#but it is going so well and i am feeling SUCH joy

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

My dear lgbt+ kids, 

I believe that one of the best things you can do for your mental wellbeing is to just give yourself things to look forward to. 

Your mind may go to expensive purchases or life changing experiences now, these bucket list items like “a month long international vacation” or “getting my own car” (or even something like “buying a whole new wardrobe and re-inventing myself after I come out” or “making queer friends once I graduated and moved out and cut my parents out of my life”) - but that’s not what I am talking about right now. In fact, for our purposes here it’s better if it’s not something like that! 

Big goals and long-term dreams are cool! Don’t give up on them! But if our only sources of that giddy “I can’t wait to do that!” energy are things that may only happen in a few years (or “when I get rich” or “once I’m healed” or “when I get braver” or maybe even never), well, that’s a good recipe for feeling unfulfilled and like our current life is empty and boring compared to that shiny fantasy. You’ll miss out on a lot of joy when you save up all your feelings of excitement for the “later”. 

So, this isn’t about big bucket list stuff and it also isn’t about any classic self-improvement techniques. If you look forward to exercise or meditation, all the more power to you (because obviously you’ll reap the mental health benefits of those things plus those giddy feelings)… but first and foremost this is about joy. 

This is about seeing the magic in the ordinary things, in the here and now (and yes, that sounds pretty lame. Sometimes you gotta be lame to be happy!). 

It’s also about feeling in control of your life. In order to look forward to something, you need to intentionally pick something to do. And that’ll feel so much better than just passively letting life happen to you or waiting for your “real life” to start or letting some algorithm choose which content to consume until it’s time for bed. It’s about not postponing joy until life gets better but making life better by making it more joyful!

So, how do you teach yourself to look forward to things and which things work best?

You need to set a (small, pleasant, easily achievable) goal and follow through on it.

It can be a small, special treat or reward, like “On Monday I’ll buy a candy bar after work” or “I’ll make a cup of my favorite tea tomorrow morning”. It can also just be being mindful of the things you do anyway: if you always listen to music while on the train, don’t just hit shuffle once you sit down and instead deliberately choose a specific album you want to listen to before you board the train. 

The trick is just to intentionally pick something fun to do and then let yourself feel pumped about doing it and then follow through with actually doing it. It doesn’t even need to be anything new or different than usual! If you always make pasta for dinner because that’s your favorite dish, then just deliberately spend some extra thought during the day on how freaking awesome it is that you get to eat your favorite dish again tonight! 

When you’re new to this, it’s best to pick something that’s in the near future, like later that day or the day after. You get time to build up excitement but you also get to follow through pretty quickly. So your brain gets to make the connection that happily looking forward to something is “worth it”! 

This can feel a bit ridiculous and fake at first, especially if you’re usually not an overly cheerful person. It’s okay if it feels a bit silly to be joyful about the prospect of eating pasta. Good news is, this is something where you can absolutely “fake it til you make it”. You may have to consciously remind yourself to be excited about it at first (it’s okay to use little helpers, like notifications on your phone or a good old sticky note somewhere you’ll see it!) - but even when it’s fake at first, your brain will forge those pathways and over time “happily looking forward to things” will become a natural habit that’ll add a bit of sparkle to the ordinary! 

And especially for those “waiting until I can be myself” cases: Yeah, finding magic in the ordinary will not “fix” living with homophobic parents or gender dysphoria. But it’ll give you some moments of light while you wait for things to get better. And you deserve that. Lighting some candles while waiting in the dark will always beat just sitting in the dark.

With all my love, 

Your Tumblr Dad 

[pedropascallme]

☆Kinktober 2024☆

Day 12: Mutual masturbation

Pairing: Damien Haas x f!Reader

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI!!!!) mutual masturbation, mild dom/sub dynamics (softdom!Damien is BACK baby!!) dirty talk, little bit of cum play, if I missed anything please let me know!

AN: I actually wrote another mutual masturbation fic with Damien a few months ago, so if that's your thing, you can find it here :D

He wasn’t ignoring you—not purposefully.

Damien had tucked away in a corner of the house, glued to the screen of the desktop computer.

You approached quietly, watching the muscle in his wrist just barely flex when he clicked the mouse.

For as long as you’d been together—and prior to that, as long as you’d been friends—you knew Damien was the type to get hung up on small details. He’d focus until he was burnt out; he’d try to deal with everything in one go and become deeply frustrated when that backfired on him.

He was detail oriented, almost painstakingly so.

At least right now he was hyper-focused on something harmless, something that brought him real joy.

Still, it was going on midnight, and you wanted him in bed with you—for the more selfish purposes, yes, but also because he’d be mad at himself if he stayed up too late, which would morph into a deep-seated grumpiness that would, in turn, make him feel guilty.

“Do you plan on coming to bed on your own tonight?” You draped an arm loosely over his shoulder, leaning over him, “Or am I going to have to drag you there myself?”

Damien leaned his head back against you, eyes glued to the computer screen. It was Elder Scrolls, you knew that much, but which version, you couldn’t tell.

“I’m playing,” he was smiling, that toothy, lopsided grin that he wore, an expression of unbridled joy and genuine amusement.

Your favorite version of him.

“It’s late, Dames…” You bent down and pressed your face into his neck, brushing your lips to his skin.

He let out a contented sigh. “Late to you. To a vampire—very early.”

You removed yourself from his neck, taking the two steps forward that let you position yourself in front of him, leaning the back of your thighs on his desk.

“Game will still be there in the morning…” You reached out to brush your knuckles over his cheek.

