#brain imploding atm. help-

[habitual-creatures]

" Evan Jennings plays both Evan/HABIT and the Rake in the series, which is why the two of them are never seen in the same shot. "

WHAT??? HE PLAYED THE RAKE TOO???

[calebslittlecrow]

How To Assume

(stop being an overly anxious potato over manifesting)

Sometimes I see shifters asking “Oh, what should I do? Nothing is working :(“ and they get hit with the good ol “just assume” stamp and send on their way. And then, barely 10 steps later, they turn around and whisper “... the fuck do I even assume?”. Before I chew your ear off: assuming isn’t hard. Well, not really, but people tend to make it hard. We as humans just love acting like we need to turn ourselves into a pretzel every time we want something “big”. We actually assume every day - when we decide we suck, when we tell ourselves we’ll never shift anyway, when we confidently declare we are stuck in our 3D and shifting is just too good to be true and all those people in the reddit community saying it’s just astral projecting or deep lucid dreaming are right (what is even going on over there atm?). Guess what your 3D is doing with those assumptions? It grabs them, says “bet!” and starts running like it’s a race. Congrats ^-^ But hey, the good news: if you can assume all of that shit, you can also assume that you have shifted. Yeay! In the spirit of keeping it simple, I turned the way I see assuming into a neat little list. Enjoy, or not: 1. Just Decide That’s it. Thanks for coming to my TED talk, exit is to the right. Okay, it sounds suspiciously simple and I know some brains will twitch a bit right now with “That can’t be it”. But it is. You sit down, breathe and say “I have shifted”. No begging, no pleading, no howling at the moon. You just decide, and that is where a lot of people crumble already by pleading for it to happen instead of deciding it has happened. You don’t need an approval stamp, you are the CEO of your own reality, not the intern grabbing coffee. Act like it. Deciding isn’t hoping or praying, it’s simply knowing. No matter if shit catches up immediately, tomorrow or next week. Doesn’t matter, let go of the need for it to happen right now. 2. Stop checking You said you shifted and now you are still checking your reality every 2 seconds like a teenager waiting for a message from their crush. Stop it. You’re rereading your script, watching shifting TikTok like the answer to all your problems will jump at you, poking your subconscious like “are we there yet?”. That’s not assuming, that is panic dressed up as productivity (or something like that). You are basically saying “I don’t actually believe this is done and decided”. Cut it out. Just go live your life. Play some games, touch grass with two hands and one face (beware of bees), breathe some fresh air. Your desire won’t implode because you stopped choking it out and stopped micromanaging everything. Obsessing doesn’t equal manifesting. Just let it cook. 3. You commit or you quit Assuming means you have to kinda commit to it. You’re not almost there, or halfway shifted. You are there. You have shifted, no more ifs and whens and buts and any other kind of spiraling. Take five minutes out of your day, relax into that knowing (or deciding). Feel your DR bed, hear your DR friends be loud as fuck for no reason, smell the DR air. Let your imagination drown out this reality like unwanted background noise. Similar to the fake arguments you rehearsed in the shower. You never needed help with those, did ya? 4. Yell at your doubts Maybe do this one internally, unless you are really feeling bold today. Every time your doubts creep in and whisper “What if it is not real?”, you turn around, embrace your inner main character energy and yell back “Shut the fuck up Brenda (sorry to all the Brendas out there), get back into the backseat. You’re not driving, I am.” Your doubts don’t get a say in what you want. They are not invited. You think your DR self is out there wondering if they are real or not? No, they are living the life you are telling yourself is unreachable.

5. Feeling ready is overrated, just do it Stop waiting to feel ready and questioning if your script is perfect or not. Your brain will rarely send you the green light you think you need to go ahead. You will feel silly, you will feel delusional. And you might feel like a clown. Embrace it, be the clown. Insist on what you decided until your 3D gets nervous and bends over in existential fear. You don’t wait to feel certain, you decide you are certain. And then go and act like it’s done.

TL;DR (how dare you, but fine T-T) Assuming you have shifted is like assuming the sun will rise tomorrow. You don’t argue with your friend about it. You don’t beg the sun to rise again. You just know and walk with the confidence that it’s happened, and with shifting you do so because you said so. That’s it. Stop overthinking. Assume and now go, I need to do some drawing stuff.

