#silent retreat

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Rachel Connolly:

Earlier this year, I had a bout of what my friends and I term “mental health”. I was always tired. I couldn’t concentrate. I felt burnt out by the volume of communication that social media facilitates. I am 31 and, like many people my age, I’m in multiple group chats on WhatsApp and often find myself added to new ones. I use Instagram to post work and selfies, and to chat with people via the DM function. I use X similarly. (I’m too old for TikTok.) I enjoy some of this. I like talking nonsense with my friends. But I’d started to question how deliberate much of it was. I’d find myself posting a picture of a book I was reading and think, why do I need an audience to read? I began to wonder if, in the cycle of curating, recording and publicising our lives on social media, the things we do that are not seen and affirmed by people online feel somehow less “real”. My work as a writer means I probably get more online communication than the average person. Last year I published my first novel, and I have since noticed the slightly strange way that novels are discussed online. I get tagged in Instagram posts saying that my book is about a messy girl, a sad girl, a distant girl or a cold girl. There is an algorithmic basis to this. The easiest way to attract attention on social media is to talk about a trend everyone else is talking about, or to slot whatever you’re talking about into one of these trends.

So everywhere you look it is Brat summers or trad wives, cottage-core or bloke-core, high-functioning anxiety, parentified children or whatever happens to be the latest term for pathologising your life experience. Everything is flattened, simplified. I worried that being immersed in it was making me think this way too. A friend recently got a “dumb” phone, a Nokia 3210, to use when she’s out of the house. She leaves her smartphone at home like a landline. It has made her happier, she says. I needed a break too, but I was drawn to the idea of spending some time cut off from all communication. A reset, of sorts. I found a weekend-long silent retreat, no phones allowed, and booked myself in. My craving for a break is not uncommon. Social media is such a constant background presence in our lives that it’s easy to forget how recent it is. Facebook, which feels impossibly passé, is only 20. Instagram is not yet 15. Researchers first used the term “digital detox”, to refer to a period of abstention from phones and laptops, in 2012, around the same time that social media was really taking off (chat rooms had been around since the turn of the 1990s without the concept surfacing).

Digital detoxes remained unusual for a time. In 2015, Essena O’Neill, an Australian influencer with 612,000 Instagram followers, made news around the world when she released a statement about quitting the platform. Today, similar moves by celebrities are so common they barely make headlines. Billie Eilish deleted all social media apps from her phone. Actress Tavi Gevinson wrote about using an assistant to manage her Instagram. It has been hard to keep track of the number of times Stephen Fry has quit and rejoined Twitter over the years. These dramatic exits can seem amusing, especially when they’re followed by sheepish returns, but mostly they underscore how addictive and overwhelming social media can be. My silent retreat took place in a large house in rural Devon. I arrived on Friday, one of a group of about 50. We were allowed to speak during registration and, because I had gone there determined not to use reductive labels, I could already sense myself reaching for them. A young man told me he had done several silent retreats before. Ah, I thought, so you’re the type of person who does these often. Then I caught myself. What type would that be?

During the first meditation session, our instructors explained that we would sit and try to embody, rather than think about, the question “What is this?” This distinction struck me as confusing to the point of meaninglessness. But they explained that one way of attempting “not to think” about the question was to resist the urge to answer it. They encouraged us to focus instead on how we felt, on the physical sensations in our bodies. If you have never tried this, I will say that it is extremely difficult. We sat cross-legged for 30 minutes. I stared at a wall. Then we walked in a circle for 10 minutes. Then we sat down again, and so on, for about two hours. Then it was bedtime. I enjoyed the communality of me and the other girls silently working through our evening routines together. I realised that I had never decided to bring my phone everywhere, like an appendage to my body

The next two days were structured around meditation and chores. At 6.30am we were woken by a bell. We did two hours of meditation, after which we had breakfast. Then a break, followed by another two hours of meditation and lunch. My chore was washing up after we ate. Then more meditation, dinner, another break, meditation, bed. If sitting in an uncomfortable position and staring at a wall while trying not to think sounds impossibly boring, I would say it is not so different from the way my days would unfold when I worked in offices, traipsing from my desk to the tea station and back. More earnestly, I would say I could not have imagined how much I would enjoy the retreat, or how much I’d get out of it. Over the weekend, one of the instructors spoke about trying to be more conscious of the labels we put on our experiences and interactions. It struck me that a similar fatigue with the overload of digital communication is probably what draws a lot of people to try a silent retreat. We were all the type of person who is fed up with “types of people”.

