Supergirl by Cutiepiesensei Cosplay
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Get the comics here
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Kiana Khansmith
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
d e v o n
tumblr dot com
almost home
occasionally subtle
Cosmic Funnies
KIROKAZE
Misplaced Lens Cap
styofa doing anything
Show & Tell
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Cosimo Galluzzi
Stranger Things
cherry valley forever

if i look back, i am lost
noise dept.
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

titsay
ojovivo
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@dmz-apathyfaction
Supergirl by Cutiepiesensei Cosplay
Cosplayer instagram / youtube / facebook
Get the comics here
[Follow SuperheroesInColor faceb / instag / twitter / tumblr / pinterest]
This is the Holiday Angel.
Here to bless your dash and anyone you share this post with, with prosperity and wealth.
Reblog this post today for you or tomorrow for me, to help ensure that your/our holiday season is both a Happy and Prosperous one.
how the human brain works:
electricity tickles the meat so that different slimes come out. sometimes the slime feels good sometimes bad. some people make more bad slime than good slime. that’s called clinical depression.
A day in the life. Don't ask why I changed my shirt three times. It's complicated.
Once Upon a Time...
In a dirty, crime ridden suburb there was a boy. Let's call him Me. Me had a hard time. He was quiet, and anxious, and Uncool*. He had very few friends - only the couple other kids labeled Uncool by everyone else at the lunch table. But Me wasn't passive - Me had problems. Like a short temper** and a hardcoded reflex to stick up for his friends. Combined, these led Me to get his ass kicked a lot. Like, so much.
In middle school things started to get better. Me found music, and an outlet. Music helped Me keep calm, kept Me from taking everything personally. It didn't always work. But Me felt connected to the musicians, felt they understood him. Marilyn Manson, DMX, Korn and Biggie. Kurt Cobain, Billy Corgan, David Bowie. Linkin Park, REM, Slayer and Nine Inch Nails. They were angry, they were sad, they came from places a lot like the one he was in and they all rose above it. And they did one other thing for him too - they introduced him to a girl.
She told Me that she would be dead by twenty three. She wore black makeup and torn t-shirts. She didn't care that Me's shoes were worn thin or that he was wearing hand me down frames with lenses that didn't quite fit. She didn't care that he moved five times in two years and never had pocket money. She was bright and laughed and always found him, always talked about becoming a writer and telling stories to the world.
But she didn't love Me. And Me knew that. She told Me he was the kind of guy she would probably end up with someday, and Me never forgot that. But he couldn't stay. His parents had run out of options. Nobody would rent to them in that dirty suburb anymore. Me had to move away.
He didn't tell her. He told her they could be together or they couldn't be friends. She wasn't there to say goodbye. He never forgot that either.
High school in a new town - a rural community without the train tracks and concrete and chain link that Me thought of as home. Trees and hills and grass. A better environment, his parents thought. Closer to Me's grandparents, and far away from the trouble that was his sisters boyfriends. Me didn't mind so much, even if he had to say goodbye to the few friends he had. Other friends came with him, in his tapedeck and CD player. Good Charlotte and Echo and the Bunnymen. The Stiff Little Fingers and Tupac. Dead Kennedy's and Slayer and ICP. Saliva and System of a Down and Alien Ant Farm and Johnny Cash. Neil Young and Neil Diamond. Rise Against and Lamb of God. Tom Waits, Jack Johnson, the White Stripes. Slipknot and Silverchair and Black Sabbath.
He made new friends. Learned to draw anime. Got pretty good, got pretty happy. But there were bad days too. Days he couldn't sleep at all and days he couldn't open his eyes. Days Me didn't want to go to school, didn't want to see his friends. Long, awful stretches of unrelenting heartache, bright, glorious days of cheerful activity.
It never occurred to Me that other people didn't live like this. That other people didn't cry during happy movies or feel flashes of rage for whispered conversations.
But Me didn't worry about it either. He listened to music because it helped. He tried to learn guitar, but his thick, short fingers held him back. He read books - he'd always read books, by the bag full. Those he'd borrowed or stolen from the shelves of libraries, the ones they passed out in school, even the ones he found, unattended, wherever they lay. And he played games. Video games, board games, role-playing games. Anything to not think about it. To not think of anything at all.
