Pick
Pick

Pick

Massacreing
Massacreing

Massacreing

Looks Good
Looks Good

Looks Good

That Look You Give
That Look You Give

That Look You Give

When The
When The

When The

Your Old
Your Old

Your Old

Directions
Directions

Directions

Testing
Testing

Testing

Directing
Directing

Directing

Old Bitches
Old Bitches

Old Bitches

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That Look: livelaughlovematters: Lightweight resin earrings that look just like real cherries! Comfortable and suitable for everyday wear! Perfect and fun gift for your friends and family! => AVAILABLE HERE <=
That Look: livelaughlovematters:
Lightweight resin earrings that look just like real cherries! Comfortable and suitable for everyday wear! Perfect and fun gift for your friends and family!
=> AVAILABLE HERE <=

livelaughlovematters: Lightweight resin earrings that look just like real cherries! Comfortable and suitable for everyday wear! Perfect a...

That Look: RANT ian CUISINE FRANPAISE queeranarchism: yourdarlingdaisy916: idkmybffphil: looklikewolf: irate-badfem-harpy: aliaitee: mboy-mlm: the-claire-bitch-project: thepunksink: the-big-phan-theory: doyounoelyourenemy: sidvintage: motherfuckin-pajamas: deadkennedysandattractivemen: A punk stops during a gay pride parade to allow a mesmerized child to touch his jacket spikes. I lost control about reblogging this picture.  and this is the perfect “fuck you” to people who stereotype people like this.  literally one of my favourite pictures ever nothing more punk than letting small children touch your clothes spikes or hair spikes If you think punks would miss the opportunity to be a good fucking human to kids you don’t know much about punks Being nice to kids is literally the number one punk activity THIS IS THE SAME DUDE BITCH NO WAYYYY I have a vivid memory of being about 14 and seeing a hardcore punk walking down the street in a busy shopping district with a tiny white kitten tucked in his leather jacket. That’s goals. one of my favorite memories is my first punk show and how welcoming and friendly everyone was. I was 9 and my brother brought me and people were putting me on their shoulders and telling me about where they got their clothes or how much a little punk I was. I love punk culture because from the outside it looks aggressive and harsh. But once you realize that’s just their armour and that they are kinder and more proactive about human rights than the “nice” looking people you get comfort from their presence. Not all things that look aggressive are aggressive. Not all things that look safe are safe. Punk is safe BECAUSE it is aggressive. Punk - when done right - kicks out fascists and rapists, defends communities, fights injustice. All of which require aggression.
That Look: RANT
 ian
 CUISINE FRANPAISE
queeranarchism:

yourdarlingdaisy916:

idkmybffphil:


looklikewolf:

irate-badfem-harpy:


aliaitee:

mboy-mlm:

the-claire-bitch-project:

thepunksink:

the-big-phan-theory:

doyounoelyourenemy:

sidvintage:

motherfuckin-pajamas:

deadkennedysandattractivemen:

A punk stops during a gay pride parade to allow a mesmerized child to touch his jacket spikes.

I lost control about reblogging this picture. 

and this is the perfect “fuck you” to people who stereotype people like this. 

literally one of my favourite pictures ever

nothing more punk than letting small children touch your clothes spikes or hair spikes

If you think punks would miss the opportunity to be a good fucking human to kids you don’t know much about punks

Being nice to kids is literally the number one punk activity


THIS IS THE SAME DUDE

BITCH NO WAYYYY




I have a vivid memory of being about 14 and seeing a hardcore punk walking down the street in a busy shopping district with a tiny white kitten tucked in his leather jacket. That’s goals.

one of my favorite memories is my first punk show and how welcoming and friendly everyone was. I was 9 and my brother brought me and people were putting me on their shoulders and telling me about where they got their clothes or how much a little punk I was.


I love punk culture because from the outside it looks aggressive and harsh. But once you realize that’s just their armour and that they are kinder and more proactive about human rights than the “nice” looking people you get comfort from their presence.  
Not all things that look aggressive are aggressive. Not all things that look safe are safe. 

Punk is safe BECAUSE it is aggressive. Punk - when done right - kicks out fascists and rapists, defends communities, fights injustice. All of which require aggression.

queeranarchism: yourdarlingdaisy916: idkmybffphil: looklikewolf: irate-badfem-harpy: aliaitee: mboy-mlm: the-claire-bitch-projec...