On my first morning after breakfast, I went outside. The countryside seemed fantastically vivid. The blackbirds looked as beautiful as anything I had seen before. I watched one, like a dash of ink, flickering against the mottled grey sky, then two sailing as a pair, in tune with each other. I watched a cloud of them, pulsing. It reminded me of a jellyfish. Back inside, from my seat in the meditation room, I could see a tree that the birds would visit. When I was frustrated with the way my thoughts rattled around my head, reviewing unsaid rebuttals to months-old arguments, I watched the birds and imagined the paths they were taking in the world. One of my issues with the task “embody but try not to think” is that the semantic distinction between thinking and feeling is hard to grasp. If you notice that you feel happy or sad, is that a thought? Or a feeling? I found animals a useful framework to try to understand the distinction, as they negotiate the world using senses. A bird might fly north because of an environmental cue, but it does not say to itself in words, “I want to fly north.” I came to understand the task not as emptying your head of thoughts, but rather resisting the tendency to narrate things to yourself in words. I noticed that this interior monologuing would lead me along familiar, superficial trains of thought, to recent memories associated with certain feelings, say, and soon enough back to mundane anxieties.

At night, I would sit outside and look at the stars. The clouds, invisible in the darkness, shifted to expose one patch of stars, then another, making it look like the sky itself was swelling and shrinking. Memories and ideas still came to me, but deeper, more interesting ones than before. It was as if I had cleared the way for them. I remembered that I used to look at the stars when I was a teenager. I used to read about how they’re born, how they sustain themselves, why we see only some of them, how they die. On Monday morning at breakfast, we were allowed to speak again. Some participants had found the weekend hard, they said. One person had cried repeatedly. Others said that eating in silence had made them feel as though everyone was being cold towards them. As they talked, I remembered old corporate jobs where I was always the office loser. People could sense the aura of failure emanating from me, so I would eat lunch by myself, in silence. I got used to it. I didn’t feel I was learning anything valuable at the time, but life can surprise you. Sticking out is not so bad, I realised. This is the message of most children’s books, but one it’s easy to lose sight of as an adult. Other people’s perceptions of you, real or imagined, don’t have to influence how you see yourself. Social media is designed to erase this perspective. Much of the anxiety it fosters comes from forcing you to see yourself, constantly, as relative to others.

[breatheoffline]

Silent Retreats: A Journey to Rediscover Your Inner Voice

Discover the transformative power of silent retreats. Reconnect with your inner voice, enhance self-awareness, focus, and emotional well-being.

[southernsagestoryteller]

Retreat

Recently I went on a Silent Retreat at St. Francis Springs Prayer Center. I had only ever been perfectly silent for 12 hours, which isn’t all that difficult. I was in the company of three other women.  Our plan was to be in complete silence for 48 hours. I didn’t know what to expect but was looking forward to the experience. On arrival we unpacked and then enjoyed dinner together before retiring…

[attemptingfate]

I don't look like a ghost, do I?

maria is like patrick bateman for girls who listened to hole religiously when they were 16 (me). I love her

[celestial-toys]

Observation Duty

“You said your eyes are everywhere, huh?”

Your question is met with silence.

Now, if you had been looking down at him instead of facing the ceiling, you’d have caught the brief image of your living room security cam footage as it flashed across the screen of his faceplate. You’d have seen the moment you tripped playing on a sped up loop over and over, your knee hitting the table’s corner, your body hitting the floor, laundry falling and dog food scattering just to rise back up unnaturally as the footage plays again in reverse.

You weren’t looking down though, you weren’t looking anywhere at all- and so you missed it completely, thinking nothing of his silence and continuing to talk to the ceiling.

“So… what, you just enjoy watching me do chores?”

- - -

Seeking distraction from the work weighing on your mind, you start a little play-argument with the tetchy automaton currently hogging your couch. It soon evolves into a verbal dance, skirting around some heavier topics that threaten to trip up the both of you as your conversation moves too quickly for this listless afternoon.

As usual, he takes all of your antics in stride. Well… mostly. Kinda.

Look- he’s trying, okay?

Pairing: Sun x Moon x Reader - GN!Reader

Word Count: 4,934

Contains: [AU - Real World] [argument] [feelings] [implied past trauma] [intimidation] [lack of communication] [minor injuries] [obsessive behavior] [sentient AI] [size difference] [surveillance] [tension] [touching (not sexual but the consent is still dubious)] [tsundere/yandere Sun] [unsettling]

A/Ns: Once again, the above CW's probably make it sound worse than it is, but I like to err on the side of caution.

