savage x fenty bra (£68) and briefs (£30)
macklin celebrini has autism

gracie abrams
I'd rather be in outer space đ¸
noise dept.

Discoholic đŞŠ

titsay
taylor price
Show & Tell
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
The Stonewall Inn
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Doug Jones
$LAYYYTER
YOU ARE THE REASON
One Nice Bug Per Day
h

Game Changer & Make Some Noise
almost home
seen from Canada

seen from France
seen from United States

seen from Bangladesh

seen from Italy

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom

seen from Italy
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Netherlands
seen from Malaysia

seen from United States

seen from Germany
@itstillmakesmecomplete
savage x fenty bra (£68) and briefs (£30)

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Armani PrivĂŠ Fall-Winter 2016
Costume National Spring 2001
Bette Davis as Margo Channing by Melissa Brunet

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Swoony type, / long hair, bedroom eyes, cheeks like wine.
Euripides, from Bakkhai tr. Anne Carson (via lifeinpoetry)
By night, beloved, tie your heart to mine and let them both in dreams defeat the darkness.
Pablo Neruda, from â100 Love Sonnetsâ (via letheane)
Eva Green for Madame Figaro, July 2008 Photography by Gilles-Marie Zimmermann

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Dormition Church of the Optina Monastery, Saint Petersburg (idbronskiy)
From the late eighteenth century, women writers, aware of their exclusion from traditional historical narratives, have used Gothic historical fiction as a mode of historiography which can simultaneously reinsert them into history and symbolise their exclusion. If the Gothic with its blatant flouting of realism is always already, as I will suggest here, a kind of metafiction avant la lettre, then Gothic historical fiction, the subject of my study, can be seen as a kind of metahistory, a way of theorising or producing a philosophy of history. In the hands of women writers, Gothic historical fiction has offered a way of âinterpreting,â or symbolising, what Luce Irigray calls âthe forgetting of female ancestriesâ and of re-establising them within âHistory.â [âŚ] My argument is that the Gothic works as a âmode of historyâ which has had particular attractions and importance for women writers. Women writers have used Gothic historical fiction with its obssession with inheritance, lost heirs, and illegitimate offspring, to explore the ways in which the âfemale lineâ has been erased in âHistory.â The very literariness of the Gothic, its repetition of, and play with, obviously stylised generic conventions, draws attention to its own constructedness, makes it, indeed, a kind of metafiction. âThe fantastic,â as Rosemary Jackson has argued, âtraces the unsaid and the unseen of culture: that which has been silenced, made invisible, covered over and made absent.â Gothic historical novels harness that potential, but root it within the material specificity of history. Here fiction has a close relationship with historiography: the metaphors women historians often use to figure womenâs relationship with history - of women being âoutside,â 'underneath,â or 'hidden fromâ history - are Gothic images of a past which is obscure, dark, buried, needing to be unearthed. The use of such metaphors by historians, as well as writers of fiction, suggests the importance of the Gothic to the way sin which we think about women and history.
Diana Wallace, Female Gothic Histories (via chthonic-cassandra)
There are many names in history but none of them are ours.
Richard Siken, from Little Beast (via wraithlings)
anna sui ss18
friend: donât you ever worry about men thinking youâre high maintenance?
me: *in a silk bathrobe, on my 5th step of my PM skincare routine, trying to choose between 8 colors to paint my nails according to what best suits my mood and skintone, a cup of dandelion tea cools on the counter top, mixed with lemon, chia seeds, and raw honey* nah

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Do you ever see people whose faces echo another era? Iâve seen women with the round faces, sparse brows and high foreheads of medieval illuminated manuscripts. Men with dark brows that meet in the middle, olive skin, strong noses and jawsâByzantine men, ghosts of Constantine, reanimated faces from the Fayum Mummy Portraits. Women with soft figures and the large eyes and prim, petaled mouths of the 19th century. Grizzled men whose brows predicate their gaze, whose wrinkles track into their thick beards and read like topographical maps of hardship and intensityâthe wanderer, the poet; Whitman, Tolstoy, Carlyle. Faces sculpted into the perfect, deified symmetry of the pharaohsâalmond eyes, full lips, self-assurance 3,000 years in the making staring at you at a stoplight.  Plump, curved white wrists curled over purse handles in the waiting room and you think Versailles, Madame Pompadour, Marie Antoinette, Catherine the Great. Wide cheek bones, courage and sorrow in the scrunched face of the old man in line behind you and itâs Geronimo, Sitting Bull, Tecumseh. Reddened skin, thick forearms, hair and beard and brows burned by the cold into a reddish corn silk and you think Odin, the forge and the hammer and skin stinging from the salt of the ocean. Virginia Woolfâs quiet brand of gaunt frankness surveys you in passing in the parking lot. Queen Victoriaâs heavy-lidded stare and beaked nose are firmly, uncannily fixed on a sixth-grade classmateâs face. Renaissance voluptuousness on the boardwalk by the beach. Boticelliâs caramel androgyny in a youth smoking on a bench outside the mall. Jazz age looseness spurs the tripping gait of the man who watches you paint with his hands in his pockets, and he smiles a Sammy Davis Jr. smile and tells you that you look familiar, that heâs sure heâs seen you somewhere before, but he doesnât know where or when.