Phantogram Three
#extradirty
Today's Document
@theartofmadeline
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❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
noise dept.
Fieri Frames
Product Placement
blake kathryn
Keni
Claire Keane
Kiana Khansmith
izzy's playlists!
$LAYYYTER
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tumblr dot com
Show & Tell
seen from Moldova
seen from Singapore
seen from Maldives
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Germany
seen from Türkiye
seen from United Kingdom
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from Italy
seen from United States
seen from Iraq
seen from Netherlands
@physicallyfreakishcupcake
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>Welcome to JunkFreakz [hyperjarate448], this 24/7 community server runs HexrRadio extensions. Enable sv cheats 1 to get server commands and map to run as intended. Type /help in chat for our list of commands, Type /see below to view server info. Enjoy your stay
>/help
>/playerinfo
>Hyperjarate448 <00:00:57>
>what the fuck?
>i am painis cupcake
>im going to eat you
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[Mimic must have been wandering around forever in search of another person to interact with. Their steps soft against concrete floor. He was fumbling with a small journal, using it as a distraction from awkward silence.]
[It was stupidly hot everywhere, their coat clung onto them uncomfortably with every little step they took. Who's idea was it to have this be their work outfit?]
"Hello?" [He called out finally. For a place that was usually buzzing with life, co-workers and enemies alike it was rather... Silent. They tugged awkwardly on their coat.]
@emotionally-defeated-mimic
*a stench reeked in the hot air that hung around, putrid, foul, it was the unmistakable odor of decomposing death. There were faint brownish stains on the wooden floorboards leading up to the large metal door of RED's upper spawn.*
*You could hear the sound of the dingy ventilation fan inside whirring. The sounds of movement inside tells you someone is present, seemingly something heavy being dragged around across the ceramic tiled floor, and the peculiar snapping- something similar to the sounds of reloading a shotgun.*
Bap-
*something bumped against a wall from the inside, before it went eerily quiet.... do you still dare look inside?*
[Mimic might have assumed this was perhaps an abandoned place. They hadn't heard much about this place, it felt almost abandoned. They certainly haven't been placed in any matches here.] [That was until that- putrid stench filled the air. They almost gagged as soon as they began to smell it. It was subtle at first when they were far away from it but as they got closer and closer their senses were so ruthlessly attacked in a way that has they wincing.] [They almost turn on their heels to leave, lifting their journal to their nose to protect their nostrils as their brows furrowed. They climbed up wooden floorboards very hesitantly before they came across the metal door of RED's spawn room.] "Ah, that makes sense..." [They murmur softly, feeling a gag at the tip of their tongue at having to speak. But at least there was an answer for the putrid smell. The question was, who could be rotting in there? A dead animal? A corpse of a team member left behind? Against better judgement they press their gloved hand against the door, ignoring all fight or flight alarms that ring in their head.] "Hello?" [They'd croak again, their voice low and calm. They could hear sounds, something similar to a reloading shotgun and it has the hairs on the base of their neck rising. Bap! They don't hear the sound until they're opening the door, realizing that something might be alive.]
*The door creaks as it retracts upwards, sliding open.*
*It was an assault to all the senses. The stench was revolting, the light coloured walls were dripping with shades of brown and red like a slaughterhouse. Sprays of splattered viscera and brainmatter , coming down to drip and pool on the tiles. In the middle of the aftermaths of a previous carnage, you see it. Soldier *
*His back facing away from you, crunching, chewing, tearing, ripping, biting, inhumanly groutesque sounds as you watch him eat gluttonously. A lifeless corpse being sacked around like a ragdoll as he tore away bits and pieces, wolfing it down. *
[Mimic must have been wandering around forever in search of another person to interact with. Their steps soft against concrete floor. He was fumbling with a small journal, using it as a distraction from awkward silence.]
[It was stupidly hot everywhere, their coat clung onto them uncomfortably with every little step they took. Who's idea was it to have this be their work outfit?]
"Hello?" [He called out finally. For a place that was usually buzzing with life, co-workers and enemies alike it was rather... Silent. They tugged awkwardly on their coat.]
@emotionally-defeated-mimic
*a stench reeked in the hot air that hung around, putrid, foul, it was the unmistakable odor of decomposing death. There were faint brownish stains on the wooden floorboards leading up to the large metal door of RED's upper spawn.*
*You could hear the sound of the dingy ventilation fan inside whirring. The sounds of movement inside tells you someone is present, seemingly something heavy being dragged around across the ceramic tiled floor, and the peculiar snapping- something similar to the sounds of reloading a shotgun.*
Bap-
*something bumped against a wall from the inside, before it went eerily quiet.... do you still dare look inside?*
If only there were some sort of facility where teenagers could be taught new skills.
Anyway, here's a helpful diagram. When I was hit on the temple this was one of the harder things I had to reteach myself. Don't be shamed into not asking questions, and it's alright if it takes you a while to figure it out. Don't let someone make you feel bad for learning new things, or relearning old ones.
Sometimes, unfortunately, you have to teach yourself. YouTube is a valid option.
yeah okay ill reblog that :]
I love not knowing
A. Who I am
B. Wtf is causing this damn headache help me gods
THEY ARE STICKER.S :) ialreadu posted.that doll bu;t i figure id post them likw. a mass post.