This fic is part of my AU "[Not] Made by Design", the full series can be found here.

The light of the screen in front of you burns into your tired eyes. Your focus is waning, your mind preferring to wander instead to how badly you’re craving an afternoon coffee. Sighing, you push yourself away from your desk, leaning back into the chair as its wheels roll with the momentum. Bumping into the wall behind you with a soft thud, you slump in your seat, staring with unfocused eyes at nothing in particular.

A few deep breaths and a short-lived moment of empty-headed bliss later, you remove your glasses and rub your eyes with the knuckles of your curled fingers. Digging your heels into the floor and dragging your chair forward again, you place your glasses on the desk, and note the time. You’ve been in the office for several hours at this point, and if you stay much longer you’re willing to bet a certain Sun-themed bot will be beating down your door demanding that you take a break. So, after double-checking that your work is saved, you put your PC to sleep. Standing and reaching for the ceiling as you stretch, you grimace at the cracks from your back and shoulders.

Making your way out of the room and down the hall, you round a corner, entering the living room. The blackout shades are down, all lights off save for the soft yellow glow coming from a small lamp in the corner. The bright afternoon sun is peeking its way through the edges of the windows that the shades don’t quite cover.

Moon would likely complain about how “dark and sad” it looks if he were in here, but you don’t see him. You figure he might be in the kitchen, or outside charging, maybe. Regardless, if he isn’t here to bother Sun about his “depressing” lighting choices, you will in his stead.

The robot has situated himself across the length of your couch, which is quite a feat considering the thing is honestly just a glorified loveseat and even you can’t lay on it comfortably. For being as large as they are, their flexibility makes up for it, allowing Sun and Moon to be genuinely impressive in their ability to fit into relatively small spaces. You try not to mentally pat yourself on the back for the role you played in that ability.

This isn’t about you anymore.

The soft white glow coming from his screen is enough to illuminate the pages of the book in his hands, and from what you can see of it you think you recognize the cover as being the one you were telling them both about last night as you were falling asleep.

…Cute.

You smile, leaning against the wall as you speak up.

“Y’know, my parents used to always nag me about my bad habit of reading in the dark. It seems I’ve somehow passed that trait along to you.”

Sun hums, tone soft and dismissive, and doesn’t pull his gaze away from the book when he speaks.

“It’s not dark, the lamp’s on.”

One black silicone fingertip lifts the corner of the right page, gently pulling it across and splaying his hand out to flatten the book down again. You note how the width of his fingers span beyond both edges of the book. It almost looks too small in his hands, but then again… most things do.

“Besides, I can see just fine in the dark. The lamp is for you.”

Well, he’s not wrong.

There’s humor in your voice, speaking as you push up off the wall and make your way across the room towards him. “Yes, and I do appreciate you leaving me enough light to get around by.”

You cautiously perch behind him on the right arm of the couch, careful not to get your loose clothes caught on any of his protruding rays. You’re aware that in his eyes, you’re clumsy enough even with the lights on, let alone trying to navigate in the almost-dark. Given that, you aren’t sure if it’s truly his disdain for bright lights, or simply his desire to see you struggle that drives him to keep the areas he occupies dimly lit.

Looking down at the coffee table, a recent memory surfaces and you frown.

“Speaking of navigating in the dark… my knee still hurts from slamming it into the corner of the coffee table last week, you know?”

From your position behind him you can’t see how his display shifts from its soft, blank white, his digital approximation of facial features materializing only to shift into a grimace. You do hear the shift in his tone of voice, although you can’t quite name what it is. Exasperation? Or… concern?

“I know. I’m surprised it didn’t bruise.”

“Well, you know me, I have to take quite a hard hit for my skin to really show it.” You think for a moment, and add onto the statement, muttering mostly to yourself but his hearing catches it all the same. “Which has always been odd to me considering how easily my skin scars…”

He hums a little bit in acknowledgment, trying not to think too hard about your various scars and how you got them. “Well, from the sound you made when it happened I thought you’d really injured yourself.”

Your voice takes on a playful tone of offense. “I am injured! It hurt!” You reach down and gently press over the spot that hurts the most, unable to resist the urge to poke the non-existent bruise through the plush fabric of your lounge pants. You murmur to yourself as much as to Sun, “...and it’s still sore...”

