#so im at a bit of a loss here

[vessalis]

I never got to say goodbye to you. I didn't want to leave you behind, I was scared to draw the line l, even when everything was over, and it was radio silence from your end, because what if it wasn't? What if I just went and ruined what I had with the fist person that I called a friend? But you never came back, and it's been awhile now. I was lonely then and so I thught what we had was deeper than what really was. I can't really blame you, I don't blame you, I had no right to expect anything back, really. I was foolish, really. And it's time to do what I refused to in a long while.

Goodbye, 'Jack'.

Hello? Um due to the fact that you did send this anonymous I'm afraid I am not quite sure who you are and I am well aware that I have been off this blog for a long time, as life got in the way, but I mean if you ever do see this reply know that if you were someone I talked to, roleplayed with, or anything I never meant any ill intentions with any silence on my end, i really was just living life and forgot about tumblr roleplay in general. and would love to reconnect if you want?

[arsenicflame]

ran out of time to finish my full feelings write up before s2 but i wanted to put something out there before we start getting content so this might be a bit incomplete

ive been thinking about what i really want to see in s2, and in general im happy to trust the crew with whatever they do but there is one thing id like to see

id like to see izzy not forgive ed

ive already talked about how serious i find the act of severing his toe & surrounding details in general and i think, given we KNOW its going to get worse (at some point izzy loses his leg, so) i dont think the amputation can be brushed off as just a pinky.

what i want to see is their relationship worsen and worsen and get to a breaking point and just. when everything starts to goes back to how it was before, ed tries to treat izzy like he used to (not during the kraken era, but before that, before the revenge, back when they knew each other, when they were friends) and izzy doesn't take it. he flinches, or walks away, or does anything to brush ed off. ed hasn't apologised yet, of course, its izzy, its his izzy, they understand each other! or he thought they did but now hes realising that mayyyyybe he should give him a proper apology.

so he does. and:

"i dont forgive you"

and if course. ed doesn't know what to do with this izzy always forgives him, has since they were kids! why not now?

from izzys perspective, he simply cant take it any more. he will take the consequences of his actions, but he cant lie anymore and pretend he wasn't destroyed by what ed did. and maybe hes learning its not just ed and izzy against the world anymore. there are people who will stand beside him- they might not always like him, he might spit and hiss at calling them his friends, but he knows, deep down, he is not alone anymore. and that its time to take a stand. to put himself first for once.

he cant forgive him, not for this

its at this point ed realises that he might have fucked up. really fucked up. its not that he doesn't care about how the crew feels, hadnt already realised what he had done but. again, its izzy. there was a time he thought there was nothing he could do that izzy wouldn't forgive.

the way i see it this is the point that ed starts to properly rebuild. oh he thought he was doing it before but it was more masks and layers, but now he has to truly confront his actions and the consequences they have on his relationships and that maybe. he is like his dad. but at the same time, he has the space to learn that even if he is, thats not all he can be. he can be better, choose to do better, and it's hard and doesn't always work but he has to try, has to keep trying because if he fails? he has no one to fall back on any more

so izzy doesn't forgive ed.

and ed learns to forgive himself, in time. and maybe he will apologise again, and izzy still doesn't forgive him. and maybe ed learns to be ok with that. and maybe in the wreckage of decades of blackbeard and first mate hands, they can build something new. it won't be the same, and maybe there will always be a distance between them, but in time, with work, they can be friends again.

[clits-and-clips]

Since writing the affirmations and starting manifestation again, I've actually been in a much better headspace. It's crazy how things align, and you end up where you need to be, especially through pain

[fiendishartist2]

she's gonna be a lot like me; but i don't wanna be at all like me- petscop

Once again, Paul finds himself in a waiting room. The room is quiet, but filled with the low murmur of anxious ambience; mothers kill time by tapping aimlessly on their phones, patients waiting to be called shuffle and tap their feet impatiently, the man at the front desk clicks the keys on his keyboard, on and off, as he fills out paperwork. In the corner of the room, a clock on the wall ticks.