That Look: cruelfeline: I’ve seen some people expressing their dislike for Hordimus Horde Prime’s design, specifically his asymmetrical eyes, and I must say, I disagree.First, I like the squicky noise they make when he blinks in that one scene.  Second, and actually important, I think that a set of asymmetrical eyes that look in multiple different directions is utterly perfect for him in terms of… well, his imperfection. I feel like that’s the whole point of the design: the perfection isn’t real.This is a character who is so obsessed with control, order, and perfection that his subordinate, Hordak, has deeply ingrained emotional issues as a result. Prime views himself as the perfect being, and what better way to indicate that this view is based on petty narcissism rather than reality than by giving him a set of creepy asymmetrical eyes? Eyes that no one would find perfect unless they were explicitly told to.Horde Prime isn’t perfect because he’s actually, truly flawless; he’s perfect because he says he’s perfect, just as Hordak is imperfect because he says he’s imperfect. Perfection, in the case of real people, is not only unobtainable, it’s essentially arbitrary. A perfect feature to me might be ugly to you, and vice versa. It’s all subjective. Portraying it as an immutable fact is a lie that Prime perpetuates in order to maintain power.
That Look: cruelfeline:

I’ve seen some people expressing their dislike for Hordimus Horde Prime’s design, specifically his asymmetrical eyes, and I must say, I disagree.First, I like the squicky noise they make when he blinks in that one scene.  Second, and actually important, I think that a set of asymmetrical eyes that look in multiple different directions is utterly perfect for him in terms of… well, his imperfection. I feel like that’s the whole point of the design: the perfection isn’t real.This is a character who is so obsessed with control, order, and perfection that his subordinate, Hordak, has deeply ingrained emotional issues as a result. Prime views himself as the perfect being, and what better way to indicate that this view is based on petty narcissism rather than reality than by giving him a set of creepy asymmetrical eyes? Eyes that no one would find perfect unless they were explicitly told to.Horde Prime isn’t perfect because he’s actually, truly flawless; he’s perfect because he says he’s perfect, just as Hordak is imperfect because he says he’s imperfect. Perfection, in the case of real people, is not only unobtainable, it’s essentially arbitrary. A perfect feature to me might be ugly to you, and vice versa. It’s all subjective. Portraying it as an immutable fact is a lie that Prime perpetuates in order to maintain power.

cruelfeline: I’ve seen some people expressing their dislike for Hordimus Horde Prime’s design, specifically his asymmetrical eyes, and I...

That Look: livelaughlovematters: Cute Cups that look like Cat Paws Designed! Limited Quantity! A Unique Gift for your Friends and Family => GET YOURS HERE <=
That Look: livelaughlovematters:

Cute Cups that look like Cat Paws Designed! Limited Quantity! A Unique Gift for your Friends and Family => GET YOURS HERE <=

livelaughlovematters: Cute Cups that look like Cat Paws Designed! Limited Quantity! A Unique Gift for your Friends and Family => GET YOU...

That Look: livelaughlovematters: Cute Cups that look like Cat Paws Designed! Limited Quantity! A Unique Gift for your Friends and Family => GET YOURS HERE <=
That Look: livelaughlovematters:

Cute Cups that look like Cat Paws Designed! Limited Quantity! A Unique Gift for your Friends and Family => GET YOURS HERE <=

livelaughlovematters: Cute Cups that look like Cat Paws Designed! Limited Quantity! A Unique Gift for your Friends and Family => GET YOU...

That Look: ofcoursethatsathing:These cups that look like cat paws
That Look: ofcoursethatsathing:These cups that look like cat paws

