vogue cover of the week

anonymous asked:

What is with the false b.s. about Karlie not being a model anymore? She was the most campaigned model in 2016. Third highest paid in the world. Last I checked she is modeling for CH, Adidas, L'Oreal, Swarovski and others. Can your anon please let us know when she got the memo that Karlie quit modeling? FFS let the girl expand her horizon however she seems fit. You can't grow if you don't step out of your comfort zone.

Agree.

Why should she want to schlep up and down a runway when she has done hundreds maybe thousands of them and she went out on an all time HIGH?

When she does walk a runway again it will be a big deal cameo.

Wasn’t she on the cover of Australian vogue only weeks ago??

And yes of course, all her brands have at least another year to go IMO. Adidas is fucking huge.

Edward Ennifel loves her so expect plenty of work at British Vogue.

Let her experiment. She’s only 24!!!!!!!

👍🏻❤️

flawless

Sterek one-shot, word count: 4k. 

~

Derek’s relationship with Stiles is about 40% eyebrow conversations, 40% innuendo, 5% puns (on Stiles’ end), and 15% fighting over the radio in the Camaro.

Except when Lydia Martin comes on. Then it’s 0% fighting over the radio, and 0% complaining, and 0% passive-aggressive commentary, or else Stiles will dump his ass, no exceptions.

“Not even when it’s your birthday in a week and your boyfriend is about to spend hours upon hours of his life baking you an unnecessarily complicated Millennium Falcon cake?” Derek asks.

“Not even,” Stiles agrees cheerfully. He cranks the volume a little higher as he says it, just to be a little shit, and adds, with entirely too much fondness given that this is a woman who regularly threatens to crush men’s skulls under her stilettos, “She’s my strawberry-blonde goddess, you know this.”

“Yeah,” Derek mutters, “I know.”

“And you can quit it with the judgey eyebrows, because I know you listen to Celine Dion in the shower.”

Derek shuts up.

It takes a whole four minutes for the song to end. It’s one of her quieter songs, one that doesn’t get a lot of air time. It’s not that bad, he supposes. A little twangier than he likes, a little more saccharine, but–pleasant. Like a lullaby. What makes it annoying is Stiles sitting over there crooning at the stereo and making heart eyes. No song–or singer–is that good.

Stiles sighs contentedly into the last notes and wriggles his butt against the seat. “I know you and I are, like, werewolf-married, but dude, if I ever met Lydia Martin in person … All bets are off, is all I’m saying.“

It’s not like Stiles really means it (does he?), but it still makes Derek’s hands clench into claws on the steering wheel.

"Yeah, if,” he says, and keeps his eyes on the road.

Keep reading