Friday, March 28th 2014



Chanel No. 5 Andy Warhol, 1980

Chanel No. 5
Andy Warhol, 1980

(via aubrey-plasma)

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Source: aestheticgoddess

Beyoncé’s emotional speech to fans during the last show of The Mrs. Carter Show World Tour: [x]

(via lesbowie)

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Source: serfborts

new season 4 Jaime Lannister still

new season 4 Jaime Lannister still

(via wicnet)

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Source: ladyblackfish
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Source: vanityfair.com
fyeahsophieturner:

Sophie Turner on the cover of Vanidad Magazine [x]

fyeahsophieturner:

Sophie Turner on the cover of Vanidad Magazine [x]

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Source: fyeahsophieturner
silverscreams:

Mae Clarke in FRANKENSTEIN.

silverscreams:

Mae Clarke in FRANKENSTEIN.

(via preoccupiedwithspooky)

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Source: silverscreams

Kirsten Dunst and Jason Schwartzman photographed by Melodie McDaniel for Nylon Magazine, October 2006.

Kirsten Dunst and Jason Schwartzman photographed by Melodie McDaniel for Nylon Magazine, October 2006.

(via theworldofcinema)

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Source: kirstendunstsource
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Source: lesbeehive
We Need To Talk About Kevin

We Need To Talk About Kevin

(via aubrey-plasma)

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Source: hollyemw

“The people around you are vampires. They’ll suck your veins dry, crack open your bones and lick out the marrow. You’ve done enough for them, so step away and find yourself a life worth living.”

(via jetgirl78)

Tag(s): Luther

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Source: holmesless
beyonce:

The Mrs. Carter Show World Tour 
Lisbon 2014 
Photo Credit: Rob Hoffman 

beyonce:

The Mrs. Carter Show World Tour 

Lisbon 2014 

Photo Credit: Rob Hoffman 

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Source: beyonce
wmagazine:

Strange birds. 
Photograph by Tim Walker; styled by Edward Enninful; W magazine April 2014. 

wmagazine:

Strange birds

Photograph by Tim Walker; styled by Edward Enninful; W magazine April 2014. 

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Source: wmagazine

natalie dormer | GQ magazine, april 2014

(via rubyredwisp)

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Source: northfalls
lesbowie:

Bo words!
josiekhaleesi:

bohemea:

I could tell a story about my unique & beautiful relationship with each of these cover boys, but I’ll just tell one.
When I was 11, the white trash neighbours moved out & a new family moved in. We adored the family that lived there because our family was also WT, but just a little less trash, so our bonkers front yard filled with broken cars, a barely functioning above-ground pool & cats (so many cats!) was largely ignored by the neighbourhood while the boy next door pulled shenanigans.
Luckily, when he & his dreamy brother moved away, an even MORE fantastically dysfunctional family moved in. They were glorious! The family consisted of two cranky smoking parents, twin blonde daughters whose names began with the same letter & three boys whose names began with a different same letter. The youngest boy was rambunctious & everyone said he looked like a real-life Bart Simpsons, because it was the late-80s, you see. The middle boy was quiet & polite. I wrote my first poem about him. It was titled Love. The eldest boy was a half-brother, the result of some teenage romp the smoking mother had before she settled down with the smoking father. This boy was magnificent: slim and tall and plump lipped. One side of his head were shaved by a blonde, cruelly beautiful girlfriend. The unshaved side covered one eye that I never saw. Maybe it didn’t exist!
I was obsessed with this boy from the moment I got over my brief crush on middle-brother until I discovered the Internet when I was 16 & also discovered it was totally cool to love ladies. He did not care for my bod, but was always very sweet to me, which actually led to more humiliation than would have resulted if he had simply ignored me. During my obsession I wrote my tender mono-eyed love many poems, one was titled True Love, because my feelings had deepened & a love letter that I foolishly asked my brother to deliver and was read & laughed at by my brothers & his brothers instead of him. But when I peeked out the window & witnessed my shame, his eye caught mine & he quietly snatched the letter out of the giggling boys hands & returned to his house. So gallant!
Sometimes the mother of my Sweet Love would visit with my mother. They would sit at our kitchen table & smoke & gossip. During one visit, they moved their cigarettes & sweet tea outdoors & Smoking Mom left her purse hanging from a kitchen chair. I was a tremendously well behaved child, but suddenly overcome by my irrational desire, I dove into her wallet, released My Tender True Heart’s school photo from its plastic confines & scurried to my bedroom with my stolen treasure clutched in my palm. I couldn’t look at it though! I couldn’t have such intimate eye contact with my Darling Man-child. He never looked away, just stared at me soulfully, slouched impatiently in his grey flannel. “What was he thinking?” I wondered. Even though I couldn’t interact with the photo, I also I couldn’t bring myself to toss it; the thrill of committing a crime in the name of (true) love was too delicious, the evidence must remain. So I hid it carefully behind a pin-up photo I had hanging on my wall, above my light switch, of Tommy Puett. I don’t even remember what show Tommy Puett was on (Life Goes On, maybe? I dunno.) He was just a space filler, surrounded by more important cast members of Saved By the Bell, Johnny Depp, New Kids on the Block, Mariah Carey & Winona Ryder, but behind Puett’s stupid face hid my True Love, and now that mullet-clad boy is a part of my heart’s history.

