If You're Reading This, Please I BEG YOU TO REBLOG! My Country Honduras Was Completely Destroyed By Hurricane

This is the land of the mythical.

Of the Real and of the Unreal. Of the Dead and the Living. Of Flight and of Speed and of the hidden world of the Sea.

This is the land of the Legends. Where Stories are not stories but truth. Where the alleys are alive with Night Creatures. Where the mornings are adorned with faeries. Where the Ocean is breathing with it's life.

Where the Dead are not truly dead - not yet.

Welcome to Disnoream.

"I didn't plan on being a wanted fugitive."

The silent guardian. The watchful protector

i saw this and i had shivers so I liked it and then I saw it again and still had shivers so now it deserves a reblog this is golden

we survived because we were the “smartest” species you say, we survived because jellyfish don’t know how to construct a Fighter Jet. We survived because our environment is ours to manipulate with walls and floors and lightbulbs to capture the sun and tunnel into night.

we survived by being faster in our cars and stronger with our tools, and better than we were before. We survived with language to build on the past with and weapons to fight the future. We survived because of our hands and our heads and the fact we make the universe itself knowable.

But then again, a mother will gain the strength of ten men to lift a full car off her baby. A man will spend eight hours nursing a puppy back to health and that dog will follow his every step from the doorstop to the grave. A best friend will dropkick an alligator in the water for the sake of him.

And I’ll tell you, maybe it was all of it. And maybe it was because we loved each other better than we hated, we loved each other in the dark before the lightbulb and loved each other more in the wilds before our walls, and we loved each other so thoroughly we made pyramids and libraries and monuments, and wrote not for the sake of money and food and living, but for the sake of wrapping each others hearts in velvet soft to escape the sandpaper winds of this world.

And that too is survival. That too is a reason. Not for our brains or our hands or our grit, but for our willingness to wrap each others wounds in bandages and set the broken bones of grandparents and sit outside windows and sing lullabies and love songs and cry over butterflies and sunsets and care too deeply. Care too strongly. Care too much.

That too is survival.

http://chng.it/2TrMRPgFjS

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Thank you yellow! I’m glad I didn’t die either!

Suddenly remembered this one dream I had when I was running a pretty bad fever.

Y’know that one Tom and Jerry episode where Tom dies and he goes to a train station in heaven? Yeah, I was there. And I was arguing with the train conductor. And I was going; “Let me in, you know who I am.”  But then the train conductor. They tipped their hat at me and shook their head. “I’m sorry, my friend, but it’s not your time.” And then I woke up.

“There’s a service dog among us”

Writing Prompt #2

‘Spring’

Lots of people, each with their own thoughts and likes, leads to lots of opinions.

Lots of opinions, means that sometimes its hard to find one that you can really relate to.

It’s hard to find someone that you can truly relate to.

Where I live - where I was born and raised and planned to raise my own children here - has four seasons.

The usual; Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter.

To me though, there’s something special about spring.

Maybe it’s just the relief it gives after harsh winter.

Maybe it’s the smell of the flowers blooming, and the smell of the dirt they grew from.

Maybe it’s the birds, singing their song for all to hear in the morning.

Spring’s the best season, in my opinion. I’m always happier in spring.

My good mood usually doesn’t go unnoticed, too.

‘The Spring Joys?’ My flatmate asks me, when I nearly skip out of my room.

He likes summer better than Spring, but he says he enjoys watching the smile on my face during these three months.

Every year, every spring, he asks me this. At first, when we first met and were still awkward with each other, I can see a glint of hard amusement.

Like, as if he was laughing at my spring mood.

As time wore on, we grew closer. When he locked himself in his room after the death of his foster parents, I left him meals in front of the door. When I stressed over my younger siblings not having work, he sat by me on the sofa and listened.

We even helped each other fight off our nightmare of a landlady from wrangling this flat out of our hands. Afterwards, every moment spent had a certain sweetness to it.

Every year, every spring, I smile at him. ‘ ‘You can cut all the flowers, but you can’t stop spring from coming’,’ I quote.

