#emotional beatings are cathartic and i need more of that in my life

[eyes-talks-ocs]

This newest chapter. AHHHHH🩶🩶🩶

This is what I crave. The fucked up sense of hurt me.

This chapter really scratched an itch in one of the most perfect emotional ways.

💀 Spin Cylinder / Episode Four / Chapter 04 is now live at winterandwords.com

If control is your weapon, temptation is mine.

📖 Read it on winterandwords.com HERE

💻 Book summary and tag list on Tumblr HERE

🏷️ TAG LIST @indecentpause @pertinax--loculos @revenantlore @talesfromaurea @thegreatobsesso

(new line to appease the Tumblr link gods) @thespacelizard

[renthony]

🏳️‍🌈

My GF and I watch movies together whenever i overnight. For the last month every movie we pick ends up being queer, even if we didn’t know it before. This week it will be Priscilla which we both know is very queer, but we need more to add to the queue - the more niche the better

(Drop a 🏳️‍🌈 in my inbox and I’ll respond with a queer media recommendation!)

Okay, so this one doesn't technically count as "niche," but it is one I never would have watched if my best friend hadn't insisted on it after watching it on a random whim one day. I don't think it ever would have hit my radar otherwise. Even if it had, I'd have probably written it off as generic Oscar-bait. I'm really glad I watched it, though.

A Man Called Otto is a 2022 movie starring Tom Hanks as the titular Otto, a depressed, suicidal man who has lost connection with his community after the death of his wife. It has a decent number of content warnings (primarily suicide attempts and death), so be sure to check its Does the Dog Die page.

Here's the trailer:

It has a very good balance between intense emotion and humor--the comedic beats give a good break from the heavier scenes without giving the viewer tonal whiplash. I'd watch it again if I wanted to have a good, cathartic cry. The ending is bittersweet, but very satisfying.

As for what makes it queer (with some minor spoilers):

During the course of the movie, Otto reconnects with the members of his community and stops isolating himself in his empty house. One of those community members is a former student of Otto's late wife, who was a teacher. That student is Malcom, played by Mack Bayda. Malcom is trans, and at one point in the movie, one of Otto's suicide attempts is interrupted when Malcom knocks on the door asking for a place to crash, because his dad has kicked him out for being trans. Otto lets him stay, and the entire scene made me cry like a baby. From there, Otto remains supportive to Malcom, and Malcom is involved in the (incredibly satisfying) resolution to a plotline about predatory real estate developers.

I think part of what made such an impression on me about Malcom and Otto's relationship is that I'm just so used to seeing elders treated as automatically bigoted--in media, and in real life. There is absolutely no moment in which Otto doubts Malcom or has to have transness explained to him. It was pretty nice to see a grumpy old asshole character be instantly supportive of a young trans guy. So many people think that kind of inter-generational support doesn't ever happen, so it's nice to see represented.

Ask For a Rec | Other Media Recommendations | Support Links

[blushcoloreddreams]

7 tips for a thriving journal

Hello and welcome back to the blog my love!

I have been move to speak on the matter of journaling many times before, and today, with the new years spirit still around and everyone adding goals and new habits to their lives, I thought it would be nice to take pen to paper or rather... binary code to screen, and discuss the 7 ways you can improve your journaling life!

1. Read more

I’ll have to be honest with you guys ... the fact is that you are NEVER going to enjoy writing unless you also enjoy READING the written word. Now, we don't need to be cozying up in the evening with our personal diaries as reading material, but I have found that the more I read, the better (and more frequently) I write!

Reading more will stimulate your writing, inspire your words, and most of all, remind you that plenty of people have written millions of words on paper, and you can get through a daily journal entry. ;)

2. Get a pen you actually like

This might sound crazy, but I promise that you WILL write more if you enjoy the type of pen you're using. When I switched over to a really inky black gel pen, I found my cursive gliding over the page at RECORD speeds! It was simply a joy to write! So ditch that creepy pencil, say no to promotional pens, and pick out a cute gel pen!

3. Bring your journal with you everywhere

Most of us don't sit down at 8pm every evening and take pen to paper, outlining our days. Most of us have fluctuating schedules, thought-lives, and energy levels. I have found that bringing my journal with me has helped me write more often, get better ideas, and just... enjoy writing much more!

It changes from a chore to a full-on CHOICE! I encourage you to get a smallish journal and pull that baby out when you're waiting at the dealership, grabbing a coffee, or just... killing time while waiting for your date! It definitely beats scrolling through Instagram, and you will find that catching your most interesting thoughts before they flutter away is HIGHLY satisfying!

4. Use it to sort out your emotions

I remember tearing into my bedroom after a particularly negative ninth grade school day. I threw myself on my bed, snatched a pretty journal I had but never had found use for and began furiously writing about being ditched by my friends after a some intense political debate that took over not only school but the country in 2018 and even if I stayed neutral at the time, the opinion of people close to me was enough for them to slowly exclude me. Instead of wailing, crying, or screaming at my friends, I screamed at my journal. And it was SATISFYING!

As an adult reading back on my impassioned ninth grade emotions, it's shocking to me how intense I felt at the time, but I also find myself feeling quite grateful to have those feelings immortalized forever. I've always done this: recorded my intense emotions, good OR bad. When I fall in love with, my journal becomes filled with my heart's longings and thoughts from our very first weeks. I promise you, either way It’s a cathartic experience that will not only help you process and rationalize what you feel at that moment but also record those feelings and adventures for the future.

When I went through grief and really bad times, my feelings were also sprawled across the pages forever. And sometimes, I like to reflect upon those feelings to remind myself how far I've come, or of what our first love felt like. Journaling helps you work through your emotions, but it also helps catalogue your life in a really meaningful way. Try taking to the pages when you're struggling, in pain, or feeling supremely happy. :)

5. Rotate your writing & topics

In order to stimulate your writing, it's important to rotate through different topics AND different styles of writing. Instead of just writing daily journal entries about your life, try your hand at different categories. I enjoy writing short stories, poetry, daily diary entries, personal thoughts about cultural and social current events, things I wanna learn more about, my goals and future blog ideas!

You could write song lyrics, poetry, novel ideas, blog ideas; the sky is the limit! I encourage you also to not only try writing about different topics, but also try rotating the WAY you write as well. You don't necessarily need to write with a physical pen on paper every time either. Sometimes I prefer opening up google docs, or even this very blog!

6. Use it to connect with God

I like to write out my prayers sometimes... especially if they're really meaningful like prayers of repentance, supplication, or long lists of what I'm grateful to God for. It can help to stimulate your prayer life, AND keep a record of your personal spiritual breakthroughs.

7. Write letters to people

When my father died, we haven’t been in contact for a while but I felt like I still had much to say, words that I wished I had externalized before his passing. However there was nothing stopping me to write to him, even if it felt a bit silly and I knew he’d never read them, it could help calm my mind. So I decided to writing him a few letters could help me cope better with what had just happened, better understand our relationship and even myself.

Now, at first, it can sound pretty unappealing to write to someone who couldn't write back, but before I knew it, it felt like one of the best cathartic experiences I ever had. When my beloved great grandma passed I found myself writing longer and longer letters, detailing different thoughts, and even throwing in some creative writing. I spent so much time sharing my thoughts, feelings, ideas, and heart, that by the end of this all, I felt like I was already in the habit of daily journaling LOL!

So, if you need a spark for your writing habits, I encourage you to start sending some letters to your family members, friends or find a pen pal, I actually loved writing letters on peoples birthdays when I was younger and it was something I really enjoyed rediscovering. Even if the person doesn't write back much, it can really jumpstart your writing!

That's all I have for today my loves! I hope you feel inspired to start writing. Remember, if the notebook life doesn't work out for you, it's okay to turn to the digital keyboard! Just keep trying different angles until you settle on the right formula for you.

xoxo, Julia

[thefreelanceangel]

(Count)Down to Dawntrail: FREE DAY

July of 2019, I downloaded the trial for FFXIV.

Up until then, I'd been in GW2 for over seven years. It'd given me a roommate (ilu Rory) and helped me reconnect with the man who I ended up marrying (ilu honeybun). It'd also become a game I couldn't even look at without sighing heavily.

(That fucking map currency grind... UGH.)

I wanted to try something else, see if I could find a game that'd be fun to play. And as both my "screamy baby brother" (ilu Chaos) and one of the people I'd admired most in GW2 (ilu @mirugaidoesthings) were in FFXIV, well...

I made a catgirl, named her after an old tabletop NPC (RIP the OG Callie...) and started poking around.

I very quickly slid over to Mateus (because up until FFXIV, I was an RPer first, content later... maybe sort of person) and ... well, I fell in love. With C'allie, with Eorzea, with the gameplay and mechanics, and definitely with GPose. (July 10, 2019 is when Chaos told me about the GPose feature and... well I never quite stopped.) And as I dragged my then-boyfriend into playing, he fell in love with Eorzea, too.

It's hard to really explain just how much time, energy, fun, frustration, and enjoyment we've gotten from FFXIV in the years since. Or how much the story of Eorzea came to mean to us. (The Ceremony of Eternal Bonding music was playing at our RL wedding.) We've met some amazing people--the players of Thravnar, Zale, and Targur for instance--and it's given me the chance to reconnect with old friends. (@mirugaidoesthings & @rylen-ooc <3)

Shadowbringers might as well have just been written specifically for me. Monstrous angels, a complex villain, a story with such resonating themes... I'd enjoyed A Realm Reborn and I'd cried over Heavensward (yes, over Haurchefant... who I ended up naming my cat after) but Shadowbringers might as well have been marketed with my name on it.

And then in late November-early December of 2021, Endwalker's release coincided with my soon-became-husband's cancer diagnosis. I played through the first section of the MSQ while he slept off his first round of chemo. I was scared and emotional and trying my best to deal with the stress of keeping our finances together while visiting him during his hospitalizations and juggling everything that such things require.

Endwalker hugged me. It told me that life is scary, that life is a struggle, but we do it because we have each other. And I desperately needed that. Endwalker was the story I needed right then and right there. Facing down the Endsinger felt so cathartic, as if I was able to beat my husband's cancer and my own stress and fear with my WHM staff.

