#cleaning out

[remnantofabrokensoul]

"Is she pretty?"

I'd say she's the most gorgeous girl I've ever laid my eyes on.

From the tearful eyes and messy clothes, hanging unwashed, and in the checkered skirt with chains across her body, her eyes remain the same calmness throughout.

And all of it is beautiful.

"Is she nice?"

I found that, when she wants to, she can turn me from a bleeding void into a hopeless romantic in the matter of seconds, only by her warmth, her invisible smile.

And with her, I don't see the dark.

Just the gentle rain and the locked hands while we smoke and let the world exist.

"Do you like her?"

I liked her a lot before, but I think I crossed the horizon when I saw her passion between the lines of the careful writings. She calls it messy, for me, it was delicate. I think I felt for her the moment I heard her laugh.

It was angelic, and to me, she has always been perfect.

"Does she like you?"

I hope so. I really do. I was always worried knowing what was going into, but when I hear her on the other side of the world, laughing at my worst jokes, I think I make her happy and warm. Yeah, she likes me.

"So why is it complicated?"

It just is. But in the end, whatever struggle may be in front of us, I know in the end, it'll be her by my side, struggling to come up with plans on who'll change the dippers or who's gonna clean the dishes. But when I drift away, I'd like to hold her hand and let her guide towards her in the afterlife.

"What's her name?"

Rheannon. Her name is Rheannon. But I'll always know her as Flambe, the girl I keep falling for.

[contentment-of-cats]

Clearing out stuff is like geology

You're looking at the layers of your life and wondering what the fuck happened.

[9reen]

critics!

[unsung-idiot]

some quick drawings of little Soos I made a while ago

[bloomeng]

core 4 magical girl set finally reunited

[its--deandraa]

I’m not going to lie, cleaning out my Twitter has been so refreshing and cleansing.

[indigonite]

There’s a lot you can learn about it, trust me

[wordfather]

nobody does it better than the stardew valley chicken

lets goooooo little dude you know exactly whats going on

[theotherpath1]

Cleaning Out Old Drawers. Why Do We Romanticize The Past?

Unboxing old crafting supplies Going through clutter and drawers filled with old stuff, I started wondering why we romanticize the past? We forget about any struggles we had, only thinking of the good. We forget about how we worried about the future. We forget about the daily issues that trouble us. We see it through rose-colored glasses. We think about plans or goals we had. *Would they pan…

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

Of the 19 hijackers who carried out the Sept 11 attacks:

15 were from Saudi Arabia (a powerful/oil-rich country the U.S. works hard to maintain diplomatic relations with)

2 were from the United Arab Emirates (also a powerful/oil-rich country the U.S. works hard to maintain diplomatic relations with)

1 was from Egypt, 1 from Lebanon.

None of the hijackers were from Iraq.

None of the Sept 11 hijackers were Iraqi.

None of the 9/11 hijackers were from Iraq.

[stemmmm]

scenario in which bill stops torturing him and takes the time to explain what the portal is in terms more detailed than "this will get you the nobel prize for sure" and "im going to destroy your dimension, dipshit"

[possumsinatrenchcoat]

Aging tumblr user base find this relatable?

[robo-writing]

Cockwarming with Logan is one of those ideas that sound good on paper, but could never work in reality. Listen up, and I’ll tell you why. (18+)

The heat of you enveloping him is nirvana itself, your hands on his body sending him to cloud nine. They linger on his chest, pawing, caressing, blazing a trail from his collarbone to his face, nails burying themselves into the darkened locks as you stare at him with nothing short of pure adoration.

“Feel good?” You ask, and he’s so drunk off you that he can only bring himself to nod, breath hitching when your hips circle themselves in his lap. Your laughter is nothing short of melodic, pressing yourself into the broad length of his chest.

He feels everything like this—the heat of your nude body against his, the scent of your body wash, your shaky breaths—every sense on overdrive. It’s there you sit, unmoving, unwavering, every movement causing your pussy to clench around him, and in turn, makes his chest rumble appreciatively.

“Should listen to you more often,” Logan mumbles, biting his lip at the feeling of you nibbling at his neck. “Just full of bright ideas, ain’tcha?”

“Full of a lot of things,” you sigh, and the sound makes his cock twitch.

But, there’s something missing.

Your quiet whimpers, your doe eyes staring at him from above—the way your pussy clenches in response to every touch, pulsing around his cock—it’s good, but it’s not enough.

Tugging at him, an itch he can’t scratch, it gnaws away at his mind until he finds himself searching for more, and the realization hits him like a wave.

It’s patience he lacks, an epiphany that has his lips curling into a smirk. It’s a lesson soon learned when his fingers dig into your hips and lift, surprise evident on your face. His downfall, as with most things, is his lack of patience. When it comes to you, he could even go as far to call it greed.

“Logan?” You ask, not a word given in response. His palms run up your back, large digits squeezing at your flesh, and yet the feeling does little to settle the sudden flare of nerves that build in your core. The calm before the storm, the impending sense of doom, women’s intuition—or maybe it’s because you’ve become intimately familiar with the devious smile that spreads across Logan’s face.

“Logan? What are you—“

You’re soon cut short, interrupted by the feeling of him slamming you back onto his cock, your short gasp making ego soar to new heights.

“Sorry doll, change of plans,” he grunts, bouncing you on his lap without a care in the world. The sudden change of pace has you scrambling for purchase, hands clamoring around his neck as you struggle to keep up.

“Logan, wait—ohmygod—“ you whine, and the sound is like music to his ears. His attempt at soothing your worries is his hand sliding across your ass, the sharp sting of it making you jump, but lucky for you Logan’s there to pull you back onto his cock.

Up, down, up, down. A constant rhythm that finally satiates the beast within him, the dull thud of skin on skin enough to have him melting into his chair, a wave of content spreading through every vein of his body. In contrast, you feel your own becoming more tense by the second; toes curling, breath caught in your throat, an incomprehensible string of noises leaving your lips as Logan watches with bated breath.

He tuts at you, the sound nothing short of mocking. “No runnin’ away sweetheart, this was your idea.”

“Not like this,” you moan, hiding yourself in his neck. “Wanted to relax…”

Your voice trails off, unable to speak when Logan’s practically fucking every rational thought from your head. Slowly but surely, any idea of protest is drowned out by the heat that burns inside of you, a dull ember that builds into a blaze, unable to focus on anything that isn’t Logan or his cock grinding inside you.

You can hear his laughter bellowing deep within his chest, amused at your brainless state, right before he quickens his pace. “Trust me sweetheart, I’m real fuckin’ relaxed right now.”

[bamsara]

trust fall

[wanologic]

and they were roommates

[za1ka]

pov: u want to order a drink but this guy keeps sprawling across the entire bar and chatting up divorcées, wyd

+ bonus: just checking