#garage-welt

[garageoshi]

@m3ernie ‘s BMW M3 (E90) Side-views and front-view https://www.instagram.com/p/CsJ8YMDMt7b/

[salach]

2023's RWB by Akira Nakai San @ 911 Garage. Day 1 Łomianki / Poland

[dandyshucks]

brain is so silly bc I'm thinking "i wish Guz had cold hands so when I'm stressed he could cup my face and it'd soothe the itchiness I get when I start scratching at myself from the stress" and then I realized wait he's a fictional character. I could just say he has cold hands if I wanted. but he DOESN'T, i just KNOW that man is a heater !!! he will get me overheated so easily and that is simply something i am happy to put up with because i love him !!!!

[deutsche-bahn]

Ich klammere hier ja 99% der Zeit ganz erfolgreich aus dass ich trans bin, weil's meistens auch einfach nicht weiter relevant ist. Aber lasst mich mal kurz verbal meinen Kopf gegen die Wand schlagen:

Dadurch, dass ich die letzten acht Jahre einen, uh, turbulenten Lifestyle hatte und zwischenzeitlich zb wahllos durch Europa flatterte hatte ich nie die Möglichkeit, den bürokratischen Abfuck einer offiziellen Diagnose etc etc über mich ergehen zu lassen. Weil man dafür vielleicht mal für mehr als sechs Monate irgendwo sesshaft werden müsste.

Fine, ok, mein passing ist zwar so gut dass ich, seit ich 15 bin, erfolgreich ein Doppelleben führen kann (wie altmodisch von mir). Aber irgendwann wurde mir klar dass der Stresstremor und die allgemeinen Paranoia vielleicht, ganz vielleicht etwas mit dieser abgefuckten Catch Me If You Can Lebensrealität zu tun haben könnten. Also, nur vielleicht. Just a thought.

Also überlegte ich mir, das doch mal anzugehen als wär's ne Garage, die es zu entrümpeln gilt. Und dann folgten 11 Monate des puren Grauens. Nein, schlimmer. Es folgten 11 Monate tägliches Armdrücken mit der deutschen Bürokratie, und dem überlasteten Gesundheitssystem. Zwischen "Patienten wie Sie nehmen wir nicht" und "Warteliste haben wir, bitte melden Sie sich dafür im 4. Quartal 2025 wieder" war nur in Sachen Therapeutensuche alles dabei.

Ich landete letztendlich nach ein paar Monaten des in-der-Mittagspause-herumtelefonierens bei einem Ausbildungszentrum für Psychotherapeuten, die nach vier Monaten auf der Warteliste entschieden, dass ich ein schwieriger Patient sei, mich dann aber doch unterbringen konnten. Namentlich bei einer Therapeutin-to-be die erst nach fast zwei Monaten bei genauerer Recherche feststellte, dass sie doch noch gar nicht qualifiziert sei um mir ein Indikationsgutachten auszustellen. Schade, Johanna, ich hätte das halbe Jahr gerne anderweitig genutzt. Holy shit.

Das Ding ist, ich würde wirklich ungern dieses Doppelleben weiterführen, bei dem ich im Beruf noch mit falschem Namen etc herumlaufe und peinlichst mein Privatleben geheim halte. Ich würde mich genauso ungern bei jedem Bewerbungsgespräch erklären müssen, und dann in der weltverschlossensten, Arbeitnehmerrechte-fernen Welt des Handwerks auf's Beste hoffen. Johanna hat vollstes Verständnis. "Sie könnten ja vielleicht in verschiedenen Betrieben hospitieren gehen, und-" und schauen wo man mich nicht diskriminiert, mit blendendem Optimismus, als ob das nicht die erniedrigenste Lösung sei die dir einfallen könnte? Und sie nennt es "hospitieren", was ja noch nicht mal das realitätsfremdeste an der Aussage ist. Niedlich. Ich kratz' mir gleich die Augen aus.

Johanna sieht zwar selbst ein, dass sie kaum Ahnung von dem Thema hat ("Das ist ja alles etwas... dschungel-artig" sagte sie, nachdem sie sich nach der ersten Sitzung selber informiert hatte). Dafür schlägt sie mir vor, dass wir doch eine gemeinsame Lernerfahrung daraus machen könnten. Ich möchte ihr auf die Packung Taschentücher zwischen uns kotzen. Nachdem ich ihr erklärt habe dass ich gegenüber eines studierten Psychologen wirklich, wirklich ungern in einer aufklärenden Rolle sein möchte starrt sie mich ein bisschen hilflos an. Dann wüsste sie nicht, was ich noch von dieser Therapie erwarte.

Und ich möchte nicht wütend auf sie sein. Aber als ich ihr meine Ausgangssituation nach sechs Monaten verschwendeter Zeit erkläre schaut sie mich mit großen, verständnisvollen Augen an, professionell apathisch, als wäre sie stille Beobachterin eines ungerechten Systems, und nicht eines der gottverdammten Rädchen, welches sich in besagtem System fröhlich um sich selbst dreht. Egal.

Als ich mich nach unangenehmer Stille von ihr verabschiede fragt sie, ob ich wenigstens irgendwas positives aus diesen wenigen Sitzungen mitnehmen könnte. "Wenn's vorbei ist wird's bestimmt eine gute Geschichte" sage ich.

Warum ist es eigentlich einfacher, sich einen falschen Perso zu besorgen, anstatt einen gottverdammten Ergänzungsausweis mit Wunschname, der dann aber auch nur in Kombination mit dem eigentlichen Ausweis gültig und somit irgendwie eh für die Katz ist? Junge, es war einfacher durch den off-duty Sozialarbeiter meines Vertrauens an Testosteron zu kommen anstatt erst einen Psychologen, Psychiater und Endokrinologen zusammenzuscheuchen und zu überreden mich doch einfach eine Hormontherapie machen zu lassen. And this goes without saying, aber macht das nicht, das wäre ja vollkommen irre und so. Wer macht das schon

[rationaliity]

there's a lot of words in here about that one fanart that i saw of ratio having an emo phase, you're so welcome guys for those who say my favorite is welt yang & not ratio,,,, how does it feel being wrong ( i still love welt yang SO much it makes me look stupid )

you swore you remember who veritas ratio was ! that was the guy who went to school at veritas prime on recommendation and absolutely blew through every single class that he attended. shoot, you were sure he taught a few classes himself despite being a student there. he was that unkempt guy, with the messy, slightly wavy dyed indigo hair that he clearly never brushed, the hair dye always overgrown and showing his brown roots, and the tongue piercing. he was tired looking, always having bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, with so much eyeshadow lazily slapped on for the added effect that he undoubtedly slept in for three nights in a row before he finally took a shower. and he always smelled so strongly of weed that it would make someone's eyes water a little bit just by standing around him for a minute or two.

you were sure that he slept through every single class, if he even bothered to show up, anyway. unless it was a test day, or he just wanted to show up and fuck around with the less gifted, you doubted he ever showed up. probably too busy trying to prove to his parents that he was more than his brains, of course. didn't he have a garage band with a few of his friends that went to a different school than him ? what was it called again ? ' irrational piety ' ? was that a joke on his name and pi ? and... god ? edgy, egotistical, and nerdy, exactly who he was as a person summed up short and sweet.

he was that guy who had approached you so many times in veritas prime, asking you about yourself, trying to show off. he was clumsy with it, his manner and the way he spoke made it clear that his family was filled with important people. scholars, doctors, teachers of any type. there was no doubt that genius was simply a way of living at his house, and he was determined at this time to be different.

you had to admit, it was charming in its own way. veritas wasn't your typical crowd that you would hang around with, but he was somehow still sort of down to earth in his own way, although it was silly. you thought it was cute how he bumbled over his words trying to be cool in front of you. you tried to pretend to be aloof and indifferent to his advances, but you leaned into them at the same time, too. you knew that he would listen if you told him to wash the makeup off his face. you told him it was because he didn't need it, but in reality, you were just worried about his skin back then. you weren't downright rude to him, and you found yourself laughing with him more often than you found yourself laughing at him.

you remembered when you spent that night with him in his dorm, and how weird it felt in your stomach for months when he graduated two years earlier than he was supposed to, and left you behind. you knew that he had to go do something important, you knew that was just who he was. no matter who he was going to be externally, you never had any doubt that he was going to be someone so incredibly important to the world around you, possibly to the entire cosmos. you thought that his passion for learning was going to outweigh anything else, and maybe you were right. you had lost contact with him for years, you honestly had no idea where he was now.

so who was this in front of you claiming to be doctor veritas ratio of the intelligentsia guild, and why did he have the same face as that man you knew in school ? there was a pause, a moment of recollection between the two of you, and you opened your mouth to say something, anything, but the words didn't come out. he looked so similar, but so different at the same time. it seemed that despite everything, he decided to keep up with the indigo hair, although he was doing a great job at keeping up with his root touchups. he probably got it done every two weeks religiously now.