He turned his head slightly, ghosting a kiss over your hand. “But I’m…I dunno…” He huffed, still smiling, but his brow creased slightly. “It’s been such a busy week and I want to unwind. And even though it’s late and I’m exhausted, I’m not…tired.” He explained, pulling your hand from his face and lacing his fingers with yours.

You lifted yourself onto the desk, careful not to push anything off the surface.

“Well…I can think of plenty of ways to tire you out…” You purred, and though you meant it as a tease, you were only half joking.

Damien leaned back against the chair he was in, letting your hand go in favor of reaching out to hold your leg.

“Go on.” He smirked, rolling his shoulders.

“I mean, I could—” You tried to rattle off a list of the first depraved things that came to mind, but he cut you off, squeezing your thigh.

“Don’t tell me,” his smirk contorting into a wolfish grin, “Show me.”

You bit lazily at your bottom lip.

“Right here?” There was a ghost of a smile on your face, the merriment you felt momentarily winning out over the lust that had begun to swell within you.

“It’s what you’re thinking about right now, isn’t it?” Damien removed his grip from your leg, bringing his hands behind his head. He spread his thighs and quirked a brow. “Go ahead, princess.”

You stared down at him from your perch on the desk, sucking the inside of your cheeks for a moment as you considered his challenge.

You gave in immediately.

“Fine,” You put your hands on your thighs, leaning forward for emphasis. “I will.”

Leisurely, your fingers danced under the hem of your sleep shirt, tugging at the fabric. You lifted it over your head slowly, revealing your bare chest to him, your nipples pebbling from exposure to the air of the room.

You tossed your shirt in Damien’s lap, and he grabbed it with both hands, white knuckling the fabric, his gaze piercing. He let out a sigh, a soft growl, urging you to continue.

You put your hands on your neck, trailing your palms down over the swell of your breasts and over your stomach, fingertips grazing the waistband of your shorts. You brought them back up to your chest, kneading the supple flesh, pinching your nipples. The feeling sent shivers down your spine, and you subconsciously arched into your own touch.

“I would’ve gotten you to make a lot more noise by now.” Damien’s voice was smug, but his jaw was tight.

Defying his words as best you could, you caught his eyes, letting out a breathy moan while you rolled your nipple between your thumb and forefinger.

Damien took a deep breath, as if to collect himself. His head tilted back slightly, but he found your gaze again and matched it.

“Feels better when I do it, doesn’t it?” He asked, and you squeaked.

“You said I should show you what I want,” you mumbled, dropping your head to watch your hands massage your breasts. “That’s what I’m doing, Damien.”

“And this is what you want, princess?” He smiled, “You want me to tire myself out by playing with your tits?” He let go of your shirt, tossing it to the floor, and shifting in his seat.

The way he said it, gravelly and pleased, made you swallow down a whimper.

But the way he’d moved the obstruction of your shirt from his lap and spread his legs wider to reveal the obvious tent in his sweatpants made your lips part to allow the sound out.

“I have other ideas, if this doesn’t do it for you…” You mewled, still palming your chest.

He didn’t grace you with a verbal response, offering a simple nod, darkened eyes goading you.

You let your hands fall down your body, shimmying out of your shorts and exposing yourself to him. You spread your legs, shifting your weight on the desk in a teasing display.

“Fuck,” Damien’s voice was strained; still domineering but having more trouble holding it together now. “Were you—were you this wet when you came in here, or is that just…?” He shifted his jaw, grinding his teeth and letting his sentence trail off.

You were spurred on by his lapse in dominance, enjoying the fact that you could get him so distracted and wound up by simply flashing your bare cunt to him.

You dragged your hand over your stomach, stopping when your fingers brushed over your clit. You let out a needy sound. Wound up so tightly after groping yourself and listening to him speak over your movements, you were convinced you could cum just like this.

Your fingers spread you apart, fully exposing your glistening hole, and Damien groaned as you circled yourself with your fingers.

“Come on,” his lips parted as he stared, the rise and fall of his chest becoming more pronounced. “Show me.”

Maintaining eye contact with him, you dipped an albeit shaky finger into your sex, down to the knuckle. Your breath caught in your throat, eyes closing briefly as you finally gave your body what it had been craving.

You rocked your hips, slowly thrusting the digit in and out of yourself.

“There you go…” Damien smiled up at you wickedly, “Look at you, princess, so self-sufficient. Is this you trying to tell me that you only want one of my fingers?”

You shook your head, moaning, and pushed another finger inside yourself.

With a groan, Damien gave in to his own urges completely, and you watched him hook a thumb under the waistband of his sweats, pulling them down enough to release his cock. It bounced against him, tip wet with precum, and you whimpered.

He licked his palm, bringing his hand down to smear the precum and his spit down his length and subconsciously matching the rhythm of your fingers as you pumped them in and out.

“This is what you were thinking about, isn’t it?” The question was entirely rhetorical—he knew what you were thinking, knew you were as desperate to get fucked as he was to fuck you.

You offered a weak nod, the pressure of your release building slowly but surely somewhere deep behind your stomach.

You brought one of your legs up, pressing your foot against the surface of the desk to switch the angle to one that would get you there faster.

Damien groaned, sliding his hand over his cock, using the image of you spread out and fucking yourself on his desk to chase his own release.

“Good, princess,” he spoke through clenched teeth, the muscle in his jaw twitching, “Say it. Say that you’re thinking about getting fucked.”

Your breath was stuttered, fingers curling into the tender spot inside you.