The longer Paul stared at his shoes– how readily they met the carpet, laying flat against the ground– a horrible twisting in his chest began. His heart started to beat just slightly to the left; lungs trapped underneath it as his breath grew shallow.

Paul felt the anxious energy, eyes glued to the carpet. It is coarse and green with pinpricks of blue sewn in. He scrapes his old sneakers against the carpet, adding to the noise. It’s a soothing action. Spurred on by his own boredom, Paul tapped his feet and the thick clomp it makes is disconcerting, like the sound of running barefoot on grass.

Paul should not be this tall. He should not fill the chair like he does. The quiet ambience should be louder, obtrusive; office workers click away at their keyboards, children chase each other through the halls, squealing all the way. A paper shredder bursts to life across the room, teachers walk through brusquely without a word of acknowledgement, adults chat and laugh above him. He stared at his feet, hands pulled close in his lap, clutching a thin children’s book. Paul’s feet dangle past the lip of a faded red chair, lifeless. The sight of pink sneakers, scuffed and stained green and brown, makes tears spring to his eyes. They’re ruined. She ruined them, made them disgusting and ugly and it’s all her fault.

The door separating the waiting room from the rest of his therapist’s office creaked open. A nicely dressed woman with a wide smile stood in the doorway.

“Paul? Paul Leskowitz?”

“Um- that’s me.” Paul answered. He rose from his chair slowly as the unfamiliar woman beckoned him. Fog swirled in his head and obscured his memory.

She nodded, smiling again, “Come on through then.”

Paul followed her through the hall. It’s somewhat uncomfortable; not quite small enough to squeeze, but claustrophobic all the same. He would hate to pass by another person in there.

They came upon a door, painted a warm yellow. It stood out against the sterile white walls of the rest of the place. Although, he supposed it matched the eclectic blue and green carpet of the waiting room. On the door was a plaque, engraved with the name “Dr. Patricia Miller” and below it, “Psychotherapist”. The name didn't spark any recognition, but her title did. Paul is often taken out of class to see a counsellor, so he must be having another session.

Dr. Miller held open the door for Paul, motioning him to sit. There’s a long, grey couch on one end of the room, facing an armchair. A neatly folded blanket hangs over the back, covering half of the couch. Paul sat on the other end, but worries one of the blanket’s tassels between his fingers. It’s soft and fuzzy; Paul was grateful for something to look at while Dr. Miller got herself sorted.

“So, how are you today–” she checked a paper in her clipboard, “Paul?”

He was struck by the silence in the room and almost felt too awkward to speak.

“Uh-” Paul started, voice reedy with disuse. He cleared his throat before trying again, “Sorry, where am I?”

Embarrassment flooded him when Dr. Miller’s eyebrows rose. Paul knew he should remember the significance of this place, but right now he was drawing a blank. Dr. Miller’s laugh-lined face and curly auburn hair didn’t strike him as significant and neither did the softly lit office he found himself in.

Still, she recovered from her surprise quickly. Her features softened to a look of gentle concern.

“I’m your new therapist. You booked this appointment last Friday, I believe. Here, I can give you…” She drew out the last syllable, rummaging around in the purse sat by her feet. Dr. Miller procured a small card and handed it across the coffee table separating them.

Paul breathed a sigh of relief when he read the information on Dr. Miller’s business card. Recognition sparked at the long address of the “ClearView Wellness Center”; Belle texted him multiple times over the past week with the location, even calling him this morning to make sure he got there without any issue. Ironically, the issues started after he had already arrived.

Dr. Miller uncapped a pen, holding it poised to write on her clipboard, “Don’t worry about this, by the way,” she said, kindly, “I only take notes to better understand you and your situation. Anything you say will not leave this room and I will be the only person reading these.”

He nodded wordlessly.