ofcoursethatsathing:These cups that look like cat paws

That Look: thejorie: xilast-zurvifferman: thejorie: jackbecq: thejorie: 19leahjade96: thejorie: madamekagamine: thejorie: gccgrimm: thejorie: gucciballs: thejorie: peble: thejorie: My three girlfriends.And yes, they smoke weed. do they smoke weed? Yes, actually. you mean she isnt just smoking a cigarette? but a weed cigarette? It’s called a bunt…. Not weed cigarette… And yes, it is a weed bunt. They all smoke weed bunts before we kiss. (They are my girlfriends,) They don’t look like they smoke weed. Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.I’m so angry you are so lucky my three weed smorking girlfriends are rubbing my shoulders to calm me down I’m so mad. Your “weed smoking girlfriend” has a Hello Kitty tattoo on her belly. The one in the middle. I printed out a photo of your avatar and taped it to my punching bag that I punch and I mutter your URL with every strong punch I punch you twerp…. Don’t ever Talk about Blaiz or the wicked Tat(tattoo) I drew on her ever again I Don’t wanna see you standing outside my home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again ok leave us alone this is the FINAL FUCKING WARNING  Well that escalated quickly…… What, was that? Hmm? Come again. *Blaiz grabs my shoulder* Come on Jory, they aren’t worth it, please. * I jerk my shoulder shaking her hand off* NO! NOOOOO!!! *starts to just pummel you with my big fucking fists. With each blow I let out a furious yell. The blows come quicker and harder and the yells get louder. I’m yelling so loud and now I’m crying. BREAKING POINT. The week was hard and I can’t take anymore. I’m opening sobbing at this point while you blood gurgle. All three of my girlfriends struggle to pull me off and they finally succeed and lead me away from the goo pile that is now your body* haha oh my god who even is this dude? someone needs some anger management classes. love how he keeps reminding us that “I HAVE THREE GIRLFRIENDS”, “THEY ALL KISS ME”, and “THEY SMOKE WEED HURRP DURR”. and let’s not forget the “Blaiz” and her “wicked tat”, or that he doesn’t “wanna see you standing outside [his] home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again”, and that this is “the FINAL FUCKING WARNING”. “the goo pile that is now your body” i’m dying over here, jesus please, Jory, come challenge me to a bout of internet witticsisms; i promise, it’ll be fun. *shoots you dead* Heh, idiot…*leaves with my three weed smorking girlfriends to go hold hands and kiss.* this dude playin omg  Come again? *The bar falls silent. No one dares to make a sound, as you have just said a very poor choice of words at a very dangerous time. I remain slumped over the bar, not looking back to you. One hand limply holding an almost empty bottle, the other hand cradling my head. I repeat the question, this time louder.* Come again?! *You can hear me slur the words, the sentence sounds like a real struggle for me to get out. I’m clearly intoxicated. A bead of sweat rolls down your face as you realize you might have just fucked up in a very major way. Everyone else in the bar is pretending to not notice what is going on. The bartender idly washes a mug with a cloth. His eyes are closed and he’s muttering something to himself. A handful of people hurriedly leave. One person looks back at you, a look of sorrow on their face. They almost say something, but shake their head and cast their eyes down to the floor, and leave. But not you. You stand, petrified. A quick look at me reveals I’m still  at the bar. You look to the exit, there’s still time. But there’s not, there’s not, there’s not. Your fate was sealed the moment you opened your mouth.* Mother fuck.. what did you say?! *I slowly rise from my stool and being to lumber over to you.  I look a mess. My hair is unkempt, I haven’t shaved in what looks like months, there are dark heavy bags under my eyes, my shirt is stained and has holes in it, and I’m missing a shoe. But the main thing you notice is the gun tucked into my jeans, and my massive muscle arms that look like they were made for punching. You know that song about the boots that were made for walking? Yeah, it’s like that only instead of boots it’s my muscles and instead of walking it’s punching. As I drunkenly sway over to you, you think of your family… Will they mourn you, or will they try and forget this blotch of stupidity, that their child insulted the Jory publicly, ever happened to their family? Your thoughts are cut short as I now stand face to face with you. I grab your face and pull you even closer.* Playin?! There was nothing playing… no playing you fuck. No playing… it was real.. the realest thing I’ve ever know.. felt… Love. I loved them… Blaiz…. Chas-Chas… Funk… I loved all three of em… but they…*My face is wet with tears and I’m blinking constantly in vain to hold them back.* They left me… left… *Almost instantly the sadness leaves my face and is replaced with pure anger.* Playin? Playin?! *My hand leaves your face and starts to head to what you think is the gun. You close your eyes and see God looking at you, shrugging. ‘Pft, you brought this upon yourself dude.’ He says as he waves his hands at you dismissively. But instead of the gun, my hands grab yours. Your eyes jolt open and the anger is gone from my face. There is only sadness.* Left me… * I fall to the floor and sob.*Wow, grow up. *You say before you leave the bar but are hit almost immediately from a car and are killed upon impact.*
That Look: thejorie:

xilast-zurvifferman:

thejorie:

jackbecq:

thejorie:

19leahjade96:

thejorie:

madamekagamine:

thejorie:

gccgrimm:

thejorie:

gucciballs:

thejorie:

peble:

thejorie:

My three girlfriends.And yes, they smoke weed.

do they smoke weed?

Yes, actually.

you mean she isnt just smoking a cigarette? but a weed cigarette? 

It’s called a bunt…. Not weed cigarette… And yes, it is a weed bunt. They all smoke weed bunts before we kiss. (They are my girlfriends,)

They don’t look like they smoke weed.

Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.I’m so angry you are so lucky my three weed smorking girlfriends are rubbing my shoulders to calm me down I’m so mad.

Your “weed smoking girlfriend” has a Hello Kitty tattoo on her belly. The one in the middle.