“I—yeah, I’m thinking about—about getting fucked…” You managed to squeak out, heavily lidded eyes tracking the movement of his hand over his cock.

“Yeah—yeah, by who?” He coaxed you, twisting his wrist. He watched you drip over your fingers, coating yourself in your own juices, and it was an exercise in self-control for him to not lean forward and press his face into your cunt; lap you up and lick you clean.

“You, Damien,” your eyes closed, your jaw dropped, and you felt the familiar buzz take over your body. “You.”

“Fuck, that’s right,” he keened at your words, brow furrowed as he watched you near your high. “You can do it, baby, you’re so close—fuck your hand, let me see you make yourself cum.”

You were in exactly the right spot, and upon hearing his words, you felt a swell of pleasure; something pushing down on your body in all the right ways, contorting you and satisfying you as your walls clenched and your back arched.

You moaned, letting out unsteady breaths to match your trembling thighs. You continued to press your fingers into yourself, mimicking as best you could the way he always prolonged your pleasure until it became overwhelming, brushing your delicate spots and making you cry out.

“Oh, fuck—” Damien moaned at the sight, the shiver that overtook your body and made you cry out for him. He fucked his fist faster at the thought of how you’d look beneath him, crying that way and begging for more of him. “You’re so fucking pretty, baby, you’re so—you’re so perfect. Fuck, I’m gonna cum…” He jerked himself quickly, spilling over his hand with a low moan.

He panted, all but going limp in his seat as his head fell back, a parallel to the way you had slumped against the wall behind you, taking heaving breaths after you’d finally removed your fingers from your cunt.

He picked his head up, admiring you with a soft smile.

“What?” You scoffed, smiling back at him.

“I’m still not tired.” He smirked at you.

Moving off the desk in a manner most ungraceful, you took his playfulness as permission to drape yourself over his lap, sagging against him and grabbing his wrist.

“That’s a shame…” You brought his hand to your mouth, sucking on his fingers and savoring the bitter spend that had dripped over him. “Gonna just sit here and play games you’ve already played all night?” You quirked a brow, swirling your tongue over his middle finger before dropping his hand.

“Oh,” he smiled, wrapping his arms around you, “I’m gonna play, just…probably not out here and definitely not on this computer.”

He stood, lifting you, and you laughed.

“Monitor is still on.” You nuzzled against him, and he tilted his face down at you.

“Baby, I love your mindfulness, but I could not care less about what’s happening on that screen right now.”

[professorsnape394]

DAY 1 - The Warmth of a Good Woman

Pairing: Severus Snape x Reader

Rating: 🥰

Prompt: Warmth

A/N: Joining the party a little late but thought I’d give this another go after a longgggg hiatus from this blog.

Warnings:  Semi-naked woman?

Word Count: 2133

Credits to Gif Creator.

Not much had changed for Severus in the years since the Second Wizarding War. Yes, the Dark Lord had been defeated and everyone had lost a few friends along the way but ultimately Severus remained in the cold dark of the dungeons grading the papers of Hogwarts students until all hours of the night.

The flicking light of the many candles had dimmed, and the brisk night air was finally starting to get to him. His sallow skin had turned icy and his nose was numb to the elements from being exposed for so long. With a heavy sigh he promised himself he would make his way through one final stack of papers before turning in for the night, distracting himself with his thoughts hoping to speed up the process.

Although his work took its toll on him both physically and mentally, Severus hadn’t chosen to give it up in the aftermath of the war. While he took a short sabbatical to recover from one very nasty snake bite, he soon found himself bored and without purpose now that his reign as double agent was made redundant.

Minerva welcomed him back to Hogwarts with open arms, once again allowing him to do the one thing that truly brought him joy in life, enriching the minds of young witches and wizards through the art of potion making. The professor had never been more thankful of this decision than the day Headmistress McGonagall announced the newest defence against the dark arts professor. She was young and extremely attractively. But she was more than that. There was an aura about her, a positive energy that illuminated every room she entered. With a new outlook on life, Severus allowed finally himself to appreciate the young woman for what she was, a blinding light in his all-consuming darkness. For the first time in his life Severus considered the possibilities a woman like this presented.

Puffing out a breath, watching it turn to smoke as it hit the air, Severus’ mind wandered to the first few weeks of the new teacher’s arrival. While he had allowed himself to admire her from afar, it came as a shock to Severus to find the young witch knocking on his door the following morning, keen to introduce herself.

Sleep deprived and still feeling groggy from his abrupt awakening Snape couldn’t help his old personality from slipping through, despite his conscious efforts to improve himself.

“What do you want.” He grumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“I’m sorry if I disrupted you, Sir – “

“You did.” He interrupted.

“My apologies. My name’s Professor Y/L/N I’m the new defence against the dark arts teacher.”

“I am aware. What I do not know if why you are at my chamber door at 6:30 in the morning.”

“I realise it’s early and this might not have been my best idea, but I wanted to introduce myself to all the faculty before breakfast and as you are the one which I am most eager to meet I thought I’d make this my first stop.”

“How privileged I am.” He couldn’t help himself from moaning. “I’m Professor Snape.”

“Yes, I know” She beamed. Snape was damned if her gleaming smile didn’t melt the ice in heart just a little. “Your contribution to the fight against you-know-who is legendary. Everyone knows who you are. But only a few have the privilege of meeting you. I’m just so glad I get to be one of those select few.”