[slurrmp]

          all you need to know about spyro’s original characters:                                           oc: oliver smith aka the scientist                                            fandom: doctor who                                            status: active.

THE BASICS

(current third regeneration)

Name: oliver smith (aka the scientist) Nicknames: olive (ana only), ollie, beta alpha (was going to be her academy name) Gender: female (atm) Pronouns: she/her [they/them] Sexual Orientation: pansexual Age (actual age): (earth age 36) actually almost 2500 years old Place of Birth: the citadel, gallifrey Citizenship: n/a

                                                  APPEARANCE

Age they appear: 30 Hair colour: black Hair style: this regeneration’s hair seems to always curl. Eye colour: dark brown Birthmarks/scars/marks: almost all over his body, only small but they always seem to follow him with each regeneration. Piercings: n/a Tattoos: a flock of birds across her shoulder blades. which always follow her through regenerations, this was given to them in their first face.

Build (curvy, toned, etc): slim and muscular, built like a model but with the added strength of being a gallifrayen builds are really deciving.

Weight: around 57kilos Height: 5′5″ Clothing style: dark clothes. leather pants and sometimes leather jeans, nothing as extravagant as her brother/sister, more so down to earth styles. Overall appearance: messy. but in the neat kind of way, her black clothes usually hides her figure and therefore hides what she looks overall.

Trinkets/jewelry: nothing Equipment/accessories (things they are never without; ex: a backpack or a notepad) oliver carries a sonic screwdriver herself. while not being a time lord, ollie has definitely learnt a lot from her brother.

                                          INNER WORKINGS

General mood: the third regeneration seems to be less broody and mean like her previous selves. three has a general sophistication about herself, but will absolutely string you along if it meant she would get to have a little fun. three can sometimes revert back into her broody and harsh self but she doesn’t like being like that anymore. Mental state (any mental illnesses?): well, three has seen a lot and has gone through a lot at this point in her life. but currently three is traveling the universe with her daughter in her own stolen tardis. Alignment (neutral good, chaotic evil, etc): chaotic neutral. Morals: family. Temperament: the scientist.

Quirks: three seems to crack her knuckles a lot. lip biting. Pet peeves: there’s just too many to put down.

Strengths: selflessness. loyalty.  Weaknesses: her daughter. ana. those muffins from the baker in cardiff.

Fears: she hates snails. Intelligence: even though oliver didn’t go to the academy and instead stole her very own TARDIS, she did come from a rather wealthy family, who could afford the best education.

Priorities: her daughter. Desires: to make sure that the universe doesn’t implode due to her brothers actions. Likes: it changes daily.

Vices: a short temper.

                                           RELATIONSHIPS

Friends: well, she doesn’t have a lot of friends. jack seems to like this version of her though.

Family: mother and father are dead. brother: kosechi.

Significant other: this is complicated.

Kids: daughter: grace, leah.

Enemies: just too many to count. the doctor. to a degree.

                         EMPLOYMENT AND EDUCATION

Jobs: did work for torchwood for a short while. Profession: time traveler.

Income (if any): psychic paper comes in handy.

Furthest education: gallifrey’s version of high school. Degree (if any): none.

                                   EXTRA INFORMATION

Criminal record: listen it’s too long to count, but also non existent to those that aren’t familiar with outer space.

Social media accounts (if any): none.

Reputation: oliver is known throughout the galaxy as the scientist, while not going to the academy, she is very good at what she does, experiments and testing. while also being known as the master’s sibling.

Skills: pretty much a talented fighter. excellent at maths and science.

Talents: makes a mean apple pie.

Hobbies: traveling the universe.

Special abilities (if any): well, she’s a gallifryean that stole regenerations when she stole a tardis. the stolen regenerations allow her to have extended lives and also to have faster healing abilities.

Transportation: a prototype of the tardis. one of the earliest models.

Living conditions: three’s version of a console room is exactly how an apartment in the city would be. this is mainly because she wants grace to feel like she has a home. without the windows, the console of the tardis resides in what would absolutely be the kitchen.

Pets: a robotic cat called FeeNine.

