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Everyone is fighting a tough battle so reblog to give previous a sword 🗡️

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I'm curious. Reblog this if you know how to cook

I don’t even care if it’s macaroni, ramen or those little bowls you stick in the microwave. Please, I need reassurance that most of the population on tumblr WOULDN’T STARVE TO DEATH if their parents couldn’t fix them food or they couldn’t go out to eat. 

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november 🍂 enjoy the colors before they're gone

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dark urge love moment (batstarion is safe)

Marrow just really loves him. Maybe sometimes it's too much...

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The Main six Baldur's Gate Companions

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ᦚ( ◍•ᴗ•◍)

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to think Harry and Ginny are parents of today's generation

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Poetry by Nikita Gill

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A life together.

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Too Drunk to Fuck

summary: he'd never been the type of man to wait. if he had an itch, it needed to be scratched. jax doubted anyone would even notice if he pounded your cunt until you were screaming and creaming on his cock.

warnings: thigh riding. pet names; (princess, baby). brief name calling; (slut). public setting. female orgasm. it's not a samcro party without alcohol and getting high. also if there isn't someone getting fucked on a pool table.

words: 1k

notes: welcome to week one of kinktober! i'm not the best at sticking the day-to-day tasks so i'm following along with lazy ghoul's weekly promptsif you want to see more thigh riding with jax, or something else entirely, send me an ask!

"C'mere."

This was the only warning you had before Jax's strong fingers curled around your wrist and tugged you away from the crow eater you were in the middle of a conversation with. You gave him no resistance, as you've always enjoyed the way he manhandled you and how bossy he got when he was in a mood. You allowed him to tow you along behind him, giggling and stumbling in your high heels, before he turned to face you, his mouth immediately crashing against yours.

Jax kissed exactly how he fucked: roughly, with teeth and tongue, and hot breaths.

You moaned into his mouth as he perched atop a stool at the unoccupied end of the bar, his hands on your hips pulling you forward until you were straddling him. He had half a mind to fuck you right then and there—to shove his jeans down to his knees, hike up your pretty dress, and sink deep into your cunt with one sure stroke.

He'd never been the type of man to wait. If he had an itch, it needed to be scratched. Jax doubted anyone would even notice if he pounded your cunt until you were screaming and creaming on his cock. If they did, he doubted anyone would actually care. Most of them were plastered or higher than a kite, or both; Bobby Elvis was on the pool table going down with some pretty blue-eyed thing, while Tig was leaning back in one of the armchairs, a hand in the hair of some blonde-haired woman, who was sucking his cock like she simultaneously loved and hated it.

Not a single one of them would care, but even though the two of you had only been mutually exclusive for a few months, Jax knew you; he knew that you weren't into public sex. The club life was still new; it was as exciting as it was frightening, and you weren't ready to be vulnerable in front of all these people.

"Jax," your voice was impossibly soft as he tugged on your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat to his wondering mouth. If the rough drag of his lips against your skin hadn't distracted you from your utter desperation, you would have flushed with embarrassment. He followed a droplet of sweat down the column of your throat before finding the pulse point beating wildly at the junction of your shoulder.

His fingers tightened around your hips, the tips of them kneading the doughy flesh until it felt like you were bruised. Your own hips moved in response, grinding against him with anticipation and impatience. Jax had a room out the back; you knew that. You'd spent the night once or twice. With your arms wrapped tightly around his broad shoulders, you bucked against him, your clothed cunt catching on the crotch of his jeans, the zipper sending a zing of pleasure through your core.

You chased that feeling desperately, despite the soft groans coming from the leather-bound man. His hand curling around your throat brought you back into the moment, your eyes snapping over to stare into his own pretty blue ones. You noticed they were dark with desire, his pupils blowing wide while you continued to move against him, chasing friction of any kind, whining softly at him. "Jesus," he muttered before kissing you again, his tongue in your mouth, swallowing your moans. "Gimme a second to get my shit together."

Both of you were drunk and not yet sober enough for a romp between the sheets, but you still needed each other. His hands slid to your waist, shifting you so that you were straddling one leg instead of his waist. "Like this," he said softly, his hands returning to your hips to pull you back and forth across his thigh. "Just until I can take care of you, babe."

Your breath hitched as the rough fabric of his jeans rubbed against your clothed cunt. Your panties were already soaked, but he didn't mind. Jax liked that he could excite you with a few quick kisses and dirty words; he liked the wet spots you'd leave on his jeans. You buried your face against his neck to muffle the sounds of the whimpers and moans he was pulling from you. Your hands burrowed into the thicket of tresses at the back of his neck, drawing him in deeper, and you were lost in him—the smell of his sweat-slicked skin, the taste of tobacco on his tongue, the feel of his finger bruising into your skin—utterly and hopelessly lost.