" dr. ratio ? " you repeated his official title weakly, finally. you weren't surprised that he was who he was, no, that wasn't it. maybe it was just the nostalgia, coming face to face with the man who had so quickly and unwittingly became your first love, even if you never openly said it out loud to him. " you, err, decided to drop the eyeshadow, i guess ? "

in a moment, veritas' face paled, and he found himself at a loss for words. " ..yes, i did. that was a long time ago, i'm not the same person i used to be. "

" i think you're exactly the same, " you cut him off, shaking your head with a little smile on your face. " i mean, you don't have the dark eyeshadow anymore, and you smell like you shower now. you probably have those fancy baths with the bath bombs and flowers and milk to make your skin soft, am i right ? but you're still you, you know what i'm saying ? pre or post garage band. "

veritas seemed to calm down with your words, although it was clear that he wasn't happy that you still recalled that garage band that he so desperately wanted to erase from everyone's memories. and yet, he found himself chuckling softly, shaking his head. " out of all of the things i've created, i've yet to create something that entirely erases specific memories from people. how i wish i could make you forget all that you saw back then. "

" well, i remember. and i don't ever intend to forget, " you joked softly, tentatively stepping over the big question. did that night mean anything ? did any of it mean anything, actually ? sure, you can say that he's the same man, but is he really ? the man back then would've stumbled over his own feet to get you to look at him, and you found it so cute that you couldn't help but give in and fall in love with him. you'd always regretted not telling him, but here you were, with what could perhaps be a second chance just waiting on the horizon for you. if you played your cards right, if veritas wanted you to play your hand. " what happened ? "

" i grew up, " he responded, as if he had anticipated this question, something that you knew he likely had. " i couldn't just stay that way forever. people.. didn't respect me enough to hear what i was saying. "

" do you miss it ? "

" no, not really. "

you held your cards closer to your chest. that was a pretty clear answer to any of your questions so far, which might hurt if you gave yourself time to think about it, but you wouldn't. instead, you just gave him a silly little grin. " pity, i thought you were rather cute with your fake tattoos. do you still have the tongue piercing ? "

veritas paused for a moment, before opening his mouth, showing off the little ball on his tongue. " i thought about letting it close up, but decided against it. " you remembered so clearly how that piercing felt against your- now was not the moment to think about things like that.

" why do you still dye your hair ? " you asked, trying to think of something else other than his piercing at the moment. " not that i don't like the indigo. i think it suits you. "

" i believe it's just become a necessary part of my appearance. i don't think i look right with just brown hair, but that's subjective. now i have the proper schedule to keep up with care, so i make sure its always taken care of. " veritas doesn't sound awkward any more answering any of your questions. on the contrary, it looks like he's enjoying it, just a little bit. although you knew better than to mention that out loud. no matter what his appearance was, you knew the core of his personality was still the exact same. some things never change.

you felt so stuck in the past, unable to distinct this veritas from the man bumbling over his own feet so long ago. but you had to admit, veritas still made your heart beat so wildly out of your chest. you weren't sure if it was the memories, or just who he was as a person. " well, that's a lot of questions just to say that i think you look great, no matter what you wear or how you present yourself. appearances don't really matter at the end of the day. not to those who really care. "

" thank you, " veritas couldn't stop a small smile from forming on his face, and for a second you saw him again, the golden retriever of a person, hidden beneath layers. " ...would you like to catch up over coffee later ? "

you couldn't stop yourself from laughing a little bit, raising an eyebrow. " veritas, i thought you didn't like coffee ? "

" oh... well, my tastes have changed, too. " what a liar. maybe he really hasn't changed all that much at the end of the day.

— ♡ rationaliity 2024

[cyberwhumper]

 Mine. Mine. Mine.

        Anger coils low in Rex’s abdomen, hot and dangerous, fueled by the scent of blood and sweat and fear hanging thick in the air.

     ��  Vicky looks like shit.

        He’s splayed out on the concrete, wadded up and tossed there like a greasy rag from his garage, eyes closed. Shivering. There’s blood winding a nice little lazy river down from his nose, of course, glazing his lips and collecting in the hollow between his collarbones. A couple of his fingers are busted— crushed under a steel-toed boot, probably—and his tank top is shredded, yanked halfway up his ribs, showing off rows upon rows of welts in a variety of fun colors, like “internal bleeding blue” and “backhanded mahogany” and “taser.”

        Chains, Rex realizes. Dominik beat him with the pit chains.

        The anger boils hotter. Marks all over Vic’s bronze skin, bruises and burns, worked over and left to cool on the pavement like a particularly good-looking piece of roadkill. Dominik’s marks. Dominik’s hands on Vic, making him bleed and scream and beg like a dog.

        There’s only one person who gets to do that to his boy.

        Mine. Mine. Mine.

        He takes a knee beside Vic, forcing himself to be gentle as he runs his knuckles up and down Vic’s cheekbone, smearing blood around like fingerpaint. The reek of cortisol and adrenaline makes his nose wrinkle, and he growls deep in his chest. Vicky’s eyelids flutter, those dark lashes just barely lifting.

        “Mmnh. R. Rex?”

        “M’here, baby.”

        A shit-eating grin spreads lazily across his face, the diamonds in his teeth looking like rubies instead.  “Get me…get me a fuckin’. Cig, would ya?”

        Rex huffs a bitter sort of laugh. “Not yet, pup. Getcha cleaned up first.” He strokes lank hair away from Vic’s face, watching those dark glassy eyes struggle to focus. There’s a mark seared into Vic’s throat, he notices, the skin crispy-raw over purpling bruises, shaped like Dominik’s silver hand.

        The anger reaches a fever pitch.

        His jaws are locked around Vic’s windpipe before he can say “I love you.” Triplicate fangs sink easily into wrecked skin, hungry, tongue laving wherever it can reach to fill Rex’s mouth with the taste of meat and metal and mate, his mate, his and no one else’s. Under him, Vic gasps, whole body shuddering, pretty little choked-off whimpers leaking from his throat as easily as the blood is.

 “Fuck, Rex, fuckin’—nnh—stop.” But the way his good hand goes to the back of Rex’s head, fingers tangling into shaggy hair to press Rex deeper, pulling him in, makes the words ring more than a little hollow.  

Mine. Mine. Mine.

 Rex doesn’t let up until Vic passes out. Slowly, he relaxes, disengaging his bite so he can gather up his boy’s broken body in his arms, lapping at the deep puncture wounds all the way back to their room. True to his word, he gets Vic cleaned up, going back over Dominik’s work with wet washcloths and lips and tongue, overwriting the damage with bandages and tender bruises of his own. Vic’s limp and soft and perfect beneath him, hair curling all pretty on the pillows as it dries, eyes half-lidded, breathing slow and easy thanks to the massive dose of tranqs Rex shot into his arm. The smell of silver on his skin is fading, replaced by Rex’s scent, their scent, aftershave and cheap detergent and wolf fur.

“Take care of you,” Rex mumbles, nose buried in Vicky’s hair. The burn on his throat is imperceptible, now, replaced with a perfect deep bruise, as stark and bloody and claiming as the one Rex placed there when they first became mates.

Vic hums, burrowing closer against Rex’s body. “Mm. Y…yours…”

Mine. Mine and no one else’s.

[Fic by the exceptionally talented @bxtterflystxtches , who I have the honor of collaborating with for this event. Please show him some love!]

[OC INDEX]

COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN!

Tag list: @whumpsday // @demondamage // @squidlife-crisis // @whumpedydump // @cyborg0109 // @whumpfish // @astrowhump // @the-scrapegoat // @whatwhumpcomments // @dustbunnywhump // @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question // @dokidokisadness // @moss-tombstone // @lambofmine // @maracujatangerine // @pinkraindropsfell // @writereleaserepeat // @blood-and-regrets // @littlespacecastle // @snakebites-and-ink // @unforgiven235 // @lonesome--hunter // @atomicsandwichprince // @writereleaserepeat // @whatamidoingherehelpme // @skittles-the-whumpee // @the-blind-one-speaks // @i-eat-worlds // @devourerofcheesecake // @theauthorintraining // @otterfrost // @mommymarichatfurever // @whumpifi // @catnykit // @bitchaknso // @softmutt444 // @yet-another-heathen // @blackbirdsinatrenchcoat // @burnticedlatte // @violent-ultraviolet // @limitlesstrash17 // @inspiral-rl // @coyotehusk // @mis-graves // @caffeinatedscorpio // @defire // @badluck990 // @unforgivenn //

If you’re interested in being added to the tag list, please let me know!

[i-literally-cant-with-this]

MY PERSONAL HC's about when you and Hanma fuck (bc ppl seem to like to disagree with things that have no real hold, in this reality anyway - if you don't agree with it or like it, then probably stop reading it 😉)

A/N ::: Currently expanding my men dicktionary. And we're on H now.

C/W ::: Lots of hitting, slapping, rough sex all around? Ideas anyway. MDNI under the cut, please.

罪 罰

You don't know what it is, but you want to slap him around. His cock, his balls, his ass and his face. You kinda just want to hurt the guy. This also sits well with him because he's got a fighter's heart and just loves the idea of sharing that part of him with you as well. He really likes it when you dig your nails into his back or his chest. Depending on who is riding who that round.

He lowkey likes it when you slap him. He likes the look you get in your eyes right before you smack him across the face. He's learned to detect it a few seconds before it happens. But he just can't seem to dodge out of the way fast enough. Darn.

He talked you into getting 罪 (SIN) and 罰 (PUNISHMENT) tattooed on your ass cheeks, too (each one the opposite side as his hands - he feels closer to you when he can see them on your booty) . He likes to fuck you from behind and watch them jiggle around while you're bouncin' back on him.

You learn shibari so you can tie him up and hang him from the rafters in your garage (don't worry, it's a finished garage. heater. fridge. microwave. the works.) and torture his naked ass for however long you both can keep up with it. You don't want to venture into that part yet. You're self-conscious about your body and don't like the idea of not being able to cover yourself at a moment's notice. (Despite Hanma's constant reassurance that you're beautiful to him and 'that's all that fuckin' matters'.)

He learns to tolerate you playing with just the head of his cock. But sometimes it goes too far and he cums without your explicit permission.