                                               AESTHETIC

Colors associated with: red and a pastel red. Their personal aesthetic: space. the stars and the moon. early mornings and cold evenings. Song that suits them: none yet

╳ BIO:

they were the older sibling - ten years older than kosechi. oliver didn’t want to conform to the high society of the time lords, didn’t want to stare into the time vortex and basically be brained washed to do what the council had decided for all the children on gallifrey. so when the younger brother was born - their parents turned their whole attention onto the new baby, which left oliver to do what they wanted, which was to be a scientist.

while their family was so focused on looking after kosechi and molding him to be what they wanted, oliver was a little bit of a rebel after he finally realised it was hard to do anything without having been to the academy. everyone thought it was theta that had stolen a tardis, but well oliver had been a couple of steps ahead of him. breaking into the academy - stealing a bunch of regenerations that would help them along their new life, they stole a prototype tardis and left gallifrey behind.

though it seemed like everything had come to oliver a bit too quickly. their parents hadn’t even noticed that they were missing until the academy figured out that one of their prototype tardis’ was missing. but by then oliver had ran so far away that they found themselves on earth in the early 80s and settled down, blending in as best they could.

twenty years seemed like a pit stop to them. things were quiet and they only ever kept tabs on their brother ( and of course the brothers best friend ) every once in a while. the doctor seemed to enjoy earth just as much as oliver with the amount of times he had shown up.

in the end, during one night in 2008, a young brunette stumbled almost into his tardis, bursting through the front door of the hidden tardis (as it took its place on an empty block next to apartments). she was bleeding and delusional, running from a pack of weevils, ana had misplaced her phone and had been unable to call for backup. so oliver, being the slightly placated person they were helped.

and this was the start of something unusual between the pair of them. learning that she had just lost her son, something that had left her rattled and ashamed - she needed a getaway, she didn’t want the doctor or jack to be prying into her life at the moment. maybe that’s why oliver agreed to take her on as a companion.

maybe that’s why the pair of them got so close. she wasn’t judgemental - she knew their brother, knew their family and yet - ana still decided to place her life in their hands. in the end, oliver helped the torchwood gang with miracle day and ended up getting ana pregnant in the summer of 2010.

[rebustein94-blog]

And It’s Still Not Even 9 AM

So far, downtown Erie, PA hasn’t exactly shown itself to be any more habitable than the bowels of the Chicago Union Depot. 

I stumbled onto its streets at about 7:30 in the morning, after traveling all night from Chicago. The main thing I’ve learned about taking the Amtrak at night is that they seem to blast cold air through the vents, turning the entire train into one giant glacier, barreling along the dark tracks while inside, everybody shivers themselves to sleep. It’s terrible and unending and when it’s finally, miraculously over, somebody’s covered you with greasy ice during that one half hour you actually slept.

This was the state I was dragging around with me when I walked to my AirBnb apartment in downtown Erie. I was pretty sure I had the address memorized, so I marched up to 433 and rooted around the mailbox, which was tacked to the wall on the front porch, for the key I had been promised. I didn’t find the key, but the door opened as I was standing there. So that seemed, like, fortuitous. A kid of about twelve blinked out at me. He had a backpack slung over one shoulder.

Christ, I realized. School hasn’t even started yet.

“Hello,” I croaked. “Ahem. Do you, uh…know Larry?”

“No,” said the kid. I was pretty sure he was pretty sure I was a murderer.

“Is this 433?” I asked.

“Yeah.” The kid started to close the door on me. Not that I could blame him.

“You know what,” I said, “I’ll try around back.”

I went around the side of the house to the side door. There was another mailbox there. I opened its rusty lid and voila! The key!

I opened the door, almost tearful for the imminent shower, nap, contact removal (mine were basically laminated to my eyeballs at this point). As soon as I stepped inside, though, I knew I had the wrong fucking place. The interior was completely bare and covered in dust. A layer of carpet had been recently removed, according to the barrier of tacks sticking up all over the edges of the floor. Paint cans were scattered throughout the rooms. Turned-over chairs, peeled tiling. The works.

Well, hey, I thought. He said the upstairs was mine. So maybe I just walk through here to get to it.