His body releases air in semblance of a sigh, lowering the book to his lap. Still looking down at it while he speaks, his tone is a mixture of teasing and I-told-you-so. “While it may have been semi-dark in here when it happened- I’m not taking the blame for it. Things like that just happen when you run around doing three things at once.”

A small surprised laugh escapes you. “How do you know what I was doing, huh?” You reach out and carefully run a fingertip along the edge of his top ray. “You weren’t even in the room, silly.”

His rays twitch slightly but he doesn’t retract them much as his faceplate slowly tilts back, stopping at an impossible angle for any human and finally making eye contact with you, albeit upside-down. “My eyes are everywhere, doll.”

His tone is something you’d call playfully threatening and you hold his steady gaze for a long moment before eventually blinking and glancing away, conceding to a contest you could never win.

It’s cute when he tries to be scary.

A half-smile on your face, you dismiss his attempt to unsettle you. Halloween is next month. “Mhm. I’m sure they are.”

From your peripheral vision you watch his expression falter, his yellow eyes flickering to red just briefly before he speaks. “You were carrying a bowl filled with dog food in your left hand, fresh laundry from the dryer was hanging off both of your shoulders, and you were wiping down the coffee table with your favorite brown towel in your right hand. All at once. While cursing.”

You throw a confused look at him that he ignores in favor of continuing to reprimand your past actions. “You’re incapable of doing one thing at a time, aren’t you? Truly reckless behavior, you know. That’s how people get hurt.”

You let out a put-upon sigh. He’s not wrong, but you don’t want to admit it yet.

Time for a diversion, then.

“Hey, I can multitask! I built both of you at the same time and it turned out alright, didn’t it?”

For a moment, the room is absolutely silent as you both process what you just let slip. You’re about to rush to correct yourself when Sun beats you to it, speaking up.

He laughs at first, soft and a little dismissive.

“Not quite the same thing, sunshine.”

Alright, well… it seems he’s less bothered by the reminder than you thought he’d be. That, or he’s getting better at hiding his true feelings, which is a whole other issue you’ll have to tackle if that’s the case.

You cock your head to the side. Might as well play into it, then.

“No? How so?”

His eyes flicker to red, and this time they stay that way as his faceplate turns, click-click-clicking and stopping when it’s done a 180 so he can look at you properly.

Oh. He’s not smiling.

On second thought, maybe you shouldn’t push the topic.

“You designed us, doll. You didn’t build us, and you didn’t do it alone. You had a whole team behind you.”

Not breaking eye contact with you, Sun’s left hand that had been cradling the open book in his lap closes in an instant. A sudden, sharp clap resounds in the room as a result of the book folding closed so harshly in his grip. You internally grimace at the way it makes you flinch.

Your eyes flick from the book held tight in his grip, to his faceplate, watching his expression fade until his display is completely black. Any attempts at appearing somewhat humanoid thrown out the window, he releases a breath of hot air through his vents as you stare into the void of his screen. You know he’ll likely elaborate if you give him the space to do so, so you take a deep breath of your own, and wait.

It’s always somehow so much more unnerving to hear him speak when his “face” is gone, but you hang onto his every word regardless. You’re not gonna look away from something- someone you made.

“Besides, let’s not forget that even with a whole team of humans, you still managed to fuck up some… aspects… of the project.” Having dropped the comforting illusion of his false eyes, his faceplate tilts, a small, sudden, sharp movement so his ocular sensor can stare directly at you. “Didn’t you?”

Your stomach drops at the realization of what he’s referencing. At least… you think you know. Honestly, there’s an entire list of things that happened back in the facility that they have every right to resent you for.

You’re not sure what to say anymore. There really aren’t any magic words that can make it better. You hurt them. You all did. End of argument.

The realization must be obvious on your face, because his screen soon switches back to his default expression and he seems quite pleased with himself for about ten whole seconds. Then as quickly as it came, the expression he wears shifts into one of hesitation, frustration, and then finally- worry? Maybe? At this point it’s getting hard to tell what the hell he’s feeling, if you ever could.

“Sun… I… I don’t-”

You manage to hold his gaze as you stumble in search of the right words, watching his expression morph from one emotion to the next until his right hand moves, and your eyes immediately flick towards the motion. Your gaze drags up his arm as slowly, his shoulder joint rotates enough to allow him to reach all the way behind him- towards you- hand reaching out to gently cup your right cheek.

You don’t lean away. You won’t.

You dig your nails into the fabric of the couch. His thumb slips under the edge of your jaw as his fingers splay across the side of your head, and you can feel the slight pressure as his thumb lays against your carotid artery.

