SHALLOW GRAVES FOR SHALLOW HEARTS

1950’s Vintage Cocktail Dresses

via smile-and-press-on // vintagegal

Nov. 18, 12

4148

via thatstupidoldbloog

Nov. 18, 12

3110

via wayward-winchester // the-tardised

Nov. 18, 12

644

uncreative-and-indecisive:

Just thought everybody should have these (:

via sasslett // uncreative-and-indecisive

Nov. 18, 12

2967

We are 100% that this is your brother. All we need from you is a simple confirmation. It can be a yes, it can be a nod, it can be a positive-sounding grunt…Just tell us something we can do to make this happen!

via themarvelavengers // aplacethatdoesntknowmyname

Nov. 18, 12

362

via themarvelavengers // daisybuchanans

Nov. 18, 12

9564

keybladeranger:

hazardgirl:

the-star-teddie:

Has this been done yet-

this has three thousand notes and I have no idea how this song fits with this gif

omfg I wasn’t the only one.

via soulforsam // the-star-teddie

Nov. 18, 12

279

sexinwiththehoechlin:

Stiles hated the hospital. It had uncomfortable chairs, smelled funny, and strict rules. The worst rule being that there were certain times that he had to go home with his dad, but his mom had to stay behind. He hated leaving her, despite how much she said it was okay, and that she wasn’t afraid of the dark, and thank you for giving her Mr. Bear for protection, but she didn’t need him because she had a great team of nurses.

The only bright side came when he was allowed to be with her. She’d let him climb up onto the hospital bed even though they were breaking another one of the hospitals rules. But Stiles didn’t care about being scolded when his mother’s arms were wrapped around him.

They didn’t do too much. Mostly just Stiles talked about school and about his life outside the hospital and his mom would tell him any old stories she could remember. Some days they’d read together (although mostly it was just Stiles reading to her as she slept), and some days Stiles would work on his homework (although again, it was mostly just him working while she slept).

But there were some more active days (well as active as you can be when you’re in a hospital). They’d play cards or have a play-dough molding contest (winner got to eat the jello) and so on, but the best was when they painted together.

Stiles wasn’t an artist type. His cats looked exactly like his dogs which according to his father looked like cows. Stilinski men just shouldn’t be allowed to hold a paint brush. But Mama Stilinski, on the other hand, had a gift. She’d never be a great in the art community, but Stiles loved her work, from the early paintings that still hung in his parent’s bedroom to the smaller doodles she mostly did now.

Usually it was on better days when she asked Stiles to bring over the crayolas, when her strength was up and she was smiling. When she’d just let her happiness radiate onto the paper, she’d like to say. Instead it was a miserable day in April when she wasn’t her normal bright eyed self that she had requested them.

Stiles knew she was getting sicker; could tell from the way she had lost weight and lackluster appearance. He didn’t know why she had wanted the stupid paints when she could barely hold herself up, but he complied, crawling onto the bed slowly as not to disturb her or the tubes that had practically now become just an extension of her body. Stiles adjusted himself and pulled out a large piece of white paper.

“What do you want to use? I brought the paints, but I have crayons and markers.”

“Markers are fine,” his mom replied so softly Stiles had strained to hear her.

He rummaged through his bag for the classic pack of washable makers, “What color first?”

“The orange. Could you take off the cap, Sweetie?”

“Course, Mom.”

Stiles put the open marker in her hand and she moved to the middle of the top of the page making a large circle and colored it in.

“I think orange is my favorite color of all time,” Stiles said, mesmerized as she moved the marker back and forth. “I mean it’s the only color that has a real taste and smell.”

“It reminds me of the Mets,” his mother gave a tired smile. “Black now.”

Stiles dug out the second marker and passed it to her. “Mom, if you’re too tired for this I can let you sleep.”

“Don’t be silly.” She drew a line under a circle and second further down the paper. “Hold this?”

Stiles took back the black marker as she reclaimed the orange, and started on another circle, except it was cut in half by the second black line.

“It looks like a sun setting.”

“That’s because it is.”

Stiles didn’t respond, instead he just watched her fill in the rest of the half circle.

“May I have the black again?”

Stiles nodded, switching her orange with the black. She drew a third line at the bottom of the page, then set the marker down.

For a moment neither Stilinski said a thing and just starred at the picture. Until Stiles snatched up the black marker and tried to push the orange marker back into her hand.

“No baby.”

“Mom, you have to bring the sun back,” he begged, voice cracking slightly. “Please!”

“There’s no more room. The picture’s done.”

“I’ll get more paper!” He sat up hurriedly and turned to her. “I can give you all sorts of paper, but you can’t— the sun— I don’t want it die.”

His mom shook her head slightly as tears started to run down her checks. ”I don’t either baby, but that’s just the way nature works.”

“I hate nature,” Stiles whimpered.

“Me too.”

Stiles pushed his bag and the drawing to the floor as he nestled back down beside her. His mother fell asleep fairly quickly after that and he did his best to stay quiet, but his mind was wide awake and reeling, his own tears couldn’t stop falling. That was how his father found him an hour later when he came to take Stiles home.

It was later that night when he was alone in his bedroom with that blasted picture mocking him that his dad came in to explain that his mom had stopped responding to treatments. Stiles wanted nothing more to rip the stupid things to shreds; it was nothing but a cruel reminder. But he didn’t.

Instead when she had died two weeks later, he tacked it onto his wall. He couldn’t let every part of her go away. Just because the sun sets, doesn’t mean it’s gone forever.