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i have midterms tomorrow and here i am 

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“ummmmm ur bra strap is showing :/ ”

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me holding a gun to a mushroom: tell me the name of god you fungal piece of shit

mushroom: can you feel your heart burning? can you feel the struggle within? the fear within me is beyond anything your soul can make. you cannot kill me in a way that matters

me cocking the gun, tears streaming down my face: I’M NOT FUCKING SCARED OF YOU

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this is her husband btw

Australia’s version of the onion has just character assassinated all you gays

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my favorite summer pastime? thanks for asking!

i used to put ketchup on my hand at marching band camp to attract the wasps and then chase the flute players around with a hand covered in wasps

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When you see it, REBLOG IT.

Depression Hotline: 1-630-482-9696

Suicide Hotline: 1-800-784-8433

LifeLine: 1-800-273-8255

Trevor Project: 1-866-488-7386

Sexuality Support: 1-800-246-7743

Eating Disorders Hotline: 1-847-831-3438

Rape and Sexual Assault: 1-800-656-4673

Grief Support: 1-650-321-5272

Runaway: 1-800-843-5200, 1-800-843-5678, 1-800-621-4000

Exhale: After Abortion Hotline/Pro-Voice: 1-866-4394253

If you ever want to talk: My Tumblr ask is always open.

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uther after taking a chill pill, circa 1200, colorized

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EVERYONE(!) I’m blazing this post because at this pace we might barely hit 1,000,000 signatures—or just fall short. PLEASE reblog this post, no matter where you are from, so we can reach as many EU citizens as possible and end this horrible practice!

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Could not rest until I made this

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@bookofmaps7

I find it funny when queer fantasy stories are written in a setting where homophobia doesn't exist, but there's a ~forbidden romance~ element coming from some completely different, fantastical prejudice. Like

"Son, I don't care if you suck dick, but no child of mine will be sharing a bed with a goddamn necromancer!"

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friends asked me to draw a bee with a binky here you guys can have it too

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COD Minecraft headcanon fhsdjhsjd

I think Soap would be a total red stone expert, bro would make absolutely anything automatic

Gaz is in charge for decoration and organizing things in chests (no need to do much, since Soap also made automatic sorting system)

I think Ghost would enjoy coming up with multiple ways to torture the villagers. Either that, or he would explore the world and collect every type of axolotl

Price would be the only one (trying) to play the game properly (he keeps mining diamond with stone pickaxe, but he's trying his best and that's what counts)

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me when i join masktok as a masked creator: 🤭🤗☺️

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saying “i want him” about the character but not in a romantic or sexual way . i just Require him i need to Obtain him

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i have a type it seems 😔

Late Night Thoughts :D

Was looking through some stuff and realized...

Captain John Price, Task Force 141, Call of Duty

JSchlatt, Streamer, ex-Manburg President from DreamSMP

...they look so similar gosh darn it.

AM I CRAZY???

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you thought you could hide this in the tags? this beautiful sentence?!

Simon Riley who has a shy bird as a girlfriend. Too timid to out-right ask for sex, doesn’t quite like initiating either despite how badly you need it.

Simon’s poor dove.

Even with an insistent ache in your core, a tangled coil that squeezes and burns without a care during ovulation you still don’t ask. If Simon wasn’t trained to read cues he might’ve missed them, but he picks up on the slightest shift in the air with you.

They were small, subtle. Sat a little closer to him on the couch, wore a little less clothing, rubbed along his back and arms more frequently, lingered your touch like there was more you wanted to do.

But more never comes.

Just a slight tension to your shoulders and a dewy-eyed look on your face every time he spoke, like you were clinging to every word.

Maybe he was a little cruel, teased you a little too much during a time when you needed anything but.

Smirked a little too pleased when he places his large palm on your hip and you push heavy into his touch. Breath faltering when he slips a thumb under your shirt, brushing against bare skin. Waited patiently at his side, silently hoping he would do more.

Maybe he wanted to see if you would ever ask, how far he could push you before you threw the stinging embarrassment to the wind.

When he pulls you into his lap, you think that must be the end of your suffering, that he’ll rip your shirt off right then and there and grind you on the bulge in his pants. He can tell by the way your lips twitch in anticipation, eager— but all he does is tuck your head on his shoulder, banding his arm tightly around your waist.

After a few minutes of nothing, Simon watching the TV mindlessly, you exhale a quiet sigh. It’s hard to hold in the light chuckle threatening to rumble his chest. It’s quiet enough that it could be passed off as a relief of tension, getting comfortable in his arms, but Simon knows you.

Knows it a noise of disappointment.

“Tired, sweeth’art?” Simon muses.

You shake your head against his shoulder, hair rustling, “Uh uh.”

“No?” He asks, “I am, prob’ly be off to bed soon.”

You think he doesn’t notice, but your shoulders slump as you hum in response, lips forming a small pout that you quickly hide. Relaxing into his chest like you accepted your fate for the night that easily, that you would just have to force yourself to sleep as if there wasn’t a fire lapping viciously at your core.

Your defeat makes him feel guilty, his pretty dove could always take from him whenever you wanted, but you still don’t seem to know that.

He trails his fingers up and down your back, tickles you softly because he knows it makes your one-tracked mind link the sensation to pleasure. Sends chills down your spine as you shiver in his lap, just the way he knows makes your panties wet with arousal.