And Endwalker is the expansion where I had to make a Warrior of Light, I couldn't separate myself from the story long enough to just experience it anymore. I needed to create a character who changed in relation to the story, who lived it, who could have the same emotions I did about it.

I've met lovely people through FFXIV--a lot of them here on Tumblr--and I've found a creative outlet I'd never imagined possible. (Thank you *coughcrimetoolscough*) I've created characters, written stories, built friendships, and found deep, personal comfort in Eorzea. I cry when I hear "Answers" now and I can list the Scions off without pausing. I've baked Norvrandt's cookie biscuits, hung FFXIV art in my house, and can recognize more of the music than I've EVER listened to for ANY other game.

Dawntrail is the next step in a journey I'm eager to continue with all of you. May we ever walk in the light of the Crystal.

[neko-naruto]

you say you love me, i say you crazy (we're nothing more than friends)

summary: this is what he gets for thinking that Gai would be happy with one night and nothing more than that

tags: aromantic Kakashi, angst, communication errors, implied one night stand

authors note: theyre so allo4aro qpr coded to me

https://archiveofourown.org/works/57561631

Gai won't stop bugging Kakashi about it.

It was supposed to be a one night stand, get the deeply enjoyed annoyance off his back for a bit. Mostly to turn the amount of "we should spar!" declarations he'd get from Gai, but it's backfired. He's let himself into a whole new world of horror.

And that world?

Desperate pleas of more.

It's nauseating to him. Sex is fine, sex is great, he'd be fine doing it with Gai every now and then if it meant keeping him from being so insistent. He gets it. Gai's a guy with ideals, he's got plans, and he plans full well on living them out. He's got an idea on how the world should work and what he needs to do to succeed in life.

Kakashi? He'll pass on the training and the teaching and the searching for the one. He has his books, his dogs, and his three students. That's more than enough for him. He loves them equally and ambivalently, his stories, his lifelong partners, his bastard children- unlike what Gai keeps trying to convince him of.

Someone didn't read enough of Jiraiya's books to understand a one night stand can stay as one night. One single night. Not a single string attached to it. A little fling between friends for shits and giggles, a simple parting gift for someone you'll never see again, a cost of fifty dollars for a quickie. What's so hard to understand?

He said one night. He said it loud and clear. To prove his point he left before Gai could wake up in the morning to start on his reread of Makeout Paradise. See if he can figure out why it was such an awful experience compared to any other affair he's had.

No matter how much he tried to shut Gai up by kissing him till he turned blue in the face he kept saying so many sweet things. Sugary sweet. Sticky like honey and it made Kakashi's skin fucking crawl. Love, love, love- yes, he'd rather die for Gai than bury another a dead friend, but where does that translate to love? He doesn't know.

Maybe he should try to get less hot under the collar when he's reading anything emotional. Maybe people would get the message that he's not fucking interested at all. Just his luck that he's disconnected to the point that an utterance of adoration in his stories where nothing can go wrong makes him flush bright red.

Gai tries to confess to him again, ask him out on a date, try and see if he'd like to spend the night once more. Can't he take a single hint? Or is his skull really that thick?

"What do you want from me?" The amount of exasperation on his tone borders onto a shout, final straw having been plucked.

Gai huffs, "I thought you'd have picked up on my hints by now-"

"I have picked up on your hints! How come you keep trying to give me hints is what I'm asking!" Kakashi swears he doesn't mean to snap, but that'd be a lie. He can't do this anymore. Can't brush off his best friend and say 'maybe later' anymore.

"Because the sex was great and I'm-"

"I've had better, now will you please just stop. Take a hint, Gai, I'm not into you and I never will be."

Kakashi swears he can see Gai's heart shatter into a million little pieces in real time. He knows that he'll regret his harshness later on but right now it feels fucking cathartic. He feels so fucking justified it's unbelievable.

As the beat of silence stretches on Kakashi opts to open his book once more and walk off. Whatever. Just, fucking, whatever. If the tables were turned everybody would care. If Gai was getting borderline harassed for romance every other day then there would be riots. But he's Kakashi Hatake, he's used to Gai's pestering, used to his insistence on rivalry, he can't complain.

Just suck it up and keep moving.

He lacks, he feels a gaping absence in his soul- why would anyone care for someone missing something. Missing what's supposed to make you human. Whose supposed to care about him in spite of that when he never brings it up calm and collected, even if he does they pity him. They pity his happiness because that's not how happiness works. No, sages no, what would he know about happiness?

-/-/-/-

Kakashi doesn't talk to Gai again for a week.

Kakashi doesn't talk to anyone for a week unless they come to him, and the only one who does drop by is Gai.

"Kakashi-"

"Don't."

"What?"

"Don't even bother, whatever you have planned in your head won't end up with me buying you roses, I promise you that much."

"You didn't even let me try my speech."

"Because I know that nothing you can say will ever make me love you as anything more than what we already are- and that's final."

"But-"

Kakashi has Gai in a chokeslam against the wall before another syllable can be uttered, and as much as Gai could break out, he doesn't. He waits for Kakashi to speak, "Listen to me, Gai, I don't work like that."

Gai keeps listening.

"And I never will, you either live with it or leave."

The silence he gets in response is deafening.

Kakashi let's go of Gai's throat and slams his front door shut. What an idiot. Bothering to explain it, even in simple terms, is a death wish, a way to seal any coffin. He should know by now that Gai follows the hierarchy, that he'd see romance as higher than what they have, that he'd want romance after sex. It's the only logical progression to people like him, not to people like Kakashi.

He's too different to ever find peace, isn't he? That's the world keeps telling him at least.

-/-/-/-

Gai buys Kakashi a single rose after another week passes. A bright yellow flower, carried in a tarnished cup with some masking tape that had the word 'sorry' scribed onto it. He hands it over to Kakashi eagerly and watches as his rival starts to tear up.

"Gai, I fucking told you-"

"Before you say another word, rival, consider the meaning of the yellow rose!" The exuberance on his voice is enough to snap Kakashi from his disappointed state.

"A rose is a rose and a rose always means love."

"Not quite, while the classic red rose may symbolize love, each individual color has its own meaning. Blue, mystery. Orange, enthusiasm. White, purity. And yellow symbolizes what we have."

Kakashi gives a defeated sigh, "What do we have?"

"Friendship, dear rival, and nothing more."

Kakashi has the gall to laugh, "And what makes you think I believe you?"

"You said I lived with you not loving me or leave, and I'll live with it."

That's sweet, but, not in a way that makes Kakashi sick to his stomach. He grabs the rose and the glass it's in, "Thanks, Gai."

"No problem at all, Kakashi." He's back to his old self again, not like his old self ever really left though.

"Wanna go get some sushi, or something? We didn't actually do that last week."

"You and I both now that I'd never turn you down."

[adrianicsea]

what's ur fave fob song + album and why!! 🥰

EEP thank you for the ask!!! honestly i’m going to pop this under a read more bc i fear you’ve activated my autism blast.

my favorite album, to the surprise of approximately nobody, is folie a deux, and my favorite song is [coffee’s for closers] from that same album.

as for WHY folie is my favorite album, it’s taken me a long time to figure out how to verbalize it. it wasn’t the first album of theirs i bought/heard (that was infinity on high), nor was it the first album cycle that i was actively a fan and participant in (THAT was save rock and roll).

i started listening to fob during their hiatus, and for quite awhile there, it REALLY seemed like the hiatus was going to just… be a breakup. and so, folie WAS, for a long time, their swan song album. it still feels that way, in a lot of ways— in particular, What A Catch, Donnie feels like a celebration AND a funeral for the band. it’s their most complex and ambitious album made up to that point, in terms of the different sounds and instruments being used. it feels like it’s their most autobiographical album, but it also feels like it’s the one that was most made and written For You, The Listener.

“i’m half-doomed and you’re semi-sweet.” “i’m the one who charmed the one who gave up on you.” “i’m a mascot for what you’ve become.” “oh darling, i know what you’re going through.”

it’s INCREDIBLY personal, and a lot of the lyrics are from the perspective of a person who’s at a CAVERNOUS low, but… even still, there’s hope, or a shadow of it, that even if it won’t get better, at least we won’t be alone. a lot has been made of the album title and the art of the two bears representing p*te and patrick —which, yeah, it probably is that— but i think it can also refer to the band as a whole, as a symbol, and the listener. and that whole idea of facing it together, even if it’s not going to improve and you’re doomed either way… i really needed to hear that when i was a teenager. and even now that i’m older and stabler and happier and safe, listening to folie still feels like a long hug or a good conversation with an old friend.

now, why coffee’s for closers specifically? on a musical level ALONE, i think it’s a perfect song from beginning to end. that bombastic drum beat commands your attention from the start, almost like a pulse, and those gorgeous strings help to drive the song forward and carry patrick’s vocals even higher and stronger during that SOARING sweep of a chorus. it never lets up or loses its insistent rhythm, and even after it declares its finale with a horn section, the strings come back to provide a waltz, one last jubilant outro before What A Catch comes in with the emotional steel chair.

but like… those LYRICS, man!! “i want everything to change and stay the same, oh time doesn’t care about anyone or anything!!” “oh baby, when they made me, they broke the mold!” “we will never believe again! kick drum beating in my chest again!” the lyrics in the verses are all SO emotionally evocative, and the “we will never believe again” chant is so beautifully cathartic to sing along to the drum beat.

the peak of coffee’s lyrics though, for me, are the chorus. as fob choruses go, it’s surprisingly simple, relying more on a catchy melody than complex lyrics:

“i will never believe in anything again, i will never believe in anything again! though change will come, oh, change WILL come, but i will never believe in anything again!”

now, i have a LOT of trouble dealing with any kind of change in life, even positive change, and so there’s a lot of personal catharsis and Being Seen in this chorus for me that applies to my greater life. but more than that… to me, this chorus IS what fob is. no matter how old i get, no matter how much my life grows or changes, no matter the other bands and artists i’ve found and enjoyed, no matter my disillusionment and dislike of p*te… it’s starting to look pretty likely that fob is forever for me.

i will never believe in anything again. not the way i believed in fall out boy when i was a sad, scared teenager.

[uh-velkommen]

Last night I finally got to see Aurora live in concert and it was.... fine.