Uh-oh.

That sort of things calls for a major ass whoopin'. He's so red and welt-y by the time you're done with the paddle against his pale skin.

But he still won't let an apology slip passed his kiss swollen lips. That leads you to believe that all the crying out and calling you a crazy bitch is just for show. But you like the intensity of it.

You lick his asshole one night without telling him first. He clenched his cheeks together so fast he almost caught your nose.

2 weeks later, though? Hanma was asking if you'd "do that thing with your tongue on his hole again."

Of course you say yes.

You sketch out and have something built that would essentially box him in. But it would be made out of open wire so you could stick your fingers/mouth/tongue/toys through it and get to him.He is more excited about it than you thought he'd be, which makes you really giddy about having full control.

The longer you two are together, the more physical things get. Not violent, per se, but you both definitely get off on poppin' the other a few times.

Your friends have commented on mysterious bruises that you both show up with at the next gathering or dinner you all meet up for.

Hanma just looks over at you, puts his huge hand on your thigh, gives you a couple of squeezes, and kisses your cheek.

"I ran into her fist, but I'm fine. Really."

Taglist ::: @arlerts-angel @kazutora-kurokawa @viburnt @darkstarlight82

[fw00shy]

Accio is the only spell I know

part 2 of Slow Days, Bad Habits because I wanted to know what happened next

When Draco took someone home in LA, there was no cobblestone path, no chirpy doormat to prime guests as they walked up to his door. Instead, they entered through the garage and walked past the shelves of ancestral junk straight into his living room, where he forgot to clean up the takeaway from last night. It felt a bit like exposing all his guts to a stranger, and Draco blushed, plucking a fortune cookie wrapper from the carpet while Harry was distracted by a set of photographs hung up on the wall.

"You were so young in these," Harry said. He pointed to the one in the middle. "This is from first year, yeah? When you had your hair slicked back like a helmet."

"I'll never forgive Mother for that haircut," Draco said. He peered over Harry's shoulder and shivered with disgust. He wished he'd never been that boy.

"Oh come on," Harry turned, grinning. "It wasn't so bad. I thought it looked rather fetching, actually."

Draco raised a brow. "Really?"

"Really — well, I'd never met someone so blond in my life before. The perpetual sneer, however —"

"Let's not talk about the past," Draco said. He crossed the living room to the kitchen, his fingers drumming over the wine rack. "Cabernet? Pinot? Or, I've got a chard in the ice box —"

"Any will do," Harry said. He'd followed him into the kitchen and pulled out a chair from the little table in there.

"Oh," Draco said, watching Harry sit down at the scratched up table. Harry's skin looked sallow under the harsh lighting. Draco had thought they'd be in the living room — he hadn't thought — if he had known, he'd bought better lighting for the kitchen. He hadn't thought this through at all, this was a mistake, truly —

"Is everything alright?" Harry asked.

"Sure," Draco said. "Sure, let me just pop the cork—" he took out his wand — "Accio!" 

The wand flew across the room and hit Harry between the eyes. Draco watched with horror as the spot welted up and reddened an increasingly concerning shade of crimson.

"If you were trying to kill me —" Harry started, rather churlishly. 

"I wasn't!"

"— you missed. Again." Then he laughed and Accio'd the wine to himself, where he drank it straight out of the bottle.

"That's disgusting," Draco said, but he took the bottle and swigged when Harry offered it back. 

"It's lonely in LA," Harry said. He sighed, sinking into the chair. "I've been here four years and nobody knows who I am, which is great for the most part, but then there are moments when I feel — I feel like a part of me's gone missing. Like I look in the mirror and I can't remember who I used to be." He looked over at Draco. "I'm not like you." He smiled. "I change wherever I go. You haven't changed at all."

Draco tensed. "Let's not talk about —"

"The past, I know, I know," Harry said. "Say, you go to that farmer's market a lot?"

"Every week," Draco said.

"Even when it's raining?"

"It never rains here. That's the best part about LA. Sunshine every day whether you're up for it or not."

"And you like the sun?"

Draco wrinkled his nose. "Not really, no."

"You really haven't changed," Harry chuckled.

Draco frowned. "I don't know why you keep saying that."

"Saying what?"

"Saying that I haven't changed. That's — I don't like that. I've changed. I'm not Draco Malfoy anymore—"

"You've changed your name?"

"What? No. You know what I mean. I'm not the same boy who — who was a bully and a snob —"

"Still a bit of a snob. Not that I mind." He raised the bottle. "Snobs serve great wine."

"Are you even listening to me, Potter?"

Harry tipped back in his chair and grinned. "You really haven't changed a bit."

"Look here, Potter, I'm trying to apologise and —"

"Apology accepted," Harry said.

Draco blinked. "What?"

"Besides," Harry continued. "I think you've got my words all mixed up. Which, again — typical Malfoy behaviour. What I mean is you're still the same inside. You've changed your mind but not yourself. Even if you believe different things now — better things, in my opinion — you're still a posh git."

Relief spread warm across Draco's chest. "So you don't hate me?" 

"No, on the contrary. Being here's the first time I've felt at home in a long time. And you've still got that —" He blushed, looking away.

"Got what?"

" — nevermind."

"Tell me."

"No, I —" Harry's blush deepened. "It's a secret."

"I can keep a secret," Draco said. He lowered his voice. "Whisper it in my ear."

"Okay," Harry said. He leaned forward, cupping Draco's ear with his hand, his breath hot. "You've still got that cute dimple in your cheek."

Draco sat up, his hands flying to his burning cheeks. "Merlin!" he squeaked. Then he asked, maybe a little too eagerly, "Really?"

"You're so funny," Harry said. "Really."

"I've got a secret too," Draco said. 

"Whisper it to me," Harry said, offering up his ear.

"Okay," Draco said. He scooched their chairs closer, his hand on Harry's thigh as he leaned in and said, "You haven't changed either. You still drive me insane."

Harry's eyes squinted in confusion. "So does that mean—"

Draco kissed him on the nose. Then he pressed their mouths together, his hands on Harry's waist.

"I never know what you mean," Harry said, breaking away with a ragged breath. "At least, not at first."

Draco closed his eyes and breathed against Harry's neck. He thought about what Harry said, about how he'd changed his mind but not himself. Why had he spent so many years denying who he used to be? That Draco who made those mistakes was the same Draco who learned from them. One could not exist without the other. Was that so bad?

"But do you know what I mean now?" Draco asked.

"Yes," Harry said. "Do you?"

"Yes," Draco said. Harry's arms came up around Draco. Draco sighed, pulling him in closer.  And in that moment, he finally felt like himself again.

[alintheshitposter]

Ich möchte bitte über Vladis grandioses Spiel in der Szene in HdS, in der er Pia und Esther die Wahrheit über den Tag in der Garage erzählt, reden. Wie er einfach die ganze Zeit so 🤏🏻 kurz davor ist, zu heulen UND WIE MAN DAS HÖRT BRO SEINE STIMME ZERREISST MIR DAS HERZ. JEDES MAL. Wirklich eine großartige schauspielerische Leistung von Herrn Burlakov. Ich würde ihn dafür gerne mit allen möglichen Preisen dieser Welt auszeichnen. Dieser Mann hat das sowasvon verdient!

[techniktagebuch]

August 2024

Ich baue mir eine Band

Ich besitze eine zweistellige Anzahl an Musikinstrumenten, die meisten davon funktionieren, und ich kann einige davon ein bisschen spielen. Aber eigentlich will ich in einer Band sein. Oder in einem Ensemble. Irgendwas. Dafür gibt es genau zwei Optionen, die eine, ein anderer Mensch zu werden und Freunde zu haben. Die andere: Overdubbing, das heißt, alles selber machen. 

Seit Jahren spiele ich mit “Digital Audio Workstations” (DAW, bekanntes Beispiel ist Apples “Garage Band”), ohne damit aus dem Anfangsstadium rauszukommen. Es passiert einfach zuviel in dieser Software, als dass es Spaß machen könnte. Der Workflow fühlt sich überhaupt nicht so an wie in einer Band zu sein. Es ist eher wie grafisches Programmieren, und dafür habe ich mir kein Klavier gekauft. Seit Jahren suche ich nach dem einfachsten DAW der Welt, aber eigentlich suche ich nach etwas anderem.

Dann stieß ich durch Zufall auf Tutorials von KT Tunstall, die bei Livekonzerten mit einem Looper arbeitet. Genaugenommen mit einem Akai Headrush version 2, diesem hier.

Das ist nicht KTs Headrush, sondern meiner. Das Gerät wirkte in den Tutorials so großartig altmodisch, es ist aus Metall, kompakt, aber angenehm schwer. Ich wollte genau dasselbe. Außerdem wird es nicht mehr gebaut, ich erstand es auf dem Gebrauchtwarenmarkt für Studiohardware. Es kann drei verschiedene Dinge, aber ich brauche es, genau wie KT, nur zum Loopen. Dafür braucht man nur zwei (ZWEI) Knöpfe, die beiden am unteren Ende, und sie werden mit den Füßen bedient. Rechts ist aufnehmen, links abspielen. Ein Kabel geht rein, vom Instrument oder Mikrofon, und ein Kabel geht raus, zum Verstärker und Lautsprecher oder Kopfhörer. Insgesamt kann es 12 Sekunden aufzeichnen, zum Beispiel ein In-die-Hände-Klatschen. Dann spielt man drüber, zum Beispiel Fingerschnippen. Dann wieder, zum Beispiel zwei Akkorde. Und so weiter. Unendlich viele Schichten. Es dauert ein paar Abende, das Timing präzise hinzukriegen, aber selbst das fühlt sich schon an wie in einer Band spielen.