Ever hopeful, I crept through the abandoned home, trying not to turn too fast and whack my bags against anything. Like hobos or ghosts. I found a door at the far end of the apartment and, on the other side, voila! The stairs!

I trudged up to the second level and immediately realized that I was looking for 443, not 433. I got to the top of the stairs just as I realized this, and peered through an open door into a living room littered with toys. A baby was screaming somewhere. A hair dryer blowing. 

I noped silently down the steps, backwards.

443 looked a lot more promising. It looked like a full, white, normal house. Someone had even written in Sharpie, “This is 443” on its side. So that was helpful.

I checked and double-checked the listing on AirBnb. I triple-checked it on Google maps, matched the image there to the one I was standing in front of. I analyzed the map to make sure I had it absolutely right. I went back to the AirBnb app and checked it again. I went on checking everything and double-checking it for several minutes. I did all of this because inside the mailbox on the front porch was nothing but air.

There was no key.

My addled brain went, “Mmmyeeagghh,” and decided to check again. Because you never know! Of course, the damn thing did not magically appear, which was a bummer. I checked everything again just to be safe. I was definitely in the right place. I went around the side and checked that mailbox. You never know!

No key.

I sent my guy, Larry, a message. Waited. Called him. Waited. Called. Waited.

Maybe I’ll think more clearly if I get some food, I decided.

There was a gas station/ “Casual dining” joint (according to the sign) back down the road a ways. I dragged my ass back to it and discovered that they meant “casual” dining as seriously as is possible. See, I expected a diner or something. Maybe a shitty café. A deli. Ah, no. It was a gas station with tables at one end. Casual indeed. I bought a soggy wrap for four measly bucks and choked it down. Slumped into a chair in the corner and rocked back and forth as I tried to figure out what to do.

A man sat down across from me. He had large, sad, dead eyes and he used them to give me a hard look. He was broad-shouldered and old. We stared at each other for several moments. He folded his hands on top of the table. I put my hands on top of the table. For the sake of form.

“I wonder,” he said, “if you can do an army vet a favor.”

I blinked at him.

“You ever heard of Desert Storm?”

I sighed. “Yes, I’ve heard of Desert Storm.”

He leaned forward. “I need six dollars. Six lousy dollars to buy a ticket.”

“Dude, I really don’t have any money. Here.” I dug around in my pocket and took out a jumble of coins. “There’s about a buck-fifty.”

“I need six dollars,” he repeated. His voice sounded like it was on the verge of cracking and leaking tears.

“It’s all I’ve got,” I said. 

“There’s an ATM right there,” he said, pointing.

I spread my hands. My chest hurt. I wanted him to implode and leave me alone. “Look, man. It’s really all the money I’ve got.”

He gave me a sad, distant look. It said something like, “You’re really not going to help a man who can ask if you’ve heard of Desert Storm?”

I shrugged, hoping the shrug said, “Sorry, man. That’s it. Anybody can ask if I’ve heard of Desert Storm.”

He rose from the table, muttering, shaking his head. He ambled off. I kept my coins.

I decided to get the hell out of there and see if anything at the apartment had changed. You never know! I walked the two blocks back only to discover that, obviously, nothing had. I sat around for a while, giving this Larry guy the benefit of the doubt. I called him. Waited. Called. Waited. Texted him. Waited. Finally, I tried to get in touch with the AirBnb help center. There’s a long rigmarole you have to go through on the app in order to get to any kind of helpful page, and when you do, that page reads simply, “I can’t check in. What do I do?”

I clicked on that, seeing as it was my only option.

The thing to do, apparently, is let AirBnb send the host a message for you. As if they have a number you don’t, or something. If the host doesn’t respond within an hour, the reservation gets canceled and you can get a full refund.

I sent the request and stared at the ground.

An hour! Sweet God! What to do for an hour?!

I gazed down the street towards the gas station. The only other things around were a CVS, a thrift shop, a dark broken-windowed Greek restaurant, and a place called Sally. Not even Sally’s, as in Sally’s Café or anything. Just Sally. Like, Go inside and there’s Sally. Or whatever it meant.