“I do not respond well to flattery, Miss Y/L/N.” Snape could feel himself growing more uncomfortable by the moment. He didn’t enjoy talking to people he did not know, though even worse than that he loathed people bringing up the part he played in the wizarding wars. They always made him out to be some sort of hero type, that everything he did was brave and completely selfless. This he did not agree with, and therefore chose not to engage with the topic if he could avoid it.

“I’m sorry professor. The main reason I wanted to speak with you this morning was to ask if you had any advice for me.”

“Advice?” His eyebrow quirked up instinctively.

“I’m new to teaching.” She begun to explain. “And more than that I haven’t half the experience in the field of the dark arts that you do. I was hoping we could work together, maybe like a tutoring type of relationship, allowing me to gain some insight on the reality of the subject. All my knowledge is theoretical. I believe it would help the children if they had some real-life skills that they could apply to help them in the future.”

“Theoretical knowledge is all the students shall need. There is no great force of evil out there, the Dark Lord is dead and the Death Eaters have been disbanded. I do not wish to engage with the subject. It is not my job to tutor you. And I do not want to be bothered in my private quarters before the work day. Now goodbye, Miss Y/L/N.”

Y/N could tell she had struck a nerve with Snape, as his face turning a burning shade of red at her request and his chamber door slammed hard in her face, all the while she stood there confused. He wasn’t nearly the heroic selfless man the rumours described. In fact, he was one of the rudest men she had ever encountered. But there definitely was something intriguing about him.

The newest professor did not take no for an answer that first day, and continued to pester Snape with her antics every day after. From baking him cookies, to showing up at his office with a handful of textbooks, the witch was relentless in her pursuit. Though gradually it began to morph from a want of knowledge in the dark arts, to a peaked interest in the man himself. From Snape’s perspective he couldn’t tell whether she was trying to study the man or become his friend, either way Severus was not interested in the slightest.

The professor couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, causing another bought of fog to emerge from his mouth. From day one she had always been a pest, annoying him to no end to get whatever she wanted. He remembered the day he finally caved to her demands.

She had once again turned up at his office, this time after classes had commenced. She hadn’t brought any weapons of manipulation and had yet to mention her plan to collaborate with him. She simply sat in a chair opposite him rambling on about a student in one of her classes who hadn’t quite perfected a spell needed to pass the first assignment of the year.

“Anyway, I’ve tried literally everything with him and he just doesn’t seem to get it. He’s the only one in the class too or I’d be doubting myself, you know, but honestly, he just seems to have the worst luck because I know he’s trying but at this rate I’m scared he’s going to set my classroom on fire when all I’m asking for is a simple flame! I think I’m going to have to switch up my tactics again because I refuse to give up on him.” She huffed.

 It dawned on him that this would have been perfect ammunition to guilt him into helping her and her students out, but it seemed this thought had yet to occur to Y/N. Snape wondered if she had truly given up on her quest to get him to help her. If he remembered correctly, it had been a few weeks since she had even brought the subject up. Yet she stilled turned up at his office every day to talk about the most mundane stuff. Y/N didn’t seem to mind that Snape so rarely contributed to their conversations, only offering a nod or a small comment where necessary. He expected she would have gotten bored of his presence by now considering he wasn’t exactly the most exciting man to spend time with but he was glad she stuck around. Severus had grown accustomed to her ramblings and often found himself missing her when she was not around. The thought took him by surprise, he had never dared to acknowledge he might actually enjoy this woman’s company but upon reflection his words rang true. She had embedded her way into his previously regimented routine and it hadn’t upturned his life as he had initially worried.

“I’ll do it.” He blurted, catching her by surprise.

“You’ll do what?” Y/N seemed completely caught off guard by his declaration.

So, she truly wasn’t trying to guilt me. He thought.

“I’ll help you, tutor you in some practical knowledge for you to pass on to your students.”

“You will?” She beamed.

“Yes. Though let’s pray they never need to use it.”

“Oh Severus! Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!” She squealed, jumping up from her chair and rounding the desk.

The potion’s master’s body stiffed upon impact as the young professor threw herself onto him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. It took a second but he eventually relaxed into her embrace, no longer denying himself the simple pleasures of affection.

“You’re welcome.” He smiled against her cheek. Amused at the thought that this simple gesture brought this woman so much joy.

“You realise this was all just an excuse to get close to you.” She giggled into his ear.

“I know.” He whispered, closing his eyes and inhaling the fruity scent of her hair.

The memory of that day cheered Severus up slightly, giving him enough motivation to finish up the remainder of his marking and finally escape the ever-dropping temperature of his office. Keeping his head down, he powered through despite his eyes drooping from the lateness of the hour.

“Don’t tell me you’re still in here marking assignments Severus.” The familiar voice drew his attention to the adjoining door. “You should come to bed, it’s late.”

His heart warmed at the prospect of her worrying about him. He never used to have anyone who cared whether he slept or not. It had taken him some time to adjust his routine to suit another person, but sometimes old habits die hard.

“I won’t be long, darling, I’m almost finished. Get out of here before you catch a cold.” He nodded in the direction of the DADA professor, encouraging her to return to their shared chambers. Never one for obeying orders, she made her way across the cold stone floor, dragging Severus’ attention to her bare feet. Despite being worried for her health, Snape allowed his gaze to trail up her seemingly never-ending legs, settling on her exposed thighs. She wore only her underwear; a labyrinth of black fabric and cross-crossing lace, not quite see through enough to give you full access to her body, but enough to entice you in. And Severus was definitely enticed. From the day she made the first move on him, Snape had struggled to deny his attraction to her. After living for so many years denying every possible pleasure, Y/N reignited his appreciation for the fairer sex in a way that no woman ever had.  

