dragonclady

[dragonclady]

Jaime Never Really Cared Much for the Innocents

a novel by George R.R. Martin

[dragonclady]

I don't like who I am now (or the different lives we live watching others).

I used to watch videos of a girl showing how her job at a Dairy Queen ice cream shop worked. The constant, mundane routine, the calm way the girl explained how it all worked, the different flavors and so on, sparked in me a sense of contentment and comfort; I could spend hours binge-watching the short videos, eating cookies, desiring all the ice creams she made and wondering what they must taste like. A routine with no changes has always calmed me. I wake up and know exactly how the day will be, the things I need to do will be absolutely the same. This brings me a certain kind of tranquility.

But one of the contradictory consequences of this is that routine suffocates me. Often, breaking away from routine and monotony, and being able to do something different – but the idea that I’ll have to deal with the “new,” without even knowing how to handle or do something with it – triggers parts of me that I can’t manage. I call these parts “versions.” Each version of me likes something different, likes to act in a certain way. There are many different things, all the “wants” diverge from each other. It’s strange, but I swear I’m not a walking Fragmented.

But it is in these moments that I don’t know how to be or act. I can do the same things I’m used to, and still, it will seem like I’ve never done them before. It’s days like these, that don’t seem to end, where I don’t know how to feel what I truly am. On these days, I can’t say what I am – days where I can’t find anything normal about myself. I just exist, and go through the days closing myself off.

I usually call these types of episodes “periods of apathy.” Where I really don’t feel anything, and because I can’t feel things properly, only abstractly, I’ll do everything I can to feel something. Drowning myself in different types of new music – even if I don’t like them, or those I used to listen to and don’t anymore because they remind me of times I’m determined to forget; but everything is fair in the game of trying to feel anything that in my head is computed as “making sense.”

The same goes for new experiences, like daring to leave the house just to walk – something I don’t do willingly because I hate having to go out precisely because, somehow, my mind sees it as “this will be a bad memory for you, and later you will do everything to forget it, but you won’t be able to.” It’s as if my brain doesn’t allow new experiences out of fear that something might go wrong, and if it goes wrong, I won’t be able to forget and will torment myself for a long time, wishing more than anything that I could forget. What I find most frightening about all this is that all my senses will contribute to making it really worse: I’ll be able to remember the smell of the occasion, the tastes of what I was eating when something happened, how I was talking or acting. So, after everything is digested in a very bad way, my behavior will completely change to a different one that distances itself from how I used to be – not to mention that any similar smell I breathe or taste I experience from that period will immediately take me back to that moment. And then, every effort to distance myself from who I was will simply disappear, and I will enter various waves and layers of pure despair and isolate myself.

I did a year of therapy to know that these are defense mechanisms. I know that. But I still can’t help but lament that I don’t like this. I always think that maybe I’m trapped inside my own head, precisely because I often can’t get out of it. Or, because people don’t understand how my mind is slower and more confused in understanding the things around me. That it’s harder for me to be a part of things. Unfortunately, because the year of therapy I had wasn’t very good, or just not good enough for me, things remain the same. Or worse. Worse because I know it’s something but I don’t really know what…

The pressure of being on the internet lately – not wanting to play the role of someone who always brings some kind of generational conflict – is quite distressing and conflicting. Because I was in a time when I would run to the internet to read all the blogs I followed, and it was like a hobby. A hobby that simply involved coming home, grabbing my notebook, sitting on my bed, and reading all the possible blogs. It was the most passive way to read other people's opinions without having a meltdown or getting into arguments with many people online, and without any kind of cancel culture – although cruelty, cyberbullying, and other forms of lynching have always existed. But it was easier to avoid them. Today, it’s very difficult to sift through – especially when it comes to social media – where everyone rushes to create some kind of utopian perfect life, what things should or shouldn’t be, conflicts of different thoughts on various specific (or not) subjects. While many give their opinions – some bitter, others disguised as advice.

Let me be clear that I love the internet. I love knowing that I can learn about various things whenever I want and whenever I want. That I can learn anything, I can even meet various people from different places (even though, by my own choice, I don’t do that), be connected with dear people who live far from me. Being able to use Google Maps and see all the different places in the world (truly traveling the world just by looking at a map on a screen); even knowing the entire route to a place by heart before leaving. Knowing news and events at the exact moment. Knowing different points of view from various people around the globe. Reading blogs written by people who are an ocean away, etc…

Still, it becomes quite tiring to know who you are in such a hectic world. In a world where, unfortunately, it has become increasingly common to capitalize on the practice of hobbies. Even spending time on the internet to unwind has become something capitalized – everything we see and read is available for purchase. And not only that, but it has become people’s work. People live for this; it is their daily bread. People who take incredible photos, people who work by giving their opinions on a specific type of product, people who write, people who draw. Everything that started as a hobby, sharing something personal, has become capitalized. Not that this is wrong. But what remains?

What remains for those who just want their personal passions to be just that: personal passions. Sharing a small poem, a snippet of your favorite animation, a photo of your small project, an image of your ongoing drawing. In all this, we put a price tag. It’s people’s time. And time is money. Time sells. Lost time is lost profit.

Amidst all this, the despair for isolation constantly grows. The need to retreat to some corner. Far away. Returning to the burrow. A place just to breathe – because even the places that were meant to entertain us and make us forget how hectic our daily lives are also make us run. Several videos per second, many words per minute, many images per hour. And opinions, opinions, and opinions. And my eyes get tired. My eyes hurt. My eyes itch.

And just the act of standing still watching something on a screen becomes exhausting.

Like running several kilometers.

I see all kinds of people, all kinds of opinions, all kinds of lives, all kinds.

And still, I can’t formulate who I am or who I am not.

