Can You Please Reblog If Your Blog Is A Safe Place For Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Asexual,

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It is weird, indeed, that I miss having my hands cold, fingers purple and shaky breath because of the shattering cold in the middle of december. I miss it 'cause I knew you'd come with yours, to collapse with mine, and warm them under murmured words of love.

Maybe even weirder that I loved your hands cupping my prune cheeks perfectly, as crystal flakes of snow wet my hair. And just how you looked at me,even though I looked horrible in the night...somehow, your blue eyes saw me so magestic, trough a lens.

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"Even in the night, see? Even here you are beautiful. You're my girl. My beautiful girl."

_

That's how you sang to me. In cold nights of December, after school and after theatre hours on Fridays. I've signed my name across your heart once, and signed it deep. So it remains there, no matter how much you try to change the heart that I wrote it on.

If it is like this, if this is the truth...Then why did you leave? With your heart still bleeding from the blade that I signed myself in..?! You still longed for me when your ego decided for you; that's why you bled.

Now who will kill my grief in the snow, just how Mother Nature soothes the pain of a dead dove by sinking it deep into soil?

Will you let me falter again and again and in the freezing cold, staring from a close distance...yet not moving an inch?

Now I love Winter...because of you. For as long as we were one, together, I loved it. Because it felt just like looking at you, like touching you, like speaking to you. Now's why the cold didn't hurt me, it welcomed me. Why the snow was warm to my palms, like your face was in them. Why the taste of snow was like your lips slick on mine. Why the cascades of winds surrounded me, just.like.your voice...praising me.

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"Yeah she's..she's just a girl in my class. Her name's ______ or something..."

_

A/N:Okay I know, it's just me blabbering about long lost love (silly me😭) I still cannot let go off sometimes.

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I’m so glad that DC and Marvel both have “gay sex probably happened” comic book covers.

HUGH JACKMAN X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014)

Anyone who reblogs this post will have their user written on a poster saying "We Stand With Palestine" that I hope to put up somewhere in the village I live in, or the town that the village is next to.

midas ghost!!

AAAAAAA A MASTERPIECEE😭💗

miss all sunday 🌸 nico robin

thinking about stripper reader with old man logan.

he came in every week or so — disheveled outfit and hair. he was older, sure — but not in the way most men his age looked. no — the years didn’t wear on him, but whatever he did that day did. his wrinkles weren’t deep, but the bags under his eyes were. his smile lines weren’t permanent, but the distant look in his eyes was. his bones didn’t crack because they were old, but because they were under too much stress. you couldn’t help it — you wanted to take that pain away.

no one wanted to approach him because he seemed to keep to himself — worried he was a creep or something. he was quiet, too — only speaking when he ordered a drink or another after that. he replied in nods or shakes of the head, and his eyes were always on the stage. despite the fact that he tipped well — no one bit.

you were feeling brave that day when you approached him. you kept it simple — black lace teddy, black lace thong, and black heels. hair bouncy with light makeup, hoping to keep the star of the show your eyes and smile. you knew he could see you out of the corner of his eye, and it threatened your confidence — but he had peaked your interest for too long for you to toss and stumble now.

“hey, handsome,” you spoke, keeping your tone light. “need another?”

he didn’t cock his head towards you, keeping his gaze in front. he swirled the small sip of whisky left in his glass, appearing to contemplate your question. after a moment, he responded, “dancers don’t take drink orders, darlin’.”

“no,” you spoke, laughing slightly. you bent at the hips, hoping to be lower than his eye line. “but they don’t when they give private dances — interested?”

“no, thanks.”

his voice was final — and even though you were disappointed, you didn’t want to push it. you stood then, taking a step back. “okay — i’ll send a waitress over.”

after working the room — it was your turn to take one of the side stages. you had your pick of which — but you decided to keep it as far away from the man as possible. if he didn’t want to be bothered, who were you to threaten a good tip? curiosity would not be killing the cat tonight — especially not when there was more money to be made.

a few men had gathered during your set, throwing a few dollar bills here and there as you swung your hips to the music. you had switched into a falls cowboys cheerleader outfit — white shorts, blue top, and white bra. cliche and overdone, but by the look of your tips — you couldn’t care less.

you also couldn’t care less when you noticed a set of eyes on you — the man’s.

he was unashamed in the way he stared at you. he had gotten another round at some point — but wasn’t drinking any of the contents. he simply gripped it tight as he stared at your swaying hips and perfect curves. you bit your lip at the thought of him regretting turning you away, the confidence intoxicating you. before the song ended, you made sure to lock eyes with him — letting you know that this was your stage and your body he was silently and secretly drooling over. when you sent a cheeky wink his way, he shook his head — downing his glass in an instant. you smiled when he stood from his seat, immediately darting for the “vip” lounge in the back that proudly boasted a sign that read “private dances.”

when you made your way into the back room, you were told that a certain someone had specially asked for you. once you made your way back there, you found what you were looking for.