Skip and Loafer by Misaki Takamatsu - Chapter 29
Professionals have standards.
[Alt version / no FX under cut]
Exclusive: Satellite analysis revealed to the Guardian shows farms devastated and nearly half of the territory’s trees razed. Alongside moun
Sewage from Gaza is inundating the Mediterranean Sea, and may soon flow into Israel, reports say.
This is my inbox. Because of my posts about Palestine and Gaza.
I don't give a shit! From the river to the sea Palestine will be free! 🍉🇵🇸
Some days, DID looks like constant spacing out and never seeming fully there. Missed bits of conversations and a memory that doesn’t seem like it wants to work.
Sometimes it looks like talking to myself, constant internal noise and heightened sensory sensitivity.
Some days DID looks like being emotional for seemingly no reason, crying, laughing, anger over something I don’t know, emotional bleed-through from other alters.
Other days it just looks like severe PTSD. Avoidance, spacing out, needing help to ground myself. Flashbacks that I honestly can’t remember the triggers of, or remember the full event of, but that I know are flashbacks.
And sometimes it just looks like nothing at all. I seem put-together and relatively normal. You’d never know I had a dissociative disorder.
The day-to-day severity of my symptoms do not determine what mental illness I have. I still have DID and I still struggle with it whether you can see it or not.
TW : mentioning we are a programmed system (without any other detail)
Other systems should NOT criticize how different systems manage their own recovery.
We are 6 years into therapy been diagnosed for C-DID and a lot more stuffs but like.. Therapy for Dissociative Identity Disorders just don’t exist in our country. We are way too late on psychiatry, and even getting a CDD diagnosis is a battlefield here. Finding the right therapy is just so rare it basically never happens or you have tons of years to pass on a waiting list.
So yes, we are digging into our own traumas by ourselves (still we go to therapy and never stay alone but with closed ones) because we don’t have a choice and we want to heal ! Yes even if we are a programmed system ! We know this is highly dangerous, we know more than you can ever imagine ! But we don’t have a choice and healing’s not an option, it’s mandatory ! Yes our healing process will be much more complicated and instable, but is this truly worse than doing absolutely nothing ‘till the end of your life ?
If therapy for CDD doesn’t exist here, therapy for programmed system less exist. Basically health professionals don’t even know that’s actually a thing. Neither does our whole country population (only those involved and/or closed ones of survivors).
Stop telling us how we should heal when basically we don’t have many options and you know nothing about our situation here. A lot of countries are factually privileged when it comes to access therapy and health in general.
Stop telling people how they should act on their recovery. You don’t know anything about random people on the internet, you don’t know what they’ve been through and you don’t know what they have to go through in order to access therapy and how they need to manage their OWN recovery.
It depends on where you live, it depends on every individual. Everyone is different, not everyone got the same chances in life. And you should not assume the opposite.
^^ we don't have much to add here, but this is very correct. Do not criticise people for how they chose to recover, don't try to tell them they're doing it wrong, everyone is different and everyone needs different things to recover
Painis, would you eat raw chicken despite the risk of salmonella?
the message pops up on the periphery of his vision as he sat on the floor, leaned against the bench. Patches of wet blood still present trailing from his chin. Pieces of cosmetic gear left bloodied and broke n on the floor as a burst of red seemingly splattered all across the room in a violent manner. He looked to the public chat ui as if he could sense your presence, then to the screen.
>WjAT'S tHAT ? Maggots!
the message read, as he uttered it with his own mouth in a peculiar fashion, this, thing had managed to figure out how to keybind every single voiceline of the soldier class to simultaniously mix them with proper timing.
valve concept artists didnt die inventing that perfect shade of slightly washed out red for you to go full #FF0000 on that tf2 drawing
@hungrypainiscupcake
*a seemingly dead soldier is laying on the ground, his face planted into the earth with arms loose. He began to move, the sound of cracking joints could be heard eerily as he shoddily stood up like a puppet on strings. He was uncannily identical to soldier, apart from of course, his strange movements. He looked towards you, with his empty stare.*
"I am painis cupcake"
Soldier startled back, eyes pinpricking at the sight of this... thing. His face fell aflush with pale coolness, blood draining from it as he locked eyes with the corpse. He blinked hard, believing to be hallucinating again. He often had severe delusions and hallucinations, either due to brain damage, mental illness, or both. So things of this nature weren't exactly uncommon.
But he was frightened nonetheless.
His voice barely amounted to a mutter. "What the..."
*His plain expression twisted into a crude smile of sharpened teeth; wide, milky-blue irises peer at him from under the battered helmet as he began to walk towards him with, hunched over with buckled legs, the sounds of bones jostling and scraping against one another within his mangled frame, his arms hung limp from his sides, everytime he took a step the skin-peeling terror of his inhuman manner got closer and closer towards you. He reeked of blood and viscera, rotting his soaked worn clothes which has permanent stains absorbed into the fabric. The pieces of human remains around him were simply stepped under the sole of his boots as he shambled over like a walking undead.*