He doesn’t speak at all this time but from past experience, your mind easily fills in the words he usually says to you as he does this.

Deep breath in. Hold it. Let it out slowly.

You know what he’s doing, and you let him. It’s far from the first time he’s done it.

His mixed expression doesn’t change, his hand doesn’t move, and the silence drags on until you can’t take it anymore. Your voice shakes but you push past it to get the words out.

“I… I swear to god- Sun- like I’ve said before, if I’d’ve had any clue that you two were alive back then-”

You’re forced to squint as his entire screen suddenly flashes, solid white, red, black, repeating several times. His grip on your cheek tightens just slightly. A warning of sorts, if you had to guess. It shuts you up fast and he hisses out an irritated “Don’t.”

Confusion is written on your face and without thinking, you open your mouth to insist on your apology.

His thumb immediately slips under your chin, pressing your mouth closed with such a slow, gentle motion contradicting his current demeanor that it practically gives you whiplash. As soon as your mouth is closed his thumb slips right back to its prior position over your pounding pulse, and his display fades back down to solid black.

“Stop talking. It fucks up my readings when you speak.”

Your brow furrows in frustration at first, but you do what he asked, and what you’re good at. You sit there with him in the quiet and focus on your breathing as the sounds of his cooling system kick up a notch.

The seconds feel like they drag on for ages due to the way you focus on them, but in reality it’s only about three minutes later that he finally seems satisfied with the readings he took as he slowly retracts his hand from your head. The black void of his faceplate slowly lights up again, albeit he’s replaced his default expression with something more akin to a… dynamic wallpaper- yellow smoke billowing across a dark screen.

Whatever suits him, you suppose.

Folding his hands together over the book in his lap, he finally speaks, his tone low and unhappy but not angry, really.

“Your HRV is low and your RHR is high.”

Your response comes out sounding more dismissive than you mean for it to.

“Yeah, they usually are. Nothing new, unfortunately.”

Sun’s body tenses a bit and his rays retract slightly in response. He releases another hot breath through the vent at the base of his neck and you can feel the warmth on your thigh through the fabric of your pants. He speaks again, voice slightly strained.

“That’s my point. You need to relax, and talking about the past isn’t helping you do that right now. So just… drop it.”

You want to point out that he could stand to take his own advice, but you bite your tongue instead. He’s right, after all. You do need to relax. You both do, what with the two of you walking around ready to snap most of the time. In spite of that though, he’s doing his best to deescalate the situation and you ought to follow suit.

The lack of Moon’s calming presence is painfully obvious during times like these, but the two of you ought to be able to make it through one damn conversation without needing his assistance. You laugh a little to yourself, unamused but wearing half a smile nonetheless, shaking your head at the thought. As much as he’d hate to admit it, even Sun knows that the three of you work best when you’re all together, balancing each other out.

You sigh, and let yourself flop against the back of the couch, stretching your right arm out across the length of it. Sun’s invisible gaze follows you as his faceplate tilts on its axis and rotates to remain facing you. You note the way he’s letting his neck gently rest against your right thigh.

Leaning your own head back and closing your eyes in defeat, you speak towards the ceiling.

“Okay, fine, you’re right. I’ll drop it.”

You drum your fingertips along the fabric of the couch in thought, before adding, “...And… maybe... I was doing too much at once, when I hurt my knee on the coffee table last week.”

He lets out a little hum of agreement.

Still, if he thinks he’s fully won this silly little argument he’s got another thing coming. You’ve definitely still got a counterpoint. Counter… question? Whatever.

“You said your eyes are everywhere, huh?”

Your question is met with silence.

Now, if you had been looking down at him instead of facing the ceiling, you’d have caught the brief image of your living room security cam footage as it flashed across the screen of his faceplate. You’d have seen the moment you tripped playing on a sped up loop over and over, your knee hitting the table’s corner, your body hitting the floor, laundry falling and dog food scattering just to rise back up unnaturally as the footage plays again in reverse.

You weren’t looking down though, you weren’t looking anywhere at all- and so you missed it completely, thinking nothing of his silence and continuing to talk to the ceiling.

“So… what, you just enjoy watching me do chores?”

He chuckles in response, and the vibrations from the sound tickle your outer thigh, causing the muscles there to twitch involuntarily. You cringe at your body’s sensitivity, but Sun thankfully doesn’t react.