She started simple, “Do you often forget your surroundings?”

He met her expectant gaze, before shifting back to the blanket. Paul cleared his throat again.

“Um- sometimes, yeah. I guess.” He bit the inside of his cheek, “It uh- it used to happen a lot, I think, but it kinda stopped after I left highschool.”

She nodded, taking a moment to scribble down a few notes. As she wrote, she asked her next question.

“Does it still happen to you or do you believe it’s fully gone away?”

He shifted uncomfortably. The blanket is pilling.

“It- I think it’s back, kinda?”

She looked up at him, “What do you mean by that?”

Paul couldn’t answer. His jaw was locked around the words he couldn’t articulate. Nothing was trapped in his throat, he just– didn’t know what to say to that. Dr. Miller let the question hang between them for a minute before changing her trajectory.

“Is there a reason for this behaviour?” She posed clinically, “Any sort of strenuous situation or pent up stress?”

Anna was waiting for him at her house. He left abruptly last Thursday, after his latest session with the game left him drained and afraid of… whatever unseen threat lurked behind his screen, surely. Paul chastised himself for forgetting what exactly it was, but Belle understood. She hadn’t let him answer Anna’s incessant calls and encouraged him to talk to someone– even a one-off appointment like this– to mitigate his stress. Still, his hands itched for the controller and he’s sure he’ll be back in that horrible house sooner or later. The family knows how to break someone down like that.

“There’s a um…” He said, voice crackling. He knew he couldn't mention the game, but he wanted to talk to her, no matter how discomforting this place is.

“My–” How does he explain to her who Anna is to him? She’s not his mother, not anymore. He decided to start somewhere else, “I cut ties with my blood relatives a long time ago, but I uh- I- I’m talking to them again. Um, I’m actually partially living with my biological mother.”

Before Dr. Miller can cut in, Paul elaborated, “I don’t know if I really want to be there? I don’t– I don’t want to be there.”

“Why is that?”

Paul paused, deliberating. He knows why– the family is awful and he doesn’t like them. But, articulating that is difficult. His head hurts.

“I think um…” He shifted, slouching over to pick at his hands, “I think it’s making me paranoid.”

Scratching pen on paper fills the room. When it stopped, Dr. Miller gave him a reassuring smile.

“It’s easy to feel intimidated when in an unfamiliar situation, especially when your relationship with whoever you’re living with is strained. What do you feel makes you paranoid at your biological mother’s house?”

Paul swallowed thickly.

“I don’t… uh- I don’t really know? I just feel like- like something is waiting for me there.”

“Waiting for you? Is it something physically waiting or a kind of negative interaction?”

“Both? I don’t like talking to Anna, but I’m not um- afraid of her, or anything. Being there just makes me get all… jumpy and- and irritable, I guess. Sometimes…” He trailed off. Part of him didn’t want to put words to this particular fear– it was irrational and fleeting. Saying it out loud gave it merit.

“It’s alright, you can continue.” She encouraged.

Paul drew in a deep breath, “Sometimes I… when I have trouble sleeping, it feels like something bad is going to happen. It’s not as bad in the daytime, but I just- I don’t like sleeping at her house.”

Dr. Miller nodded, “Do you feel like this all the time or only at Anna’s house?”

“Recently, it’s just been at Anna’s. I remember being a really light sleeper as a kid, but uh- that’s really it. I stopped being afraid of the dark a while ago.” Paul tried at a joke, laughing weakly to fill the empty air. Dr. Miller spared him a pity smile.

“Right. You said you don’t like talking to Anna, why is that? Is it related to why you don’t speak with her anymore?”

Cold sweat beaded on Paul’s forehead, in stark contrast to the red-hot spark of anxiety under his skin.

“I- I don’t know.”

“… You don’t know?”

Paul’s hands tightened in his lap.