Sophmore year Me met a girl. A real country girl, with brown hair and flannel shirts and cowboy boots. She didn't like him at first. Didn't take him seriously. She thought he was making fun of her when he asked her out every day. He took her friend to Homecoming, because she asked Me.
Eventually they dated. It was nice. Pleasent. And then after a couple months came the kisses. Soft at first, lip to lip. And then with open mouths and abandon. The first time she showed Me her breasts, he didn't know what to say. Or do. He said "thank you". The first time he touched her below the waste she trembled, and he stroked her hair until she calmed down.
Eventually, Me dropped out of High School. "I'm too smart," he said, "It's boring." This was Junior Year. It would later go down as his second biggest mistake.
He got his GED two years later. He worked a job and then quit. He wasn't satisfied. Nothing made sense. Nothing fit. He was still on the outside.
She didn't leave him though. Not yet.
He tried College, and hated it as much as High School. After two semesters he came home for break. When it was time to leave again his girlfriend cried. He held her in his arms and told her he wouldn't go. He'd say home.
This would go down as his first biggest mistake in his entire life.
She was in College now, and in College she met a boy. He was everything Me was, but also thin and athletic and he had both money and a car. Oh, and one other thing he had over Me. He was actually happy.
She started talking more and more about this guy. They were in all the same clubs, and they became friends. She wanted this guy to end up with someone good. Someone who would make him happy. She started dreaming about him. Fantasizing about him in the bedroom. She shared some of the dreams and fantasies with Me. He was troubled, yes. But he trusted her.
She left Me for this other guy. She told Me that she didn't love him anymore, and left. He didn't see her for three years, until he caught sight of them picking out engagement rings.
Me was crushed. Devestated. Wrecked. He wanted to destroy something beautiful. He threw out every CD he owned. Shut himself away in a room of his parents house. He found himself pondering the least messy way to commit suicide.
He got help. Therapy, in secret, through a local church. He was diagnosed - something he'd struggled with as long as he could remember finally had a name. He was bi-polar.
It took awhile, and a few mistakes***, but he got better. He got distance from his problems. He got better, took steps to repair his life. He got a job, and stuck with it. He made new friends to replace the ones that he lost with his ex. He started writing again, something he had never considered anything more than a hobby.
He remembered a pale girl with black makeup who said she'd never live past twenty three. She was happy now, with a husband and two kids, and a black cat named Sabbath. She never became the writer she wanted to be.
But he could. He hurt her once, when he was sick and stupid and young. So he would dedicate the first thing he published to her. And he did.
She found him on facebook, and she laughed
This isn't the end of the story. It's barely the beginning. Between then and now, there is love and heartbreak and I left out all the skateboards and boxing gloves and the literal thousands of bands he found when all he had was free time. But those things just clutter the message, which is this:
It does get better. It never goes away, it never vanishes, it never stops hurting.
But it gets better.
Take it from Me.
You're not alone .
*which is much, much worse than being merely uncool, because Uncool was what you were when everyone collectively decided you were. And there is no coming back from that.
**hairline, really.
***like dating a sixteen year old girl.
I’m in love with you. Yeah, it’s that bad. You’re so beautiful to me. Shut up, let me tell you, let me. Every time I look at your face, or even remember it, it wrecks me. And the way you are with me, and you’re just fun and you shit all over me and you make fun of me and you’re real. I don’t have enough time in any day, to think about you enough. I feel like I’m gonna live a thousand years cause that’s how long it’s gonna take me to have one thought about you, which is that I’m crazy about you. I don’t wanna be with anybody else. I don’t. I really don’t. I don’t think about women anymore. I think about you. I had a dream the other night that you and I were on a train. We were on this train and you were holding my hand. That’s the whole dream, you were holding my hand and I felt you holding my hand. I woke up and I couldn’t believe it wasn’t real. I’m sick in love with you. It’s like a condition, it’s like polio. I feel like I’m gonna die if I can’t be with you and I can’t be with you, so I’m gonna die and I don’t care cause I was brought into existence to know you, and that’s enough. The idea that you would want me back? It’s like, greedy.
Louis CK (via nastalieee)
you fall in love with the little things about someone, like the sound of their laughter and the way their smile forms.
