#blame work

[im-suchanicegirl]

Emptying the printscreen folder 1/ ?? — jan euler

[lil-lemon-snails]

Their cable management leaves something to be desired...

Transcript: Sun: "Gentle... Gentle Little Star. GENTLE." y/n: "Relax Sunny. You're like a mechanical junk drawer in here." Sun: "That's not our fault!!" y/n, muttering: "Then stop eating glitter glue."

No text under cut! :3

[eruhamster]

There have been multiple times where I've seen people are like "haha Hua Cheng made up a story about being kicked out so Xie Lian would take him in haha so silly" so I just wanted to point this out.

He was quoting himself from when he was a little boy.

He was scared to just outright say who he was, but he kept trying to jog Xie Lian's memory (though ofc being a ghost with a photographic memory, he may not have remembered that normal people don't remember things from 800 years ago). He was constantly quoting himself. He showed Xie Lian the palm of his hand with the intention that Xie Lian see his totally fucked up fate and realize who he is.

To be honest... Hua Cheng doesn't really lie to Xie Lian. He lies by omission sometimes, but he does not outright lie. And I feel like people are missing something by apparently not being aware that Hua Cheng was trying to tell Xie Lian who he was, without telling him.

That's why he started trembling and laughing when Xie Lian recalled the story of the suicidal boy that Xie Lian told 'live for me!' - The entire time, he thought Xie Lian forgot about him. Until then.

[makingsenseofwhathappened]

[hmura-hmara]

No thoughts, head full of dinluke

[zombie-dogg]

You wanna tell me I'm pretty sooooo bad you wanna objectify me sooooo baaaaaad

[hannibalised]

Simon had him and you all convinced that it was just sex and nothing more.

“No attachment.” He always said, everytime — sometimes so hurried and forgotten that it's just mumbled against your mouth before he's shoving his tongue down your throat.

Sometimes with so much urgency that it's lost between your moans, no attachment, babe, no attachment. And you believed him because it was really just sex, wasn't it ? There were no pretty dates and no fancy dinner at ritz, maybe those poorly wrapped ones he pretended he had not ordered and takeouts he brought along...but oh please, no attachments!

But maybe sometimes about those walks in the city where he would not so subtly grasp your hand, and you would catch him stealing glances at you while a teenager fiddled with his guitar, rhyming she came, my world lit with narcotic, I am addict.

No attachment but Simon's standing outside your workspace when it's raining —“I thought you might need it.” holding up the umbrella but those two words were there again when you were knee deep in the passanger seat and he was eating you out... because it was casual, right ? No attachment.

And it really didn't burn and ached until you got sick, real sick — puking your guts out and coughing until your ribs gave up, surely he wasn't the best role model of no attachment when he was panting to death as he picked your unconscious frame from the floor, you still remember the faint whisper of his ‘please don't leave me, please, please don't —’ over and over.

And if he wanted for no attachment then he should be gone. Gone and not come back because it was just sex...

Simon shouldn't be mopping the floor, and stirring your soup and touching your forehead every five minutes.

No attachment then why he's loading your grocery and taking out trash and doing your laundry, why he's wiping your tears and telling you it's going to be alright.

Why he's not leaving like he always did because there were no attachment right, but he's right here, tucking you in bed and washing your hair and reading you book.

“Is it some eccentric joke ? Why this Zaid is always growling ?—also when you get alright... we're gonna try it out, lovie.”

You blushed, but it wasn't just what he was suggesting but that word, it felt good.

“S-say it again.” You whispered, shifting your head in pillow. Simon turned back a page he was reading from, your scrunchie on his wrist.

“Zaid growled—” You screwed your face,“—oh, we'll try it—”

“last word. Your last word.”

“Oh.” He said, “Lovie...you don't like it ?”

You shaked your head, sniffing very unsexy-ly

“Call me that...I love it.” Simon pushed up the book up his face, his neck was pulsing with his many veins and you knew the blush that would be blooming on his hard face. Cute.

“Again.” You tilted your head, to get a look at his flushed out face.

“Okay Lovie...sleep now.” He grumbled, flicking your bedside lamp off and bookmarking the book with one of your scrunchie he removed from his wrist.

“Huh...Good night baby.” You said, waiting to be corrected, waiting for those two words to come and upside down it all.

But they never came, like they never even existed, never had a meaning to them at all.

No attachment, lost forever in darkness.

“G'night lovie.” He said so sweetly, and when you closed your eyes this time, you only saw daylight.

Grim Reaper! Simon

Masterlist

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

None of our hands are clean

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[borgialucrezia]

A CLOCKWORK ORANGE (1971) dir. by Stanley Kubrick

"I think roughly 10 years after it came out, I had a realization that I was part of something that was pretty extraordinary. You can either accept it, smile, go with it, or never talk about it again. And I decided, listen, I made the bloody movie. I put a lot of myself in that part and I'm extremely proud of it. I loved working with Stanley. And for the most part, we have a great time. So I think I'll take the road of, yep, I'm proud of it. I love it. That's it." — MALCOLM MCDOWELL

[gingerswagfreckles]

It's also a little bit funny that other people are calling the guy who shot a healthcare CEO with bullets that said "deny defend depose" and was carrying a manifesto about how corporate America is evil a "Nikki Haley Republican" or part of the "center right." I guess based on the fact that he went to an expensive private school was messing around in Hawaii pretending to develop a video game as work until recently? Like. This guy left a goodreads review about how the Unibomber was an "extreme political revolutionary." While also traveling around the world on the money his parents made off of real estate and owning a chain of senior rehabilitation facilities.

I think a lot of you are really uncomfortable with how common champagne socialism is and frankly I think a lot of this is projection. This guy is very obviously someone who considers themselves a leftist revolutionary, and yet everyone is kind of re-framing him as a "Nikki Haley Republican" because they're uncomfortable with acknowledging that far leftists are often very privileged and hypocritical people. I've been talking about this for a long time, but a lot of the left (at least on the internet) is quite in denial about the fact that a lot of their beliefs aren't widely shared by the working class. That often, the loudest voices in the movement are those belonging to the wealthy, who are at the end of the day cosplaying and are more interested in acting out heroic fantasies than improving life for the working class.

[analog-television]

the forecast calls for - an 100% chance of deltarune tomorrow !!!

higher res pic of the duo under cut

[damian-lil-babybat]

They're judging their sibling's life decisions, and they are not impressed.

(And to think Jason and Dami have pit-madness in their system)

[theminecraftbee]

for no reason in particular, i am once again saying that even if the work you're doing is with a content creator you love and on a project you're all passionate about and you trust everyone involved and they would never, say, ghost everyone involved for months leaving you in legal limbo in regards to the ip you've spent the past three years of your life on while everyone is clamoring for a statement or any guidance at all from you...

you should write a fucking contract.

and if someone tells you "we don't need contracts it'll be better that way", run the other direction.

you know. for no reason in particular.

[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)

[betaphannie]

phannies: ok so what is this tour about??? why should i spend $100 on this

dnp: TOUR. GAY. TV SCREEN?? WE RAISED YOU‼️‼️‼️

phannies: yeah ok sure take my money

[myirlnameiscloud]

It's autism acceptance day!! So here's an unfinished drawing of my three favorite autists to celebrate :>

(I bet you can't tell which one i like best /j)

Update: here's the finished drawing!!