Prelow - For The Team
Fieri Frames
The Stonewall Inn
Sade Olutola
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

Origami Around
No title available
$LAYYYTER
No title available
🩵 avery cochrane 🩵
hello vonnie
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
todays bird
No title available
ojovivo

gracie abrams
No title available
cherry valley forever
occasionally subtle
Claire Keane
Cosmic Funnies

seen from Türkiye

seen from United States
seen from Thailand

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States

seen from Argentina

seen from France

seen from Australia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from Malaysia

seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from Spain
@beyond-adrian-blog
Prelow - For The Team
easy time (mash-up) || corporate slackers
No matter what you say or what you do, when I’m alone, I’d rather be with you
You’re welcome
This is the most useful thing I’ve ever reblogged.
i used to think when people said my cousin twice removed that their cousin must’ve did some fucked up shit to get kicked out of the family twice
Thank you.
one of the best things that has ever happened to me was that when trying to resolve an argument with my significant other, he asked me to explain why we should still be together without ever saying the word “love”. i think over time we grow to love people for the things they do and the things they are, and over time “love” just feels so natural that there shouldn’t be anything else to say.
but “because i love you” should never be the only answer. it is never the only answer.
there are more reasons—a lot more unselfish reasons—than because i love you
Stiles Stilinski, 2x11
The opening scene of Teen Wolf actually killed me, because it just… encompasses Stiles’ coping mechanisms, and what he’s dealing with. He says very little about how he’s feeling directly, but everything out of his mouth gives us more. It opens with:
“You know when you’re drowning you don’t actually inhale until right before you black out. It’s called voluntary apnea. It’s like no matter how much you’re freaking out, the instinct to not let any water in is so strong that you won’t open your mouth until you feel like your head’s exploding. Then when you finally do let it in, that’s when it stops hurting. It’s not scary anymore, it’s… it’s actually kind of peaceful.”
When Stiles is confronted with something he doesn’t know how to deal with, that forces his life to take an unexpected turn, he arms himself with research, with knowledge. Matt turned Stiles’ life upside down because of a traumatic event that pushed him over the edge, so Stiles researched exactly what caused Matt to go psychotic. But the way he talks, we get the feeling he’s not just talking about Matt, but himself. About the fact that no matter how much is thrown at him, he can’t seem to make himself stop fighting to stay alive. About the idea that there might be more peace in just… giving up.
“Can you feel sorry for the nine year old Matt who drowned?”
“Just because a bunch of dumb asses dragged him into a pool when he couldn’t swim doesn’t really give him the right to go off killing them one by one. And by the way, my dad told me that they found a bunch of pictures of Allison on Matt’s computer. Not just of her though, I mean he photoshopped himself into these pictures. Stuff like them holding hands and kissing, y’know like he had built this whole fake relationship. So yeah, maybe drowning when he was nine years old was what set him off the rails, but the dude was definitely riding the crazy train.”
There’s a few things in this: the therapist is trying to direct the conversation back to Stiles’ emotions, to Stiles’ feelings. Stiles manages to, as always, deflect. Or, at least, he’s intending to. But Stiles has already found similarities in what drove Matt crazy and himself. The feeling of helplessness, the feeling of constantly battling to stay afloat, to keep breathing. He knows what it’s like to lose control of your body, to feel like you might not make it out alive, because of his panic attacks. We also know that Stiles lost his mom when he was young, and has, similarly to Matt, had a part of him “killed.” So Stiles has to justify the diferences to himself, to prove out loud that he is not Matt, that even with all their similarities, Stiles isn’t going to fly off the handle and attack everyone. So he turns to the stuff with Allison; yeah, trauma was his trigger, but something had to be wrong with him fundamentally, right? So my trauma won’t send me off the handle.
“And what about you, Stiles? Feeling some anxiety about that championship game tomorrow night?”
“Why would you ask me that? Oh. Uh, uh, no I never actually play but hey, since one of my teammates is dead, and another ones missing, who knows, right?”
Again, the therapist turns the attention back to him, after Stiles has done what he does best: pay attention to everyone’s state of mind and well being other than his own. Stiles has been replacing the net on his lacrosse stick throughout the entire meeting, tightening it, unable to get it right. The thing is, as Stiles points out, he doesn’t play. The net isn’t worn out, it doesn’t need to be replaced, and even if it did, he wouldn’t need to replace it since he won’t be playing. Stiles doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. When it’s pointed out to him, he quickly deflects it, and removes the net from his mouth. He’s hiding behind something that he knows he won’t ever be able to fail in, because he never has the chance. And when that’s pointed out, he hides behind his biggest coping mechanism: deflection and humor.
“You mean Issac. One of the three runaways. You haven’t heard from any of them, have you?”
“How come you’re not taking any notes on this?”
This is the first time Stiles consciously and clearly deflects something, because it’s the first question he realizes he’s guilty of avoiding the answer.
And then:
“Yeah, aside from the not sleeping, the jumpiness, the constant, overwhelming fear that something terrible’s about to happen.”
Stiles’ first reaction is to reassure someone that nothing is wrong, and he does it without flinching. It takes him a minute to realize that the whole point of this conversation is to let out the fact that he isn’t fine. But even when he concedes to that, even when he lets out the first actual admission of what he’s feeling, he still doesn’t take back the “I’m fine.”
“It’s called hyper vigilance. The persistent feeling of being under threat.”
Stiles has been diagnosed before. He doesn’t want to be analyzed or fixed. Doesn’t want to be told that what he’s feeling is a disorder. It’s why he didn’t answer any of the questions directly originally, didn’t volunteer any information. Because he’s been through this before. He’s been diagnosed. And he’s tired of feeling like somethings wrong with him.