“I don’t- I mean, she’s overbearing and intrusive and I get- I get kinda um…” He drew his shoulders, “I feel weird when she’s around. She– and the whole family, I guess– they’re uh- they’re dismissive. And she’s really emotional. I feel like I need to make her feel better when I’m there, but I don’t really know her?”

Dr. Miller looked up at him quizzically.

“We left when I was a kid. I don’t really remember why anymore, just that um- my- my mom– sorry, my adoptive mom, Lina– she took me away to live with her and my sister, Belle. There was family drama, or something like that…” He refuses to think about the game and it’s fucked up story– it’s not real, just the backwards revenge plot of a distant relative in his backwards family. It doesn’t mean anything.

“Do you know what that drama was?” She asked simply.

Paul didn’t answer.

“Was there perhaps an incident where your mother felt the need to remove you from Anna’s care? Any sort of mistreatment or neglect that–”

Paul drifted out of the conversation and into another. The consistent rumbling of Lina’s new car on gravel road drowned out the dulcet tones of Dr. Miller. They hit a bump and jumped a few inches above their seats, squealing all the way down. Glitzy pop music streamed through the speakers and Lina turned it up loud enough to hear over Belle’s singing. Paul joined in, quieter than Belle, always quieter– but singing along nonetheless. He dug his fingers into the thin plastic bag in his lap, watching it warp around his tiny fingers. It’s filled to bursting with his belongings, but gives easily. When he pulled away, he noticed the angry red cuts trailing up from her fingertips to the backs of her hands. They hit another bump, and this time she screamed.

“-aul, are you okay? Paul? Can you hear me?”

A woman with aged olive skin and copper hair is leaning towards him across a low table. She must be important, because she is dressed in a crisp blouse and slacks. The woman’s face is contorted into a thin-lipped smile. Paul felt sick.

“I’m sorry- I- I need to make- I need to call someone. Ex-excuse me.”

[unluckyxse7en]

I stumbled upon some communications cards designs, and while it's not the first time I've seen the concept (or considered it for myself) I'm thinking seriously about how I'd like to diy it simply and quickly... some questions I have include:

does anyone who use them have insight on the formatting?

I see lots of cards on keyrings, is that for portability? Would a mini notepad pre-prepped with phrases be an ok alternative, as someone who loses speech only on occasion?

I know the cards could be laminated, has that proven to be very helpful for preserving them? Or maybe that makes it easier to take them places? (Like in the rain or muddy areas, on the beach etc)

Would there be any disadvantage in keeping them as digital cards in a folder on my phone? Perhaps that could be a backup to my physical copies?

Does anyone have advice or ideas for how to assemble them quickly or with low effort? I don't even have a printer, let alone a laminator, so I'm open to making them by hand (hence notepad idea) but options for making them durably are slightly limited unless I go somewhere (which is higher effort than quickly scribbling messages on paper for me)

I'm not used to using these, or other communication aids, so any insight and correction is welcome!

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[wholesalesoftie]

*kicking my feet, twirling my hair* so there's this giiiiiirl

[isaacathom]

ooh, also, i had a fun dream last night

essentially, me and a group of friends are dealing with vampires, and are going to need to infiltrate a big party being held by a fuck ton of them. the plan we come up with is to impersonate a family who have been invited, which involves a bunch of strange stuff.

notably, i am playing the role of a woman called Josephine Brumont, wife of the other older vampire (played by a guy in our group that i have 0 romantic interest in), and who is a belgian expat (wallonia specifically, i suppose). this is something of a problem, as i am definitely not belgian, and my french is abysmal. but im the only person in the group who can possibly play josephine, so josephine i am.

we arrive just on the stroke of 10, having had an ordeal to get there in our disguises. and now that we're there, we find out what the party is really about - solving some murder than occured recently. the host had invited everyone who was a suspect, plus the +1s and so on that would make this seem normal. uhoh!!!