He rolls his eyes, as always. I spot a glimpse of a smile hidden away, as always.

As we move on with our daily routines, I can’t stop the occasional glimpse out the window.

Can’t help the smile that tugs on my lips.

The contented sigh that escapes my lungs.

Spring is here.

that was a big fat lie i have not been writing and it’s only thanks to the Mandalorian that i opened another google docs so say thank you to the Mandalorian

if you’re curious about the Mandalorian Fic, I named the Docs “What a waste to be so alone”. Take it as you will

hey yea im back and i’m alive and i’m here to tell you that i am hyperfixating on The Mandalorian 

i am writing. i am writing about what i promised. but i am also writing about the Mandalorian. you can read what i wrote, but im also writing more. its just a sorta continuation of that fic.

Writing Prompt #3

‘You have 10 days to live.’

Mortality is a dark subject to dwell on.

We don’t often think about what happens when we die, after it, about the death itself. Often times, we go through our daily lives without even being reminded that we are such fragile things.

I lived that kind of life; a life where I went by the days with a kind of reckless, careless freedom.

Perhaps you could call me ignorant, or oblivious. All living creatures die, but with the way I had lived you would’ve guessed I was chasing death.

I wasn’t. I had no intention of dying. I wanted to live. To live without regret, to look back and to say ‘I’m happy with the way I lived’.

That sentence ran through my head when I learned I had 10 days to live. A measly 10 days - barely more than a week - was all that my goodwill had earned.

Yet amidst the raging thoughts one would usually experience when faced with their own mortality, there was one clear sentence. Found beneath the piles of fear, of anger, of ‘why me?’, there it was, clear as day.

‘I’m happy with the way I lived.’

And I was.

Truly, genuinely happy.

After I realised it, it was easier for me to accept my fate. At least, as easy as it can be.

Those around me took longer; longer nights spent holding them while they cried, longer hours spent pounding away at locked doors because I cannot stand not seeing them again before I left.

I didn’t even tell most people. Those who had been with me for years and years, defended me from all sorts of monsters, and yet I kept this secret from them.

I wished I had enough time to tell them, to be able to tell them and be there to reassure them. But I barely had time to comfort the ones closest to me, and to convince them to accompany me on my plan.

My last journey.

I only had a few days left, after spending them on clearing all my extra affairs. It was then that I realised I had been lucky, in a sick and twisted way.

At the very least, I knew enough to plan for it.

After all affairs had been settled, we packed our bags into our car and went on a road trip. We called out buildings, sighs, horses, cows, fields, mountains, lakes, parks, people. We stopped and ate at the most questionable diner I had ever stepped into - and that was truly saying something, as I’d walked into multiple questionable diners.

We traveled and slept and talked. After a while on the road, I’d noticed that the others had began to relax slightly, to enjoy this final journey I’d planned, to live in the moment with someone without many moments left.

I was glad they did. It made the journey easier for me.

After all that traveling, we’d finally arrive at our destination. 

A long bridge, suspended high above a river valley. From the centre, a single piece of cord.

It had been unanimous that I were to go first. The man in charge fixed a harness around my torso, gave the cord a few more experimental tugs, then nodded an affirmative in my direction.

I took in a deep breath, then I jumped.

After it, my friends had applauded me on my bravery. They called me reckless, as always. I smiled cheekily in return, as I’ve always done.

And then we went home.

Bungee jumping had been the last thing on my bucket list. My last hurrah to the life I’d lived before I learned the news.

I was happy, but oh I wished I’d lived longer. Of course I would. I had plans that went on for years, dreams that plummeted like a deflated balloon.

But I dealt with the hand I was given, and while it was truly a shit hand, I was satisfied enough.

9 and 3/4 days after the news, I climbed to the roof of my apartment. The stars still peeked out beneath the ever-brightening sunrise sky, and I had wanted to see them one more time.

One last time.

Despite how dark the subject of mortality can be, Death always came on time.

And I was ready for it.