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There’s nothing wrong with sex, people.

otherillusions:

claireruns:

thechroniclesofrin:

- Having sex every day. 
- Saving sex for your wedding night. 
- Never having sex.
- Having sex with different people.
- Having sex with one person.
- Having sex with a person of your same gender.
- Loving sex. 
- Hating sex. 
- Being loud. 
- Being quiet.

The only thing wrong with sex?

When it’s not consensual.

Because that’s not sex. That’s rape.

Reblogging again because this post is so important. 

This

(Source: strengthissexy)

loki-has-a-tardis:

This is honestly the best poster I have found in a while supporting breast cancer awareness. I am honestly so sick of seeing, “set the tatas free” and “save the boobies”. There is no reason in hell a life threatening, life ruining disease should be sexualized. “Don’t wear a bra day,” go fuck yourselves. You’re not saving a pair of tits, you’re saving the entire package: mind, body, and soul included. Women are not just a pair of breasts.

celtickaye:

neither-blue-nor-green:

See these? Motherfucking gel pens. I love them. Especially the glittery ones. Yes, I’m 34. Yes I like glittery gel pens. My husband buys me those whenever he can, because I love them so. I also love all kinds of stationary, but I don’t write enough at home. So at least I write my shopping lists on cute paper with glittering fucking gel pens.

Ha, I’m thinking, I’ll take them to work. I write a lot at work. Of course I won’t write to customers or anything (yes, I have written the addresses on informal letters with glittery gel pens, I admit)

Today I get mail from a company that wants to work with us and there’s a biro in it. And my colleague asks if I want them and then she says: “Ah, no you prefer to write with glittery gel pens” in a dismissive voice. And that it reminds her of her physiotherapists who wears Hello Kitty Socks.

You know what? I damn well write with glittery fucking gel pens. Because my sister told me: If live is shitty, throw glitter at it. And more shitty than here is hard to find. Bitch.

And even if I would want to ear Hello Kitty socks, it’s nothing to be dismissive about. We’re adults, we can do what we want.

And tonight it’s ice-cream for dinner. HA. With sprinkles

neither-blue-nor-green screw her. What a wench. You know what you need at work? Mutha fuckin THIS:

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