As she approached the desk, Severus could clearly see the expanse of goosebumps covering her tanned skin, already feeling the affects of the damp dungeon office.

“Here.” He said, taking off his robes and draping it over her shoulders.

“Do I repulse you so much you feel the need to cover me up?” She joked.

“You’re a distraction.” Snape said seriously, meeting her eyes. “And it’s cold. Go back to bed.”

“Not without you.”

“I don’t have much more to do, let me finish.” He pleaded, knowing he was fighting a losing battle.

“You can finish tomorrow.” Severus wanted to argue with her, but ultimately, she was right. And there was almost no chance of him finishing now that she had chosen to position herself upon his desk, legs brushing against the inside of his thighs.

Severus stared up at her, wetting his lips and humming appreciatively.  

Y/N dropped the robe, allowing it to pile by her hips.

Severus succumbed to her seduction, all thoughts of marking and assignments evaporating into the night air.

“You’re freezing.” She panted, cupping Snape’s cheeks in her hands, her soft lips brushing teasingly against his own. “Let me warm you up.”

Like he said before; nothing much had changed since the Wizarding War. Except now the Dark Lord was dead. Expect now McGonagall was headmistress at Hogwarts. Now there was a new permanent DADA professor. Now he allowed himself to love. Now he had the warmth of a good woman by his side, and he didn’t plan on letting her go any time soon.

[novelconcepts]

feel like i have followed you for like, most of my adolescent and teenage life on this void app so i am incredibly validated by your tags on my agatha all along post, thanks for Getting It but also i feel like given that you’ve been on tumblr probably as long as i have, we’ve seen it all lmao

Your points are all valid! I hate that while watching a really interesting, well-put together episode of a show I love, I thought, god the internet will be insufferable about this for a week. That shouldn’t have been the vibe at all. Obviously certain elements of storytelling will speak more to different people, and that’s the joy of the craft, but I get so irritated watching entire pieces of art trashed because the story doesn’t 100% suit the viewer. Slight twist on the topic, but it’s how I feel when people go “season two of Yellowjackets SUCKED because my fave had a bad time” or “this adaptation is trash because it left out my personal favorite detail”. A story can go south because of bad storytelling, but there’s a difference between “bad” and “wasn’t for me”, and I wish folks would accept that nuance with a little less hostility.

[blood-red-bumblebee]

The End...?

