Need Logan To Be All "you're Too Young For Me." And Of Course You're All, "aren't You Like 200 And Something

bitches have complicated feelings about me due to my inconsistent swag

reblog if you've read all the peculiar children books i want to know you exist

why do i fall for fictional characters that have dead or literally no fandom

LIKE LOOK AT THIS MAN AND TELL ME HES NO THE HOTTEST SWEETEST BOY IN THE WORLD

i lied. put your clothes back on. you’re going to tell me how much i’ve changed your perspective on life and that you’re never going to forget me.

Screw POV, this is my man

Sorry guys I have raging daddy issues I will not apologize for all the Logan Howlett age gap smut and blurbs that I read ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎

If it is the quality of your consciousness at this moment that determines the future, then what is it that determines the quality of your consciousness? Your degree of presence.

All negativity is caused by an accumulation of psychological time and denial of the present.

Unease, anxiety, tension, stress, worry — all forms of fear — are caused by too much future, and not enough presence.

Guilt, regret, resentment, grievances, sadness, bitterness, and all forms of nonforgiveness are caused by too much past, and not enough presence.

Most people find it difficult to believe that a state of consciousness totally free of all negativity is possible. And yet this is the liberated state to which all spiritual teachings point. It is the promise of salvation, not in an illusory future but right here and now.

Eckhart Tolle

To Fight with Fire

Part One here

Five minutes.

This was the tenth time you had awoken into a dream and not into the viewing gallery you’d made inside your head. Today, you’d fallen asleep in front of the TV, watching a crime procedural. Tonight, you’d ‘awoken’ in a stereotypical interrogation room, handcuffed to the pale, dark-haired man who had stolen your dreams from you. Sometimes he spoke, sometimes he circled the dream watching, and twice he’d sat silently next to you in your cinema. All he’d done today was stare intensely at you, like he was trying to pick into your soul, searching for something.

Four minutes, twenty-five seconds.

There was a bomb on top of the table. Your eyes darted to it, panic at the red flashing numbers. You turned back to the man of your dreams. Despite his constantly pouting face, which might have looked ridiculous on any other man, he was terrifying. Eternity stretched in starlight eyes, and you knew the limits of your imagination could not have created him. More terrifying than him, more terrifying than the bomb on the table, was the idea this man was real.

Three minutes, fifty-nine seconds.

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