Jetzt muss ich nur noch die Band aufbauen. Dafür brauche ich einen Verstärker, ein Mikrofon, einen kleinen Mixer, und Instrumente. Und Kabel, Kabel sind überhaupt das wesentliche Element. Man braucht immer noch ein Kabel, das man noch nicht hat. Das große Keyboard geht direkt in den Mixer, das Mikrofon auch. Genau wie die Stompbox. Die MIDI-Instrumente gehen zum iPad, das wiederum in den Mixer geht. Der Mixer hat eigentlich nur die Funktion, alle Geräusche zu vereinen, und zwar mit Lautstärkereglern an jedem Eingang. Dann schickt der Mixer alles an den Looper, der wiederum zum Verstärker liefert. Fertig ist die Band.

Mit Hilfe des Loopers kann ich mir jetzt in wenigen Sekunden einen wirren Hintergrund erzeugen, auf dem ich improvisieren kann. Es hilft, wenn der Hintergrund nur ein, zwei Akkorde hat. Vorschläge für Songs dieser Art nehme ich gern entgegen. “Love You Madly” von Cake habe ich schon. “Seven Nation Army” auch.

Moment, was ist noch gleich eine Stompbox? Mein neues Lieblingsinstrument: Von außen sieht es aus wie ein Holzklotz, und viel mehr ist es auch nicht. Drinnen ist irgendein elektrisches Element, das elektrische Bumm-Laute erzeugt, wenn man mit dem Fuß drauf haut. Eine total einfache Bassdrum. Oder eine Stompbox. Ich fand meine Stompbox auf Facebook Marketplace, und kaufte sie auf dem Markt um die Ecke von einem schottischen Gitarristen.

(Aleks Scholz)

[salach]

2023's RWB by Akira Nakai San @ 911 Garage. Day 2 Łomianki / Poland

[violetsandfluff]

Tidy Little Secrets: Part II

previous part // next part // series masterlist // my masterlist

tw: SLOWWW BURN (it picks up soon I promise), sex (in different parts), sexual tension, age gap, allusion to smut, potentially triggering dream scenarios, and other sensitive topics such as decapitated chicken snow globes (you heard it here first). that said, enjoy!!

wc: 5.1k

Your visit with Harry left adrenaline coursing through your veins. Your heart was pumping blood through your body three times faster than usual to support the overtime your brain was working. Your focus was hardly set on the road, or the speed limit, but rather on the green-eyed, broad-statured man with the gleaming mansion uptown.

A cloak of obsession veiled your mind, and a mound of heat was positioned permanently between your legs, intensifying every time you recalled the dream you’d experienced as you snoozed involuntarily on Harry’s sofa. Your feral mind raced as your thoughts strayed to the glimpse of his bedroom you’d caught. It was some sort of unsaid truth that there had been many gorgeous girls in his bed and a meek, meager section of your mind couldn’t help but wish you could one day be among them. For now, though, you were a lowly housekeeper, but that was better than nothing.

You made it home much more quickly than you’d arrived. Letting yourself into your dingy apartment, you were filled with a mild sense of disappointment. After experiencing Harry’s grand mansion, your abode felt like a sewer. Still, though, it was home. It housed your possessions and maintained a steady temperature, which was all one really needed. The first thing you did after you set down your bags was call your sister. You had a lot of steam to blow off after your excursion.

Your phone vibrated as you willed your sister to answer. Much to your relief, she answered on the last ring, anxious to hear about your new job. You were talking a mile a minute before she was able to get more than a cheery hello in.

You told her about the mansion, and how pristine the neighborhood was. His kitchen, garage, flower garden, and secret room all made their way into your conversation. You spoke in vivid, ecstatic detail about his living room, his bookshelf, his floors, and his hair. You only left out the minor parts where you had had a wet dream on his couch and disobeyed him by entering his bedroom. Nataly listened intently to every detail until, at last, you stopped to take a breath.

“His suit was so crisp and proper-looking and his hair, Nat. If only you could see his hair!”

“Wow,” she breathed. “I told you it would be a good job to take.”

“He’s so hot,” you whined, “and he pays me so well! I’m so incredibly grateful he hired me.” You disclosed several more details regarding your pay and employer, all of which Nataly absorbed wordlessly.

“Even I don’t get paid that much,” she said faintly, trying not to let jealousy overtake her excitement for you. “Good for you! And I’m sure him being hot makes the job better?”

“It’s distracting at best,” you grimaced. “Either way, though, I’m so glad you opened my mind to the job. You deserve all of my thanks.”

“Aww, Y/N.” Nataly was touched. “Sisters for sisters, am I right?”

“Of course,” you replied happily. “I’d never let you down.”

“Nor would I you.”

A welt of giddy ecstasy formed deep inside you. She had been there for you throughout your childhood, demonstrating the tough love you needed to thrive in the long run. She had been like a parent to you when you were younger, but now that you were both older and living independently, you were more friends than relatives.

This proved to be quite useful in situations such as this, a job search gone a million times better than imaginable.

You went to bed with a stomach full of butterflies, imagining with your overactive brain what interactions with Harry tomorrow would bring.

Snippets of your wet dream tormented your subconscious, weaving themselves into a paradisal, sex-etched dream in which you were Harry’s housewife. You lived a life cleaning your shared home by day and embracing him by night while he worshiped your work and your body. He told you how precious your children were and how he needed more of them. He told you he wanted a dozen little y/ns running around, playing with each other, and being downright adorable.

“You make the garden grow beautifully, my love,” Harry praised you as he knelt before you, his head dipping under your skirt. “And kneeling before you, I can see how you make the floors gleam. Plus, as we tucked in the children at bedtime, I realized how much they all resemble you. They have your eyes, your smile, and your heart. I’m going to need a million more.” He ducked his head out from under your skirt to examine your face as it beamed down at him, but it didn’t take long for him to begin devouring you.

“You’re so strong, mama,” he cooed, his face buried deeply into your pussy. You could feel his hot breath as it was muffled in your wet folds. “You do so much, and you do all of it well. You make beautiful babies as well.” He smiled a dimpled smile that only your clit could see before continuing. ���It makes me feel like I need a thousand more. I know I’m busy but I need to show you how much I love you.”

“I know you love me, H.”

“Please, darling. You deserve the world.”

“You are the world.”

A gravelly moan clawed its way out of Harry’s throat as he continued thrusting his fingers into you. “Way too good for me,” he groaned. “You look so pretty, you’re so nice, you’re all tight for me and y’taste amazing,” he breathed. “You stand up to my cock so well. Do you want it in your mouth or your cunt?”

Your eyes were brimming with tears by the time you woke up. You hated it. You wished so desperately to ward off the remnants of the dream. Your pussy felt tender even thinking about the words he had spoken to you. You couldn’t remember much of what he had told you, but whatever it was had to be effortlessly sexy, just like him. The vision of him kneeling before you as he praised your pussy was a whole new level.

Harry would make a wonderful husband and father, there was no doubt in your mind. However, you hated the way he made you feel. After having met him less than twenty-four hours earlier, you had already had a wet dream about him on his sofa, spent an entire afternoon daydreaming about him ravishing you, and spent a night dreaming of his children. Anyone who could rewire your brain as such was dangerous.

You replayed every second of your encounters with him until a glance at your alarm clock told you that you had forgotten to set it the night before, and thus were running late. With a sigh of resignation, you slipped out of bed, not bothering to make it. After all, you’d be back in it the moment you returned home.

A trip to your wardrobe informed you that laundry would be a priority when you arrived home, but you were able to scrape together an outfit that consisted of leggings, a short-sleeved t-shirt, and an oversized hoodie. Fuck provocative skirts.

You gathered your hair into a messy knot at the back of your head and applied your makeup as well as you could through your haste. As the cliche stated, haste did indeed make waste. When applying your mascara, your hand slipped, smearing black paste from your lashes onto your undereye.

Fixing it was inconvenient at best, but the whole situation was a minor hitch compared to what was to come later in the day.

The drive to Harry’s house with the windows down and the radio blasting wasn’t half bad. You put on your favorite feel-good playlist and let the music wash over you as you drove. The melodies you’d grown to know and love filled your ears and your heart. You couldn’t fight the urge to smile foolishly.

The drive was long enough to rid your mind of any negativity and recharge you so you arrived feeling your best.

Harry was waiting for you just inside the door when you walked in. He greeted you with a pleasant smile and a subtle wink. “Good morning, love,” he smiled, standing stiffly a ways off. “How was your night?”

“Exhausting,” you groaned, nervously elaborating as you saw his face twist in confusion. “It was just a dream. I wasn’t doing anything else,” you explained. “Nothing I shouldn’t have been,” you mused under your breath.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he empathized, clearly oblivious to your latter quip. “Care to talk about it? I have time.”

“N-no,” you stammered, “there’s no need for that. Do you have any jobs for me today?”

“Eager to work, are we, darling?” Before you could put a word in crosswise, he continued. “I’m not sure that I have much for you to do today. I’ve got dinner in the fridge, don’t worry about making anything. Just do whatever you see fit.”

“This place is immaculate,” you frowned, momentarily forgetting the professional demeanor you were expected to uphold.

“It’s not always this orderly,” Harry chuckled fondly. “You’ll have your share of messes, I’m afraid. However, if you must do something, I have a collection of vases in the kitchen that could use a good cleaning.”

“I don’t mind!” You flashed him a winning smile. “After all, messes are what I signed up for!”

“There are a lot of vases, darling.”