Three's a good number :)

~~~

It had only been a couple hours, but the sense of relief that rushed through her at returning to Twisted Wonderland was immense. After her first few trips through Dark Mirror portals, the woozy feeling that came with the rush of magic went away. Her family, however, was feeling it heavy. Even the dog!

They had sat down, looking around the Mirror Chamber in awe.

Rose was just reveling in being home.

Her joy didn’t last long though, Crowley sweeping into the Chamber in a flurry of feathers. “Miss. Prefect! What is the meaning of this?!”

She tried her best not to let her dislike of the man show. For three years he’d put off sending her home, to the point that she’d given up. Not to mention all the shit she’s been through because of him. She took a deep calming breath. “I’m back.”

He huffed. “Yes, but why?”

She crossed her arms, glaring at the man. “Because.”

His glowing green eyes narrowed to slits. “Prefect, even my bountiful kindness has limits! It’s one day to graduation! If it were just you I could make do, but you’ve brought people with you! I can’t allow this!”

She grit her teeth. She’d figured there’d be a time difference between the two worlds, but graduation hadn’t been for a week! It’s… honestly better than she’d expected considering time had been frozen before. At least a couple hours in her world didn’t equal thousands in this one. Focusing on her current problem, anger surged up in her chest.

“Are you kidding me?”

This was a bad idea. A really bad idea.

“Are you actually serious right now?”

She was going to die.

“You horrible, narcissistic prick! I have dealt with so much shit because of you! From the Overblots, to organizing events and handling your duties while you fucked off to God knows where, not to mention the thousands of thaumarks I spent - on a limited allowance, might I remind you - on renovating that dump of a dorm; you owe me so much more than letting me and my family stay in the house that I made livable with my own two hands!”

He was going to smite her on the spot. Bravo, genius, you do the impossible just to die within minutes of returning, stranding your family alone in another world. Fantastic.

She waited for the blow to come, but it never did. Instead, the bird man said, “One night.” and disappeared. Falling to her knees she tittered nervously.

“Who was that?” Her mami asked, a confused look on her face. 

“Oh, no one. Just the headmage.”

Her mother stared at her for a moment, contemplating existence. “I see.”

At that moment, Jack came racing in like his tail was on fire. He immediately spotted Rose, still on the floor, the dog on the lead attached her wrist nudging her worriedly. 

In a heartbeat, he scooped her up, hugging her tightly. Her dog, Loki, started barking, startled by the sudden appearance of her boyfriend, but she didn’t pay him any mind, just enjoying being in Jack’s arms again (even though it’s only been about four hours for her).

Behind them, her mother cleared her throat, shooting Rose a look. Oh. Yeah. She regretfully eased herself out of his hold, though didn’t let go completely, and turned to her mami. “Right. So, I remember what I promised, but in my defense, I didn’t two and a half years ago.”

Seeming to just notice the other people in the room (and the dog intensely sniffing his pant leg and shoe), Jack blinked and looked at Rose, confused. “Uh… what?”

She giggled nervously. “Well, I promised Mami I wouldn’t date ‘til I was eighteen. Though, I am almost nineteen…”

Her mami faltered, her face scrunching up. “Right. I forgot about that…”

Rose rushed over and gave her a hug, yanking Loki away from where he was trying to get Jack’s attention.

Noticing the puppy, Jack knelt down and was immediately attacked with kisses. “Ack!”

Rose gave a watery laugh - when had she started tearing up? - and knelt down to help him. “Loki, off!”

The large puppy listened, sitting back and utterly content. She helped Jack up, subtly rubbing at her eyes. “Uh… phew, okay. Mami, this is Jack. Jack, this is Mami, my brothers and Loki.”

At his name, the dog’s tail started thumping the floor, and he yipped happily.

She watched as Mami’s eyes snagged on Jack’s ears and tail for a second, but ultimately regarded him with approval. “It’s nice to meet you. It better stay that way.”

His ears swiveled and his eyes went wide for a moment, but that was all there was to his moment of surprise, before he stuck his hand out for a shake. “Of course. I can’t imagine it any other way.”

Mami nodded and shook his hand. “Well. Today has been long, and I’m still unsure it’s even been real, but how about some food?”

~

Wheeee, onto to more brainrot!

@screamintoad, @babyghoul138, @skriblee-ksk, @gimmeurmoneyagh

[astrangetorpedo]

Julien Baker on learning to articulate joy

by t. cole rachel 2/3/17

“I’m always afraid that the public will scorn songs about happiness out of a disbelief that it is genuine.”

Are you working on a record now? What’s happening?

I am, but I’m always working on songs no matter what. You can’t not be working on a project if writing is how you go about compartmentalizing your life. Everything that happens, every feeling that you have, becomes work. Since the end of 2015—and keeping in mind all the life changes that year occasioned—I was writing quite a bit. I saw a latent theme start to develop, and then I was like, “Oh, well let’s pursue this.” I now have a really good idea of what I want the next record to be conceptually. I think I can be more intentional with it in presentation, if not necessarily in construction. It’ll probably be sonically similar, because that’s the style in which I write.

The stillness of songwriting—knowing when to stop and just be still—is often the most difficult part of songwriting for me. Knowing when it’s enough. Sometimes I think, “Wow, wouldn’t it be cool if we had, like, a full string quartet and a horn section here, making this into an opera?” but then that doesn’t serve the song. You know? Lyrically, I think, it’s better to be thoughtful instead of just vomiting it out.

I’m about to do something dorky, so I apologize. One of my favorite quotes about creativity is from Wordsworth who says something like, “Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of emotions reflected upon in tranquility.” I think that really accurately represents the dichotomy of writing songs for me, especially with my particular writing style. It’s like, “All right, I have an emotion.” I’ll then go out to my garage and vomit out a song that’s essentially just me singing my feelings out loud. This time around I’m doing a lot more refining. Sprained Ankle was really, really raw. Which isn’t to say that’s always a bad thing—it suited that record and those songs—but this time around I’m happy to have more time with it.

That record seemed to come out of the blue and catch people by surprise. How does it feel to be making music with the knowledge that there is an audience now that is anticipating it? Does that change things?

I’ve heard myself say something in the past that isn’t totally precise, suggesting that I made Sprained Ankle only for me. Admittedly, it’s a very self-involved record that’s specific to my own experiences that I wrote as a tool, as a coping mechanism primarily, for what was happening in my life at that point. That’s how I’ve always used music. I grew up writing songs in punk bands and we would have the same conversation regularly, “Oh, this is going to be rad when we play it at a show!” You would imagine people singing along and yelling out the chorus. So you have something that you’re not only trying to say for yourself because you need to say it, but also that you’re saying to the world, even if the world in your schema is this small community... even if your audience is just a basement.