Don't get me wrong, Aurora is an AMAZING live singer (though I hated that she started every verse just a second off beat and I think the complexity of her instrumentals dont really translate well live and boy does she love to ramble on tangents) but everything set wise was perfect so most of my issues were external (or maybe internal) - it did effect my viewing experience.

I discovered Aurora back in 2019, when I was at a disturbingly low place in my life. I remember sitting on the couch with my sister while frozen 2 played in the background. I was on my phone trying to figure out who The Voice was and it led me to the Apple Tree music video. For some reason, I hit play and immediately started crying. Like, I didn't realize how much had been coming down until I looked up at my sister and noticed how out of the blue these tears were. It wasn't even a particularly sad song but something about it, about her, made me well up inside and every night after that, without fail, I would listen to her music and cry. Whether in my own bed, out in public, late at night or the middle of the day. I assigned so much meaning to her lyrics, I projected everything I could ever want or wish to be onto Aurora. I made her music a physical manifestation of all my sadness.

I knew that I was going to cry that night. I had prepared to, drinking lots of water and carrying tissues in my pocket. But I thought it would just be normal "ong I love this celebrity and they're standing right in front of me" tears. Instead, it took me to that place that I had been in so many times before. Who would've guessed that seeing the artist, who I only listen to when I'm depressed, live would only make me feel depressed again. It's pavlovian. I looked around at the people dancing with joy and wondered why I couldn't find that kind of light in her performance. How could Aurora be on stage singing The River and smile? Why aren't these people bawling like me? She sang songs about finding hope and love within each other, and all the couples around me hugged and swayed along while I tried to comfort myself and not fall apart right then and there. These people related to Giving Into The Love, and I wondered why I couldn't find any. I wasn't just immersed in the music, I was breaking down in a crowded place, and not a single person turned to comfort me. Just as it had been in 2019 when I cried pure tears of hopelessness on a train platform, and suddenly, I remembered how it felt to be invisible in a crowd.

On top of that, my legs were giving in. The too-tall asshole stood in front of me had no concept of personal space. I was in physical and emotional discomfort. I needed to leave but Aurora was only 3 songs in. I recognized that I was getting irritated by the man in front of me but knew that if I were to move, I'd be giving up my "as close as possible" spot. I moved to like 4 different spots that night, further each time where the bass felt lighter and the sound got quieter, just trying to see her on stage and I couldn't for like 60% of the show, which made me more sad. It felt like someone was waving a lollipop in front of me but every time I tried to grab it, a wall appeared. I couldn't even visually enjoy it, so I just stood in the back, throwing a temper tantrum. I mean, I was already emotionally vulnerable, so everything bothered me tenfold. It was supposed to be perfect. It was supposed to be a good cathartic night, and it wasn't.

And while Aurora danced around on stage, my mind, without any visuals to distract, wandered back to 2019. Back to University, back to Norway, back to Sweden, back to the beginning of this year. Every memory projected onto her. I wished I could just be as happy as she looked. I wished I had a life like hers.

I clearly wasn't mentally present the whole night. I was irritated by the venue, the crowd, the cold, my pain (I also just had a tooth pulled that morning so I did little shouting). I felt alone and angry that no one could see how much this night meant to me. No one was giving me special treatment, letting me crowd surf to the front (/j). I wasn't special because of how I consumed her art.

And it was a unique crowd at that because no one really sang along. We all stood there quiet just to really hear her vocals - which I loved, but I would've loved it even more in a sitting venue, where I could see the damn stage.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

CW: discussion of Lambert's abusive father; links to personal reflections.

I usually lean into the abusive father in a working class setting for Lambert because it mirrors my experience, and I find it cathartic to explore that background and use that personal experience to inform my character writing. When life gives you lemons, right?

But a discussion we had in the CS a while ago has just popped up in my brain. It was about reinforcing the idea of the working class drunk man beating his wife and kids, and how it can add to the demonisation of the poor and/or working class as more inclined towards violence and aggression; a trope that gives me the ick when it's recycled by a predominantly middle class fandom, replete with their tertiary education and perhaps no small sense of moral superiority, without nuanced reflection on why we pluck that particular background off the shelf for our favourite emotional porcupine.

It got me thinking about my own contributions to that and how I allow those harmful stereotypes to propagate, that I need to sit down and think about how I present Lambert's background.

Poverty has been linked to domestic violence as both a cause and a consequence. For Lambert, I often give his dad a skill (mine was a carpenter and carpet layer, so guess what profession the Fictional Arsehole gets in my head), so that sense they aren't necessarily "badly off". Skilled professions tend to lead to more comfortable lifestyles; not necessarily always on the bread line or without shoes, but it also means that the victims are kept in that situation by financial shackles.

They can't afford to leave.

And that's not necessarily something confined to the working class. There are so many women and children stuck in those relationships because the abuser has the money, the property, the everything.

It got me thinking about a slightly different take to Lambert's past. Perhaps he and his mum were trapped there not just by coercive control, but because the alternative was starvation and a different type of exploitation. Give Lambert a "comfortable" home, a gilded cage. Give him servants and maybe a title, with land. The Witcher teaches us that evil and corruption is endemic amongst the powerful classes. Not just in the books, but in the games; who can forget the Bloody Baron storyline?

Why not have Lambert returning home after the trials to a manor house that still haunts his dreams? Finding his mother at peace in the family crypt, and his old man at his mahogany desk, drunken and pathetic? No longer the towering visage of Lambert's nightmares, but a pathetic, shrivelled worm cowering in a high-backed chair?

Lambert's background is so rich for interpretation. I think I'm gonna change it up for a bit.

[thatmomentwhen345]

Hi I know I never post personal stuff on here but I’m just having disconnected thoughts and I feel like you can say anything on tumblr and someone will connect with it, plus it has to do with pokemon so it’s relevant to ppl who follow me (presumably)

Don’t tell anyone I want it to be a surprise to the people who will actually see it but I’m working on a video right now of me ranking all of the different Pokeani dub opening songs and

HALT here is some important context before we continue

1. Last year (2023) I spent 7 months binging the entire pokeani

2. I livetweeted the whole thing for some reason (and subsequently left Twitter a few months later)

Anyway, so I’m scrolling through my ridiculously long twt thread to get screenshots and clips and be reminded of important plot beats so I can talk abt them in the video and I’m reliving some of these moments and

Yesterday I was looking for the episode where May loses her second chance at winning the Grand Festival during the battle frontier

I found it and I rewatched the end so I could record the clip I wanted.

Ngl, that was one of the strongest emotional reactions I had during my initial watchthrough. May’s breakdown was just so raw and EARNED and idk I haven’t cried a lot in the last few months but rewatching that bit over a year later that same powerful emotional reaction came back and it was like. Really cathartic

Last year was a rollercoaster for me and the Hoenn gang (Ash, Brock, Max, May) was with me during a somewhat traumatic period of the year but I don’t think about them as often as I do characters from other regions (namely the Kalos gang who I have a nostalgic connection to). But god I miss them and that period of my watchthrough (but not the period of my life LMAO)

And today I was reading my tweets from the Sun and Moon and Journeys period of the binge, reliving all the touching moments and it’s really weird because I dont think I’ve really processed much of the latter part of last year bc it was another weird time for me (turning 18, getting my first job, starting my first year of college) and

I’ve scrolled through that thread so many times since I finished that endeavor. But it just doesn’t compare to actually going back to the episodes themselves and seeing the little details my brain forgot or my thread didn’t mention. In fact, I think because I made the thread my brain chose to forget about everything that ISNT in the thread because it takes up less space in my head that way, but now that I’m committing so much brainpower to it again and actually rewatching some of those episodes is finally actually taking me back to last year and helping me process some of the stuff that happened? Or I could be bullshitting but idk

I said once my binge of the anime was over I was going to do so many creative things in relation to it but I think by the time I was finished my brain had had enough and so I kinda moved on quicker than I thought I would, or even wanted to. But now I’m finally revisiting those creative ideas I’m being reminded of just how much that stupid adventure meant to me and especially the characters yknow

The May example is just one of them. There are plenty of episodes I could go back to and the same thing would happen but I’m not ready for all that. I was just curious enough about the May clip because I didn’t remember it and because May basically didn’t show up at all after Sinnoh aside from a few second long cameo in Journeys but Fuck. It was even more heart wrenching than I remembered. Genuinely one of the realest moments in the show. I miss May, I miss the Hoenn gang. I miss all of the characters. I miss the escapism and the emotions

Anyway that’s enough rambling. I needed to talk about this somewhere and I think it would too out of place in the very first video I’ve ever done where I’m actually talking.

I know I said I livetweeted the entire thing but it was on my priv twitter and it was probably extremely annoying for the people who did follow me over there so like even though I was constantly talking about it, I didn’t really get to talk To anyone about it and I think that’s another part of why so much if it has gone unprocessed so if anyone is interested in hearing more of my thoughts on that experience I’m eager to share. And I suppose I’ll let you guys know when the video goes up if you’re interested. I’m planning to post it September 8th (2024), the anniversary of the English dub ending so keep an eye out if you’re interested

Thanks for listening tumblr people

[fionacle]

My college essay is 725 words, I need to cut it down to 600 by time my dad gets home today, but I like how it is now, so I’m posting it. It’s about how autistic people are viewed in society and the misuse of the word special to refer to them (us?). It’s below the cut.

I couldn’t tell you the first time it happened, most things before high school are a blur, but I’ve often heard others called special. The usage of this is not what special is supposed to mean. Special things are supposed to be important and unique, they matter a lot, it’s a very high compliment if you say it genuinely. But here it’s condescending. Like this is the core of the person being spoken about, and that core is a taboo. Like it’s pity for an illness, or warning of danger. They say the word as though they’re describing a creature, some animal of lesser mind.

“I’m proud of you for being friends with him.” “Why?” “Oh, you know, he’s special.”

To speak with one of ‘them’ is seen as a sacrificial act rather than basic human decency toward a human.

I love being praised. More than anything else in the world. I need to know I matter, to feel skilled and important, the good kind of special. But when I’m praised for something like this I feel dirty. I always try to be the hero when I see someone’s upset, even when it’s unneeded or undeserved, but not here. If I accept this praise it means I agree that I had to do something significant and difficult. It means that my friend is just a challenge that I beat. So, not only would I be lying, I’d also be insulting my friend, even if he wouldn’t be in earshot.