You poked your head into the kitchen, gawking at the open cabinets and mountain of vases on the counters and floor. “That is a lot of vases!”

“You don’t expect the flowers to pot themselves, do you?” Harry joked. “It’s alright if you can’t finish them today. I completely understand. It’s taken me a year and… I have yet to get to them.”

“I’m not complaining,” you smiled pleasantly, cracking a smile at Harry’s comment.

A soft hum brewed in Harry’s throat as he contemplated adding something, ultimately deciding not to. “Call me if you need anything, love, but I’m sure all you’ll need is in my trusty old closet.” He beckoned towards the crawl space under the regally ascending staircase. “I have lunch for you in the fridge. Any other questions?”

“I don’t think so,” you said, trying to maintain a cheerful tone. “You had better be off.”

“Are you kicking me out of my own house?” Harry placed his hands on his hips in a teasing attempt to appear cross.

Shocked by his sudden change in emotion, you stepped back and stammered out a panicked reply.

“I was only joking, love. You’re right. I can’t be late for my own job, can I?”

“Have a good day, Mr… um, Harry.”

“You as well, Miss… Y/N.”

~~~~~

A trip around Harry’s mansion told you that finding an area to clean would be harder than expected. There were a few shelves you could dust or a few books to rearrange, but that would take you an hour at most. What were you supposed to do while Harry worked an entire nine-hour day? You made your way to the closet beneath the stairs and retrieved a feather duster.

Hesitantly, you began dusting the various paraphernalia you found around his house; books on shelves, lamps, and the surprising amount of snow globes you found lined up on window sills, notoriously collecting dust.

While the quantity of snow globes caught your attention, the content of some of them was particularly strange. There were some normal globes that contained winter animals and snow, and others that contained galoshes-clad children and snowmen. Alongside these were more obscure choices for snow globes; a poop emoji decked out in Christmas lights, a cactus wearing a jacket, and a decapitated chicken holding its own head to name a few.

After making sure every table, window sill, and trinket was dusted to perfection, you knew you should start on the vases, a task you absolutely dreaded. Your hands trembled increasingly as you neared the army of vases. There had to be at least one hundred of them. Your stomach was filled with dread, knowing all too well that they were all equally valuable as they were fragile. You set your mind to cleaning the outsides with a wet, sudsy rag and the inside with the same rag or a bottle cleaner, depending on the size of the opening. You drew in a deep breath to calm your mind and steady your hands. If they went on trembling as they had been, you’d surely drop every vase you dared to touch.

The sizes of the vases varied, as well as the height, colors, and patterns. Some of the vases were round and smaller than your hand while others were thin, tall, and tapered. They ranged in color and material from pure, spotless crystal to eccentrically painted clay pots. They were all beautiful in their own ways, but some were definitely more eye-catching, including crystal vases with ornate detailing etched into them. You assumed those to be the more valuable, more fragile vases.

You consoled yourself with the thought that if you were to shatter a vase in a freak turn of events, the money for a replacement would be withdrawn from your paycheck, which was more than plentiful to begin with. Reassured by your worst-case scenario, you grabbed a pair of tight gloves from the closet under the stairs. They proved to be more than helpful in providing grip to your fingers, which would have been too slippery alone.

You began with a broad rectangular vase that appeared sound and sturdy. You sponged down the outside before inserting the bottle cleaner and cleaning out any dust that had accumulated inside. You held onto its neck as if your life depended on it, because, in essence, it did. Your self-esteem was at stake.

Washing the vases wasn’t nearly as nerve-wracking as you’d anticipated. Eventually, you fell into a rhythm of polishing their outsides, thrusting a bottle cleaner inside, and rinsing them. The idea of Harry coming home to a counter full of perfectly clean vases motivated you. You couldn’t help but crave the praise he’d bestowed upon you in your dream. The view of impeccably arranged flowers thriving in his backyard made the task much more bearable.

Just as your confidence was in full bloom, your mind began to wander from the task at hand to a daydream similar to those you’d experienced the day before. Memories of your dreams wore at your stomach like a butterfly-infested pit. You tried to shake them, but you dropped a vase in the process. You jumped back in alarm as the painted terra cotta pot crashed to the floor, crumbling into an array of brightly colored pieces.

Your teeth sunk into your lip as you brainstormed ways to tell Harry that you had broken his vase. It was only your first day on the job; far too early to mess up so royally. Once your wits were gathered back up, you tiptoed carefully to the closet under the stairs in search of a broom and dustpan. You swept up the shards of pottery as carefully as you could before withdrawing a mop and bucket from the closet and cleaning the floor thoroughly.

~~~

After three more days of cleaning Harry’s house, a pit still grew in your stomach every time you wondered how you would break the news of the broken vase to Harry. Would he be upset or would he laugh it off? Would he take the money for a replacement out of your paycheck or fire you? You swore to yourself that you wouldn’t let your mind wander to worst-case scenarios. But it had been days since the vase was broken. Surely he would know that you’d delayed admitting this to him for one reason or another.

He had praised your work in cleaning the remaining vases, rewarding you with a glass of his favorite wine. The thought of telling him now that you’d shattered one of his precious vases was daunting. You shouldn’t have accepted his reward. You hoped he wouldn’t recall his kind action after the fact, but there was only so much you could about it now.

You distracted yourself with daydreams until he returned and your conscience would force you to admit your fault to him.

The yearning, lustful side of your soul longed to bear his children. You could imagine an army of children in the kitchen, making a mess out of cookie dough, or outside in his garden playing. You could see kids bouncing on their beds against your judgment and drawing masterpieces on the basement walls. These daydreams came and went throughout the day as you cleaned vases and dusted bookshelves.

Though it felt wrong to imagine Harry’s house filled with your children, you caught yourself smiling foolishly to yourself every time the thoughts crossed your mind. In fact, you were so enthralled by your fantasies, you didn’t hear the door open.

You were positioned in front of one of Harry’s numerous floor-to-ceiling bookshelves with a feather duster in hand, clearly serving no purpose as it hung limply at your side.

“D’you like books?” a low voice rasped from behind you.

You whirled around to find Harry leaning against the doorframe with half of his body in the living room.

“What?”

“Nothing, darling. I just asked if you liked books. I saw you examining the titles and assumed you were interested.”

“I do,” you responded slowly, feeling his eyes on you. “You’re home early.”

“No, ‘m not,” Harry replied. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I brought dinner if you’re hungry.”

“Oh,” you stood awkwardly by the bookcase you had been “dusting” as you racked your mind for quick excuses to escape.

“Y’don’t have to stay f’you don’t want to,” Harry assured you. “Just know there’s more than enough to go around.”

The hopeless romantic in you yearned for more time with him. Any time could potentially turn into a night, after all. On the other hand, the more reasonable side of you told you to leave. You had been thinking about him all day, in ways he could never imagine. If your tongue were to slip after a drink, your cover would be blown and you could lose your job after barely having secured it for a full week.

“I’ll stay,” you decided softly. Your innermost conscience let out a howl of disdain.

Harry’s face broke into a broad grin. “Thank you, love. I know I haven’t really gotten to know you, and since my house has been getting to know you, I figured I should too.”

You nodded awkwardly, watching helplessly as he withdrew a styrofoam takeout container from inside a flimsy plastic bag.

“I just got pasta. I hope that’s okay with you.”

You let out a soft hum similar to a chuckle before feeling his gaze fixed on you once more. A wave of heat rushed to your cheeks as you scrambled to give him your approval.

“Come to the kitchen.”

You followed Harry through the narrow hallway that led to the kitchen. He removed two plates and wine glasses from a cupboard as you watched, twirling your hair uncomfortably.

“How much d’you want?” Harry asked, beckoning for you to join him at the counter with the food. “It’s pretty filling.”

“Not a whole lot,” you responded, but the closer you got, the better the food looked and smelled.

“Which is how much, love?” Harry pressed, lowering a mass of noodles onto your plate. “Not a whole lot like this? Less? More?”

“Like that,” you said meekly.

“You can always have more, darling,” he reassured you. “Wine?”

“A little bit.”

You nodded contentedly as you watched him pour two glasses of deep red wine dish up his own pasta. “We can eat in the living room,” he decided. “That’s what I do most of the time.”

“Such a gorgeous kitchen and dining table and you don’t use it?” you asked without thinking, your voice filled with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

Harry let out a rolling laugh. “That’s why it’s so spotless,” he explained. “If you want, we can eat in here.”

“You can choose. I honestly don’t care.”

“Let’s eat in the living room,” Harry concluded. “We can watch tv or read books or just talk; whatever y’want, love.”

Your heart fluttered as he spoke. You followed him into the living room, where he sunk comfortably into the woven, cream-colored upholstery of the loveseat.

“Sit anywhere y’like.” He made a broad, sweeping gesture across the room. You sat down tentatively on the sofa opposite his.

The two of you ate in comfortable silence for a moment before he broke the silence. “What kind of books d’you like, Y/N?”

“I like any kind of book,” you replied after swallowing the hardly-chewed bite of food in your mouth. “I read whatever books I can get my hands on.”

“I’m kind of the same way.” He shifted his weight from one hip to the other, crossing his left leg over his right. “I like older stories.”

“Such as?”

“Shakespeare-era stuff. I like tragedies. And romances.”

“And murder mysteries?” Your mind flashed to the murder mystery of his you had picked up in his second living room on Monday. You hoped you weren’t being too blunt.

“That’s more of a guilty pleasure,” he admitted with a sheepish smile through a bite of pasta. “I’m reading one now if that interests you.”

You let out a pleasant hum as you feigned intrigue. “Is it good?”