I figured Sally was probably not a safe bet so, grumbling, I went back to the gas station. Halfway down the block, I tripped over a bone. A bone! Some kind of leg or something. On the sidewalk! Christ! About twenty seconds later, I was swarmed by three or four skinheads with face tattoos, each wielding a cell phone and trying to get in touch with Cleo.

As I passed them, one was saying to the other, “Fucking bitch stole our fucking dope and ran off up the street. Goddamn Cleo.”

Geez, Cleo. It’s not even 9 am yet.

Within thirty seconds of entering the gas station’s “casual dining” area, dropping my bags there for the second time in less than an hour, I was accosted by a man whose left cheek was just a large boil.

He sat at the table next to mine, shaking his head. He kept saying loudly, “Oh man. Oh man, oh man. Hey, man.” He pointed his boil-face my way.

I stared at him blankly.

“You from around here?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“You got a cell phone number?”

I looked down at the cell phone in my hand.

“No,” I said.

“I’m getting my car towed,” he explained. “And I don’t have the cash to deal with it. So I need to go borrow some. Do you have a cell phone?”

“No,” I said, holding one.

“The tow truck will cost thirteen bucks. So I have to borrow some. Can you hold onto my military ID and do you have a cell number?”

He took out his wallet. Handed me his ID.

“Why do I have this?” I asked.

“Well,” he said, as if it were obvious, “you got a cell number? I have to borrow thirteen bucks. I have to get it.”

It was then that I realized he wasn’t looking at me as he spoke. He was looking past me, out the window to the curb. And I realized, too, that he wasn’t “borrowing” anything.

He was going to panhandle for the money.

I nearly shot out of my seat. “Lemme just give you thirteen dollars, man.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I was gonna buy coffee anyway. I’ll just get change.”

“Oh, thank you, man. Thank you.”

I wandered away into the store, kicking myself. Feeling like I might cry. Thirteen dollars? Why would I give away so much? Especially after so many incidents with things like this. Especially after the infamous NOLA shoe-cleaning incident. How could I just fork over the money like this?

Because I had it, is the answer. Because I could. 

A scream boiled in the back of my throat. 

When I got back to our casual little corner, the guy eyed the money in my hand and said, “With tax, it’s actually seventeen bucks.”

Which is hysterical, because that’s the exact amount of change I had.

I shoved it at him. 

“Here,” I said. 

“Thanks, man. Oh, thanks.” And he bolted out of there quicker than lightning.

I sat and waited.

***

I watched the clock, nervous that the AirBnb guy might call with a minute or two to spare, and that then I’d be stuck in his crazy-ass home. But he never did. The hour passed without a hitch. So I snagged my full refund as soon as the option to do so popped up on my phone. I booked another hotel in a matter of seconds, just a few minutes away. I schlepped my shit another couple blocks closer to the lakeshore, to this new hotel. I heard choirs of angels “Ha-ah-ahh”-ing and trumpets blaring as I dumped my bags again, now onto the floor of the hotel lobby. Then I looked up and saw the sign: Check-in 3:00 pm.

Thank God they’ll be merciful! was a weird and unbelievable thought I had.

Of course, they were not merciful. Of course, I asked the woman at the desk, “Is there any way at all I can check in early?”

And, of course, she said, “There’s a $50 early check-in fee.”

I threw back my head and laughed. “Yes! Good!”

“But after noon, it goes down to twenty-five.”

“Ho-ho! Brilliant!”

She agreed to hold onto my bags for several hours while I tried to entertain myself in Erie. My head was throbbing. My feet hurt. Everything about me felt dirty and reeked of train. And it was cold. Painfully cold. Winds driving off the lake into my very soul. 

The first interesting place I came across was the maritime museum, where a coterie of old men proceeded to shanghai me and explain the extraordinary significance of the reconstruction club they had. The group had rebuilt and maintained the ship the Niagara, which had won a decisive battle on Lake Erie during the War of 1812 (in a battle actually fought in the fall of 1813). Now, there’s a large number of volunteers and professionals who keep the ship running and even live on it. They have to pass inspections and things. Like there’s a whole board of people deciding whether or not your ship is authentic enough or not. Which means there’s hundreds of these kinds of groups. Hundreds of these kinds of ships.

As the guy was explaining it to me and the only two other people there (a young couple who really loved boats and kept asking a mind-boggling number of questions), I kept thinking, Why? Why do this? Why keep it all going like this? Why maintain the past with such fervor?