I want nothing more in life than to be special. The good kind.

I want to finish writing a book and become famous for it. I want adoring fans, and to make a difference in their lives. I want to be talked about as someone cool and worthy of awe and respect, maybe even envy. I want to know that my friends consider me important and good. I want everyone I meet to be so earnest about liking me that it forces out any thought about not being worth their time. I want to carry around the good special for everyone.

The word isn’t really that important to me, I don’t hold any affection for it. But I’m upset that it dehumanizes others, and mostly I’m upset that it dehumanizes me.

When I go into testing rooms, I’ve been to quite a few since childhood, they present games to test my brain. This is an awful way for me to show my symptoms. I do the best I can because it’s fun and I want to show off. I tend not to have “off” days when I visit them, especially because I’m rarely around triggers. They don’t see me cry because the lunch man took my apple juice cap. They don’t see me flail around because I hear someone chewing gum. They don’t hear my autistic friends explain to me how my experiences match theirs to an alarming degree. I need them to see my tears in action. I need to take my memories out of my brain and show them. They need to know everything I’ve done and they need to put a word to it and let me tell people.

Then, maybe, they won’t tell me to stop. To stop being too weird. Stop being too emotional. Stop being afraid of things no one else cares about. Stop “misidentifying” emotions. Stop all of it. To just be normal. Because no matter how much they want it to be true it’s not. It’s not. It never will be. I cannot be. I’m not normal.

There’s something both cathartic and terrifying in saying that.

“Stop doing that or they’ll think you’re special.”

If neither normal or special are options, what else do you want me to be?

People I’ve known for a year can see it. Why can’t you, who’s known me my whole life? Stop making that face when I bring this stuff up, don’t tell me I’m copying my friends, don’t tell me my friends are weak. They are not weak, and neither am I when I act like them. When I am true to myself I am strong. Don’t tell me that strength isn’t the real me. But I think they still ought to know me as “bad” special, as much as I hate the word, because then at least they’d know me.

[fantasyonfilm]

I’ve heard people say ska is annoying or weird and I can perhaps understand and appreciate that not everyone has the same taste in music or can help the things they find irritating.

Personally, I think it is some of the greatest music in the world. Take it as an exaggeration or as my wholehearted view on the matter, it’s probably both.

As far as the music itself, it combines the cathartic expression for views on politics, small towns, anarchy, and all the things that unite people of all backgrounds in a pit. Combine that release of emotion with the rhythms of reggae and skas island origins, rhythms that tap into some primordial part of your system that relaxes you into a hypnotic sway to a familiar beat. If you weren’t a dancer before you are now shocked at your body’s ability to dance a solid two step.

What I’m saying is with ska it is scientifically possible to dance away the depression and aggression. This listener will never turn a blind eye to music that makes my hips move and curses the current state of the world.

Then you have the people it attracts, like the older guys in shorts, flip flops tattoos with a beer in the back of the room bobbing their heads up and down to the riddims of their youth and the soundtracks they’ve lived their lives to. You have the the ska fashionistas. There is the zoot suiters, the riot girls in mod skirts, piercings, and blunt bangs, the skinny tie fedora crowd, the folks that just came from their day jobs and look like every day unsuspecting skankers. Punkers of all ages, and some little punks starting out their vests and finding their final evolution. This pit of people will shove you, elbow you, man handle you, and will pick you up if you fall, dance with you, sing your favorite lyrics so hard you end up with a shot voice that makes everyone obnoxiously go “Someone had a good time last night.” It’s like fuck off, but yes I did thanks for asking.

Ska hold some of my favorite memories.

The first time I played pro skater and NEEDED to know the entire soundtrack and base my personality off if it. Being slightly bummed by the realization that I wasn’t even riding the 3rd wave of ska but more like its last ripples.

The time I listed to mighty mighty bosstones (rip) in my headphones while I rode the swings at the county fair as the sun was setting. The combination of posicore lyrics and Birds Eye view of the small town I needed escaping from altering my brain forever.

The time I got punched really hard at Warped Tour skanking my little heart out in a bikini top, the shortest shorts I could find and my favorite vans. A first nose bleed in a pit with street light manifestos horns going off in the background was a bittersweet accomplishment.

Finding such humor or joy in the lyrics of some of the silliest songs when I couldn’t find it in other places. Especially when I needed that joy to just get out of bed that day or to make my life tolerable for 2:15 seconds more.

Anyways, more ska in the world, please. ❤️

[spelviin]

HENRY'S BACK AND THE HYPERFIXATION HAS REAWOKEN AND I NEED TO YELL ABOUT IT.

Disclaimer: obviously this was a more Normal-centric ep and Will's performance as him was fucking incredible. Buuut since Henry is and will always be my #1 dndads blorbo, this post is mostly about him lmao.

SO. incoherent rambling below the cut

MERCEDES IS GONE NOOOOOOO. I was so hoping she'd still be around, but I guess it makes sense for her to have passed, because you know there's NO chance she would have let Henry go back to fucking Oakvale where he was fucking miserable if she'd had any say in the matter. Speaking of which:

Henry went back to Oakvale??? And is on speaking terms with Barry? I feel like this is either like, some sort of weird self-exile as a way of punishing himself for whatever it is he think he did wrong (I maintain he did NOTHING WRONG but ymmv), or some sort of projection thing? Like, trying to patch up the relationship with his own shitty father because he couldn't fix things with Lark? If that even makes sense. I also wonder if Dood will recognize Barry as a former host the way it did Henry, bc

HOLY SHIT DOOD RECOGNIZED HENRY. I've been speculating for fucking months about how Henry would react to Dood and vice versa, so those bad insight checks are KILLING ME. Either way Henry being so clearly fucking shaken by their presence is perfect, and I can't wait till we get to see his true feelings.

And fucking hell, seeing Henry finally interact with Normal was so cathartic, bc like. This whole season, I've just kept screaming to myself that Henry's parenting style is exactly what Norm needed. He just needed someone to tell him that they loved him unconditionally and were fucking proud of him, and the fact that Henry did that so immediately was just. Everything I ever wanted, thank you for my life Will. And also fuck you Lark and Sparrow for making him so starved for affection that he needed that.

And hoo boy, Lark and Sparrow. Full disclosure, I trust Anthony less than I trust Will in terms of like. Really paying off this whole emotional arc? So Lark and Sparrow have always been the real wild cards in my theorizing. And I gotta be honest, I was a bit surprised that Lark didn't push back at all about going to see Henry, and that things were so, like, civil between them at first? But I'm sure Hermie being dead and Normal being devastated about it and the fact that the fate of the world is literally in the balance made sure he'd be on his best behaviour. And I'm also sure that things will get more intense between them in the next ep anyways so like, I can be patient.

But I did really absolutely adore that beat when Sparrow went in for the hug, and Henry kind of hesitated, and I have all sorts of thoughts abt it, but that's a whole other post in and of itself lmao.

ANWAYS. Henry is back and I've been waiting MONTHS for this and it was EVERYTHING I WANTED IT TO BE and I CANNOT FUCKING WAIT for the next ep holy SHIT.

[nothwell]

Hello! I was wondering if you could share any tips on outlining, if you do so? I'm trying my second manuscript and I haven't found anything that really helps yet.

Hi there! So my outlining process has evolved over the past ten years since I first started writing Mr Warren's Profession. But the short version is: I write a book like sewing a quilt or patching a rip. I have a few key cathartic emotional beats I want to bring to life and I fill in the gaps between them with whatever is necessary to make the story make sense.

Beyond that, most of my outlining is just rapidly writing in brackets the absolutely necessary things a scene needs to get across and then going back and expanding on that in actual prose.

Examples from Mr Warren's Profession under the cut.

THIS SUMMARY:

[aubrey hits the pavement for new mills, old mills, counting houses, customs offices, considers moving to Liverpool, forgets to eat, etc., then gets a telegram from lindsey being like “miss ur faice” and goes to visit in london, telling himself he can also use the trip to look for london work; in reality he relishes every moment spent with lindsey, who lets him forget his troubles and relax.]

BECOMES THIS SCENE:

In Manchester the next morning, Aubrey shaved, dressed, and opened the door to go out before he remembered he’d been sacked. He stared into the empty hallway with unseeing eyes. Then he shut the door to put his head in his hands and think the problem over.

He had the whole day to himself. No responsibilities, no appointments, no schedule of any kind.

And he hadn’t the first idea what to do with it.

The day yawned before him, empty hour upon empty hour gaping into infinity. The thought of it made his stomach knot. His savings wouldn’t last forever.

One short trip out to buy a newspaper later, he pored over the help-wanted advertisements. There weren’t as many as he’d hoped. Still, he circled in pencil every business seeking a clerk. Tucking the paper under his arm, he ventured out into the city.

The first mill seemed promising. Its manager, Mr. Dobson, listened attentively as Aubrey recounted his relevant work experience.

“What did you say your name was?” Mr. Dobson asked when he’d finished. “Warren?”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Dobson frowned thoughtfully. “One moment.”

Aubrey waited as Mr. Dobson flipped through the documents on his desk. At length he produced a telegram and brought it close to his nose. His eyes flicked over the words. His frown deepened. He glanced back and forth between the telegram and Aubrey’s face. Then he put the telegram down on his desk, his hand over the text.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m afraid the position’s been filled.”

Aubrey mirrored his frown, confused, but thanked him for his time all the same.

Similar scenes played out in every subsequent office Aubrey visited. One manager shut the door in his face the moment he said his name. Another was less careful than Mr. Dobson in keeping his telegram’s contents secret. The body of the message remained hidden, but Aubrey caught the sender’s name. Block capitals spelt out SMITH.

Aubrey’s eyes widened. He corrected his expression and returned his gaze to the manager’s face in time to see a responsive flicker of fear in the man’s eyes.

The contents of the telegram were easy enough for Aubrey to guess. He forced a smile and cut the interview short. No sense in wasting the manager’s time, much less his own.

As he walked down the road away from the office, it took considerable effort to keep his chin up. Internally, his emotions volleyed between despair and rage. And yet, for all his anger, he knew he had no one to blame for his predicament but himself. Smith didn’t need to stretch the truth to give any prospective employer more than enough reason not to want Aubrey in their office.