Begrudgingly, you open your eyes and crane your head back up, bringing your right hand up off the couch to lean on. You pull your left leg up towards yourself at the same time, heel propping up on the arm of the couch. Curling toward your right, you realize you’ve inadvertently wrapped your body around his head, which is all but resting in your lap at this point. His rays are mostly retracted by now and the display on his faceplate has shifted once again, yellow clouds still billowing across black but he’s allowed parts of his expression to return, pale white eyes emerging from the smoke.

His face is otherwise unreadable as he finally responds to you. “My priority is keeping you safe. How can I do that if I can’t see you?”

You can’t help but scoff a little at that. “Safe? You were- apparently- watching me, and still let me trip on one of Zero’s toys and slam my knee into the table.”

At that, his mouth returns and he frowns at your tone, and so do you, realizing that you came across a bit more accusatory than you meant to. A beat passes where you both just stare at each other, and his voice is a lot softer when he speaks again.

“Was I not by your side within seconds after the fall, checking you for injuries?”

He was, and you know it. He was on you inhumanly fast, cradling your head like you’d fallen off a ladder or something and not just tripped and fell to your hands and knees on plush carpet. He’s a worrier and you know it damn well, even if he’d rather be decommissioned than admit to it.

Unfortunately, you never learned how to let yourself accept help, nor how to stop being stubborn in a stupid argument that you started yourself. “...Yeah. I guess. But you still could have offered to help before I tripped.”

He rolls his eyes before they land back on you, fixing you with a look that’s unexpectedly soft. In stark contrast, his voice comes out strained. “I was trying not to hover, sunshine.”

Your eyes flick away from his, always unable to maintain the sustained contact once things got a little too serious.

He keeps talking regardless.

“I know you. You would have been like- ‘Oh, no, I’ve got it! Don’t even worry about it!’ and wouldn’t have let me help even if I did offer.”

You scoff before leveling him with an unamused stare. “Oh, I do not sound like that. Shut it.”

He’s wearing a neutral expression but you notice as it shifts slightly, a hint of satisfaction at having gotten under your skin beginning to make itself known. You watch the hint of emotion begin to alter his digital features, as well as his voice.

“Regardless. ‘No lesson is as powerful as the lesson learned on one’s own.’ Besides, I knew you’d be fine.”

You blink down at him for a moment as you process his statement, and fail to contain your exasperated huff of annoyance when you realize where you’ve heard some of those words before.

“Don’t quote Night Vale at me right now, Sun.”

If you hadn’t been watching him so closely, you’d have missed the way his eyes turned upwards a bit, seemingly pleased with himself.

You continue, in spite of his attempts to deflect your words.

“You didn’t sound so self assured when you were rushing over to me on the floor with those big red “eyes” of yours blown wide. You were all like- ‘Where does it hurt? Show me. Where. How bad? You didn’t hit your head, right? Forget about the dog food- look at me.’ and all that.”

His eyes shift from crescent moons to flat lines, and his voice returns to his typical deadpan tone.

“You do a terrible impression of me.”

You scoff.

“Like yours is better?”

He nods, his faceplate shifting up and down within the limited range of motion he’s allowed, given your current position.

“I can literally mimic your voice. Mine is objectively superior.”

Thoughts of The Mimic flash in your mind, and it takes all you’ve got to not crack some sort of half-baked joke about the Ruin DLC. The smile on your face does little to hide the temptation, though.

“Debatable.”

Sun doesn’t press you for more, seeming less than eager to hear whatever joke he’s sure you’ve got sitting on the tip of your tongue.

“It’s not up for debate. If you wanna debate with someone go find Moon.”

He sighs heavily, breathing out his next words in an impressive display of realism given that his speech and breathing functions aren’t connected at all.

“I've run out of conversation juice.”

He shifts to sit back up, faceplate rotating, returning his body to its original position facing away from you. You huff and uncurl yourself from your perch on the couch. Moving to stand, you make your way around to the other end where his long legs cause his feet to jut out comically far past the armrest. You reach down, gently grabbing him by the ankles and begin to maneuver his legs out of the way, muttering to yourself as you do so.

“Wish I was a robot so I could lie and say my system has run out of something I don’t even have in the first place…”

He puts up no resistance as you fold his legs away accordion style, watching you in what almost seems like thoughtful silence. Once you’ve made room for yourself, you perch once again on the other arm of the couch, your feet resting on the far left cushion and your left side leaning against the backrest. He finally speaks once it seems that you’re settled.

“Alright. How would you rather I put it?”