He gave you a few minutes to enjoy yourself. The feeling of him manhandling your body was exquisite; it never ceased to amaze you that something so simple, such as thigh riding, could send you sky-rocketing so suddenly. Jax pressed a kiss against the side of your head as you continued to roll your hips back and forth along his thigh. "Open your eyes, princess. I want to watch when you're cumming for me."

You whined in response. You wanted to carve your way beneath his skin and never leave the shelter of his body, but one of his hands snaked beneath your dress. He toyed with the band of your panties, his blunt nails plucking at the stitching before he pulled on them roughly, making the opposite side dig into your doughy flesh. With a chuckle, he let it snap back into place, causing your body jolt in his arms.

"There she is," he cooed mockingly when you finally raised your head. Your eyes were blurred and glossy as you rutted against him, your pace sloppy and frantic. His hands were everywhere and nowhere, all at once. "Y'look so pretty like this baby, like a desperate slut." His words were accentuated when he lifted his knee, changing the angle at which you rubbed against him.

Your teeth gnashed wildly at your lower lip to stifle the sound that ripped up from your chest. Jax slid his hand into your panties and grabbed a fistful of your ass, the tips of his fingers going a little bit south to find the wetness between your thighs, so that he could make your ride at a gruelling pace. A searing heat was starting to simmer in the pit of your stomach, making your blood boil until you were sweating and burning from the inside out.

Your mouth found his when you couldn't keep quiet. He felt the vibrations and your moans, and he swallowed each of the pretty noises you made. "Jax, s'close. Please, please, baby." You babbled against his lips, your fingers tightening around his hair and pulling roughly, making him growl. He bounced his knee once, the rough fabric catching against your clit through the barrier of clothing. Your cunt clenched around nothing, and you suddenly felt so horribly empty.

Jax kissed you hard; his tongue bullied its way past your lips while the tension in your stomach became too much and snapped. It was immediate and intense, leaving you shaking in his arms. A fire-storm trail-blazed through your body, igniting the blood in your veins. Static settled behind your ears, blocking out the world as you rode each shock-wave of euphoria as though it were your last. Your orgasm was intense and loud, leaving you moaning against his mouth, his name a symphony falling repeatedly from your lips as he kept your hips moving, drawing out the moment for as long as possible.

At long last, the tension escaped from your body, and you sagged against him, your vision finally clearing as he kissed you softly and lazily, waiting for you to come down from the clouds. When you realise what just happened, where it just happened, you hide your face against his neck again, although this time your tongue swiped wetly against his skin. Jax hummed when you nibbled at a particularly sensitive spot just below his ear. He pressed his mouth against your hair to hide the smirk that found his lips. The smell of your shampoo invaded his lungs as you shifted against him, the cold air hitting the wet patch your orgasm had left on his jeans.

"Ready for me to take care of you properly, princess?"

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“Dear Diary, I couldn’t have been more wrong. I thought that I could smile and nod my way through it. Pretend like it would all be okay. I had a plan, I wanted to change who I was, create a life with someone new, without the past, without the pain, someone alive. But it’s not that easy. The bad things stay with you, they follow you. You can’t escape them - as much as you want to. All you can do is be ready for the good, so when it comes, you invite it in. Because you need it. I need it."

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ELENA GILBERT (June 22nd, 1992)

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SUPERNATURAL -> 2x2 ❝ everybody loves a clown ❞

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i know i can't argue with reality here but it's devastatingly unromantic that blood transfusions only work if you have compatible blood types

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when you die, all the processes in your body slow down and come to a halt before starting to decay. which means if you were to revive someone from the dead, necromancer-style, you'd potentially have to kickstart their entire system back up from a state of inertia. which means it almost certainly would not be pretty. i'm talking coughing up clots of blood, nauseatingly intense migraines and muscle cramps, and all the sensory overload that would come with firing up the body's engines from frozen cold to fully functioning all guns blazing in the matter of seconds it takes to cast a resurrection spell.

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i think the hottest look you can give someone after they commit acts of unspeakable violence is approval. like don't get me wrong if there's lust there too that's great, but staring at someone with gore dripping down their chin and coating their hands to the wrists with undisguised appraisal and admiration. maybe giving them a little nod as if to say 'well done'. THAT'S what says "yeah we're gonna fuck nasty later".