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(Source: fygirlcrush)

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notinakinkyway:

Went to a play of The Quiet Man at the train station where some of it was filmed. Mad to think I might have stood in the same place as John Wayne.

notinakinkyway:

Went to a play of The Quiet Man at the train station where some of it was filmed. Mad to think I might have stood in the same place as John Wayne.

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(Source: waildsweetchild, via 90s90s90s)

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mamastiles:

men don’t get to decide what is misogynistic

straight people don’t get to decide what it homophobic

cis people don’t get to decide what is transphobic

white people don’t get to decide what is racist

people in positions of power

don’t get to decide what is considered oppression

that’s how we move backwards, not forwards

(via dangerouspoetry)

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dangerhamster:

100,000 notes and I wonder how many people realise this line was improvised by a 7 year old

(Source: katiebishop, via hannahdaynight)

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browngirlblues:

Samira Wiley as James Dean photographed by Sid Avery

I need a moment

(Source: celebritiesofcolor, via backshelfpoet)

Tags: um no
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actresssinger7:

A Masterclass in Acting: A Novel by Tatiana Maslany

(Source: in-hell-with-a-dead-girl-walking, via theashleyclements)

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Tatiana tears up as a fan thanks Tatiana and the show for giving her the courage to come out and for writing Cosima as a character who is more than her sexuality. (x)

(Source: thecloneclub, via 87daysbefore)

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i’ll always love you ‘cause we grew up together and you helped make me who i am. i just wanted you to know there will be a piece of you in me always, and i’m grateful for that. whatever someone you become, and wherever you are in the world, i’m sending you love. you’re my friend to the end.

(Source: bonhivers, via thefartsinourstars)

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backshelfpoet:

roadtrips (◡‿◡✿) 

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"

This is the kind of love poem
that cleans my name from between your thighs—
only to lay it back into your mouth gentle and inviting so that I might hear the sound of me from you again soon. Maybe broken, maybe croaked and vulnerable in the quiver of your descent but if I didn’t crack something inside of you between these sheets tonight then clearly I’m not finished yet. I’d like to say that this – this is all rust, all familiar, all been there before and stained-worn over time; but tell me, does it scare you as much as me to say that all I see when I see you is rain? All fresh; all foundation, nothing but tender against my cheek despite the cold. This, this isn’t the love poem that gets dirty, but stands with bare feet in the clinging mud after your dark, lust storm and says I’d love you so hard you’d grow from it. I am transparent for you, all sweaty palms and unlocked knees.

This isn’t the kind of love poem that knows temporary, this isn’t the type of love poem that takes you once and dresses itself up again; this is take me home to your parents and make love to me from across the room over childhood pictures, this is set our past, our broken on fire and slow-dance upon the ashes, this is: if my heart’s more resistant than my core when it comes to letting you in, knock the door down, break the glass in—I dare you, make a mess of me.

"

"This is the Only Love Poem I Know" -valentina thompson (via theseoverusedwords)

(via backshelfpoet)

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