You quirk an eyebrow up, slightly surprised at the sincere tone of his question. Shaking your head, you're quick to convey that you were only joking.

“No, no I didn't say to change it. I like ‘conversation juice', I think it’s funny.”

He tilts his head a bit, slow and analyzing. Half a smile slowly curls across his face and both of his eyes take on a soft, pale yellow. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was tired. He's looking at you with such a gentle gaze. It's almost… sad, if you look closely enough.

“Funny? Hm. Well, I suppose I am nothing if not a clown.”

His attention drifts back down to his book, cracking it open and flipping through to return to the page he left off on in no particular hurry.

You know his deadpan tone likely isn’t meant to sound so self deprecating but your heart still hurts at the thought that he only sees himself as some sort of… novelty toy. A joke. A mechanical clown for you to play with when you’re bored. A comedic horror character brought to life.

He can only make so many jokes about himself before they start to sound less like jokes and more like a way for him to vent his insecurities. You understand that type of “humor” far too well to just sit back and watch him do it to himself.

You struggle to resist the urge to remind him that there is much, much more to him than being modeled after that character from that game. You consider reaching out and curling the tip of a finger under the bottom edge of his face plate. You think about gently tilting his face away from the book and back up at you. You want to look him in the eye while you tell him all of the things that you love about him, and how much he means to you, and that he is so much more than a clown.

But you know he handles comfort and praise just about as well as a cat handles falling into a bathtub, so… you resist the urge. For now.

Eventually, one day, likely far from now, you hope to get him used to the amount of love you have to give, and you’ll smother him with it like you want to. But if you lay it all on him like that right now, he would probably overheat and shut down. Both metaphorically and literally.

You really don’t want that to happen again. Scared the hell out of you last time. Even knowing that it’s a safety measure to ensure that he doesn’t sustain damage from overheating- it looks an awful lot like he’s dying when it happens and you’d like to not have to see it again.

So, you opt to keep things lighthearted. You smile as you reach out to pat him on the knee.

“And an excellent clown you are, dear.”

There’s more sugar in your tone than you intended to let out, but if he knew everything you really wanted to say, he’d realize that you’re actually being very reserved right now.

You’re being very normal about it all, you think, as you silently praise yourself.

When you finally get out of your thoughts and back into your body, you realize that you’re being eyed by the man on your couch in such a way that indicates he knows you were caught up in your head again. You spent too long in silence before you responded to him and now he’s likely aware that you were wanting to say something else.

A lot else, actually.

So, before he can potentially ask you what you’re thinking about, you attempt to change the topic. Laughing a bit to yourself, you stretch and shift to make your sudden and hopefully casual retreat from the couch and the awkward air you’ve clouded around it. Twisting around and planting your feet on the floor, there’s forced humor in your voice as you wonder aloud where his other half is.

“Speaking of clowns, what’s Moon been up to while I was working?”

Sun’s expression is unreadable as he spares you one last moment of his visual attention before angling his monitor back down toward the book. You know he’s perfectly capable of taking in visual information while outputting completely separate verbal communication, and can give both tasks his full attention simultaneously in the way no human truly could. Still, in spite of that knowledge, you doubt he’s really paying much attention to the words on the pages before him as he speaks to you right now.

“You know that sad, sad little plant that’s been fighting for its life on your kitchen windowsill for the last… thirty-seven days?”

You cringe a bit at the reminder of the succulent you impulse-purchased recently- well, a tad longer than recently if Sun’s count is accurate, which you know it is. You’ve been meaning to re-pot the poor thing and find a different place for it where it’ll receive better light, but… you’ve been meaning to do a lot of things.

“...Yeah…”

“Last I saw, he took it outside through the back door. He was muttering something about ‘saving’ it.”

Your eyebrows knit as your gaze casts across the floor.

“Saving it... okay.”

As far as you’re aware, you don’t have any potting soil on hand, so you struggle to feature what he’s out there doing with it.

It’s right around this time that you notice the silence of the house amidst your quiet consideration.

You raise another question.

“I assume Zero followed him out there?”

Sun’s true focus seems to be gradually shifting away from you and back into the book, if his display’s shift back to blank, soft white and his neutral-toned yet concise reply are anything to go off of.

“Mhm.”

You suck in a breath and pat your legs before easing yourself up off of the couch.

“I'm gonna go see what they’re up to, then.”

You’re so bold as to lay a gentle hand briefly on his shoulder as you pass him by, lingering just long enough to let something sincere slip.

“I hope you enjoy the book.”