“make me feel young again, darlin’.”

you couldn’t help but smile. he didn’t say it in an insecure way, but in a way that suggested that his day had been too long and too tiring.

“tell me how you like it?”

he didn’t say anything — he just watched you. his eyes never left yours as you flung off your top, exposing your breasts. he drank his entire glass of whisky before you had planted yourself on his thighs. the flesh of your ass was like to pillows, fit for his large hands. he didn’t touch you — but by how hard he gulped, you could tell he wanted to.

“touch me, sugar,” you whispered. “i won’t tell.”

there was hesitation in his eyes, but soon his gaze darkened. restraint had fallen through the cracks, gone and forgotten. was a shame he had already paid for the dance — you would’ve fucked him for free.

now it was time to make it worth his while.

the man beneath you ground your round hips down into his pelvis, groaning at the friction. he hadn’t seen peace or pleasure since never, but it held his facial feature hostage as his nostrils picked up on the scent of your arousal. warm, tangy juices that leaked through the lace in your panties onto the denim of his jeans.

“take off your pants,” you breathed. “i’ll remind you how young you are — if you promise you’ll show me the skill that only comes with age.”

he had you bent over the table, hands behind your back held by his belt. he planted two heavy feet next to each of your ankles, keeping your legs spread and ready for him. his thrusts were hard against the back of your hips as you only had the table’s edge to support you. you felt him repeatedly hit your cervix, wincing at the aggression.

“that’s not the spot, huh, darlin’?” he spat.

you stayed silent — wanting to see how he reacted.

“i can feel it — resistance,” he grunted. “that sweet pussy needs more, doesn’t she?”

his hard, calloused hands rotated your hips so the tip of his cock repeatedly began to smack into the softest and gummiest part of your inner walls. a moan ripped through you like no other — your back arching upwards as your hips desperately tried to meet his thrusts.

“there it is — that’s it, darlin’. come on, fight back.” you could feel the rough skin of his finger tips dig up and into your pelvis, welcoming the pressure. one of his hands moved underneath you — hauling your hips upwards — pressing against your lower abdomen. he could feel the outline of his cock fucking into your womb, stuffing you full. “i can feel how deep your takin’ it, darlin’ — pussy so greedy, ain’t she? — always wantin’ more? those young boys just ain’ it? i’ll take care of her, darlin’…”

you were a whining mess beneath him — practically incoherent. he could hear, smell, feel, taste everything you were feeling. he had every part of you in his hands — completely vulnerable to his mercy and touch. and when your hips started to shake — fighting with him and against him — all he could do was force them down as you took his cock. you whined and whine and whinedwhinedwhined for more until the glam makeup began to melt off your face.

the man watched as your body shook for him — him and only him. you found his wrist, holding onto it for dear life as you tired to anchor yourself. the pleasure was too much, causing your head to spin. you could feel the man rub the skin of your ass tenderly, coaxing you into your orgasm. your womb bloomed for him, wanting to suck him dry and never let him go. his groans were animalistic, filling the room as you begged him to fill your pussy. he smacked your ass once, twice, thrice before he pulled out and painted your back with his cum.

once he pulled out, you were still on your stomach on the table as you tried to catch your breath. he bent down to meet your eyes — a youthful glow on his face — before he pressed a kiss to your lips.

“you just ruined men my own age for me.”

“get your things, doll — takin’ you away from here.”

———

depravity - L xoxo lmk what u think ;)

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How come the actors that I appreciate the most, are a clear clean mirror reflection of what I lack in life? I prob should number them, and the heart-aching need to meet them all before they either retire or...worse.

Hugh Jackman, Mads Mikkelsen, Sebastian Stan, Daniel Craig,RDJ(Robert Downey Jr.), Pedro Pascal, Oscar Isaac, Willem Dafoe(as a parental-only figure),Tom Holland, and probably more- are the perfect type of men I lack as partner, father, uncle, grandfather and family friend. These. These people make me happy just by the way they are as actors and public people. It isn't just how good looking they are, it is also the heartwarm they give out to the people, their taste from music, to fashion, to the characters they interpret.

This was just a small blabber as I find tumblr to be the safe enough place to write my thoughts out to, and maybe some resonate with this thinking that actors, possibly just male..just fit. By nature.

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“I taste her and realize I have been starving.”

— Jodi Picoult 

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