Such Wankers

Kik: aallixlynxx

So grunge.

Not pro anything.

nitrogen:

(18+)

greencarnations:

spacethefinalfuck:

mehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh:

Female BAMFs Throughout History

this is fab BUT WHERE ARE THEIR NAMES?

I’m always wanting to read more about these posts immediately and I have trouble finding the sources.

(via manlypanda)

swamped:

Do u ever look at someone and you’re like how

(via bladesnbands)

4am-phonecalls:

this is so fucking sad wow.

4am-phonecalls:

this is so fucking sad wow.

(Source: youreperfecttt, via bladesnbands)

lesreichenbachfinn:

feardubh:

When people turn to fictional characters, it’s often because they want an escape. The stories of these people shelter us from the storm of our daily lives; they save us, if only for a little while. But when we really give in, become invested, let ourselves be vulnerable, something changes. We begin to feel that we know them. It’s no longer just an escape, but part of us, something that makes us who we are.

These characters teach us that incredible adversity can be overcome. That people can love each other forever. That life can be an adventure. That magic can be real. And even if these miracles have never happened to us, we begin to go through life believing that, someday, they could.

“And I promise you that you’re important. Don’t look at me like that- in all my 900 years I’ve never met someone who wasn’t important.”

“Cheer up mate, it gets better. Look at me, I was once a little kid living under the stairs. You’ll do fine.”

“Hey. I know it seems like life sucks, that you’ve got the devil on your tail. Hell, sometimes you do. But you’re strong enough to beat him. You’ve got friends at your back and family too, and that’s what really counts in the end.”

“Don’t be silly, they’re wrong about you; of course you matter. You’ve always mattered.”

WOW CONGRATS YOU JUST MADE ME CRY OVER MY OWN POST

(Source: romangodfrey, via bladesnbands)

Sex is not a goddamn performance.

Sex should feel as natural as drinking water.

It should not require confidence.

Sex should happen, because the moment is ripe.

Ripening lips, ripening labia, ripening clitoris, ripening pupils, ripening state of being. Ripe and augmented and brimming. Your energy goes to your pumping heart, then to every external nerve, then to theirs, on fire.

You bask, roll, play in it. You sigh, moan, laugh.

It’s not about being “good in bed.”

It’s about being happy.

One should never worry if they’re doing it “correctly.” Sex is not factual. I don’t want your cookie-cutter sex, I don’t want your meticulously crafted, calculated, fool-proof fuck. I don’t want a show. I want you. Let your instincts, urges and whims define that. It’s enough.

What do most girls like? Forget about it. Statistics are meaningless when there’s only one. Hello, here’s me. Here’s you.

Don’t worry about taking it too slow. We got time. We got infinite rhythms, combinations, possibilities. Explore each fuck. Take our time. We can do a different one later.

Don’t worry about making me come. I’m here. Right where I want to be.

I am overwhelmed by wanting; you don’t have to convince me. I want you because I like you. So don’t put on a front. Don’t taint this.

I’m frustrated—it’s just authenticity I want.

It’s originality.

It’s passion.

It’s joy.

Don’t say that something I like is ugly. Don’t compare yourself to the rest. You will live and die with and within your experiences like everyone else. If someone thinks you are amazing, they are not wrong. Their universe is as real as any other; it is forged through perception.

I don’t care if you accidentally slammed my head into the wall, if you giggle when I suck your nipple, if my arm cracked, if the delightful pressure of your wet tongue on my anything made a silly sound. There is no right way and no wrong way.

“Good in bed,” what.

You’re good in my bed. I’m pleased you’re there. I feel it suits you.

Shove your technique. I’ll show you mine. Fucking scream. Let go. Let your memory swallow it. I’ll fuck you to make you feel.

This isn’t a test.

—    (via psychologicallyderanged)

(via bladesnbands)

poetisch:

I stood at the window, while you were sleeping. A few minutes ago I told you, that you look like the moon and you laughed while you’ve pulled your blanket over your face.

poetisch:

I stood at the window, while you were sleeping. A few minutes ago I told you, that you look like the moon and you laughed while you’ve pulled your blanket over your face.

(via hopeless--child)