“Yes.” He aimed his twinkling eyes down at his plate. “Like I said, a guilty pleasure.”

“I’ve never seen someone so embarrassed to like mysteries,” you remarked innocently. “This is coming from a girl who listens to true-crime podcasts before bed.”

Harry’s eyes flashed up to you with a look of amused bewilderment. “That’s a new one to me.”

You smiled shyly as your cheeks flushed.

“True crime, hm?” Harry eyed you playfully as he took another bite of pasta. “Does it put you to sleep?”

“Kind of,” you replied bashfully, letting out a helpless laugh as you were suddenly stricken with self-consciousness regarding what you’d shared.

“No judgment, dear, its alright. I’ve got my fair share of interesting habits.”

“Oh?” you quirked an eyebrow, willing him to continue.

“You’ve seen my garden?”

“Of course. It’s beautiful!”

He nodded, ducking his head slightly. “I get up early every morning to tend the flowers before the sun rises.”

“That’s early.”

He nodded. “I suppose that’s not too strange. The world is filled with its early birds.”

“I guess,” you nearly whispered, trying only to fill the silence. “Your garden is beautiful. I assumed you had a gardener to tend it.”

“Didn’t see me as the gardening type, eh?”

You stuttered out an incoherent response, but Harry just laughed.

“That’s alright, love. Neither did I, at first. Maybe one day you can come early and help me. Maybe spend the night? Believe me, that was merely the tip of the iceberg regarding my interesting mannerisms. But we can save those for another night.”

It was all you could do to finish chewing your bite before you swallowed it.

Harry’s eyes were angled skillfully down at his plate, but high enough to catch your reaction. The b*stard.

“Do you want to watch something, love? Or would you rather read?”

“Either sounds good,” you said in a tone more chipper than usual as you tried to clear your head. Had Harry really asked you to stay overnight?

“Let’s put on a movie. Y’won’t be able to see the tv from over there.”

“Oh.” You craned your neck around until the massive flatscreen tv came into view.

He patted the cushion beside him and you joined him tentatively.

“I have blankets if y’want one.”

“I’ll take one,” you replied.

He tossed the remote into your hand as he rose to his feet, using a hand on your knee to guide his body upwards. “I’ll be back in a moment. Find something you like. I’ll watch anything. I’m easy that way.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you watched him leave. The backside of his navy blue slacks creased tantalizingly under his delicious ass as he walked, and his suit coat made his back look so muscular and broad. You could only imagine the wonders that lay beneath. These thoughts threatened to launch your mind into another spiral, but you tamed them as if your life depended on it.

As he disappeared from your sight, you sorted through the shows on his Netflix until you landed on a show you’d begun years ago. Though you barely knew him, the show seemed to be right up Harry’s alley, and you might as well rewatch a little bit if you were going to stay.

He returned in a matter of minutes with an armful of blankets. He cocked an eyebrow at the television before tossing a blanket in your direction.

You pulled it snugly around your shoulders and Harry did the same with his, casting you a playful smile and a shrug.

“Have you seen this before?” he asked, referring to the tv.

“A little. It was the only thing I’d started.”

“You didn’t finish it?”

“No.”

“Why not, love?” he asked rhetorically as he settled onto the couch beside you. “It looks like a perfectly decent show t’me.”

“You might not be into this kind of thing,” you informed him. “I don’t quite remember if I liked it. We can watch something else if you want. I just… panicked and chose something.”

“You panicked?” Harry repeated. “Are y’scared of me?”

“N-no.”

“You don’t sound so sure, love.” He raised an eyebrow adorably as you tossed the remote back to him. “If anything, I should be scared of you, the way you work so hard.”

You were struck by a sudden attack of deja vu.

“Cleaning all of those vases, completing the task that I could never bring my lazy ass to do.” He ran a hand over his stubble as he let out a shameful laugh, turning his attention to the tv.

The back of the couch proved to be a comfortable place to rest your head. Soon, you drifted off to sleep, unbeknownst to Harry. Much to your relief, your dreams weren’t haunted by ghosts of sex or elements of noisy children. In fact, you didn’t dream at all. Though you usually looked forward to the scenarios your dreams provided you with, you were grateful to have a peaceful sleep for once.

Harry’s voice awoke you two hours (and three episodes) later, breaking gently through the barrier between your mind and reality.

“Do you want to keep watching?” When there was no response, he glanced over to his left where you were sleeping peacefully. “Y/N, doll,” he called softly. “Wake up, love.”

You eased your eyes open, drawing in a long breath before a yawn escaped your lips.

“Tired, darling?”

“A little,” you replied, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “What time is it?”

“Eleven-thirty. It’s probably time for you to go home, doll. You can take the blanket with if you want.”

“I’m okay,” you said as you stifled another yawn.

“Do you need a ride?”

“I should be all right.” You rose to your feet, bending backwards slightly to alleviate the ache in your back. “Thanks for dinner, H.”

“You’re welcome, darling. See you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?”

“Monday,” he corrected himself, shaking his head as he rolled his eyes playfully. “Stupid Harry. See you Monday?”

“Sure. Harry?”

“Y/N?”

“On Tuesday, when I was washing your vases,” you began, standing as stiff as a statue as your heart hammered inside your chest, “I broke one.”

“You broke a vase?” Harry rose to his feet beside you and your breath caught in your throat.

“Which vase?”

“It was short and stout… terra cotta with painted geometric designs. I kept the pieces if you wanted me to try and fix it?” The words spilled out of you as your face flushed a deep shade of red. Tears of embarrassment pricked at your eyes.

“No, darling,” he chuckled, pressing a finger beneath his nose in attempt to muffle his amusement. “That’s not necessary. Don’t be upset, okay? I’ve got hundreds of them for a reason.”

You managed a weak smile as you took a deep breath to steady yourself.

“That vase cost twenty dollars at most. Don’t worry about it.”

“Twenty dollars-”

“It’s not that much, lovie.”

“It’s not a lot, but it’s not my money!” you insisted, beelining to the table near the door where you had placed your belongings upon arrival that morning. “I promise, I can pay you back.”

“No, Y/N.” Harry protested. “Please, darling. Don’t worry about it.”

“I owe you.”

“I owe you, doll. You’ve helped me out a ton this week.”

“You can take it out of my paycheck,” you suggested.

“You’re asking for a demotion?” Harry grinned. “Think of the vase money as a bonus.” He reached into the pocket of his stiff, creased pants and withdrew a twenty dollar bill. He held it out to you and you stepped back in confusion.

“For keeping me company.”

“I broke your vase and you shared your dinner with me.”

“Take it,” Harry insisted. “You’re not leaving without it.” Just then, with a smug smile slapped across his face, he took the money and hid it behind his back, watching your face intently for a reaction.

“H…”

“You can have it, love. I suppose it isn’t getting any earlier. Drive safely, okay?” He wrapped his arms around you, sweeping you up into his arms until he was holding you bridal-style. He pressed a hot kiss to your lips before setting you back on your feet and folding the bill into your hand. “Good night, doll. See you Monday.”

“See you Monday, H.”

Harry stood in the entryway for a long moment after you shut the door, removing his phone from his pocket to check the doorbell camera and ensure that you made it to your car safely. As soon as you were safely on your way home, he flipped from his Ring tab to his messages to catch up on anything he might have missed.

Taglist (either interact with this for all of my writings or comment on this post for this series): @victoria-styles @witchywolfewood27 @ilovemuppets @rueluvsharry @sunshinemoonsposts @namelesssav @lukesaprince @madybeth21 @groovychaosavenue @fishingirl12 @sortingharryshairclip @tenaciousperfectionunknown @mrspeacem1nusone @cayleyhannha-blog @babygirl-jj @whitemancumslut @xxrosebunny @hsdaydreaminghaze

[apfelhalm]

Konstanten und Variablen

"Weißt du, wo er hin ist?" fragt Leo, während er an dem losen Faden seiner Jeans knibbelt. Er traut sich nicht hochzusehen, traut sich nicht zu fragen, was er eigentlich fragen will: Weißt du, warum er ohne mich gegangen ist?

Leo, der andere Leo, der erwachsene Leo aus der anderen Dimension seufzt und fährt sich durch die Haare. Leo, der junge Leo, der Leo, der hierher gehört, weiß genau, was mit diesem Seufzen gemeint ist und wie sich der andere gerade fühlt: hilflos, unwohl in der eigenen Haut, sprachlos. Es gibt wohl Dinge, die sich selbst mit Zeit und Raum nicht ändern.

"Ich weiß, was du denkst", sagt Leo-2 (er hat beschlossen, ihn jetzt so zu nennen). "Aber du kannst ihn nicht zurückholen."

"Warum nicht?" Trotz lodert in Leo auf, der sich auch in seiner Stimme breitmacht. Er wird nicht oft wütend, schon früher nicht, aber seit der Garage erlaubt er es sich noch weniger. Er hat Angst davor, wozu er noch fähig sein könnte, was er werden könnte.

Er blickt Leo-2 in die Augen, seltsam vertraut und doch so anders. Dieser fremde Typ, der aus einer anderen Welt hierhergestolpert ist, einen Tag nachdem Adam aus Leos eigener verschwunden ist. Im übertragenden Sinne, natürlich - Adam ist einfach nur abgehauen -, aber für Leo macht das keinen Unterschied. Er könnte genausogut durch eines dieser Portale verschwunden sein, das Ergebnis bleibt das gleiche: Leo ist wieder allein.