When Aubrey reached the next business on his list, he stared up at the door and found he couldn’t muster the will to knock. He turned and started back for home. A hot packet of chips from a stall along the way improved his mood somewhat, but his mind remained overset by hopeless dread. Soon he wouldn’t be able to afford food at all.

Aubrey trudged up the stairs to his garret well after seven. He made a game attempt at reading The Engineer as he finished off his chips, but couldn’t focus. With a frustrated huff, he crumpled up the empty, greasy newsprint wrapper and chucked it into his wastepaper bin. Then he went to bed and lay staring up into the darkness.

Smith had destroyed all Aubrey’s hopes of future employment in Manchester. Aubrey didn’t want to leave the center of the industrial revolution, the home of Mechanics’ Institutes and engineering schools and the rush and roar of iron and steam. But Manchester was hardly the only city in England.

London, for example. London had hundreds of offices and counting-houses and businesses who’d never heard of Smith, much less received his telegram.

It also had Lindsey.

~

THIS SUMMARY:

[aubrey falls into a routine of go out, look for work, come home, eat a hot meal, retire to a warm bed, fuck his handsome boyfriend, and get up the next day to do it all over again. When the weekend arrives, lindsey invites him out to the theatre again. Aubrey points out he’s hardly dressed for it, lindsey offers to loan him clothes again or buy him a new suit outright.]

BECOMES THIS SCENE:

The next day, Aubrey boarded the train to London. The ride took up most of the morning. Aubrey spent it combing The London Star for potential leads. By the time he arrived at his destination, he had a list of offices to visit, sorted by neighborhood, arranged in a loop through the city which would bring him back to the station by seven and home in Manchester by midnight. Before he visited any of them, he stopped at the Post Office to mail a letter.

As he’d supposed, no one in London had heard of Smith. They’d also never heard of Mr. Jennings or Rook Mill. Despite this handicap, Aubrey made some favorable impressions. He felt much better about his prospects than he had the previous evening, and relaxed enough to nap on the train back to Manchester.

When he returned to his garret, he found a letter shoved under the considerable crack between the bottom of the door and the threshold. He picked it up with a smile, which widened as he opened the envelope and saw it was exactly what he’d hoped—a reply to the letter he’d sent Lindsey that morning.

The day after that, he made another trip to London, reading the same paper and making a similar list. But the labyrinthine route he planned didn’t return him to the train station. Instead, after walking the city from noon to dusk, he turned towards Belgrave Square and landed on Lindsey’s doorstep.

Mr. Hudson raised an eyebrow at his appearance—the mud and soot and smog hadn’t been kind to his only suit—but led him in to the library regardless. There, Lindsey sat reading a fat leatherbound volume. When he saw who stood in the doorway, he broke into a grin and leapt out of his chair.

“Aubrey!”

Relief washed over Aubrey as he returned Lindsey’s grin. He’d felt conflicted about inviting himself over Lindsey’s house. He hated to be presumptuous. Yet it gnawed at him to spend so much time in London and none of it seeing Lindsey. The letter he’d received in reply, while affirmative, retained the perfunctory tone required to give the impression that their relationship remained businesslike. As such, Aubrey couldn’t quite convince himself his presence was truly welcome.

Now, however, with Lindsey pulling him into a strong embrace, Aubrey had to admit he might be wanted.

Aubrey leaned into Lindsey’s shoulder, enjoying the warmth of his body, the secure hold of his arms across his back, and the gentle nudge of his chin against the top of Aubrey’s head. Lindsey loosened his grip to brush his fingers through Aubrey’s hair. Aubrey tilted his face up for a kiss, which Lindsey provided with enthusiasm.

“Did you have any luck?” Lindsey asked when he broke it off. “Are you hungry at all? Thirsty?”

“Tired,” said Aubrey, but he did so with a smile. “You?”

“Oh, fine as ever,” said Lindsey. “Please, sit—”

And Aubrey found himself ushered into a plush armchair with a glass of brandy by his elbow.

“Really,” Aubrey began, “you don’t have to—”

“Nonsense,” said Lindsey, dragging his own chair close to Aubrey’s. “Now, tell me everything.”

He put a hand over Aubrey’s, thumb rubbing across his knuckles. Aubrey turned his palm up to squeeze Lindsey’s in return, and told all. Lindsey’s hand clenched his as he described what Smith had done to his reputation in Manchester, but relaxed as he moved on to his greater success in London. Just as he finished, Charles arrived and announced dinner was ready.

“Dinner?” said Aubrey after Lindsey sent Charles on his way.

“Dinner,” Lindsey confirmed with a smile. It waned when Aubrey didn’t return it. “Is that not amenable to you?”

Aubrey, recalling his last dinner at Lindsey’s house, hesitated. “Won’t your sister mind?”

“She’s visiting Lady Pelham in Yorkshire. There’s no one here tonight but us.”

And the servants, Aubrey didn’t say.

But when he followed Lindsey to the dining room, the only servant there was Charles. The table was set far more simply than at the dinner party, with fewer courses and more familiar fare. Lindsey watched Aubrey carefully as the latter took his first spoonful of soup.

“Is it…?” Lindsey began after Aubrey swallowed.

Aubrey smiled. “It’s delicious. Thank you.”

Lindsey relaxed and dug into his own bowl with a fascinating combination of relish and decorum.

“What were you reading when I came in?” asked Aubrey.

Lindsey swallowed. “Poe. Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque. Are you familiar with him?”

Aubrey hated to disappoint Lindsey with his ignorance, but he couldn’t pretend to know what he didn’t. “What sort of stories does he write?”

Far from looking disappointed, Lindsey perked up. “Promise you’ll stop me if I bore you.”

Aubrey nodded, and Lindsey launched into a passionate explanation lasting through dessert. He had his dessert spoon in hand, and had used to to poke at his sorbet no fewer than three times, but hadn’t brought any of it to his mouth—he kept pulling it away to throw his arms out wide in broad, emphatic gestures. Aubrey held back a fond smile at the sight.

“Doyle owes Poe a greater debt than he realizes,” Lindsey concluded. “No matter what Holmes would say on the matter.”

Aubrey supposed he ought to read it for himself, and said as much. Lindsey, who’d finally managed to sneak in a mouthful of sorbet, gulped it down to grin at him.

“What have you been reading?” Lindsey asked.

“Nothing so fantastical as Poe,” said Aubrey. “Just The Engineer.”

Lindsey shrugged. “I’m interested.” When Aubrey continued to hesitate, he added, “You’ve listened to me prattle on about Poe for the better part of two hours.”

But Aubrey, glimpsing the clock on the wall behind Lindsey, shook his head. “I ought to return to Manchester.”

Lindsey’s face fell. “What? Why?”

“Because that’s where I live.”

“Well, yes, but—it seems dashed inconvenient for you to travel all the way back there, just to return to London in the morning.”

Privately, Aubrey agreed. Aloud, he said, “What else can I do?”

Lindsey stared at him. “Stay here, of course.”

The offer lifted Aubrey’s heart to new heights. He swallowed hard to put it back in its place. “I don’t want to impose.”

“It’s hardly an imposition if I invite you.”

“After I’ve already invited myself over for dinner.”

Lindsey scoffed. “That’s not—dash it, surely you know you’re welcome here at any hour?”

Aubrey didn’t, actually. Such a notion hadn’t entered into his wildest fantasies. He knew he ought to respond with gratitude, but shock trapped the words in his throat.

When Aubrey failed to reply, Lindsey added, “I’m happy to host you for as long as you remain in London. Perpetually, if need be. It’d be my pleasure.”

Aubrey coughed. “Not perpetually. Just until I find employment. And a place of my own. Shouldn’t take more than a week.”

“It could take a decade for all I care,” Lindsey said with a laugh. It died when he saw Aubrey’s face at the thought of remaining unemployed for so long.

“A week,” Aubrey insisted.

Lindsey’s smile returned, weaker than before. “As you wish.”

Aubrey mirrored it more sincerely. “Thank you.”

They retired to the library after dinner. Lindsey happily handed his book over to Aubrey and selected another from the well-stocked shelves. Aubrey settled on one end of a long sofa. Lindsey stretched out on the remainder of it, the back of his head coming to rest on Aubrey’s thigh. Aubrey cast a bemused look down at him. It took Lindsey a moment to catch it.

“This all right?” he asked, peering up from his book with wide eyes, all the more ridiculous for being upside-down.

Aubrey bit back a laugh and nodded. Lindsey gave him a concerned frown in return.

“Are you sure?” he said, starting to sit up. “Do you need more room?”

But Aubrey put a hand on his forehead and gently pushed him back down. Lindsey acquiesced, his head rubbing against Aubrey’s thigh as he re-settled. Aubrey kept his hand on Lindsey’s curls and trailed his fingers through them as he read.

Aubrey hadn’t read fiction since he’d been a boy in the workhouse, piecing together scraps of improving penny literature donated to the Sunday schoolhouse years before. Poe proved leagues above anything churned out by the authors of Jessica’s First Prayer and Froggy’s Little Brother. Yet even the tension of The Fall of the House of Usher couldn’t keep Aubrey awake after the day—the week—he’d had. His eyes burned with exhaustion. He’d just made up his mind to soldier on without complaint when his half-stifled yawn caught Lindsey’s attention.

“Sorry,” Aubrey said in response to Lindsey’s quirked eyebrow. “It’s not the book, it’s—”

“—staying up past eleven after rising at five to tramp all over London on foot?” Lindsey ventured a self-deprecating smile.

Aubrey blinked at him, chuckled, then bowed his head in defeat.

Lindsey shut his own book, plucked Poe from Aubrey’s hands, and marked the page with a red ribbon from the library table drawer. Then he tugged the weary Aubrey up from the sofa, put an arm around his waist, and led him down the hall to bed.

The soft, warm bed began lulling Aubrey to sleep as soon as he crawled between its sheets. He stayed awake just long enough to feel Lindsey’s lean limbs curl around him. Then he was out.

He awoke the next morning with his cheek on Lindsey’s breastbone. He lifted his head from the steady rise and fall of Lindsey’s chest to gaze upon his sleeping face. The temptation of his parted lips proved too much for Aubrey. He crawled up to kiss them. Lindsey, half-waking, gave a hum of pleasure. Aubrey pulled away to watch his blue eyes flutter open.

