to do rather than just a generic boring plot that one of us will get tired with. Communication is key—let’s create something we both love. Tropes I adore include: rivals/enemies to lovers, opposites attract, found family, and mutual pining.

I am currently only playing F/submissive characters due to a mix of burnout and some other issues.  I will rp against m/f/nb & t characters. I  prefer RPing in servers to make use of Tupperbox and keep our OOC chats organised. I have included a list of FC I’m interested in but… I’m open to so many others, please don't feel like this list is finite. OC:  Plot wise I'm so open to discuss - I’d just love to RP against a Joseph Quinn, Jeremy Allen White, Aubrey Plaza, Seb Stan, Caterina Scorsone or Stephanie Beatriz. Cannon: Stranger things verse. I prefer aging characters up to 21+. I play as Nancy exclusively, however I love to pair her up with a variety of characters. (Would love an Eddie/Billy/Chrissy/Hopper) but would really go for anyone, I just love exploring the characters. (If you want to age up any of the younger characters - I’d only go for an aged up Max or Dustin)

Gen V - Would love to RP against a Jordan Li / character based on Jordan Li - Supe/Human verse kinda thing. 

give a like and anon will get back to you

[interestinglinksforyou]

Quinn Finite:

Quinn Finite is an American adult video actress, TikTok star and content creator. She became famous after an official Twitter account for the US Army’s Fort Bragg commented on one of her posts.

[famousever]

Link: Quinn Finite Elevator Video Goes Viral on Social Media Twitter and Reddit

A video is trending on the internet, and people are discussing the news about it. Yes, this viral video is called “Quinn Finite Elevator”. Yes, this is the video that is trending right now. After hearing about this video, people started asking a lot of questions. The video has raised a lot of questions in people’s minds. The video has been uploaded on the internet and it has gained a lot of…

[marleequinnrp]

Meet Marlee

✦ BRITTANY O’GRADY, CIS FEMALE, SHE/HER ✦ MARLEE QUINN  the TWENTY-SEVEN year old has been in Hidehill for NINE YEARS and was a FRIEND to Lucas Johnson, the missing persons. Whispers on the streets are that the 911 OPERATOR who lives in HIDE SQUARE are said to be ADAPTABLE and NOSY but I guess we’ll find out for ourselves. { MANDY, 36, PST, SHE/HER. }

full name: marlee grace quinn gender and pronouns: cisfemale she/her age and dob: 27 , June 2 1996 residence: hide square time living in hidehill: 9 years occupation: 911 dispatcher faceclaim: Brittany O'Grady positive attributes: adaptable, outgoing, observant negative attributes: nosy, untrusting, indecisive

BACKGROUND

Marlee had what she would describe as a fairly average childhood. Little hurts, the kind anyone and everyone experienced as they aged, graced her life in small waves; getting teased on the playground, that first friendship breakup, the first time a crush didn't like her back. Aside from those staples of youth, however, her existence blossomed in a bed of constant support from her parents. Her favorite book series as a child was called Nate the Great, featuring a child detective solving sometimes silly but always intriguing mysteries in his neighborhood. It became clear that Marlee loved a good mystery more than almost anything else in the world, gravitating towards all the Nancy Drew, Hardy Boys, Scooby Doo content she could get her hands on as a child. Her parents allowed the obsessive curiosity, if only because they thought it might feed into an interest in law or policing. They were fairly disappointed when it became clear that Marlee was a shipwreck when it came to deciding what she wanted to do with her life. There was too much to see, to explore, to ask questions about...how did one just toss their whole self into a finite commitment to one career path for the rest of their life?

When Marlee was 17 her curiosity took her into the attic of their Pennsylvania home. She'd been looking for some of her maternal grandmother's old clothes for a vintage party some friends were throwing. After two hours of rooting through dust covered boxes, she didn't find what she was looking for, but her life was forever changed by what she did find. A box full of newspaper clippings, documentations, a pocket watch and a pair of glasses, pictures of a man who looked to be in his late 20's, early 30's. A mystery...in her own home...in her families belongings. Marlee was immediately consumed, grabbing a photo and bringing it downstairs to show her mother...her mother who became tight lipped and somber. "That's your father's Dad...grandpa George." The family did not speak of her paternal grandparents. She'd inquired once as a child and all she'd been told was that Grandpa George had passed away when her father was only a year old. The box she'd discovered filled in more details to the vague story. This man she'd never met because the most fascinating person in the world...a man who'd gone to a small town in Tennessee for a business trip looking to potentially expand his business...and who had never returned. First missing, then a body found, one of many. Her family...of all families...restlessly tied to a horrific serial homicide.

