Matt’s Getting Mischievous With Age, Telling Nick They Couldn’t Give Him His Wisdom Teeth Only To

MY SISTER MET MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER?????

It’s good to feel this way. Feel it, let yourself drown for just a moment - know that you can still swim. Let yourself suffer, it’s what makes us human. Feel that pain and let yourself respond, you’re not stuck in it forever.

Life goes so fast, it’s so easy to skip the bad parts with distractions or pretend, those moments build you. Be built, become more, become new.

I let myself drown all throughout my teens, and once I was ready I swam. I let myself build strength, I still can’t be sure where I’m headed in life, I don’t think anyone is ever sure where they’re going, but the longer you swim the closer you get to knowing.

Write down the hurt and confusion, and then write down all the dreams you have. Even the embarrassing, far from reach, near impossible dreams. Let yourself hope, be youthful and confused and sad. BE YOUNG. Life doesn’t end in the confusion, growth starts, so let yourself grow in weird and unpredictable ways. Let your vines wrap around your neck once or twice so that they can get far enough to reach the next day.

Just don’t give up on yourself, there is always another chance. So for now you’re going to drown, and maybe for a while longer you will, but before you know it you’ll reach the surface and the tide will give you a head start, and you’ll swim.

Tw angsty teenage feelings

Is it okay to feel lost? To feel like every time I'm not outright miserable, I'm playing pretend? I worry that I'm wasting my late teens but is feeling lost and being in no set direction part of it? I honestly don't know, I've never had role models and my position is very unique. I feel less like a person and more like a drowned body being pulled and tugged by indecisive waves. Am I fucking it up? I guess we'll see

Neil Gaiman writing season 2 (I love you, Neil)

Panties are overrated

y'all know davy jones who can only step on land once every decade?

right, make that Simon, but he's something else.

He shows up hours before someone's passing. An inky nondescript shadow that blends into the background, unnoticed by most. But to those whose final specks of sand trickle through their hourglass?

They see him.

An entity condemned to a lifetime of servitude. A wretched, pitiful existence. Something that saps the life out of everything it touches. Something that can't feel the warm rays of the sun seep into his skin, can't smell petrichor in the dewy morning, when the world begins to wake.

He lives yet he doesn't. An eternity of suffering, of wishing he never begged for a way out of the braided strands of hemp that had tightened around his neck for his crimes so long ago.

His freedom forfeit the moment he pleaded for it.

With a lantern that glows an eerie green, he leads deceased souls to their final destination, even the ones who resist, who cling futilely to life, to what is no longer theirs.

Some might call him death, others Hermes. The only name he's ever cared for is his own, the one that his mother had given him back when men still sailed the seas in search of treasure, when men and women alike were hung at the gallows.

But now he is a nameless servant of the natural order that guides them all.

However, he was also given a boon. One single day, out of every ten years, the tight collar around his neck comes off, and he turns human.

A man of flesh and blood.

His lungs fill with the crisp, biting air that he never feels. Cheeks sting from the cold. Fingertips numb without gloves.

For one blessed night, the heart in his chest beats. For one blessed night, his body is warm, flush with life.

And it's been this way for as long as he can remember. He would roam the docks of back then, the briny air stinging his nose, the dulled thumping of hooves resounding in his ears. The chants of drunken men coming from inside lit taverns.

He roamed when cars began to be a form of transportation, when children, boys, began marching to war.

He had been so busy, then.

And he roams now, in the modern age, where medicine forestalls the inescapable.

But then, you. Blood rushes to his face the moment he lays eyes on you. His throat dries, turns to the paper that's used to strip paint.

He's never seen something so beautiful. So plump with vitality, life coursing through your veins. A sweet little thing, whose dulcet voice makes his knees weak.

And when you shake hands with him, palm engulfed in his much larger one, as you ask him for his name, his tongue feels as if it's coated with tar, swollen and heavy. But he garbles out his response anyway.

"Simon."

The way you breathe it back, like a sigh from a lover, could still his heart.