This is a beautiful story

lesbowie:

Bo words!

josiekhaleesi:

bohemea:

I could tell a story about my unique & beautiful relationship with each of these cover boys, but I’ll just tell one.

When I was 11, the white trash neighbours moved out & a new family moved in. We adored the family that lived there because our family was also WT, but just a little less trash, so our bonkers front yard filled with broken cars, a barely functioning above-ground pool & cats (so many cats!) was largely ignored by the neighbourhood while the boy next door pulled shenanigans.

Luckily, when he & his dreamy brother moved away, an even MORE fantastically dysfunctional family moved in. They were glorious! The family consisted of two cranky smoking parents, twin blonde daughters whose names began with the same letter & three boys whose names began with a different same letter. The youngest boy was rambunctious & everyone said he looked like a real-life Bart Simpsons, because it was the late-80s, you see. The middle boy was quiet & polite. I wrote my first poem about him. It was titled Love. The eldest boy was a half-brother, the result of some teenage romp the smoking mother had before she settled down with the smoking father. This boy was magnificent: slim and tall and plump lipped. One side of his head were shaved by a blonde, cruelly beautiful girlfriend. The unshaved side covered one eye that I never saw. Maybe it didn’t exist!

I was obsessed with this boy from the moment I got over my brief crush on middle-brother until I discovered the Internet when I was 16 & also discovered it was totally cool to love ladies. He did not care for my bod, but was always very sweet to me, which actually led to more humiliation than would have resulted if he had simply ignored me. During my obsession I wrote my tender mono-eyed love many poems, one was titled True Love, because my feelings had deepened & a love letter that I foolishly asked my brother to deliver and was read & laughed at by my brothers & his brothers instead of him. But when I peeked out the window & witnessed my shame, his eye caught mine & he quietly snatched the letter out of the giggling boys hands & returned to his house. So gallant!

Sometimes the mother of my Sweet Love would visit with my mother. They would sit at our kitchen table & smoke & gossip. During one visit, they moved their cigarettes & sweet tea outdoors & Smoking Mom left her purse hanging from a kitchen chair. I was a tremendously well behaved child, but suddenly overcome by my irrational desire, I dove into her wallet, released My Tender True Heart’s school photo from its plastic confines & scurried to my bedroom with my stolen treasure clutched in my palm. I couldn’t look at it though! I couldn’t have such intimate eye contact with my Darling Man-child. He never looked away, just stared at me soulfully, slouched impatiently in his grey flannel. “What was he thinking?” I wondered. Even though I couldn’t interact with the photo, I also I couldn’t bring myself to toss it; the thrill of committing a crime in the name of (true) love was too delicious, the evidence must remain. So I hid it carefully behind a pin-up photo I had hanging on my wall, above my light switch, of Tommy Puett. I don’t even remember what show Tommy Puett was on (Life Goes On, maybe? I dunno.) He was just a space filler, surrounded by more important cast members of Saved By the Bell, Johnny Depp, New Kids on the Block, Mariah Carey & Winona Ryder, but behind Puett’s stupid face hid my True Love, and now that mullet-clad boy is a part of my heart’s history.

This is a beautiful story

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Source: chelsamander

Peter Dinklage on The Late Show with David Letterman [x]

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Source: rubyredwisp
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