“What’s the name of the exact mechanism that lowers the anchor?” asked the young guy next to me, playing with the gold chain around his neck with his thumb.

Our old tour guide gave him some complicated answer that soared above my head.

“Gnarly,” said the young guy, clearly impressed. 

We got to go onboard the ship and see all the work the volunteers did, and then, somehow, I got it. I understood. Because living and working on a ship like that looks fucking awesome. To eat and sleep below-decks? To learn the names and functions of all the ropes and sails and things and not have to worry about British cannonfire? Or scurvy? What a dream! 

Not a word of the old man’s tour passed low enough for me to catch it. Most of it was too deeply mired in nautical terms and ship-speak to not go over my sleepy, sleepy head. But I enjoyed it nonetheless. 

So, anyway, I managed to kill a few hours learning about ships and the Niagara and Oliver Hazard Perry, who was the Erie bigshot back in 1813. Despite zooming in and out of everything that was happening, and sometimes losing my balance, and wanting a nap and a shower more than anything else on God’s green Earth, I’m actually really glad check-in time was so late. I’m glad I never heard from ole 443. I never would have gone to the maritime museum. 

Ah, silver linings...

God, am I beat, though.

And it’s not even 3 now!

Wow!

I still have to wait!

Could this day get any better?!

(Erie, PA)

[strawberryspeachy]

So i was really excited to hang out with my coworker.... that i like....

Excited for my school to have school on saturday so i could see him more

And i loved tuesdays cause i had classes with him all day

Saturday got cancelled cause of a typhoon. They moved the event to tuesday and took all my classes away and he told me he couldnt hang out after a month of saying when hes free cause a sudden gf said no he couldnt.

Then he next three tuesdays we either have had off or the scheduals been changed. And now mh schedual is permenantly changed and i dont have a day where i have classes with him all day

There are no pumpkins in japan

And their idea of a “crazy halloween” is like 1/200 people dressig up in the city and people walking around doung nothing

Its always raining and this school is always having some stupid event that im not part of or were off

I went clubbing last weekend after making plans with my friend and was excited to not be alone but he told me at the last second that actually he was leaving early

I wanted to go to a club where i met a cute guy ive been talking to who works there and now right beforehand the same girl who cancelled the trip to disney i was looking foward to decided she doesnt wanna go to that club

The bus that comes in just enough time for me to get to work on time always comes late and the bus that comes super early.... COMES EARLY

My annoying company is always messaging me dumb shit and i always have to do a show of bs that does absolutely nothing (having meetings)

My school lunches suck and theres randomly a creepy old dude that shows up to my school and eats like a fucking Neanderthal

And the bag that i feel in love with is out of that color

My apartment is overpriced and i live in the middle of no where. I have no japanese friends let alone any who would help me find a better apartment. I wanna go home and i dont have a place that id call home to return to. I feel like shit for not calling my mom for so long but every time i think about it my brain starts fucking imploding at the idea of having to talk to my grandfather or mother and listen to whatever bs theyre causing atm. Everyone around me is getting married. One of my teachers keeps making us sing american love songs. Not good ones either. And so i have to look the guy i like in the eye while i sing some god damn love song with a bunch of middle schoolers

I wanna die so bad and i still cant find a way to do that. Im so miserable and now im one of those people who just spends money as a way to distract myself from how much i wanna die.

Like how in college i bought cute clothes with the idea that id have someone to wear them for and had a bunch of shit ready for this life i had planned with a future person who never appeared.

I did it again and even almost cried as i bought the shirt im currently wearing thinking. Im never gonna have anyone that cares. And i bought a stupid kotatsu... that i dont get to share with anymore

I hate everything

Back home this is the only month for the past two years thats brought me true joy... and here i cant even celebrate the only holiday that accepted me back home

No carving a pumpkin

No enjoying the creepy atmosphere where being an ugly freak is praised

No candy celebration everywhere

Wear a costume here and its just like the rest of the year back home

And now not only is christmas a holiday where i dont have family to celebrate with but here its a FUCKING SECOND VALENTINES DAY as if ONE wasnt BAD ENOUGH