wow, guys

Almost a year later, and Juergen Teller’s W Magazine shot of Lily Cole is still doing its rounds on Tumblr.

(Source: stonerparty)

Reblogged from stonerparty with 832 notes

Reblogged from internet-princess with 385 notes

Reblogged from feelie with 36,493 notes

Reblogged from feelie with Notes

Bruce Weber for Vogue Italia March 2008

Bruce Weber for Vogue Italia March 2008

(via alistimsusmaya)
The Golden Trio

(via alistimsusmaya)

The Golden Trio

Reblogged from demova with 2,833 notes

I Just Had Sex by The Lonely Island ft. Akon
+1000 respect to Alba, Lively and Akon for doing this.(it’s nice to see that Hollywood still has the ability to laugh at itself after years of snobbery and posturing)

I Just Had Sex by The Lonely Island ft. Akon

+1000 respect to Alba, Lively and Akon for doing this.
(it’s nice to see that Hollywood still has the ability to laugh at itself after years of snobbery and posturing)

(Source: double-barrelbuckshot)

Reblogged from double-barrelbuckshot with Notes

Carter Smith for Vogue Nippon September 2006

Carter Smith for Vogue Nippon September 2006

Anne Leibovitz for Vogue US September 2006

Anne Leibovitz for Vogue US September 2006

teach me everything

You close your eyes and you want for nothing. Spin for me, and she does, lips closing into a sly smile, silk snapping around her ankles and you want to press your lips to the fading pockmarks on her forehead, normally hidden by a messy fringe and a whippet-quick snarl. Chicken pox when I was twelve, she says with a sigh, fingers dancing over the curve of your spine and smirking when you gasp, heat pooling in the pit of your stomach as her nails scrape fresh welts and come away crimson. Her lips part slowly, deliberately, and she makes a sound of pleasure at the taste of your blood, eyes dark with want and danger, always danger, because this is the girl who takes a razor to your back like a fucking artist, painting swirls of copper across your skin and hissing, always hissing, Quiet, pet! For fuck’s sake, I’ll have to start all over again while you try not to whimper or to choke when she wraps her bloody hands around your throat at the end of the night. You go to sleep that way, waiting for her grip to loosen on your throat, the cotton of the bedspread soaked with her sweat and your tears, the scent of fear and sex so heavy in the air that you taste it on your tongue as your jaw finally unclenches and you take your first breath.

Tim Walker for Vogue UK July 2005

Tim Walker for Vogue UK July 2005