I am a person living a life.

Or a person who is just there to watch the lives of others.

When we walk down the street and look at the buildings above, lights on in the windows, all kinds of people living their lives behind them, you wonder what different kinds of lives all those people have. What they do, what they are doing, who they are. It’s like living just to watch others live their lives.

And in this, the constant thought remains that maybe I don’t like who I am. Or at least, I don’t like who I am now. Because maybe life, in a way, doesn’t seem to have started. Or, it has started, and precisely because it has started and nothing has happened yet, makes my current self something not to like.

It is living to watch others. To watch others live their lives; because maybe I don’t have one now.

[dragonclady]

MERLIN 1.02 Valiant // 4.13 The Sword in the Stone part 2

[dragonclady]

So, I created this a few years ago as a second-hand Tumblr. And he's been here ever since, just existing. It's not a big deal. But I think it's special that there is something about me that is so "silly" that it has stayed and remained all this time.

[dragonclady]

Why, Spock, why? I- All you had to do was pull the trigger!

If I had pulled the trigger, Sybok would be dead.

I ordered you to defend your ship!

You ordered me to kill my brother.

Look, the man may be a fellow Vulcan, but that doesn’t mean-

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Spock: I do not have emotions.

Narrator: He did, in fact, have emotions.

Bones: Yeah, well, I hate you all.

Narrator: He did not, in fact, hate anyone.

Jim: Okay, guys, I have a great plan.

Narrator: He did not, in fact, have a great plan.

Jim: …Uhura, will you please get off the intercom?

Uhura: She would not, in fact, get off the intercom.

[dragonclady]

CHARACTER PROFILE ⚔️ GERALT OF RIVIA ⚔️ The Witcher (2019-)

[dragonclady]

Elisabeth & Noah in the origin world (1/?)

First meeting

Noah doesn’t want to go. Weddings and their big, loud extravaganza aren’t really his style. But Jonas is a longtime colleague and a good friend, one of the few he obtained through the years, so, he makes an effort. He dresses up nicely, wishes the newlyweds wholeheartedly to have a good life and decides to stay a respectable amount of time, before he can politely excuse himself. It is an open bar, after all, it would be a shame not to enjoy a drink or two. 

The surprise of the night is neither the embarrassing speeches from Martha’s brothers nor Jonas’ awful dance moves. It’s the blonde beauty, that seems to be pulling him like a magnet, like no one else exists but her in the otherwise crowded room. He can’t take his eyes off her, he can’t move, he can’t even breathe. All he can do is keep stealing glances of her, of her curly blonde hair, of her red lips, of her pretty dress that highlights her figure and reveals her long, killer legs. She’s stunning and, for the first time, he finds himself at a loss of words.

He is quick to look away when she finally catches up on his stare. That was so disrespectful, you idiot, now you creeped her out, he mentally scolds his socially awkward self. But she gives him a curious once-over and then a look, so confident, so bold, an open invitation for him to flirt with her properly, her clever eyes and the little tilt of her head asking him “so, you’re just gonna sit there and stare?”. She makes him nervous and tongue-tied but, at the same time, a rush of excitement spreads through his nerve endings, and, even though he has never been this spontaneous or brave regarding love and past relationships, he manages to swallow his reserved demeanor and smile at her.

By the third drink, he is walking up to her.

By the forth, he is mimicing words, trying to tell her that he is really enjoying her company, for the first time cursing himself for opting out of that sign language course during sophomore year in college.

By the fifth, he is typing an array of Zzz emoji’s - he didn’t even know they existed - on his phone, after she typed “what would you be doing this Saturday night, if you weren’t here?”. She laughs, scrunching her nose, all youthful and cute, and he is sure his face resembles that heart-eyes emoji. 

By the sixth, he is dancing to some 80′s song, not actually listening to it, just feeling the beat thud inside his chest, like she suggested, watching mesmerized her tulle skirt sway under the flickering lights, as she dances around in circles.

By the nth, she is pushing him out the backdoor of the venue and kissing him, breathless and bruising, her fingers pulling at his tie and his ruining her updo, getting lost inside a sea of blonde curls. When she goes back inside, with a wink and a wave, he is left there trying to find his footing back into the world and slow down his racing heart, an imprint of gin and red lipstick on his grinning lips.

His phone vibrates inside the pocket of his suit jacket. The notification informs him of a new message:

I guess your Saturday night ended up being way better than you imagined x

He saves the contact and spends the rest of the night tasting her name on his lips; Elisabeth.

[dragonclady]

Max Schimmelpfennig: smoking irl 🖤🤍

[dragonclady]

Words cannot express my love for this couple. So tragic and so beautiful at the same time.

elisabeth is the moon, noah is the sun

(no i don’t take criticism)

[dragonclady]

Post Dark hangover is real. Guys please write more “Dark” fanfics, seriously. I need to feed myself more with this fandom, because it still wasn’t enough. If could be Noah | Hanno / Elisabeth even better.

[dragonclady]

[dragonclady]

There are no fanfics about Noah x Elisabeth, no fics about one of the best couples in Dark ! So please people if you find something send me because I’m craving that’s content!

[dragonclady]

I just finished Dark and how I didn’t realized that is a love story? Like, the best love story? We’re a perfect match?!!! TELL ME ABOUT PARADISE???!!!! Franziska and Magnus togheter in all the worlds and time lines, and not having kids? Just the 2 of them!!! Regina and Boris having a actually happy and healty mariage!!!! Alt Martha being THE BEST!

Continuar lendo

[dragonclady]

Imagine being a time traveler and coming to know some of the biggest names in history , you interview them , and influence this people with your presence .

[dragonclady]

Noah + Elisabeth / No Care ; Daughter.

[dragonclady]