napalm words

Kristiana

Boston, MA/traveling 'round.

Human. Ranter. Photog. Friend. Frequent flyer. Thinker. Speaker. Writer. Doodler. Cartoon lover. Animal finder feeder rescuer. Punk rock chick. Human.

I ramble and some people read.

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endless-nigth:

Demon Dean on We Heart It.

endless-nigth:

Demon Dean on We Heart It.

(via deanwinchestergifs)

(Source: winchestersgifs, via deanwinchesterdaily)

RIP, Jay Adams. 

RIP, Jay Adams. 

maudelynn:

So long Jay Adams, you were a Pioneer. 

Jay Adams (February 3, 1961 – August 15, 2014)

Dude, seriously? No. 

RIP Adams. 

(via chug-life)

(Source: supernaturaldaily, via flowers-for-spiderwick-girls)

pxrception:

peachnaked:

abseunt:

unconsciousearth:


NASA released a satellite image of india in the evening during the festive holiday of diwali, the celebration of lights. 

this is one of the prettiest things i’ve ever seen

awh look at Sri Lanka too omg

Gorg

This is beautiful

pxrception:

peachnaked:

abseunt:

unconsciousearth:

NASA released a satellite image of india in the evening during the festive holiday of diwali, the celebration of lights.

this is one of the prettiest things i’ve ever seen

awh look at Sri Lanka too omg

Gorg

This is beautiful

(Source: aieon, via flowers-for-spiderwick-girls)

dirtysupernaturalimagines:

Imagine you having a father!dean kink and you make him dress up in his priest outfit.

Gif Source

(Source: foxxinthewind, via massacremurdermama)

(via shabby-wolf)

It kills me to know this poem.

RIP, Robin. A very large part of our childhoods, our imaginations, and a little spark in this English major’s own personal story thanks to your quick wit and roles like this one. 

O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,

While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead

Seriously…

Sometimes there’s nothing else to do but lie in bed with your largest, loudest, secluding pair of headphones and tuning out for a little while. My mood has lifted substantially from where I was at two hours ago.