Roni || 18 || x

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officialunitedstates:

would not be surprised if the CIA wanted to recruit me.  I have medium knowledge of memes, know how to use calculator, and have broad shoulders.  the three most important CIA skills

titanios:

oystermother:

philcoolins:

LOOK AT THIS RAINBOW

that’s about as metal as a rainbow is ever gonna get. 

xx

titanios:

oystermother:

philcoolins:

LOOK AT THIS RAINBOW

that’s about as metal as a rainbow is ever gonna get. 

xx

vanconcastiel:

ignotum-per-aeque-ignotum:

fandomstuck:

the fact that there are animals who can see colors that i cant which means that there are colors that exist that it is literally impossible for me to envision is such fucking bullshit that i wanna rip open a couch and eat it

Humans have 3 types of rods for processing color (red green and blue). Mantis Shrimp have 16.

Fucking shrimp. I will NOT be jealous of food.

battlereadyprince:

monk-of-space:

a motorcycle gang made up of ancient bisexual norse monarchs: the bikings

I JUST REALIZED THAT THIS POST IS 4 PUNS IN ONE OH MY GODDDDD

big-burrito:

world’s okayest friend

minimalyzed:

replacing my heart with another liver so i can drink more and care less

howstufftwerks:

noddin’ ma head like yea

image

movin’ ma hips like h*ck yea

image

Too many men look at me like I owe them something, like the word ‘beautiful’ should mean something to me just because that’s how they choose to describe me. Too many men think that the black heels I wear to the grocery store is my way of saying, “Look at my legs. Do you like the way my dress hugs my curves?” When the truth is I just got off work and need some fucking beer and bread. Don’t look at me like that, the only reason my lips are painted red is because I ran out of Chapstick and this was the only thing I could find in my car.

I once dated a man who said that for Valentine’s Day all he wanted was me in red lace. He said that I would taste like chocolate, that he wanted to show me just how good love can feel. He talked like his sex skills were the best gift he could give me. I wore black lace and showed him how it feels to be fucked harder than the night he lost his virginity to a stripper. He said I tasted like mystery and black coffee as he got down on his knees to find his boxers. He said he couldn’t find the taste of chocolate on my neck. That was the morning he realized that being a man had nothing to do with ‘how hard you can fuck’. If that was the case, I would be ten foot tall and bullet proof and one hell of a guy with nice boobs.

One time I fell into the arms of a drunk man in the backseat of his car, he claimed that he loved me afterwards. He called me a bitch when I said I just wanted to be his friend. I told him if me giving him my friendship made me a bitch then me giving him my heart would make me a cunt from hell. That was the day I stopped kissing boys who had to prove that they were men and started holding hands with men who didn’t realize they turned heads when they walked by.

Love rests in the heart and is spilled from your throat.
Lust rests in your pants and prefers to not ask for a name.
One day those men will realize that sincere, kind words
are the way to a woman’s heart, not a good fucking.
One day those men will realize that their Adam’s apple
is the forbidden fruit,
not their dick.

when he asks what drawer you keep your lingerie in//d.a.h (via whisperingbones)