"Ich hab's versucht. Oder eher: Andere von uns haben es versucht. Und manchmal hat es sogar geklappt, aber … es ging nicht gut aus." Leo-2 schaut nachdenklich auf das Gerät, das ihn hierhergebracht hat: eine kleine Armbanduhr, die ein bisschen wie ein tragbarer Mini-Computer aussieht. "Adam kann hier nicht bleiben oder er wird daran kaputtgehen. Bitter werden. Anders. Glaub mir, du willst nicht wissen, was das mit ihm macht."

"Und was ist mit mir? Was es mit mir macht?" schnappt Leo. Er weiß nicht, ob er schreien oder heulen will. Er erträgt das alles nicht: Roland Schürk und die Schuld und sich selbst. Aber Adam darf abhauen? "Das ist nicht fair."

"Ist es auch nicht", sagt Leo-2 traurig. "Aber in jedem Universum und in jeder Zeitlinie muss Adam gehen. Das ist die Konstante."

"Das ist eine verdammte Scheißkonstante."

"Ich weiß. Aber ich weiß noch etwas." Die große Hand von Leo-2 legt sich schwer auf seine Schulter und drückt einmal zu. Da ist etwas Warmes, Sanftes in seiner Stimme, das Leo aufsehen lässt. "In jedem Universum und in jeder Zeitlinie kommt er zurück. Auch das ist eine Konstante."

Hoffnung flattert in Leos Brust, unter all der Wut und Angst und Enttäuschung. Er möchte sie nicht fühlen, möchte sich nicht schon wieder an den Gedanken von Adam festklammern, wenn der ihn gerade erst im Stich gelassen hat. Aber es ist etwas in Raum und Zeit, das zumindest Sinn ergibt. Eine kleine Konstante in einer Welt voller Variablen, die ihn zu erdrücken drohen.

"Versprochen?" fragt Leo, während er die Nase hochzieht.

Leo-2 lächelt. "Versprochen."

[black-arcana]

Ex-NIGHTWISH Members TARJA TURUNEN And MARKO HIETALA Announce September 2024 European Tour

Following a triumphant series of performances in South America with several sold-out gigs where Marko Hietala joined Tarja Turunen as a special guest, the two former NIGHTWISH members are set to captivate European audiences with their enthralling collaboration.

The European trek, which will kick off in September in Germany, promises to be an unforgettable experience as these two familiar voices reunite on stage once again.

Tarja recently released her first greatest-hits album "Best Of Tarja - Living The Dream". Her live show will feature a selection of songs from her career, also found on "Best Of", including fan favorites and her own personal picks.

Adding to the excitement, Marko and Tarja recently collaborated on the duet single "Left On Mars", which received widespread acclaim.

Marko will perform his own songs with his band before joining Tarja on stage for a night that promises to be nothing short of memorable.

Expectations are high as the duo continues to delight fans with both old and new songs, building on the success of their South American tour.

Tarja and Marko's "Living The Dream Together Tour 2024" European dates:

Sep. 08 - DE Berlin - Huxleys Neue Welt Sep. 09 - DE Bremen - Aladin Music Hall Sep. 10 - DE Saarbrücken - Garage Sep. 12 - DE Leipzig - Hellraiser Sep. 13 - DE Hamburg - Grünspan Sep. 14 - DE Herford - Kulturwerk Sep. 16 - NL Groningen - De Oosterpoor Sep. 17 - NL Utrecht - Tivoli Vredenburg (Ronda) Sep. 18 - DE Bochum - Matrix Sep. 20 - DE Ulm - Roxy Sep. 21 - DE Obertraubling - Eventhall Airport Sep. 23 - DE Frankfurt - Batschkapp Sep. 24 - DE München - Backstage Sep. 25 - CH Pratteln - Z7

Earlier this month, Hietala was asked by El Planeta Del Rock if there is any chance of him and Turunen launching a new project together. He responded: "I won't close that option off. We haven't talked about it, putting up a group together or anything like that. But at the moment, it seems that we've got a different kind of connection than it was [in the] past. Because then the camps were really divided already when I stepped into [NIGHTWISH]. And it was hard to find the truth of things, because a lot of it was like a managerial turf war where we got told certain things by one side and told certain things by the other side and lots of confusion — blah, blah, blah — and in the end, yeah, what we already realized a few years back when we were all together there doing the Christmas shows in Finland that after all the hassle has died and the noise has died and everything, you still find out that you lost a friend. And that was the main [reason] why we are basically doing this together again."

In a recent interview with Thiago Rahal Mauro of Brazil's Metal Musikast, Tarja spoke about what it was like to team up with Marko to perform a cover of "The Phantom Of The Opera" during their special open-air concert in July 2023 at Z7 Summer Nights in Pratteln, Switzerland. Tarja and Marko both played individual sets at the event, with their rendition of the main theme from Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical coming during Turunen's portion of the show.

"I got a call from a promoter to take part in one festival in Switzerland last year in a European summertime in July," Tarja said. "And then I got to know, when I had accepted to be the artist of the evening, then I saw that they had also invited Marko and Marko's band to perform in the same festival. So I thought, 'Hmm.' And I was actually sending a message that I wished to reach Marko, because I didn't have his contact any longer, to ask him to perform with me 'The Phantom Of The Opera' in my show. And he responded 'yes.' So, after 18 years [laughs], we were about to sing the song together. And it was super exciting. It was really beautiful. The people got very emotional about this.

"We had met already before — we had been singing on a few occasions in Finland a few years before — so we kind of cleaned the table on that occasion already," she explained. "So we were in good terms, so to say, but now singing 'The Phantom Of The Opera' together after all these years was amazing."

Tarja also elaborated on her friendship with Marko, saying: "It's a new relationship with him, because he's not the same person anymore than he was in the band. He has changed a lot, and many years have passed by. I've changed myself. Life has changed us. So it is a new relationship, let's say. And it had made me very happy to get to know him better after all these years."

Last November, Tarja admitted to Chaoszine that she was "nervous" before performing "The Phantom Of The Opera" with Marko at Z7 Summer Nights. "I believe that he was nervous as well to meet up with me, but we were both very excited to go back to the stage and to sing the song," she said. "We sang 'Phantom Of The Opera' in Switzerland for the first time. Then we went over to Finland to perform it again, did a show together there — he with his band and me with my own. Wow. It was pure emotion. I think it was really beautiful, but it made me kind of… I was, like, 'I'm in peace,' sort of. The feeling was great. I think it was even more for Marko, because I saw him standing there after my concert, when I finished my set, and he came like almost in tears, saying that this was important. We reconnected, and it's great."

Turunen was fired from NIGHTWISH at the end of the band's 2005 tour by being presented with an open letter which was published on the NIGHTWISH web site at the same time. In the letter, the other members of NIGHTWISH wrote: "To you, unfortunately, business, money, and things that have nothing to do with emotions have become much more important."

NIGHTWISH keyboardist and main songwriter Tuomas Holopainen later called the decision to part ways with Turunen "the most difficult thing I ever had to do." For her part, Tarja said the way she was kicked out of the group proved that her former bandmates were not her friends. "Maybe one day I'll forgive, but I will never forget," she said.

In 2019, Turunen dismissed Internet chatter about her possible return to NIGHTWISH after her December 2017 onstage reunion with the band's then-bassist/vocalist Hietala during a "Raskasta Joulua" concert in Hämeenlinna, Finland.

"I know a lot of fans would love to see something happen, but it's a very long distance away," she told Kerrang! magazine. "Personally, I don't see anything happening with me and them, to be perfectly honest. Marko came a little later into the band; he wasn't there since the beginning. He was always a guy I was close to. Me and Tuomas Holopainen, however, haven't seen each other in a long time… but we have been in touch. It's not bad. The past is what it is; we can't change that. We can only change the future."

NIGHTWISH's authorized biography, "Once Upon a Nightwish: The Official Biography 1996-2006", was published in Finnish in 2006 and in English three years later.

Turunen's husband, Marcelo Cabuli, and his business partners later sued the parties behind the book for defamation. Named in the lawsuit were the publishing house Like Kustannus Oy and the author of the book, Marko "Mape" Ollila. Cabuli and his Brazilian business partners argued that the book includes false accusations and insinuations that have caused them suffering and financial problems.

The book blamed Cabuli for the events leading up to Turunen's dramatic expulsion from the band in late 2005.

In 2011, the Helsinki District Court dismissed Cabuli's lawsuit, ruling that the book — which criticized Cabuli on only a few of its 380 pages — did not detrimentally affect his work or reputation in South America. In addition, the court determined that Ollila did not maliciously portray Cabuli in a negative light.

Nearly two years ago, Tarja was asked in an interview with Top Link Music manager and concert promoter Paulo Baron and music critic Regis Tadeu if she would consider doing a tour with NIGHTWISH if all of her former bandmates apologized to her about how their split happened and invited her to share the stage with them again. She responded: "It is very, very hypothetical that all what you said will happen, first of all — it's very, very hypothetical.

"I'm living in a world, like we are all living in a world, that things happen without us noticing," she continued. "I mean, I can't really close any doors in that sense; I'm not that kind of person any longer. I learned so many things in this life already. I take them as they are.

"So I don't know. It would be very hypothetically possible," she added. "It would be unlikely to happen."

Hietala announced his departure from NIGHTWISH in January 2021, explaining in a statement that he hadn't "been able to feel validated by this life for a quite a few years now." He has since been replaced by session bassist Jukka Koskinen (WINTERSUN),who made his live debut with NIGHTWISH in May 2021 at the band's two interactive experiences.

