do not think about your crush in an old sweatshirt with scruffy hair and a sleepy smile ok dont think about them humming to themselves as they make breakfast in this attire ok dont think about how the light hits them as they sit down across from you and eat breakfast ok just dONT
this post is the only one that has 12 million notes and it changes all the time. the flubber robin williams, the rogerina, the “reblog if you dont have a tumblr” and the dean winchester gym shorts is literally all the same post and you guys are astonished that it has so many notes every time a new version of it comes around
I love my mom.
I am risking nothing
I AM SORRY FOLLOWERS, I LOVE MY MOMMY
Will not risk.
sorry followers :(
omg im so glad to se so many people love their mummy
Why’re you being mean to my mum?
Nope. Googled it. 15 minuets. Nope. Not taking any chances
This has 1.2 million reblogs …
Ps not riskin it
Ffs I hate this post
Here’s the thing, anon. Men don’t fall in love with me because of what’s in between my legs.
They love the way I sway. There’s a secret in the way I walk. It’s a melody, it’s a rhythm. When my thighs touch, a symphony of sensuality reverberates up and down my spine and into my smile. And, oh, anon. They love my smile. It can be sweet and sinister, tight lipped. It can come accompanied with a playful wink, or a smirk. It can be toothy and wide, brazen and bold. They love my mind. I’m inquisitive, I’m intelligent, I’m interesting. I’d sit for hours listening to them talk about summers with their grandma, then transition into the NFL playoff outlook, then have a rousing discourse on the merits of community property laws and round out the discussion laughing about the most ridiculous line on the latest Jeezy track. They love the fact that I’m passionate. I’m a hugger, a kisser, a grabber, a rubber, oh, baby, I am a lover in a thousand different ways with a turtleneck, snow boots, and a parka on - I don’t need to take my clothes off for this. I don’t need to show any skin for this. I’m not confident about much, but I can affirmatively say that the best lovers are the ones who can make your consciousness climax, who can send shivers down your spine via snapchat, who can make your toes curl via text, who can make your encephalon ejaculate via email. So anon sweetheart, keep your man from around me. He might wind up getting mind fucked.
If you’re in marching band and you’re not proud of your neckstrap, t-shirt, and/or sock tan, you’re wrong.