That would suggest a radically unorthodox form of therapy.
Yes it would.

(Source: chucknoblet, via insufferablebasterds)



callahaa:

I tried to draw a comic.

Pages 1 and 2 out of ???

I’ll try my best to update it quickly, but I’m so slooooow.

(via foxxxylove)





rrrowr:

#is it me or do they look like evil murder twins there #w lydia advising Stiles on something (via wolfbad)LYDIA TELLING STILES HOW SHE WANTS HIM TO KILL PLS AND THANK

"Go for the throat," she says, breath hot on his jaw and her hand a ground against the high of it, the fear and the lust and the electric hum of adrenaline coursing through his trembling limbs.
But Lydia’s hand is steady, her touch light despite its profound presence. It’s not a comfort. Comfort isn’t something they give lightly, not even to each other. Comfort is a luxury that can only be earned. Taken. Stolen, even, in the quiet hours before dawn, but never given.
Peter taught them well. Nothing is free.
Instead, that touch serves as a reminder — of his training, of their struggle, of what it will mean if he can finally do this. What they could become.
We could be free, he thinks, so softly because even to think it feels like a jinx. Even to give it an inner voice could be too much.
If Peter ever guessed… if he even dreamed of the possibility…
Stiles rolls his shoulders, pushes away the fear until his mind is as empty as the clearing, as cold and pure as the snow.
"No," he answers. "Up and under the ribs."
Straight for the heart.

rrrowr:

#is it me or do they look like evil murder twins there #w lydia advising Stiles on something (via wolfbad)

LYDIA TELLING STILES HOW SHE WANTS HIM TO KILL PLS AND THANK

"Go for the throat," she says, breath hot on his jaw and her hand a ground against the high of it, the fear and the lust and the electric hum of adrenaline coursing through his trembling limbs.

But Lydia’s hand is steady, her touch light despite its profound presence. It’s not a comfort. Comfort isn’t something they give lightly, not even to each other. Comfort is a luxury that can only be earned. Taken. Stolen, even, in the quiet hours before dawn, but never given.

Peter taught them well. Nothing is free.

Instead, that touch serves as a reminder — of his training, of their struggle, of what it will mean if he can finally do this. What they could become.

We could be free, he thinks, so softly because even to think it feels like a jinx. Even to give it an inner voice could be too much.

If Peter ever guessed… if he even dreamed of the possibility…

Stiles rolls his shoulders, pushes away the fear until his mind is as empty as the clearing, as cold and pure as the snow.

"No," he answers. "Up and under the ribs."

Straight for the heart.

(Source: nataliedormier)



Cannot look at you without giggling like a school girl
Sebastian Stan

(Source: dreadpiratejones, via narnianwitch)



plaidbriel:

"i live in a city sorrow built
it's in my honey, it's in my milk"
supernatural + the national lyrics
sam winchester + sorrow

(via insufferablebasterds)




I gave my everything
for all the wrong things
in this cold reality
this selfish war machine

oh, this is become hell
how can I share this life with someone else
I promise you
there is no weight that bury us
beneath the weight of all my guilt

here in the dark side of me