Now that I know the audience is a bit broader, I can’t help but think about that sometimes. Still, the best songs are the ones I just let happen. What is that Rilke quote? That he’s not a creator of art, he’s just a midwife to it? That’s how I like to feel. How I approach making songs isn’t totally different. Often it’s just when something difficult happens to me or I’m stressed out, I’ll just sit down and say whatever my fears are. I’ve been perpetually trying to come to terms with doing Sprained Ankle live for a year, because I’ve moved on from those specific experiences. The emotions, maybe, are evergreen in a sense because you’re always going to have fresh heartbreak at some point in your life. You’re going to have self-doubt, but it feels weird to still be singing about them years after the fact. One of the challenges about playing live has been finding new ways to apply old sentiments.

I always talk about the song “Good News.” I started to get really bothered that I was having conversations with people who listen to my music who said, “That song made me feel better!” but then I’m sitting up there screaming, “I ruin everything I do.” That’s not the kind of self-deprecating rhetoric or mentality that I want to promote. However, it’s also false to pretend like no one ever has these feelings, because people have those feelings all the time and that’s a very real thing. There’s a balance of not having an artifice of hope, but still writing songs that are honest about how I feel inside, which isn’t always great. I finally made a sort of concession with myself about it, so now before I play that song I’ll say, “This song is about when I thought I ruined everything, and now I’m trying to learn that that’s not true.”

It is cheesy and nine times out of ten I wince at myself on stage when I do it, but it’s like I have to do it in order to prove that it’s true, that I mean it. So, with these new songs—particularly the ones that were written about a relationship ending a year ago and I wrote over a year ago—I had to think about what it will mean to play them live and how that might feel. They are thematically appropriate for the record, which will be released in 2017, and obviously I’ve moved on and that’s an amicable situation right now, but it’s still a funny thing. I think I’ve been exploring the stigmatization around mental health and being open and honest about feelings, because that’s basically been my job. Everybody in this music scene is a little bit, I don’t want say “messed up” because that implies there’s something wrong with you, but we all feel a little messed up and maybe that’s why we do art.

I recently read this Alain de Botton book and it changed my life. He said that “Art is there for you when love stops being there for you.” I was like, “Oh my gosh, true.” Yeah, so being honest about those really dark things, like saying, “I feel disappointing, I feel like I’m nothing,” is important. I think about that when I start to censor myself. That was why I ended up leaving “Rejoice” on my previous record. Sometimes you need to inhabit an idea or a feeling in order to transcend it. The thing that you’re most afraid is the very thing you have to be bravest about divulging.

It seems like a more more popular human compulsion, particularly among songwriters, to document our own darkness than it is to articulate happiness. As someone who is known for writing beautifully sad songs, what do you make of that?

I remember a comment someone made about Ben Gibbard from Death Cab for Cutie: “Oh, he got happier and stopped writing good songs.” I was like, “What a grotesque thing to say.” How awful is it that our culture is geared in such a way. I think there’s inherent worth in all art and I never criticize the formal quality of art as long as there is genuine emotion there, but we’ll tolerate all kinds of cheesy heartbreak-related art just because of the subject matter. It’s much more difficult to pull off a joyful song. I’m always afraid that the public will scorn songs about happiness out of a disbelief that it is genuine. I’m interested in talking about joy, but it’s difficult and you don’t want to be clumsy with it. I think of it more as, “I have joy.” That’s a really complex thing to unpack. But I think articulating joy is important. I’m thinking of songs by people like the B-52s. There is this Australian artist called Alex Lahey who was a song where the chorus is just, “Let’s go out and have fun tonight.” It’s almost like you can hear the tongue-in-cheek irony of there’s mundanity in the grind of life and then this person is writing a song that’s just parodying a go-out-party song. It’s really cool.

It’s like it’s somehow less embarrassing to have an emotional meltdown in public than it is to be really honest about your happiness in a non-ironic way.

I think what’s so crazy is that for so many people I know—myself included—it’s this thing of when you’re acutely aware of the suffering of everything around you, it seems like happiness is a lack of decorum. Does that make sense?

For me, 2016 was a lot about learning, both good things and bad. I’m learning a lot about joy—joy as something different from happiness. Because happiness is a temporary space, an emotion, but joy, I think, is something different. It’s like a disposition that you choose to adopt. It’s all right to allow yourself that. I read a lot of philosophy, so I’m always thinking things like, “I want to be the platonic ideal of a human and do what is ethically asked of me by my existence.” Maybe that means not only writing sad songs. Maybe that means expressing joy. I’m still learning how to do that.

We went on a tour and I was reading Ethics by Bonhoeffer because I am a huge nerd and I was just like, “I’ll never be a good person.” Then one of my good friends was like, “Do you think God hates joy?” I was like, “No I don’t, I don’t think God hates joy.” She said, “So, if you have everything to be happy about, why won’t you display that as an image of hope instead of a depiction of suffering, because you can’t get on stage and talk about hope if you have no hope. You can’t go on stage and talk about joy as a destination—not just an unachievable goal—if you have no joy, so let yourself have joy.” You know how sometimes people say a simple explanation to you for something and you feel like a total idiot? I was just like, “I guess you’re right.”

I still struggle with anxiety. For the longest time on tour I would have panic attacks before almost every show. Performing is scary, and there’s a lot going on in there—”in there” being my brain. So while we were on tour in Australia it felt like I was always waiting for another shoe to drop, and when it didn’t I felt like I could just cherish the fact that I’m legitimately enjoying what is happening in my life and I’m excited to talk to people.

I can be a positive force. I can interact with people and I don’t look like a brooding crazy person. I’m smiling, I’m happy, and I’m getting to hug them. There was one show in particular where I was starting a song that there was a girl in the front of the stage who yelled out, “This is my song!” I thought it was funny because I’d only ever heard someone say that when they were at a bar and a song came on the jukebox, but I loved that she said that. I had this really cheesy thought like, “You know what? It is.” It’s not mine anymore. I was like, “It is your song, girl. This is for you. I hope you enjoy it.” She was stoked. Instead of feeling guilty that people like my music or feeling like I don’t deserve it or I haven’t earned it, I’m just happy that my job is that I stand on a stage and I look out on a whole bunch of eyeballs and we get to share this thing.

