softcore:

margaux is the only girl for me

(Source: patbh)

(Source: scarlettalice)

shadowpiranha:

Supposedly from the girl in the photo: “This is my sign. Wow, I continue to be blown away at the tremendous amount of support and positive feedback I’ve received from this. I’m so grateful, it was hard. I think a big thank you is in order to everyone. Everyone who was at the walk, everyone who organized it, everyone who wished they could have been there, everyone who is taking a stand and not tolerating this rape-culture we live in. Everyone is stronger from yesterday’s walk, I know I am. And so is our message. My jaw dropped when I saw your previous post over 67,000 notes on tumblr? I don’t even know what to say, I never would have imagined it.Feel free to post it everywhere. My only hope is to bring awareness so no other woman has to go through what I did.”

This is not my personal experience but I feel it should be shared anyway because this happens too often and nothing gets done. I don’t like this rape culture we’re living in, I don’t like how blurred the lines are, and I despise victim blaming. I believe that the more we speak about it, the more it gets visible, the less easy it will be to ignore.

I really admire this woman. If more people were this honest, there would be far less prejudice and the legal system would finally be fair.

One of my favourite songs of all time.

She was lying on the floor and counting stretch marks

She hadn’t been a virgin and he hadn’t been a god

So she named the baby Elvis

To make up for the royalty he lacked

From then on it was turpentine and patches

From then on it was cold campbells from the can

They were just two jerks playing with matches

‘Cause that’s all they knew how to play, play, play.

And it was raining cats and dogs outside of her window

And she knew that they’d been destined to become sacred roadkill on the way

And she was listening to the sound of heaven shaking,

Thinking about puddles, oh, puddles and mistakes

‘Cause it’s been turpentine and patches

It’s been cold, cold campells from the can

And they were just two jerks playing with matches

‘Cause that’s all they knew how to play, play.

no-no, oh, oh, no-no, how they knew to play, oh, oh, oh.

Elvis never could carry a tune

And she thought about this irony as she stared back at the moon

She was tracing her years with her fingers on her skin, singing

Why don’t I begin again?

With turpentine and patches

With cold, cold campbells from the can

After all I’m still a jerk

playing with matches

It’s just that he’s not around to play along, yeah

I’m still an asshole playing with candles

Blowing out wishes, blowing out dreams

Just sitting here trying to decipher what-

What’s written in braille upon my skin, oh

No-no-no-no, no-no-oh-oh-oh, on this skin, oh.

She was lying on the floor and counting stretch,

She was lying on the floor and counting stretch,

She was lying on the floor, ly-ly-lying on the floor, ly-ly-ly-lying, and-a

Counting stretch…

Yuliya lobs.