I printed out a photo of your avatar and taped it to my punching bag that I punch and I mutter your URL with every strong punch I punch you twerp…. Don’t ever Talk about Blaiz or the wicked Tat(tattoo) I drew on her ever again I Don’t wanna see you standing outside my home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again ok leave us alone this is the FINAL FUCKING WARNING 

Well that escalated quickly……

What, was that? Hmm? Come again. *Blaiz grabs my shoulder* Come on Jory, they aren’t worth it, please. * I jerk my shoulder shaking her hand off* NO! NOOOOO!!! *starts to just pummel you with my big fucking fists. With each blow I let out a furious yell. The blows come quicker and harder and the yells get louder. I’m yelling so loud and now I’m crying. BREAKING POINT. The week was hard and I can’t take anymore. I’m opening sobbing at this point while you blood gurgle. All three of my girlfriends struggle to pull me off and they finally succeed and lead me away from the goo pile that is now your body*

haha oh my god

who even is this dude? someone needs some anger management classes.

love how he keeps reminding us that “I HAVE THREE GIRLFRIENDS”, “THEY ALL KISS ME”, and “THEY SMOKE WEED HURRP DURR”.

and let’s not forget the “Blaiz” and her “wicked tat”, or that he doesn’t “wanna see you standing outside [his] home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again”, and that this is “the FINAL FUCKING WARNING”.

“the goo pile that is now your body”

i’m dying over here, jesus

please, Jory, come challenge me to a bout of internet witticsisms; i promise, it’ll be fun.

*shoots you dead* Heh, idiot…*leaves with my three weed smorking girlfriends to go hold hands and kiss.*

this dude playin omg 

Come again? *The bar falls silent. No one dares to make a sound, as you have just said a very poor choice of words at a very dangerous time. I remain slumped over the bar, not looking back to you. One hand limply holding an almost empty bottle, the other hand cradling my head. I repeat the question, this time louder.* Come again?! *You can hear me slur the words, the sentence sounds like a real struggle for me to get out. I’m clearly intoxicated. A bead of sweat rolls down your face as you realize you might have just fucked up in a very major way. Everyone else in the bar is pretending to not notice what is going on. The bartender idly washes a mug with a cloth. His eyes are closed and he’s muttering something to himself. A handful of people hurriedly leave. One person looks back at you, a look of sorrow on their face. They almost say something, but shake their head and cast their eyes down to the floor, and leave. But not you. You stand, petrified. A quick look at me reveals I’m still  at the bar. You look to the exit, there’s still time. But there’s not, there’s not, there’s not. Your fate was sealed the moment you opened your mouth.* Mother fuck.. what did you say?! *I slowly rise from my stool and being to lumber over to you.  I look a mess. My hair is unkempt, I haven’t shaved in what looks like months, there are dark heavy bags under my eyes, my shirt is stained and has holes in it, and I’m missing a shoe. But the main thing you notice is the gun tucked into my jeans, and my massive muscle arms that look like they were made for punching. You know that song about the boots that were made for walking? Yeah, it’s like that only instead of boots it’s my muscles and instead of walking it’s punching. As I drunkenly sway over to you, you think of your family… Will they mourn you, or will they try and forget this blotch of stupidity, that their child insulted the Jory publicly, ever happened to their family? Your thoughts are cut short as I now stand face to face with you. I grab your face and pull you even closer.* Playin?! There was nothing playing… no playing you fuck. No playing… it was real.. the realest thing I’ve ever know.. felt… Love. I loved them… Blaiz…. Chas-Chas… Funk… I loved all three of em… but they…*My face is wet with tears and I’m blinking constantly in vain to hold them back.* They left me… left… *Almost instantly the sadness leaves my face and is replaced with pure anger.* Playin? Playin?! *My hand leaves your face and starts to head to what you think is the gun. You close your eyes and see God looking at you, shrugging. ‘Pft, you brought this upon yourself dude.’ He says as he waves his hands at you dismissively. But instead of the gun, my hands grab yours. Your eyes jolt open and the anger is gone from my face. There is only sadness.* Left me… * I fall to the floor and sob.*Wow, grow up. *You say before you leave the bar but are hit almost immediately from a car and are killed upon impact.*

thejorie: xilast-zurvifferman: thejorie: jackbecq: thejorie: 19leahjade96: thejorie: madamekagamine: thejorie: gccgrimm: thejor...

That Look: sweetoothgirl: Galaxy Eclairs That Look Too Good To Eat
That Look: sweetoothgirl:

Galaxy Eclairs That Look Too Good To Eat

sweetoothgirl: Galaxy Eclairs That Look Too Good To Eat