cursor by ofsquidgyandkellin!

abbygubler:

itssexualhour:

My parents are both pastors and once I was fucking this one dude who’s dad was the pastor of the rival church and he whispered ‘talk biblical to me’ so i started reciting Psalms  23 and we ended up getting into a competition of who could recite the most bible versus before they cummed

the fuck kind of romeo and juliet is this 

(via riingingears)

fuckitandflee:

Bi women experience higher rates of rape than lesbian or straight women and lesbians still try to say its because they’re “sexually available to men”
Because that’s not victim blamey at all and of course straight women never ever interact sexually with men

(via feminism-hangout)

princess-sexybutt:

whisper sweet things in my ear while you fuck me mercilessly please (◡‿◡✿) 

(via fancynewbitch)

islette:

if you can’t beat them, dress better than them

(via fancynewbitch)

tuukka-rask:

if a girl wants to watch a sport because she thinks a player is hot then let her, it’s not like guys watch the VS fashion show because they want to buy new bras. 

(via h-oll-a)

,,

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back she was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.

It’s not that I don’t love you.  (via extrasad)

(via pierce-the-pizzas)