“Good morning,” said Aubrey, unable to suppress a self-satisfied grin.

Lindsey echoed the sentiment and leaned in for another kiss. Aubrey happily complied, rearranging his hips to line up with Lindsey’s. As he’d suspected, Lindsey’s prick stood as ready as his own. They’d both gone to bed naked, which made it easy for Aubrey to frot their cocks together between their bellies. He grinned wickedly down at Lindsey as the latter’s throat bobbed in a swallow of eager anticipation. Then Aubrey rolled his hips. Lindsey arched his back and spent in short order. Aubrey’s crisis followed close behind.

An hour or so after a more drawn-out encore, Aubrey rose, washed, and dressed to hunt for work again. Lindsey, still abed and watching throughout, persuaded him to stay just long enough to gulp down a hot cup of tea and a biscuit. He couldn’t, however, persuade him to come back to bed, or to take a holiday from his quest.

Even after rising late and leaving Lindsey’s house later still, waking up in London rather than Manchester gave Aubrey an early start on his search for employment. He covered more ground than the two preceding days, following up on the more promising offices he’d visited on his first trip into the city.

When he returned to Belgrave Square that evening, Lindsey awaited him with a ready smile, a hot meal, and hours of fascinating conversation interspersed with quiet leisure. That night, Aubrey slept better than ever before, no doubt aided by the sweet release that came with clenching Lindsey’s cock between his own slick thighs.

The rest of the week fell into the same routine; Aubrey woke in Lindsey’s bed, marched all over London, and returned to Lindsey in the evening. Throughout the day, the thought of his Lindsey kept his chin up and a smile on his lips. He could happily spend forever like this—provided he found employment soon.

Saturday arrived. Aubrey rose at half-past six and began to dress. A low grumble from Lindsey stopped him.

“Where’re you going?” Lindsey mumbled, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

Aubrey, who’d bent to put on stockings, abandoned the effort with one off and one on. “To look for work.”

“On a Saturday?” Lindsey sat up and blinked at him. “Who’ll be hiring on a Saturday?”

“Plenty of people, or so I’m hoping. Most offices should be open for half the day.”

“Good God,” Lindsey groaned.

Aubrey bristled. “We can’t all afford to live on five days’ pay.”

“No, I know, it’s just—it doesn’t seem fair.”

“It isn’t. And yet, here we are.”

Lindsey sighed. “You’ll be back in the afternoon, then? We could attend the theatre tonight. Or the opera.”

Aubrey preferred the theatre, but a more pressing concern pushed itself to the forefront of his mind. “I haven’t anything to wear.”

“Borrow something of mine. Or if you return early enough, have a tailor come ‘round and take your measurements. It wouldn’t be ready for another few days, but you’d have it by next Saturday, and then we could…” He trailed off at the look on Aubrey’s face.

“I should probably find work before I buy a new suit,” said Aubrey.

Lindsey frowned in confusion. “I meant I would buy it for you.”

Aubrey had suspected as much. His eyes flicked over to his only jacket, hanging off the back of one of Lindsey’s chairs. Its battered, dusty elbows and frayed cuffs looked even more worn in the midst of all Lindsey’s luxuries. Aubrey couldn’t deny it needed replacing. A new suit might even better his employment prospects. And yet the thought of Lindsey spending so much tied Aubrey’s guts into knots. Knowing Lindsey was rich as any Rothschild did nothing to ease Aubrey’s conscience. The money might be meaningless to Lindsey, but it meant everything to Aubrey.

Rather than voicing any of his actual concerns, Aubrey replied, “I had a notion we might visit the Crystal Palace. They’ve got an electrical exhibition on.”

Lindsey would likely be terribly bored, but Aubrey wouldn’t need a new suit to attend.

To Aubrey’s surprise, Lindsey didn’t seem at all bored by the prospect. On the contrary, his face lit up as if it, too, were powered by electricity. He announced his delight at Aubrey’s suggestion and shrugged on a dressing gown to cross the room and give Aubrey a celebratory kiss. Aubrey found himself smiling in return as Lindsey ran a hand through his hair and on down his cheek.

~

THESE SUMMARIES:

[Aubrey finds a great clerking job at some kind of office and is about to start when he gets the telegram from mr. Jennings (goes back to Manchester to pack up his stuff? Which is still there because he’s paid up through the end of the month?). Aubrey is torn between the sensible option of clerking and the fantastical possibility of getting started on his dream job. Lindsey is like “FOLLOW YOUR HEART!” because he’s too rich to ever have to deal with reality. Still, the lure of engineering is too much for aubrey to resist, and so he returns to manchester]

[aubrey explains he doesn’t want to work under lindsey again; lindsey offers to sell the mill back to clarence; aubrey says that’s not fair to the rest of the workforce, plus he probably wouldn’t keep even a coal-passing job under clarence; explains that this London clerking gig is the first job he’s acquired without personal connections; feels he hasn’t ever really earned anything in life; lindsey’s like “okay sure let’s pretend your friendship with certain individuals gave you employment advantages; those advantages wouldn’t have done shit for you if you weren’t a hard worker. Would Smith have done half so well in your place?” and aubrey points out smith is doing exactly as well as him; better, in fact. Lindsey doesn’t have much to say to that, apart from: “Seems like your mind’s already made up; no coal-passing for you.” And aubrey’s like “yeah but…. Engineering…” and lindsey’s like “ah.” And aubrey falls all over himself trying to explain his reasoning and apologize to lindsey at the same time but lindsey’s just like “whatevs, FOLLOW YOUR DREAMS~!” and aubrey can’t quite believe anyone would say that and mean it sincerely but if anyone would it’d be his precious puppy lindsey. The dolt.]

[lindsey is like “never let someone else stop you from going for what you want most” and aubrey is like “oh yeah like ur dad and school” and lindsey’s like “well, yeah, that, and also…” and aubrey is confused about what else lindsey could want most that anyone would try to keep him away from and then he’s like “oh wait his friends and sister tried to keep him away from me” and then aubrey is overcome by the realization that he is what lindsey wants most and doesn’t really know what to do with this information—quick, cover up your emotions with physical displays of affection!]

BECOME THIS SCENE:

Despite spending most of the night and all the next morning’s train ride considering the problem, Aubrey came no closer to a solution by the time he reached Lindsey’s doorstep. He found Lindsey at breakfast, surprised at his early arrival but delighted to see him. Aubrey sat beside Lindsey as he was bid and made a valiant effort at returning Lindsey’s joyful expression, but could do little more than push his bacon around his plate.

“Is there anything else you’d prefer?” Lindsey asked.

Aubrey jerked to attention. “No, sorry, it’s—I haven’t any appetite.”

“Everything all right?” said Lindsey, frowning. A handsome frown, but the sight cause a pang in Aubrey’s chest regardless.

“Fine,” Aubrey hurried to reassure him.

Lindsey hesitated, then spoke again. “Forgive me, it isn’t that I don’t believe you, it’s just…”

“…you don’t believe me?” A wistful smile tugged the corners of Aubrey’s mouth.

Lindsey mirrored his expression. “If there’s anything I can do…”

“I’ll ask,” said Aubrey, the lie coming to his lips even easier the second time.

Lindsey’s forced smile did nothing to alleviate Aubrey’s guilt. Aubrey sighed and set down his fork.

“I received a letter from Mr. Jennings,” he said. Lindsey’s eyebrows rose against his reluctance to explain further, so he added, “He’s offered me a job as a coal-passer.”

“Excellent!” said Lindsey. “What’s a coal-passer?”

“The person responsible for keeping the engine fed.”

“Ah,” said Lindsey. “And this… distresses you?”

“I have to refuse,” said Aubrey. “A coal-passer doesn’t earn near so much as a clerk. And I can’t return to Manchester. Not when I’ve everything waiting for me in London.”

Lindsey nodded along, but his brows remained knitted. Aubrey returned to his plate. He poked a few morsels, then dared another glance at Lindsey, whose expression hadn’t changed.

“What?” said Aubrey.

“You don’t seem entirely at peace with that decision.”

Aubrey, unused to being so transparent, hurriedly dropped his gaze and replied to the table rather than to Lindsey. “It doesn’t matter.  I’m moving to London. I’ve a new job. A good job. I’d be an idiot to turn it down to shovel coal.”

The room fell silent, save for the tines of Aubrey’s fork scraping his plate as he stabbed at his eggs.

“Is it because coal-passing has more to do with engineering than clerking?” Lindsey asked.

Aubrey brought his head up sharp to regard Lindsey, whose confused frown had given way to concern.

“It does,” Aubrey admitted. “But that’s irrelevant.”

“But if you’d prefer it—”

“—then I’m an ass, and deserve to starve in the gutter, which is where I’ll end up if I—” Aubrey swallowed. “And besides, if I return to Rook Mill, I become your employee again.”

“I could sell it back to Clarence.”

Aubrey blinked. “What?”

“Clarence Rook,” said Lindsey. “If I return the mill to him, then you’d be his employee, not mine.”

Aubrey stared at him, unable to comprehend the notion of a massive property transfer for no other purpose than his personal comfort. “Mr. Rook would slash wages back to where they were when you acquired the mill. And he’d sack me again in the bargain.”

Lindsey appeared shocked. “Why would he do that?”

In lieu of explaining exactly what Lindsey’s dearest friend had imparted to Aubrey during their meeting, Aubrey replied, “Because I’ve a habit of violence towards my fellow staff.”

“Only under duress.”

Aubrey shook his head. “This clerking job—it’s the only one I’ve ever earned. Every other position I’ve held has resulted from personal connections. My—” Aubrey scrambled for the correct word. “—friendship with Mr. Jennings convinced him to hire me on as an office boy, and before that—the Post Office didn’t hire me for my brains.”

“Then they were fools,” Lindsey replied with conviction. “You’re brilliant.”

Aubrey’s instinctive protest stuck in his throat.

Lindsey spoke on. “Let’s pretend your friendship with certain individuals provided an advantage in seeking employment. What good would this advantage have done if you hadn’t proved yourself worthy of the positions you held? Would Smith have done half as well in your place?”

“Smith still has the job I was sacked from. I’d say he’s done better.”

Lindsey, who’d opened his mouth to continue, choked off whatever he’d intended to say.