Her parents didn't understand her intrigue. In fact they were increasingly uncomfortable every time Marlee brought it up. Even more so when she said she wanted to put college on hold and do some traveling...first stop a small town in Nashville. At 18 years old, made of nothing but youthful curiosity and impulses not yet able to be filtered through a fully formed frontal cortex, Marlee found herself in Hidehill. It was fascinating, the town seeming to be making toddling unsteady steps towards reclaiming a normal rhythm, but the scars of its past were there to see if you were looking for them. Marlee had only meant to stay for maybe a month; curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back. Instead she found herself falling in love with area, the rural farms mixed with a hint of city grit, the story of a city experiencing tragedy and trudging on. Marlee's parents tried to talk her out of it for a good six months, but lost the battle as she signed a lease for a cute little studio apartment in Hide Square, got herself a job as a 911 dispatcher. That was the career meant for her; so many mysteries, so many flashing moments of intrigue she got to partake in with faceless voices on the other line. For the first time in her life she felt content to be still, to settle just a little, ready to poke her nose about any little mysteries that might come her way.

[whatlieswithintheorchard]

☁️🌤️Above☁️☁️

☁️☁️💜by Quinn Jones💜☁️☁️

A cloud

Over my head

Shapeless, small

Off white

Tinge of gray

Navigating a finite eternity of soft blues

A stroke on a canvas that’s never finished

Were you waiting for someone?

Your siblings?

You are so different from them

Some loom to become the earth’s comforter

A quilt gently made with patience

Bringing shade from the sun

Others streak across, creating patterns

An imagined order

Sometimes we see your eldritch cousins

Dark, tremulous, gargantuan, unknowing

Meeting us as wind and rain

Finally, there is fog

An embrace from a sky no longer happy being

Above

Yearning to be felt

To be known

Your task is done

I’ll never see you again

[ylvalev]

tag roundup:

#everyone please remember that in Calamity Vespin Chloras described them as ‘largely benevolent’ when they walked the earth#it’s only once the divine gate went up that they BY NECESSITY had to become more selective about the power and boons they doled out#they want to help. they’re just not able to anymore#critical role#exu divergence#kord the stormlord (via @quinn-of-aebradore)

#quinn's very good point of#the devine gate forced them to be more selective because it took more effort to reach across#so gate has pro of Gods can't do anything to the world willy nilly#con: GODS CAN'T JUST DO ANYTHING (via @delphi-star)

#everyone please remember that in Calamity Vespin Chloras described them as ‘largely benevolent’ when they walked the earth#it’s only once the divine gate went up that they BY NECESSITY had to become more selective about the power and boons they doled out#they want to help. they’re just not able to anymore#<- prev exactly this#but also: you cannot sit around and hope a finite being is going to interfere in everything in your life#and consider if the primes can help then the betrayers can harm#it's!!!! a balance!!!! that is the point!!!!!!!!#so unless you personally wanna be job out here with the gods' attention directly on you at all times#times millions and millions for each individual person#basically it breaks down and I'm sorry your life sucks but unfettered divine intervention is dystopian actually#exu divergence (via @orym-blossoms)

#and Melora sending her little divine mice and roots and fleas to mark the prisoners#to give them a chance to escape the destruction#critical role#exu divergence#I continue to be wildly smitten with Exandria's pantheon#and the work Matt has put in to create deities that feel rich and complex with histories and motivations#so they escape the usual fantasy pitfall of being purely capricious sterile Gods (via @kandabiscuits)

In light of ep1 of EXU: Divergence, RIP to all those people that are like “the Exandrian gods play favorites and only give power to people who worship the ground they walk on, they don’t REALLY care about mortals unless they’re getting something out of it” while the Stormlord’s out here crafting a whole Vestige of Divergence for the sad wet dragon boy he met on the side of the road who didn’t even know he was a god, let alone ever worshipped him, as a reward for being just a solid dude.