Punchdrunk Panda Giveaway!

artistic-dreams:

A few weeks ago, I blogged about Punchdrunk Panda’s HOHOL for the brand’s new collection of camera straps.

And guess what? Because PdP is awesome, you guys get to win 3 of ‘em! :) 

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Since most of you guys probably have SLRs (photobloggers represent!), I’m giving away 3 designs from Punchdrunk Panda’s newest collection - Air, Wilder and Land.

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Instructions:

1. Like Punchdrunk Panda on Facebook 

2. Follow Punchdrunk Panda on Twitter

3. Follow Punchdrunk Panda on Instagram

4. Like Le Reveur on Facebook

5. Comment on THIS post (via Disqus) with your name, e-mail address and screenshots of each of numbers 1-4. No screenshot, no entry.

6. For an additional entry: reblog this post or share on Facebook!

Three lucky readers get to win each of these. Yay! :)

Contest ends on Tuesday, April 22. I’ll announce the winners on April 23rd. Best of luck!

Open to Philippine residents only.

posted 5 months ago with 65 notes , via - reblog
#ooh please

I will burn with you

posted 6 months ago with 2,853 notes , via , source - reblog
#Teen Wolf #sterek

i can take care of myself

posted 6 months ago with 3,876 notes , via , source - reblog
#sterek #teen wolf

mydearsourwolf:

The Wolf and the Fox Sterek AU for my dear Becky.

Derek always says that he should have known that Stiles was a fox, of course, how had that not been as glaringly obvious as possible - and Stiles always gives him a crooked grin in return, pokes Derek in the ribs and says smartly, what’s that supposed to mean?

But Stiles loves it, loves the feeling of his skin stretching taut as his muscles bunch and shift and his too-large hands curl into paws almost small and delicate. He’s not nearly close enough in size to Derek’s wolf, not nearly as strong or with the same kind of stamina. But he likes to pretend he is. Likes to tangle himself between Derek’s front and hind legs to trip him up, heart racing at the sound of Derek’s jaws snapping at the back of his neck as Derek falls into pursuit.

Sometimes Stiles will change back mid chase, bare feet pounding against the forest floor and cheeks flushed red with excitement, hair all askew. It never takes long for Derek to catch up, to throw his solid arms around Stiles’ naked shoulders and yank him back to a full stop, their bodies tumbling to the ground as Stiles laughs and laughs and laughs into the warm press of Derek’s mouth against his own.

Stiles doesn’t heal quite as fast as Derek can, and that makes Derek fret and mutter worried curses under his breath as he tends to Stiles’ (minor) scrapes and bruises. It’s all too easy for Derek to gently manhandle Stiles onto the couch, Stiles’ body all soft and pliant, tuckered out from the day’s chase. 

"You worry too much," Stiles says, voice sleep-tinged as he arches his throat and tilts his head back onto the pillows, lets Derek touch and feel and make sure Stiles’ bones are sewing back together as they should.

He hears Derek sigh, feels the couch dip beneath the weight of Derek’s body as he settles in close. Stiles hums, a pleased smile tugging at his mouth, eyes heavy-lidded as he snuffles his face against Derek’s throat and finds the heat trapped there, the mixture of sweat and spice and the richness of earth still clinging to Derek’s skin.

Derek sets his large palm against the back of Stiles’ neck, holds Stiles’ wriggling body still against his own.

"I’mma fox, remember?" Stiles mumbles, words slurring thickly around his tongue.

Derek huffs out a soft laugh, drags his fingernails up the shape of Stiles’ scalp.

"Is that a fact," he muses, rests his thumb at that tender spot behind Stiles’ ear and Stiles goes predictably boneless against Derek’s side, a blissed out whine stirring in the back of his throat.

Derek smiles, allows himself to sink deeper into the cushions, chin tilting against Stiles’ forehead. 

"Go to sleep, silly fox." 

posted 6 months ago with 6,403 notes , via , source - reblog
#cuties #sterek #Teen Wolf

ink-splotch:

dear teen wolf

Why wasn’t Allison the one possessed by the nogitsune? 

You had it, right here, the perfect death scenario. Why wasn’t everything that Stiles did this season done by Allison instead? Losing time and terrible possessions, rapid switches between teary eyed innocence and smirking malevolence. I realize you have a giant collective crush on Dylan O’Brien’s everything (I understand, I do), but have you seen Crystal act?

Allison as the nogitsune. That scene where Silverfinger warns Chris Argent he might have to kill his daughter comes back to slay us. She plays Scott like a fiddle, impales him in the vet clinic, smirking as wet dark hair falls across her cheekbones—imagine this, okay? Kidnapping Lydia. What a betrayal that would be, coming from Allison’s hands. What a blow for Lydia, to watch something living in her best friend’s skin, sidling close and leering, cutting deep. I want those scenes. 

An Allison consumed from the inside by a foreign darkness would be beautiful. Or rather: an Allison struggling against it— that’s always been her story. She is trying so hard not to be Kate. So much of her arc has been fighting that darkness; embracing her terrible strengths and turning them to the light. (She takes the brutal, vengeful code of her forefathers and turn it from a bloody blade into a shield).

Instead of Stiles inheriting his mother’s illness, Allison inherits her aunt’s darkness, her mother’s brittle vengeance. Give me this

And do you see what this would get you? Instead of an insipid “surprise” death, a useless one—we get the sacrifice. We get a season of buildup, of earning, of this warrior born of dark bloodlines and old scars, of this young woman who loves so hard, who is so terrified of being her aunt— 

Her friends will keep trying to defend her from the oni, to save her from the fox— Lydia pleads and listens and searches; Scott tries so damn hard to be a hero, to find a way to keep his promises. Chris Argent crumbles and crumbles from the inside out, burning within the way his sister burned without. 

But in the end, Allison stands, grappling for a moment of control against the darkness inside her. There is blood on her hands. It is not hers. The thing in her chest promises chaos and pain, screams for it, the way she can hear Kate’s voice sometimes at night. COME ON!

She knows there are some battles you cannot win. Or, rather, Allison knows protecting other people is the victory, no matter the cost. Protecting other people is something worth dying for. Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger leurs-même.

"Do it," Allison tells her father. She is an Argent and she will live by her code.

She will die by it. 

lydia martin and her smug “alpha scott” smile (ノ◕ヮ◕)ノ*:・゚✧

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