Your fingers tighten in his shirt with each passing moment, fidgeting and shuddering on his lap, attempting to conceal the jerk in your hips against his thick thigh as a convulsion from shivering.

He can’t help the smile that tugs at his cheeks, presses a chaste kiss against your temple because his bird is so sweet, so endearing. Trying your best to control your urges, hide your obvious desire because he said he was tired.

You cover the quiet whine you make from the slight brush of his lips by clearing your throat, but Simon isn’t that stupid.

Two palms find your hips, brushing up over your sides as his focus returns to the TV behind you. His hands stop right below your breasts, thumbs rested just right under the swell with each upward stroke.

You exhale shaky breaths with each pass over the expanse of your skin, his neck moist and hot from how hard you’re panting against him. Fingers taut against his broad shoulders.

“Had a proper long day,” He mutters, makes sure to press real close to your ear so the low timber of his voice can snake over your skin, bury its fangs into your delicate flesh.

“Yeah?” You manage, but it’s strained like you were barely able to scrape it from the back of your throat.

“New recruits can’t do their bloody jobs right,” Simon continues, focus still on the TV as he slides his hands just a little higher, resting at the curve of your breasts, “Price was real grumpy today, had a right go at poor Johnny.”

Simon can see the way you struggle to listen to his words from the side of his eyes, the way your irises flash with guilt because your caring boyfriend is trying to tell you about his stressful day, but your fuzzy mind is focusing on anything but.

It’s cute.

So, he graces you with more, finally rubs both of his thumbs on your inverted nipples. The noise you make is pitiful, muffled against the fabric of his shirt as you hide in embarrassment. He continues softly, slowly, takes his time to make the inverted skin puffy and swollen. It takes a bit of coaxing, but he pinches until the pretty bead reveals itself.

That’s when he really tugs at them, rolling the sensitive flesh between his thumbs and pointer fingers. That’s when you really moan, when you really rut your hips against his with purpose.

But you don’t ask, and how would Simon know you want more if you don’t tell him?

So, he returns his hands stationary to your hips. You lift your head slightly, tilting to look up at him, confused why he stopped when he was finally giving you what you wanted this whole day.

He just keeps his gaze straight, like he doesn’t feel you staring at him with beady eyes and furrowed brows. You turn your head away at that, burying your face against the arm around his shoulder. Silently throwing a petulant tantrum in your mind like he’s just supposed to know.

Simon does know, but making you work for it is a little too enjoyable.

When he doesn’t make a move to continue, you sigh again, this time louder— a small message you pray he understands.

Simon plays dumb, “Have a long day?”

“No.” You respond exasperated, right where he wants you to be.

“Good, ‘m glad one of us is satisfied.”

It’s a bit on the nose; he knows you’re anything but satisfied right now, but it’s almost comical how you think he doesn’t know what his pretty bird needs by now.

You breathe a chuckle, but it lacks any real energy, forced and sullen. So, he eases your qualms with his roughened hands, pets down your hips, and over your thighs. Spreads his fingers wide under them, curls his grip possessive into your plump skin.

You freeze, like you’re afraid he’ll remove his claiming touch from you if you move too much, if you say anything. He nudges higher, slipping his hands under the seams of your loose shorts, and squeezes the fat of your ass harshly.

The squeaky moan you make strokes his ego, makes him feel entirely too smug to have such a sweet thing perched in his lap, pliant and desperate. And because he simply can’t help himself, he dips lower, cups your pussy in one meaty palm.

It radiates warmth, practically burns his skin, dampens his fingers through your panties with an obscene amount of arousal. He swipes over the wet fabric a few times, makes you keen and nod eagerly in his neck like you were chanting ‘yes’ to him. As if you thought he finally understood your message.

Though, he pulls away when your plush hips start grinding against his palm— you still didn’t ask for anything, pretty bird.

The whine you make is high-pitched, broken.

Confused. You don’t understand.

You pry yourself from his neck, “S-Simon.”

He looks at you directly for the first time that night, your eyes glassy, pleading, sucking in stutter breaths like you’re about to cry.

“Hhm?” He hums nonchalantly, like you’re not in his lap bursting at the seams, buttons and strings loosening your resolve.

“Please.”

It’s barely a whisper.

“What’s t’matter, baby?” He cooes, cupping your jaw.

You push deeper into his touch urgently, “Being mean to me.”

“Am I?” He smirks, tilting his head innocently.

You nod weakly in his palms, so he presses his own whisper to your ear, "Dunno what ya want, love. Haven’t used ya words today, ‘ave ya? How’m I supposed to know if you don’t open that pretty mouth, huh?”

“Simon,” You whine, like he’s being unfair, “You know already.”

“Do I?” He drawls, “Go on, tell me then.”

“Fuck me, please,” You finally beg, “Need it.”

“Attagirl,” Simon praises, “That wasn’t so hard was it?”

You don’t respond, not when his fingers slip into your sopping cunt, curling exactly how you’ve been imagining they would, when you finally have something you can clench on to.

“My pretty bird just needed me t’fuck the ache outta her, huh? All ya had to do was ask.”

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recently we were out on a hilltop taking photos of the comet and suddenly some car's headlights blind us from across the bay. literally four miles away.

who the fuck is out here with these nuclear fusion powered headlights. who puts naval searchlights on their fucking toyota tacoma.