No one is out of my league. I don't even have a league. What game are we playing?
does anyone else feel like they constantly have to justify everything they do? Iike I’m always mentally preparing a reason behind everything just in case anyone was to question it.
i only just realised that maybe that isn’t normal
full offense but if you don’t have intentions of loving someone back who loves you then don’t fuck around with them on a mental or physical or emotional level
This is mesmerizing to watch.
actually physically painful to watch because you know months were spent masking all those frames for each of the kajillions of transitions in this
honestly some of y’all want a significant other so badly and can’t understand why you can’t find one, but have no sense of boundaries or healthy expectations of what a relationship is like. in a committed long-term partnership you get left on read, you wait for texts back, and you can forget about each other when you’re busy. sometimes you fall asleep without saying goodnight and sometimes you’re too caught up to text each other before 6pm. that’s how it is. thinking that you can’t be deeply, beautifully in love and still wait more than “1.75 hours” for a text back is such an unhealthy and unreasonable expectation of what love is, and you shouldn’t be in a relationship if you can’t allow the other person to exist on their own apart from you. if you’re projecting your anxieties and insecurities onto a partner who doesn’t even exist yet, then you aren’t ready for one.
Great lesson in empathy, you never know what someone is going through.
“And I put on weight. Big f–ing deal” is gonna be my new mantra
Wentworth Miller is really good
wow this is powerful
He also wrote Stoker, Park Chan-Wook movie. It’s really good. (i don’t know if many people realize it)
You are not alone.
It's a terrifying thought. It's probably supposed to be comforting. It's probably supposed to feel warm and safe. There are others out there, going through the same shit as you.
Except I know what that feels like. I have been through that feeling. Being cold inside. Feeling numb, like everything is a thousand miles away, and you can't drag yourself up, can't swim out of the crushing weight of the world. I know what it's like, lying in a pool of sadness and drowning in it until you can't move, can't breathe, can't smile or speak or scream.
I know what it's like to feel like my soul is on fire, like I can't be touched or hurt or stopped. I know what it's like to feel so fucking up, so fucking good, and to know with absolute certainty, that it will pass.
That it always goes away.
That everything eventually goes away.
And I know I'm not alone. There are others, going through the same shit I am.
And that sucks. That hurts. That's not fair.
I went through this alone, for years. No name for it, no understanding of it, no way to ask for help or expect it, just... nothing. Just a vague sense that my life wasn't like everyone else's. Just a vague sense that I was broken.
I know what it's called now. I know what causes it, I know how to treat it. But that doesn't make it better. That doesn't fix a god damn thing. This isn't a condition that can balance itself, not ever. And sometimes the medicine doesn't help. Sometimes it feels worse, like I'm not a thousand miles away but nowhere at all, like I'm not untouchable, I'm not even there.
This is my life. And I'm okay with that. I accept it. I don't mind. I've been like this since I was nine years old. I don't even know who I am, separated from my condition.
But I'm not alone, and I'm not okay with that.
There are brilliant, beautiful people who struggle every day against the shit they're swimming in, and I see it. I hear it. The fake smiles, the hollow laughs, the quiet moments they think nobody can see where the mask slips and the pain drains back into their eyes. It's like a mirror with a thousand different faces.
And there's nothing I can do to help.
Platitudes and empty gestures. Fake smiles and hollow laughs. Those are the tools in my quiver, the only arrows I have to aim at the dragon. And I'm no hero. I'll never bring down my own, let alone anyone else's.
And nobody should live like this. Nobody deserves it.
I'm not trying to be a downer. I started this post with a sense of hope, but somewhere around the third paragraph I couldn't see through the tears.
I just wanted to say...
You're not alone. Because no matter how big the dragon, I'll be right here. Fighting alongside you. Trying, despite everything I'm going through, despite everything I know you're going through, to make you smile.
Because I was alone, and you don't have to be.
Anyone got a new-ish Minecraft Server going?
I’m bored with playing solo and my old server is dead. Just looking for somewhere to build stuff and chat.
I promise you, you can't break my heart. The worst you do is hurt me, because honey, the force of my love is stronger.
It's unbreakable.
What do you do when you think about a girl literally all the time? What do you say to them? How do you function when she is literally always there, in the back of your mind?
Do you just dedicate the rest of your life to her? Is that the answer?
Asking for a friend.