Everything else is a blur, his eyes only ever focused on you when he ends up in your arms, in between your spread thighs, inviting him where no creature such as he belongs.

But he's always yearned for what was never his, and so with fervor, he takes. Grabs at soft skin, and whimpers at the fact that you're not dead with his touch. Surrenders himself to you, completely; makes the little dove under him sing until the short arm on the clock gets close to 12.

This is where he departs, with a promise he swears to never break, and wrenches his heart out of his own chest, placing it in your gentle hands.

He swears to come back for it, once every ten years.

Whenever Simon turns back to whatever he's cursed with being, he keeps a keen eye on you. And then the one time he passes by, feeling like nothing but an artic breeze to you, he sees your life is close to an end.

Simon, for once in his pathetic existence, saves a human life. The car that crashes into you at a lethal speed, does nothing but total your vehicle. It is considered an absolute miracle to everyone, except you.

That should've been your demise. That should've been it.

His little dove, too smart for her own good.

The time will soon come again, and when his head rests on your chest, listening to the lulling sounds of your heart beating, will he tell you what he is.

(maybe, or not idk)

"It's a heady tonic. Holding life and death in the palm of your own hand."

I don’t talk about my disabilities often on here because i like to escape from them when I can, but I think it’s a good time to say,

Able bodied people LOVE to hate disabled people.

I recently went to Disneyland for the day, i place i grew up visiting and still love. But for the first time in all my visits, i rented a wheelchair. Which I personally do not regret - im generally not a mobility aide user but I have needed ambulatory aides in the past, so as a precaution I got the wheelchair. The last time I visited without use of a chair I was so exhausted I couldn’t really use my ankles by noon, and I’m not leaving till the park closes. The wheelchair saved me from so much pain, fatigue and discomfort, it made the visit better for me and the people with me.

And I came to the conclusion, Disney is the one place you can really experience the true view people have on handicapped people.

Some park goers were very understanding and helpful, some literally walked into me, or pushed the chair out of their way as if I wasn’t in it. Some people didn’t look me in the eye, and some would only look at me in the eye.

Many conversations went something like:

👱🏻

“Hi!”

And the eye contact does get weird after maybe two uninterrupted seconds.

And others were more like:

🙄

And pretending like I’m not there is really awkward.

All in all, I know it fucking sucks i exist and can’t walk safely for extended periods of time! I know I should leave the wheelchair for people actually can’t walk! I know I shouldn’t stand up and walk because I’m wheelchair bound! I know you hate me!

But I’m not here for you, my wheelchair wasn’t specifically designed to be a problem for you! I just can’t walk.

You’re lucky you can, you’re lucky the pain I feel on an average basis is your emergency room level pain!

It’s important that able bodied people remember and recognize, you don’t have to treat people with walkers, crutches, canes, wheelchairs, scooters, or any other aides, like kids. Im a human, with a brain, thoughts, emotions, and opinions. And just like you, I can tell this interaction is going really bad.

Don’t stare to be polite, don’t stare to be rude. Don’t overly sympathize, or question. Don’t yell at us, or for us. I’m not a make a wish kid, if I were I’d be in Europe, not Disneyland.

Respect disabled people, remember they’re more person than disabled.

able-bodied people will claim to be disability activists and then they'll get pissed at you if you don't have the physical energy to respond 'timely'. or if you sleep a lot due to exhaustion. or if you can't get out much (or at all!) for an array of reasons. or if your hygiene isn't up to their standards because you can't wash yourself. or if you have 'inconvenient' allergies or dietary restrictions that they don't want to cater to. or if you're unemployed. or if you have a medical emergency that gets in the way of their plans (especially if you have to cancel last minute). or if you can't do any other 'normal' thing that is more difficult/impossible thanks to an array of disabilities because, get this, they are disabling. fuck that. disabled people don't owe the world an illusion of good health for the sake of the able-bodied. love disabled people without condition.

"How am i a whore?"

Every time I see one of these pics i remember that I was cat woman that same Halloween. We in sync fr🤞🤞🤞

babygirl i will invent stages of grief you have never seen before