Aubrey supposed he ought to feel victorious. He’d made his point and silenced his opponent. By the rules of logical debate, he’d won. Yet all he felt was a growing, gaping void in his chest. His soul threatened to sink into it.

Lindsey’s grimace became a sad smile. “Your mind’s made up, then. Clerking over coal-passing.”

“Yes, but—” Aubrey stopped himself.

“But what?”

“Nothing. It’s not rational.”

“To the devil with rational,” said Lindsey. “What is it?”

Aubrey forced the words out in a rush. “Clerking in London would be a step away from engineering. Likely forever. If I start as a coal-passer, I could learn on the job and advance to fireman, second engineer, engineer—”

“So become a coal-passer.”

“At what cost?” said Aubrey. “It wouldn’t be fair to Mr. Lawson. I’ve promised to start first thing on Wednesday.”

“What do you owe him? Write an apologetic letter and wash your hands of it.”

“It wouldn’t be fair to you!” Aubrey blurted.

Lindsey sat back and stared at him. “What?”

“If I return to Manchester, it’s farther from you—and we’ve already planned that I’d move to London so we might be—” Aubrey cleared his throat and looked to his plate, stabbing his eggs again. “It’s not fair to you to have me run off, not after you’ve been so obliging. Putting up with my nonsense.”

“What nonsense?”

“This,” Aubrey didn’t say. Instead, he replied, “You wanted to go to the theatre, and I dragged you all over the electrical exhibition.”

“I suggested we attend the theatre,” said Lindsey, enunciating each word with careful patience. “You suggested we visit the Palace. I agreed, and had a wonderful time. We both did. That’s not nonsense. You listen to my prattling about Poe and Braddon and Doyle and heaven knows what else. You overlook my blunders—”

Aubrey lifted his head. “What blunders?”

Lindsey half-smiled. “I asked you if you rode horses.”

“That’s—” Aubrey coughed. “Anyone could make that mistake.”

Lindsey’s sheepish smile broadened. “I gave you a calling-card case.”

Aubrey, who hadn’t realized Lindsey recognized his error, flushed scarlet. “And I cherish it!”

“You do?” Lindsey sounded genuinely surprised.

Aubrey thrust a determined hand into his jacket pocket and produced the object in question. Silver flashed in the morning sunlight. Lindsey stared at it. Then a tentative grin appeared on his face, and he closed his hands over both the case and Aubrey’s palm.

“My point,” he said softly, gazing into Aubrey’s eyes, “is I’m delighted to see you happy. And stricken to see you miserable. Engineering—if you could’ve seen your face at the exhibition!—it makes you so—” He shook his head. “I can’t bear to watch you throw that away. You shouldn’t let anyone stop you from striving for what you want most. Least of all me.”

Aubrey’s reply—that Lindsey was what he wanted most—stilled on his tongue at Lindsey’s tone. It sounded as though Lindsey knew precisely how it felt to be kept from his most heartfelt desires. What could prevent one of England’s richest, handsomest bachelors from having everything he wanted, Aubrey couldn’t fathom. He thought back on what Miller and Graves had told him of Lindsey’s school days. That must be what Lindsey meant; his father keeping him from school, and his friends shielding him from romantic developments.

Then Aubrey recalled why Graves and Miller had wanted to speak with him in the first place. Why Rook and Miss Althorp had done the same. Every person in Lindsey’s life wanted Aubrey out of it. And Lindsey wanted—

Aubrey.

Lindsey wanted Aubrey most of all.

The revelation swept over Aubrey, flooding his mind with panic.

“Are you all right?” Lindsey asked.

Aubrey didn’t trust himself to speak. He stood and closed the short distance to Lindsey’s chair. Lindsey looked up at him, his stunning blue eyes wide in confusion. Aubrey closed his own and swooped down to press a ferocious kiss on Lindsey’s parted lips. Lindsey returned it with equal passion. When the awkward position grew too much to bear, Aubrey pulled back to rest his forehead against Lindsey’s.

“I suppose I’ll be an engineer,” said Aubrey, still not daring to open his eyes.

Lindsey kissed him again. “A brilliant one.”

Aubrey laughed and nuzzled Lindsey’s throat.

~

Nowadays my outline looks like writing out almost the entire scene in brackets, then going back and editing out the brackets, fixing the tenses, and cleaning it up until it's prose.

I'd compare it to learning to draw. At first the sketch and the final drawing look wildly different. But if you put the hours into sketching, eventually the sketches themselves become final drawings and you have to do very little to "finish" them.

Hoping any of this was helpful to you, and thank you for asking!

[compassionatereminders]

Hi, Kat (or Doktor, or anyone else).

I just had a friend tell me he's committing himself out of his suicidal ideation. He's committed himself before and has medical trauma. And. . . I'm not asking for advice at all. I just needed a venting place, if that's okay, since I don't see my therapist for a bit.

I just feel so guilty because I've been so incredibly busy this week that I wasn't really been able to talk to him. My mental health has been on a general upward trajectory in the last couple months, while he's been struggling, which has made conversations w/MH difficult because I don't reflect his emotions the way I used to, and those previously cathartic conversations are now difficult for me, and redefining boundaries has been hard, especially when I feel frustrated with him doing things I had previously said were okay, then feel bad over that.

(which is good, in its way. I've found a good therapist and it's a place I don't want to go back to. But he's in a very unsafe situation he's struggling to get out of, and it's gotten worse. It's hard to not feel like I'm distancing a friend for daring to struggle with trauma, especially when I still have to deal with it myself, in a more supported manner)

I know, rationally, there is not much I could have done: we live in different places, his life is his, I have mine, I'm no good to anyone if I don't take care. But the irrational is hard to beat down, and it's easy for me now to see the recent warning signs.

Anyway. Thanks for maintaining your blog, it's helped me a lot over the last year. I hope you're having a wonderful day.

You're not betraying him by recovering and getting better and you shouldn't feel bad for being in a different place mentally. It's a good thing that you're working on yourself and it'll be good for him to see that progress is possible. Even if it'll take him longer to get there

[maximuswolf]

Experiences with grief through music

Experiences with grief through music There is an odd silence that surrounds you when you claim to be untouched by music. It is not a boastful declaration, but rather a resigned acceptance. For years, I was the person who could appreciate the technicalities of a composition, admire the lyrical craftsmanship, and even nod along to a catchy beat, but I had never been moved to tears by a song. Friends and family would describe moments when a particular melody or verse pierced through their hearts, unraveling emotions they didn't know they had. I listened with curiosity and a touch of envy, but my own experiences remained stubbornly flat. Music was a backdrop, never a trigger.This emotional aloofness extended into other parts of my life, but it never seemed to matter much until earlier this year. When my girlfriend passed away, it was as if my entire world shifted off its axis. The grief was sharp, relentless, and all-consuming, but it stayed locked inside me. I felt it in the way I moved, slower and more deliberate, and in the way I spoke, quieter and more reserved. Yet, I could not cry. The tears, like the emotions stirred by songs, remained elusive. Our shared love for music was one of the many things that brought us closer. She had a soundtrack for every mood, every moment, and she introduced me to artists and genres I had never explored. I remember her laughter when a song particularly moved her, her eyes closing as she let the music wash over her. She could always find something in the lyrics or the melody that resonated deeply. It was a connection I admired but never fully understood.In the weeks following her death, I found myself unable to listen to our favorite songs. The silence in my apartment was deafening, yet I couldn’t bring myself to fill it with the echoes of our shared memories. One day, seeking some semblance of her presence, I sifted through her soundtracks, playing songs at random. The familiar tunes were like ghosts, haunting yet strangely comforting. But I remained stoic, my grief a quiet storm within me.Then, one evening, it happened. The song that broke me was unexpected. As “Call Me” by Yeat played through the speakers, something inside me shattered. It wasn’t a song we had a special connection to, but in that moment, the lyrics took on a profound meaning. The repetitive chorus, the simple plea to “call me,” struck a chord deep within my soul. I imagined her reaching out to me from the afterlife, a phone call away, and the floodgates opened.The tears came suddenly and fiercely, each drop a testament to the overwhelming sense of loss and longing I had kept buried. The raw emotion in Yeat's voice, the vulnerability of the lyrics, mirrored my own desperate need to hear from her again. I wept for all the things left unsaid, for the moments we would never share, and for the haunting silence that had become my constant companion.“Call Me” became the soundtrack to my grief, a reminder of the fragility of life and the enduring power of love. It taught me that music could indeed reach the deepest parts of my soul, even when I had believed myself impervious to its touch. In my tears, I found a connection to her that transcended life and death, a way to keep her memory alive.It was ironic, almost absurd, that a song like “Call Me” by Yeat would be the one to break my emotional dam. But in its simplicity, I found a profound truth: sometimes, the most unexpected things can touch our hearts in ways we never imagined. And in that moment, as the song played on, I felt a sense of release, a cathartic embrace of the pain and love that defined our time together.I’m very interested if anybody has had similar experiences, or found other ways to grief through music. And what about that particular song was it that broke you? Submitted July 28, 2024 at 08:18AM by Internal-Terrible https://ift.tt/Tl1h5xV via /r/Music

[twistednuns]

May 2024

Spending the first day of the month completely alone. At home. Working on little projects. Labeling all the boxes in the basement. Hanging art. Building a wooden frame for my new kitchen shelves. Tiling my bookcase.

Guessing correctly why I suddenly got a tummy ache. Doing exactly the right thing to make it go away (coffee and meds on an empty stomach are never a good idea).

Mentally apologizing to my body for only really moving it once a week during yoga class.

Recreating my grandma's potato goulash. Eating it with sour cream.

Buying a stool on sale that might or might not look like a little sheep.

Strawberry milkshake on a stressful day. It literally cooled me down.

Getting to know the lady who lives in the cool and airy apartment across the street.

Caught in the act: a little birdy landing on my sheepskin, ripping out a big fur ball for its nest.

Prioritizing alone time. Saying no to social obligations.

Long naps. Sleeping with the windows open, a nasal dilutor and mouth tape. Such a difference. Sometimes I even put a teeth whitening strip in and I want to start experimenting with self-hypnosis tracks.

Unearthing one of my old favourites: Dallmayr Ginger Ginseng green tea.

Sorting out my jewellery just to find a few pieces I really wanted to wear again!