In an August 2022 interview with Finland's Chaoszine, Hietala revealed that he went through a dark period in his life, which included depression, insomnia, anxiety and an eventual attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) diagnosis. Speaking about how he eventually came to the realization that exiting NIGHTWISH was the right thing to do, Marko said: "It was a long process. Of course, the COVID year that was there, where I had a lot of time for soul searching, it obviously gave me the last incentive that I need something else, that if I just continue with this I'm just gonna get sicker and sicker. But, of course, it's a process.

"I've been chronic depressive since 2010 [or] 2011, so I've been on a permanent medication ever since," he revealed. "Sometimes you get used to the meds [and] you will need more. We did raise [the dosage] during the years also, but it just didn't work. And now that I started to do… I had psychotherapy for over four years now, and then I also talked to psychiatrists and some doctors and did that also in Spain. Then my psychiatrist here in Finland said that I should do these ADHD neuropsychological tests, which I then did in Spain. And, okay, I got it."

Hietala reiterated that he "had been thinking about" leaving NIGHTWISH "for a while" before making the final decision. "Because I had a lot of weight. And I tend to… With the attention disorder, it tells me that when there are lots of trouble, then the disorder makes it into a real chaos," he explained. "There's a shitload of stuff coming and going and no peace anywhere. And for a year or two, I was already waking up every night at three o'clock to bad dreams and anxiety. So I'd say that the whole process probably started already with my former divorce [in 2016]. That was a very sad time when you think about your kids and your broken homes and all that. And then, when I started to get clear from that, then there were, well, all kinds of things. I don't really wanna go any deeper to what kind of things I'd gone through, but I'd gone through enough."

Acknowledging that making NIGHTWISH's latest studio album, 2020's "Human. :II: Nature.", was a "difficult" experience for him, Marko denied that his mental state at the time resulted in a diminished role for him on the final LP. "I think the original idea was to have that… we'll do a couple of [solo vocal appearances], or one solo for me and Troy [Donockley], and the rest Floor [Jansen], and then the harmonies; that was the idea originally for that," he said. "So I don't know if it affected. I think it was sort of as planned. But at that time I already had serious trouble with concentrating and serious trouble with a constant black cloud over my head."

In July 2022, Hietala told Finland's Iltalehti that he had not kept in touch with NIGHTWISH since his departure or followed the activities of his former band.

In May 2021, Holopainen said that Hietala's decision to leave NIGHTWISH "came as a bit of a surprise." He told Finland's Kaaos TV: "Marko informed us in December [of 2020 that he was leaving the band]. And even though he has been very open about his state and problems during the past years, it still came as a bit of a surprise for us. So it was a really tough pill to swallow. And for a few days, I was actually quite confident that there's no coming back, that this is it. I remember talking to Emppu [Vuorinen], the guitar player, and we were, like, 'You think this is it?' 'Yeah, I think this is it.' I mean, enough is enough. So much has happened in the past. Something that broke the camel's back, as they say. Then, after some time had passed — a few days — we started to think that it's been such a ride of 25 years, with so many ups also, that this is not the way to end it."

Tuomas elaborated on NIGHTWISH's reasons for carrying on, saying: "I think we still have something to give, and that's the main point. The music is still there. We felt that there's still so much music that needs to come out from this band that, 'Okay, let's give it one more shot.' And then finding the new bass player was really easy."

He added: "It's not like we do this just because we need to do it and there's nothing else to do. On a personal level, I feel that there's still so many stories and melodies that I want to share with the world with one lineup or another, so that's why you want to continue and keep on going.

"I've said this a million times, that a lineup change is the ultimate energy vampire, and that's how it really felt and still feels."

In June 2021, Jansen spoke about Hietala's exit from the band in an episode of her "Storytime" YouTube video series. She said: "That was a very sudden surprise that, of course, was not fun at all. But we understand — I understand — it was a necessary thing for him to do. And from there, we had to think of how to continue without him, and that also, in preparations towards the virtual show, that was a huge challenge."

In December 2020, Hietala was crowned the winner of the fall 2020 season of "Masked Singer Suomi" — the Finnish edition of the popular masked singing contest. He was disguised as Tohtori — the Doctor.

Photo courtesy of Nuclear Blast Records

[burnwater13]

Image from DataWorks calendar. Scene for The Mandalorian, Season 2, Episode 1, The Marshal. Concept art by Christian Alzmann.

Grogu wondered why bantha put up with people riding them. They were big enough and strong enough to not have to be anyones’ beast of burden. Tuskens rode them everywhere and when anyone else managed to acquire a bantha they always ended up doing a lot of heaving lifting. Grogu didn’t think they minded. They seemed pretty happy. Maybe they didn’t notice? They were really big critters and Grogu knew that when a teeny, tiny, sand flea hitch hiked around Tatooine with him, he never noticed until his dad complained about being itchy. 

The little sand fleas didn’t bother Grogu at all. He either didn’t smell right or taste right or something, but apparently the Mandalorian was exactly what the little bugs liked. Grogu had once seen the bright red welt the tiny carnivore left on Din Djarin’s wrist when he pulled his glove off to scratch at it. Needless to say the Tuskens and everyone else they bumped into when his dad was scratching at whichever insect bite was bothering him at the time told him not to scratch it. That scratching just made things worse. Grogu just healed his dad whenever necessary and was glad that he could do that. The Mandalorian complained that Grogu was a magnet for the critters when he was traveling with the bounty hunter.

Grogu didn’t think that was fair at all. He was pretty sure it was his coverall. The tan, all purpose garment was durable and sized to allow for considerable growth. Grogu wore it every day. He didn’t really have a choice. For a long time it was the only garment he owned. Now he had other versions of the practical overall, but he still tended to wear this favorite one the most. It had hidden pockets and a lot of little nooks and crannies and he figured that was why the tiny bugs managed to travel with him without either he or the Mandalorian noticing them. 

He had expressed that theory to his dad once and the Tuskens they were staying with had laughed out loud at that. They were of the opinion that the tiny critters preferred not to travel on his dad because of how shiny his armor was. Grogu knew that the surface of the beskar could get pretty hot and maybe the critters didn’t like getting their even teenier, tinier feet/claws burned by it. His dad threatened to have a full set of beskar armor made for Grogu just to stop him being a transport vehicle for the critters. Grogu had grumbled at his dad over that. It wasn’t his fault that the Mandalorian tasted good to the bugs. 

Grogu asked the Tuskens how the bantha dealt with the bugs. That had been an interesting conversation, not that Grogu understood much of it. It was mostly held between various Tuskens and occasionally Din Djarin would make a comment or ask another question. But it finally boiled down to the fact that the bantha excreted a kind of waxy oil on the surface of their skin that seemed to keep the tiny critters at bay. Grogu guessed that was as good an answer as any. 

Then his dad asked a question Grogu hadn’t expected. Could they get some of that oil to put on Grogu’s coverall? Huh? Since when did the Mandalorian want him to be messier? Grogu counted on the Tuskens being sensible and saying no. He’d never said anything to their companions about it, but he thought bantha smelled pretty bad. He had always suspected that the lack of access to running water had created that problem and that the sand ‘baths’ the Tuskens gave them routinely only made things worse, not better. He really hoped they didn’t collect the stuff at all. He liked how he smelled and didn’t need any help with that. 

The Tuskens seemed to have told his dad ‘no’ and Grogu was relieved. He’d just keep smelling like himself and healing the bounty hunter whenever necessary. Grogu thought the matter was settled. This is the Way and all that. But nope. 

The next time they went to Tatooine, Peli had greeted them at the garage with a big grin.

“Hey Mando! Got some thin’ for ‘ya!” 

She bustled over to them holding a small, unlabeled can. 

“A can?”

“Yes. A can. Your friends from the desert showed up and dropped it off with me.”

“What’s in the can?” 

“Looks like some sort of lubricant. I put some on Treadwell. No more squeaky tracks waking me up in the middle of the night. Don’t worry. I left you plenty of the stuff. The only draw back is it kind of stinks.”

Then she handed the can to the Mandalorian and Grogu realized what it must be. The bantha wax! He scooted away as quickly as he could, thinking his dad was just going to smear him with the stuff. Yech.

Din Djarin opened the can and took a wiff and then handed it back to Peli. 

“Here. Keep it. I’ll just deal with getting bitten by the sand fleas.”

“You were gonna waste it on that? Here. I got some great stuff. Smells like flowers. Those little biters hate it. That’s why I smell like a bouquet all the time.”

Peli found a little spray bottle and handed it the Mandalorian. 

Yippee! Grogu was safe and his dad was going to smell like flowers! This is the Way!

Or was it? The Mandalorian had walked right over to him and sprayed him with the stuff. A lot of it. Now Grogu smelled like flowers. 

Ahchoo! 

Dank Farrik!

[z428]

Ein Morgen, wieder zwischen den Vierteln. Die Räder finden ihre Spur fast von allein. Einigermaßen entspannt, klar genug, nachsichtig mit der erwachenden Welt und dem frühen Trubel zu sein. Leere Garage, drückende Wärme in ebenso leeren dunklen Fluren. Nächtliche Zivilisationen sind entstanden in vergessenen Kaffeetassen. Auf der Tastatur ruht eine Notiz an das Selbst, Papier, Bleistift; noch fehlt der Kontext, sich vollständig erinnern zu können. (Durchzug. Verweilen an der Terrassentür, beobachtend, wie in den Büros ringsum Monitore hell und Besprechungsräume umgeräumt werden. Große Tafel, Wasserflaschen, Stühle im Halbkreis. Von der täglichen Kunst, passende Anfänge zu finden. Habt es mild heute!)

#outerworld #concrete city #office hours #waking to the day