majestictunes:

yonce/partition || beyonce

why you think you keep my name rolling off the tongue
'cause when you wanna smash, I just write another one
I sneezed on the beat and the beat got sicker
yoncé all on his mouth like liquor

(via assassinregrets)

Lupita Nyong’o | Behind the Scenes of Essence photoshoot

(via jebiwonkenobi)

(Source: nabees2, via blackestglass)

saathi1013:

Naomie Harris as Eve Moneypenny

I could pretty much watch that shaving scene allllll day, folks.

(Source: mazegrievers, via rob-anybody)

ANNIE - Official Trailer (2014)

(Source: faineemae, via swingsetindecember)

remenance:

Meanwhile in an alternate universe…

(via sparrowwingsandfragilethings)

a-fearless-divergent-victor:

supercalifraginatural:

s0raiseyourglassifyouarewrong:

but what if Ellen Degeneres and Neil Patrick Harris hosted an award show together

I’m like 90% sure no actual awarding would be done because they’d constantly be trying to ride off each others bit and it would turn into like a three hour comedy skit


and it would still be the greatest Oscars

(via candylandsforgottenrainbows)

My Least Favorite Trope (and this post will include spoilers for The Lego Movie, Guardians of the Galaxy, The Matrix, Western Civilization, and—cod help me—Bulletproof Monk*.) is the thing where there’s an awesome, smart, wonderful, powerful female character who by all rights ought to be the Chosen One and the hero of the movie, who is tasked with taking care of some generally ineffectual male character who is, for reasons of wish fulfillment, actually the person the film focuses on. She mentors him, she teaches him, and she inevitably becomes his girlfriend… and he gets the job she wanted: he gets to be the Chosen One even though she’s obviously far more qualified. And all he has to do to get it and deserve it is Man Up and Take Responsibility.

And that’s it. Every god-damned time. The mere fact of naming the films above and naming the trope gives away the entire plot and character arc of every single movie.


fozmeadows:


 The smallrus is tiniest of the seal family, not much larger (and rather similiar in shape) to the garden slug. They prefer damp areas with large amounts of water, like well-watered gardens with fish ponds, and can often be seen sporting in puddles and bird baths, making their typical call (a sort of squeaky bellow.*) Any gardener is generally delighted to see the smallrus appear, as the occasional nibble of a leaf is more than made up for by their ability to keep down the number of mosquito larvae and other small aquatic nuisances.
This is so my ex-husband’s fault.
One day he was wandering around singing “I am the smallrus!”
"How big is a smallrus?" I asked.
"Very, very tiny."
"Awww."
"They’re bred as sock warmers. You can put your socks on the smallri to keep warm."
"AWWWWW!"
"They purr."
"AWWWWWWWWWWW!"
And just when I was thinking that I had misjudged this man for ten whole years, that he was capable of great depths of adorableness, that his capacity for cuteness was far beyond anything I’d guessed, and he’d merely been hiding it behind a facade of mild pervesion and non-sequitor—
"And they’re great with honey-mustard sauce!"
*sigh*
As my friend Kathy said, “He is capable of great flights of whimsy, you just can’t listen all the way to the end.”  -Ursula Vernon
—————————-
*Inhale a good lungful of helium and yell “GRONK!” and you’ve about got it.

True story: online, I refer to my son as the Smallrus (I called myself a walrus while pregnant, which, logically made him a small walrus, or Smallrus: so). As it happens, the creator of the illustration above follows me on Twitter, and I follow her, and when she saw me use the word Smallrus, she shot me a message asking, had I named my son after her painting? When I said no, she showed me her artwork, I exclaimed over its awesomeness, and she - because she is also awesome - mailed me a print of it, because Smallruses should stick together.
And ever since we moved to our new house, that same framed Smallrus print has sat on the shelf by my son’s bedside: tangible proof that the internet - much like imagination and human kindness - is a weird and wonderful creature.

fozmeadows:

 The smallrus is tiniest of the seal family, not much larger (and rather similiar in shape) to the garden slug. They prefer damp areas with large amounts of water, like well-watered gardens with fish ponds, and can often be seen sporting in puddles and bird baths, making their typical call (a sort of squeaky bellow.*) Any gardener is generally delighted to see the smallrus appear, as the occasional nibble of a leaf is more than made up for by their ability to keep down the number of mosquito larvae and other small aquatic nuisances.

This is so my ex-husband’s fault.

One day he was wandering around singing “I am the smallrus!”

"How big is a smallrus?" I asked.

"Very, very tiny."

"Awww."

"They’re bred as sock warmers. You can put your socks on the smallri to keep warm."

"AWWWWW!"

"They purr."

"AWWWWWWWWWWW!"

And just when I was thinking that I had misjudged this man for ten whole years, that he was capable of great depths of adorableness, that his capacity for cuteness was far beyond anything I’d guessed, and he’d merely been hiding it behind a facade of mild pervesion and non-sequitor—

"And they’re great with honey-mustard sauce!"

*sigh*

As my friend Kathy said, “He is capable of great flights of whimsy, you just can’t listen all the way to the end.”  -Ursula Vernon

—————————-

*Inhale a good lungful of helium and yell “GRONK!” and you’ve about got it.

True story: online, I refer to my son as the Smallrus (I called myself a walrus while pregnant, which, logically made him a small walrus, or Smallrus: so). As it happens, the creator of the illustration above follows me on Twitter, and I follow her, and when she saw me use the word Smallrus, she shot me a message asking, had I named my son after her painting? When I said no, she showed me her artwork, I exclaimed over its awesomeness, and she - because she is also awesome - mailed me a print of it, because Smallruses should stick together.

And ever since we moved to our new house, that same framed Smallrus print has sat on the shelf by my son’s bedside: tangible proof that the internet - much like imagination and human kindness - is a weird and wonderful creature.

Displaying P1070970.JPG

(via sparrowwingsandfragilethings)