Going to Gregor von Raffay's (Kathi's dad) vernissage. Falling in love with his painting Am Meeresgrund. Having a good time with Chili, Kathi and their kids Luis and Maya.

Rolling down the car windows. Singing along loudly to Soak Up the Sun by Sheryl Crow. My summer jam 2024. Also, I was surprised when I saw what a detailed Wikipedia article this song has.

Coconut porridge and fresh peaches (what a divine smell) for breakfast. Eating outside on the balcony.

Self-massage and gua sha with Aesop Breathless oil - a subtle blood orange smell.

The sudden urge to listen to Unison again. And again. Masterpiece.

Making a playlist of podcast episodes that left an impression.

Watching movies from the late 80s/90s/early 00s I haven't seen yet. I need more feel-good cinema in my life.

Singing at church with my choir. Emotional... such dense energy in there, every time.

Buying spices, bread and Greek antipasti at the market. I wonder why it's so rare for me to go shopping there. I always enjoy it tremendously. But it's probably because I've always thought that it's too expensive. I might have to put market days in my calendar! Hope that helps.

The golden chain tree has started to bloom in yellow cascades in our garden!

A spontaneous decision to join some friends at the drag flea market at Pathos. Exactly the right kind of people I needed that day. Julia, Daniel, Patricia and Katharina. I bought two wigs and a sassy Queen of Hearts costume. Then we sat outside an Italian restaurant until it got cold. Quite entertaining and the right amount of socializing.

My first time in a Float tank.

Finding Isabel Allende's Eva Luna in a box of free books after the thunderstorm.

Making banana ice-cream as a midnight snack.

An improv theatre workshop. So many good ideas and such fun! I even got a day off for it! (and one of the participants who noticed that I was having a tough time and offered me her yoghurt; we really vibed in the word association exercise, too)

Not an exclusively good thing because it came with a lot of fear, an activated abandonment wound and some emotional damage (I spent my lunch break locked in the handicapped toilet trying to calm down my tense body, not knowing how to properly release my emotions, crying big teardrops on the tile floor): three tough but cathartic conversations with C. Deciding that we would stay together. And that lovely moment in the morning when I felt my affection for him coming back.

Sneaking into yoga class. Listening to my body. So glad I went.

Being a member of the little team that is going to suggest new outfits for our gospel choir. Using Miranda Priestley as our group icon. / Also: everyone's joy when Beate got a phone call from Sarah telling her that her son was born a few hours before!

Baffled parents asking me how I manage their kids - and I'm the only teacher who can. Apparently I'm doing something right.

Single use changing mats. Best idea ever. So liberating. I hate wet spots.

The first rays of sunshine in the morning after a few horribly rainy days. Hoping for a chance to dry everything wet on the balcony.

Running into Uschi and Andrea. Dealing with their gossip with a new, detached energy.

Adding a few lemon slices to my tap water. Using my Retap bottle with the wooden lid for the first time in years.

A lengthy journalling session with lots of insights.

Flight mode for more peace of mind.

My strelitzia producing a huge new leaf. The baby is bigger than all the old ones.

Meeting some members of the Burn Family at Stroke Art fair. Good conversations with Sandra, Yeli and Kathi. Discovering a few inspiring artists.

Cinema and dinner with LenObi. It's been a while.

The moon appearing as a faint but full disc with a thin crescent in the lower right corner.

Eggplant burgers.

Visiting Ramapriya's yoga studio for the first time. I don't know what took me so long. We reconnected immediately and now I'm thinking about doing a Yoga Vidya teacher training. I learned so much in that one class. Her pelvic floor asanas and explanations were fantastic. Afterwards we talked about HSP, Human Design (she’s a fellow member of the ManGen club), her daughter, and she showed me a mantra to remove obstacles / gain energy, inspiration and joy. I left after more than two hours. C. called me and told me about a crazy dream featuring an erupting volcano.

Buying a FeetUp as a birthday gift to myself to practice handstands and improve my balance and core strength.

Hanging laburnum branches above C.'s kitchen table.

A walk through the forest/Filzen with C. Picking a bouquet of wildflowers. And “old people sex” which is what we called lying in bed attached to the same EMS machine, having a good conversation. Jumping on the trampoline together. Receiving little caresses and holding hands while watching TV. An intimate high pressure massage. Telling our dreams to each other in the morning. Making travel plans. Turning it around.

When the podcast is about to end right when you arrive at home.

Talking to Annika about portals.

Body doubling. Grading English tests while C. was assembling his new standing table. I love working side by side. Or even just somebody being present - it's some sort of control mechanism, I feel supported. I did that for C. when I just sat with him while he sorted out his storage space. And I think it really helped him, too.

Reading the lyrics of Die Interimsliebenden by Einstürzende Neubauten with C. In ihrem gemeinsamen Mund lebt ein Kolibri. Mit jedem seiner Flügelschläge, dafür das Auge viel zu träge, Kulturen erblühen und vergehen; ganze Kontinente untergehen.

Getting to know Elena, who works with Somatic Experiencing and Craniosacral Method. We got to know each other and I drew two pictures of my body. How it currently feels and what I want it to feel like. Interesting insights.

Waking up in a weird but calm energy on my birthday. Drawing the receptivity card. Attending a workshop on Deep Listening at the Art Academy. We meditated and played with sounds, even synthesizers. While some of it was too much for me (I could hear the electric current and most of the synthesizer sounds felt threatening) I enjoyed the concept and exercises. The other participants were all art teachers too. I felt resistance around one of them, Bastien, but we started talking over lunch. It got interesting really quickly and we spent two more hours in the English Garden after the workshop. B. told me his story. How he received healing. Experiences he's made. It was batshit crazy but I think I believe him. Was that the story I needed to receive that day? / Then I had tacos with Ben and we got along famously. I told him how much I like him when he's sober. I rented a karaoke box for two hours and sang with lots of friends - even Manu came which delighted me more than I would have expected.

Another relational abyss. Melodramatic scenes, right out of a movie. Turning around one of the saddest days of the year by truly talking and listening to each other. Seeing the wounded inner child in my partner. Being there for him. A commitment to doing the work. Growth.

Thoughtful birthday presents. A pillow for my uncomfortable car, a beautiful wok with wooden handles, homemade liquor and roasted pistachios. A video note from Christian and Lian.

Joking with C. and L. Easy, relaxed, appreciative. Developing C.’s idea for his outside platform. A relaxed morning with a kiss goodbye.

Lucie blessing me by singing the Om Tryambakam mantra for my birthday.

Shower Citrus! Eating a citrus fruit in the shower. My theory: the warm steam enhances the smell of the essential oil in the peel. It smells divine! What an experience.

A lavish breakfast. The spontaneous decision to go on a roadtrip. So we just packed the car and went our way. First we visited C.'s friend Maxi. She's one of those people with whom you immediately feel comfortable with. Her home was lovely. I also want a garden, chickens, a yoga platform. We slept in a caravan, talked about Merlin Sheldrake, had green pancakes and herbs, vegetable cake, smelled her entire DoTerra essential oil collection (Cassium, Madagascar Vanilla and Grapefruit are my favorites). I adored her daughter’s hairstyle (two chopsticks in a bun) and felt very cheerful one morning when I came into the house and an old Cat Power album was playing. / Then we visited her mum and tested all her esoteric devices and appliances. Moved on, had to change plans because C. forgot his backpack. Stopped at a strawberry field. Met Maxi and Juna at a lake, went swimming. I was reminded of how much I love that kind of movement. Water really is my element. We slept at a campsite in Aue. Not my scene at all. But the next day, we went to a thermal bath and sauna. Another happy place. Then we stayed with Franzi in Leipzig. I adored her apartment and we had a long conversation on her balcony. We also visited Marie together the next day. I tried to convince her cat to like me - no such luck. And I also ran into Jonathan that afternoon who was in town to visit his brother. What a strange coincidence. We went vintage shopping - I bought stained glass (and really want to learn how to work with it myself), C. bought an iridescent fake python jacket and a postcard for his son. We checked into a hotel. Received another lesson on personal boundaries. Went for a swim and a sauna session. Had ramen noodles. After a big breakfast (with fresh nut butter, delicious) we went to Jena and spent Ralf's lunch break in the botanical garden with him. We had a lovely time and spent the rest of the day in the planetarium for a 360° full dome movie festival and a concert. I took breaks for a Thai massage and fantastic Indian food. What a great trip.

Chris Wormell’s incredible illustrations, escpecially his astronomical woodcuts.

The tiniest mushrooms starting to grow in my champignon kit.

Making strawberry Raffaello cake for the Filzhof pizza party. Getting to know some of C.'s neighbours better. Playing with the dogs.

Watching the first season of House of the Dragon together. I'm a Rhaenys fangirl now.

White Matcha chocolate. And the best snack: pecans, freeze dried strawberries and spelt flakes.

Going to the garden center with C.! I loved picking out plants for the empty corner in his garden.

Alone time. Feels so nice after spending a long time surrounded by people.

Finishing the sunrise decor on my kitchen cabinets. They turned out really lovely.

Re-folding all my clothes. Sorting them by type and colour.

Eating buckwheat for lunch and dinner.

A phone call with Ludwig. Learning about my crippling insecurity and the underlying fear. Paradoxically, insecurity is my safe space because it means inaction. I don't have to make a decision - which would come with the possibility of making a mistake. / The Lesson pt.II - I clicked on a random video to keep me company while eating cornflakes. It was, of course, on safety as THE basic human need. In my face.

Harvesting the first two tiny cucumbers on my balcony. The bush in front of my window in full bloom - thousands of tiny white blossoms.

Making myself a cup of herbal tea instead of aimless snacking, trying to meet an emotional need. It worked.

Activities with Lian: decorating pudding, folding origami Pokémon, playfights.

Finally grading the artworks from the final exam. Procrastination alarm.

Drawing my body now and in its desired state with Elena. Doing boundary exercises. Meeting my inner protector: a big fuzzy bear. Which made me think of Luki who like running around in dark brown sheep skin and radiates a very stable, secure energy.

Reaching a relative state of everything is as it should be in my apartment with hardly any loose threads.

A visit from Luna and her friend Jannik. Deep talk, hanging out in my bed.

The golden morning sun. The long days around summer solstice.