After the whirlwind success of Sprained Ankle, was it weird to finally be home again and working on music? My biggest fear is that anyone thinks that I’m anything other than amazed and grateful that I get to be a musician. Like, every day I wake up astonished by that. I think generally the amount of reward you get in your occupation mirrors the amount of sacrifice it requires. I needed to take some time to not be a ghost in my real life, to see my family and visit my partner, and just be radio silent for a while.

I write a lot on tour, which is weird because I used to think I couldn’t get into the right head space on tour to write songs, but then eventually touring just becomes your norm and I really have to be writing, so you just adapt. I’ll make little voice memos in the car and listen to them and write lyrics while I’m walking around. Once I got back home I rented this studio space and did a whole bunch of demos. We spent almost 12 hours in the studio every day. Hearing the demos outside of my head was really good for me. I’d been worrying myself by thinking, what if the new songs are too different? What if they are too much the same? What if everyone is disappointed? I felt the weight of expectation start to make me afraid that I couldn’t do it. I was, “It’s all going to be crap, everyone’s going to hate it.” Then once I got into the recording process things changed.

I was recording with my friend Calvin Lauber, who is in a band from Memphis called Pillow Talk. He’s in the scene and I’ve known him since I was 13 years old, and he happens to do recording and engineering as well as just play around in bands. It felt just so comfortable that I lost track of the hours and it was kind of like one of those moments, “Oh yeah, I love just the process of making art and I could stay here for another 12 hours just experimenting and, like, shaping this thing.” It brought me back to the reason why I ever did this in the first place. You have to be able to reconnect to the joy of making the thing that you make. It’s easy to get distracted from that.

I was so grateful that I felt comfortable enough to come back and make my music in Memphis. I moved back here at the beginning of the year to be closer to my family. I love my city. I have, like, Drake levels of love for my city. It felt good to be here. Once the demos were done and I was listening back to some of it, I had this weird feeling. I’m hyper-critical of my own work, which most artists probably are, but I had the strange sensation of thinking,“This is how it feels to be proud of something that I made.” I realized that as long as I am proud and I feel like I say what I want to with the narrative of this record, I am able to separate myself from being so concerned with, “What if people hate it?” Even if they hate it, I’ll still know that I’ve done my best. It’s all such a fifth grade classroom poster—Just Do Your Best!—but that’s truly the best and most profound advice.

Given the nature of your music, do people project a kind of “tortured artist” thing onto you? And how do you circumvent that?

When I’m on stage I try to think about things before I just rush in and say something silly... but I’m also quite silly. That being said, I’m not a Lorde or a Taylor Swift. I’m not someone who is playing stadiums and who has all these eyeballs on them. I don’t think I’m expected to be a role model. I’m not at that level. Still, people often take the slices of life represented in the songs and expand that to represent my total personhood. I think another task of mine is unifying Julien of life with Julien of the record, which often entails saying dorky, cheesy, positive things and making bad jokes on stage. Sometimes it goes over well, sometimes it’s like crickets in the audience and people are like, “What’s going on? This is too much of an emotional pendulum!” and they look freaked out. Then I just play my songs instead of making more lame jokes. I think merely by existing and refusing to give in to the persona of brooding tortured artist, you prove the point of you do not have to be sad all the time. You do not have to be defined by your sadness. I think about these things when I write songs and when I play live shows. I am trying to break the spell, in some way, that when you see someone up on stage singing sad songs that there is more to them than that. Sometimes you can’t help but be perceived as a kind of persona, but why not be a persona that’s actually realistic? I’d rather do that, instead of just posing over here in the window sill with my copy of Rilke and looking really bummed out. That isn’t me.

Recommended by Julien Baker:

Things that are inspiring to me right now...

The novel Gilead by Marilynne Robinson (a recommendation from the ever-wise Lucy Dacus)

The poetry of Beyza Ozer, a poet recommended by Morgan Martinez, editor of Hooligan Mag (an inspiring person in her own right)

The art of Kazuo Shiraga

The bands PWR BTTM and Camp Cope; their music, their social commentary, their unapologetic commitment to change through art, honestly just them as people, all of it

The paintings and zines of Ariel Baldwin, great pal/Memphis-native/Chicago-resident, makes some really provocative and powerful art about healing.

(x)

[steampoweredskeleton]

Doing chainmail for so long this week that I am literally forming callouses on my fingers, feeling like a weak medieval armour smith

[lunarharp]

more phoenix wright situations

[angelpuns]

Every few days I think about saying fuck it and starting T but I NEED to be in my grandpa's will ya know what I mean?

[ladykyrin]

AMBER GLENN LOMBARDIA TROPHY GOLD MEDALIST WITH PBs FOR THE SP, FS, AND TOTAL SCORE??? FOR HER FIRST INTERNATIONAL WIN??? BY NEARLY ELEVEN POINTS???

ALL HAIL OUR QUEEN

[jemmo]

i didnt watch unknown as it was airing bc i knew it would consume me so i decided to binge it all today. i was correct. it has consumed me.

[simgerale]

me after attempting to get back into sims and realizing i had a lot more to do than play the game

[vaugarde]

okay so as a gen 5 stan who does adore the story in bw and bw2, and now that gen 5 has experienced both a vicious hatedom that wouldnt hear a single positive thing about the games, and now a super protective fandom that insists they were perfect and had zero flaws... can we admit now that the bw1 story at least was. a little mid.

[bare1ythere]

GOD University makes me so depressed

[lunasilvis]

Sometimes I am so close 🤏 to convincing myself I carry around the weathered lonesomeness found only in old vagabond musicians in smoky dismal Parisian cafés. Like the unshakeable curse since birth.

Then I meet up with friends over lunch for longer than 10 min and I realize again I was actually carved from unblighted puppy material and sprinkled rainbow muffins 👋

[thebirdandhersong]

:')

Y'all it has been such a joyful and incredible week but today has just been. So much. Too many emotions too many people and three occasions in which I said something to a large group of people and received blank and distant and in some cases even judgmental stares back (perfectly valid things and questions and it was all to people I love, and i felt smaller and smaller as it happened again and again), not to mention feeling the pressure of being needed by two different friends and being unable to give anything to either due to having no capacity to give anything, and trying to figure out why I don't want to spend time with a childhood friend anymore while she keeps trying to maintain contact (and why her love feels smothering and burdensome, and feeling guilty because of how I feel and how quick I am to try to avoid talking to her), and feeling a great deal of body insecurity again very suddenly, and trying to come to terms with the fact that the boy HAS at least once approached my friend to talk to her, which he rarely does with any other girls, and has admitted to finding her attractive, and in the midst of sudden unexpected anguish wondering if this old pain will always always be with me long after I say goodbye