“Maybe it’s not just a feeling though, right, it’s… it’s like it’s a panic attack. Y’know, like I can’t even breathe.”
Stiles stops himself from saying anything that’s the truth. “It’s like I’m being attacked by the supernatural, like I’ve dragged the only remaining parent I have into it, like I almost watched him die because a crazy kid went off the handle and happened to find a freaky lizard who is also my classmate who tried to kill me and killed lots of other people and almost killed my father.” So instead, he likens it to the only thing he knows he can articulate that’s possibly similar: panic attacks. Because they make him feel helpless, like Jackson did, like Matt did. Helpless to take care of himself, or anything around him.
“Like you’re drowning.”
“Yeah.”
“So, if you’re drowning, and you’re trying to keep your mouth closed until that very last moment… what if you chose to not open your mouth? To not let the water hit?”
“Y-You do anyway, it’s a reflex.”
“But… if you hold off, until that reflex kicks in, you have more time, right?”
“Not much time.”
“But more time to fight your way to the surface”
“I guess.”
“More time to be rescued.”
“More time to be in agonizing pain. Did you forget about the part where you feel like your head’s exploding?”
Because Stiles never gets rescued. That’s the difference between him and Matt. He’s felt like he was drowning since his mom died, since his father started drinking himself to an early grave, since Scott turned into a werewolf and left him, since everyone around him became stronger and more well adapted for life, since his dad told him he didn’t trust him. Since his dad called Scott’s name instead of Stiles when he heard a gun shot go off. Since he watched his dad get attacked, and he was helpless. Like he always was.
“If it’s about surviving, isn’t a little agony worth it?”
“I mean, what if it just gets worse? What if it’s agony now and… and it’s just hell later on.”
“Then think about something Winston Churchill once said: If you’re going through hell, keep going.”
I think the last quote really encompasses Stiles’ way of coping, way of living. He’s under this barrage of every thing going wrong, of drowning under every crisis his life throws at him. But Stiles is in the constant state of voluntary apnea. He never breathes in, never lets it take him under all the way. He’s going through hell, he can’t breathe, he wants nothing more than to open his mouth and let the pain go away. To have peace. But he lives with feeling like his head’s exploding, because other people need him to survive. His dad, Scott, even Derek. Stiles plays a role, and that role is the only thing that keeps him going, even if he doesn’t realize how big it is. It’s the only thing that keeps him from breathing, from letting the water in. Stiles doesn’t believe in a brighter future for himself; he doesn’t see the drowning feeling going away any time soon, unless he lets the water in, gives up. But he does believe in the fact that if he does give in, does concede, it might hurt the ones around him more than he’s hurting.
So Stiles is willing to deal with agony now, and hell later on, because he cares about those he loves more than he cares about himself. He’ll live in hell if it means everyone he cares about gets to live, period.
Tokimonsta - Go With It ft MNDR
Ay oh, let it go See the big picture Explode like a lightbulb Let it unfold Just go, go with it
Tokimonsta - So Sick (Instrumental)
chrse was here (-:
Come and Be Alone With Me || The Jungle Giants
This one time I painted a living room with a girl.
This was a handful of years back. It was about eight months before the huge, flame-out of a breakup. That day, though? That day we painted the living room? It was pretty uneventful. We painted my parents living room for $50 between us and a pizza. That was it. I think we watched Anchorman or something after that.
But it still holds as on of the most indelible memories I have. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not still in love, it happened, it was good, it ended, and we’ve both moved on. But I’ll never forget that day. Because it’s never, in the long run, about the grand gestures. You can fly across the world and show up on her doorstep with a rose in your teeth and a ring in a little velvet box but I can guarantee you that - more often than not - she’s going to remember the time you built the birdhouse in the back yard, or what have you, a whole lot more.
Life wasn’t meant to be taken in large movements. The next day will inevitably arrive, you’ll sleep, and the moment will have passed. But when you have a hundred thousand small moments, you can step back and appreciate the picture a lot more than metaphorically blowing your load on some grand moment that, in all honesty, look, you’re not Bruce Fucking Springsteen, you’re not going to be able to blow everyone’s mind every single night. You’re not Romeo and/or Juliet. There’s no reason to drink the poison together in some flame-out gesture. So that leaves us with the small stuff. It’s all about the detail.
That’s what love is. Attention to detail.
And the moment will end. And then things will get boring. And it might get a little quiet. And it might all end horribly. And you might hate eachother at the end. And you might walk away from eachother one day and never speak again. But that’s just how it goes.
But she’ll remember the time you held the door open for her on your first date. She’ll remember the time you laughed at her impression of the landlady. She’ll remember the time you stayed up all night that first time. She’ll remember the small things a lot longer than the big ones.
But everything ends. And I’ll tell you why you have to make the small things, the small moments count so much more:
One day, probably a while longer from now, when old age takes ahold of someone, she might just only remember your smile. Everything you ever did together, every second, every moment, every beat, every morning spent in bed, every evening spent together on the sofa, all of that - gone. Everything you ever did will be reduced to the head of a pin. She won’t remember your name. She’ll just remember your smile, and she’ll smile. She won’t know why. It’s a base, gut reaction. But she’ll smile, uncontrollably, and it will come from somewhere so deep as to know that you touched her on a primal, honest, and true level that no scientist, scholar, or savant could ever begin to explain. There is no more. There is nothing else. There is just this: She’ll remember your smile, and she’ll smile.
And you know what? That’s all that really matters in the end.