we're each one by one interrogated by the host. I manage to bumble my way through my interrogation, explaining my 'improved english' to the work of my dear and patient husband, and having the answers to questions bc we were quite possibly actually involved in the murder. unclear.

i'm then asked a question that i, isaac, would have no way of knowing, but josephine would know in a heartbeat. my "husband" is like 'oh shit oh fuck'. but lo! i have a lil psychic vision, and im able to explain exactly what josephine was doing at a given time. im released from talking.

that question was meant as a trap, and because i passed, they dont give a shit about me anymore. but some other guy isnt buying it. something up with me. when the lights briefly go out, he attacks me. surprising him considerably, im able to fight him off, flinging the knife he attacked me with away towards the table of refreshments, and berating him for daring to lay a hand on me in such a fashion. he gets dragged off. the vibes suggest he may have been the actual killer, but its not important.

however, i didnt fight him off that well. he stabbed him in the back, in a spot that gets hidden by my long hair (a wig?) and my shawl.

the dream at this point has what i call a 'remix' moment, where it happens close enough to being awake that i can choose to redo it. in the first version, i go up to my "husband" and inform him of The Injury, and beg him to actually turn me into a vampire so i dont die from it. there an argument, which doesnt get the chance to resolve, but i assume involves the fact we're in public and turning me now would reveal that i was human initially. problematic, yknow.

in the second version, i completely hide the injury from everyone, including from my friends, because i know vampires dont bleed. if i reveal that im bleeding, well. so i hide it, get by on adrenaline for a while. for some reason or another, our group get found out (NOT because of me, as far as i can tell) and we are forced to flee to the fancy car we drove here, and we speed off into the night.

its in the backseat of the car, with the member of my group that i'm closest to, that they found out about the successful stabbing.

in my musings later, i decided part of the reason they didnt realise i was actually injured (other than ~exceptional acting~) was that when i threw away my assailants dagger, it hit the punch bowl full of blood on the refreshments table, so that when anyone spots the bloody dagger, they assume its from the spilt bunch, not from Me, Josephine Brumont, 100% Real Vampire.

the later musings also had my friend in the backseat turning me into a vampire when it became unavoidably clear that we were not going to make it to a hospital in time for me to not actually bleed the fuck out, making it the only way to save ya bois life ✌ booyeah

[viderose]

he’s annoying, i don’t like him (he hasn’t given me as much attention lately)

[galacticlamps]

The Doctor, explaining his concerns to the psychologist treating Jamie: I’m worried that these Shard implant things could be altering people’s characters, changing who they are and making them behave in ways they normally wouldn’t. Take Jamie for instance, he’s been off ever since we got here, but you can’t spot it because you just don’t know him like I do.

-30 seconds later-

The Doctor: here Jamie take my arm

Jamie: ah no thanks I’m alright

The Doctor: ヽ(ಠ_ಠ)ノ

[v-arbellanaris]

alistair: [visibly frustrated, upset, heartbroken, annoyed, starting to cry] kal, why are you hesitating. kal. KAL. for the love of all that is holy, please just fucking kill him. he's a traitor, he's tried to kill us multiple times, he framed us for the king's death, HE KILLED DUNCAN, just KILL HIM im BEGGING you kal: [also crying] I CAN'T HE'S MY BLORBO!!!!!!

[kyuala]

oh my god i could probably talk abt this forever and i literally wont shut up about it until the world cup rolls around but do u guys wanna know abt the covert coup they tried to stage 2day

[smithsparker]

.

[perenlop]

ok that episode wasnt as bad as i remember. theres stuff im nitpicky abt and i still think its a dumb episode overall but eh its fine

[ditzydisko]

Actually I think I would rather just vomit then curl up on the ground and die if its not too much

[thebleedingeffect]

On god I wish I could talk to someone rn in order to iron out some details of my fic but it is one: so so very late, two: am sleepy, three: this fic is fucking haunting me cause there's several ways I can do this and I'm gonna fucking explode