He kicks his folded legs back out, crossing them as they come to rest on the opposite armrest once again.

“Don’t spoil it for me.”

You smile at his avoidance of your sentimentality, laughing a bit as you cross the room, headed for the back door, your tone playful.

“I make no promises!”

A/N: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! You can find my (lengthy) commentary on this fic in the end notes right here on Ao3. Links to the playlist and moodboard for [N]MbD can be found on this blog's pinned post, as well as in the series notes on Ao3. Header Image Source: x

[moregraceful]

and i did say to my friends on wednesday nothing else needs to happen this week. i can't take anything else happening, i need nothing to happen for the rest of the week. i did say that. after an $700 vet visit, a job offer, everything around the bchl team research situation, that debacle in the trolley station, that cultural experience in the dive bar, on wednesday i said i'm fucking done with this week and nothing else is going to happen. and what happened? i got a full ride to my top school and danny cheese traded frostbee. i hope a meteor explodes my street next. no i don't they'll never fix the pothole that creates

[rowanisawriter]

No don't take a vow of silence you're so sexy ahah

if my tongue was nailed to the top of my mouth i would stil find a way to talk dw

[arealtrashact]

Hi! I know this message is a bit out of the blue, but I just want to say that I was very surprised to see that you followed me back! I don't know if you meant it or if it was a mistake, but either way, it doesn't matter because whenever I see you in my notifications I always go "omg, that's arealtrashact!!!" and it makes me a lil bit happy because you're one of my favourite artists here!

I've talked about how much I love your art in the tags before, but what really strikes me about your work is how you seem to have a very keen eye when it comes to your subjects, so when you translate your interpretations into illustrations they're always so meaningful and vivid; it's like they're bursting at the seams with the subject's essence. It always leaves me in awe. I've got to admit that I think a lot about your Elvis in the Army and Elvis in Las Vegas pieces. But I also adore all your other work of other musicians, Homelander and even things I'm not familiar with! I'm not an artist myself, so I feel like my vocabulary is falling short of what makes your art so great to me, but it's just *so* striking! And the way you use colour and the fluidity of your character's body and mannerisms are just superb.

Anyway, sorry for the lengthy message! All this to say that you're one of my favourite bloggers, and whether you're sharing your art or posting about the things you love, it's always a pleasure seeing you on my dashboard. You make this place brighter! Thanks, and I hope you have a wonderful day! 💕⚡️

Th........ank....y....youuuu

This is such a beautiful, sweet message. It's taken me twice as long to answer it because I keep scrolling back up to reread it. I never know how to respond to stuff like this beyond blubbering my thanks and it never ever feels like enough. It means so much to me. . . More than I can put into words.

My following you wasn't a mistake. I thought you seemed cool and clearly I was right. Thank you for taking the time to write out this lovely message. I'm treasuring it like a precious stone.

[themalhambird]

so I made this post, @celebrimbor-apologist made these fantastic tags:

#Just#I could imagine Sauron as a khan-esque guy#He's angry at the federation#He hides in plain sight#Manipulates mansplains manslaughters his way through it#While he's on the ship#Adar sees right through him because#Hes been with the capitalist assholes who fucked up his uruks#But by that time Adar is still kinda new on the ship so he isn't as trusted#That's what makes it all the more tragic that sauron gets along well with Celebrimbor#Because Adar and him got along well#Please no Tyelpe dying here please#But dramatic “we were all fooled” scene in sickbay pls#ALSO#Navigations Officer Camnir#Vorohil at the weapons console

and, well. My hand slipped...

Without any discussion amongst themselves, the other senior officers have fallen into pattern, keeping vigil at Celebrimbor’s side in the medbay in shifts. It feels important that somebody is there when he wakes up, and well. The Lindon has spent the better part of a month in enemy control, dead in space, with engineering and the bridge both sealed off, life support functions cutting in and out and explosions buffeting the ship at random moments. The medical officers have their hands full. 

“Ga…lad..riel?”

It’s been three days. It’s early- or late, depending on perspective- and it’s Galadriel’s turn on Celebrimbor-Watch. She had been just about half way to sleep herself. Now, she snaps awake– a bright smile splitting her face at the sight of Celebrimbor’s sharp, bright eyes.  “Hello you.”

“Did…it work..? The transporter?” 

“It worked.” 

Celebrimbor exhales with relief, eyes shutting for a moment. The grief and distress on his face eases briefly, and then his eyes fly wide open once more. He sits up, moving as though he intends to swing out of the bed and start running. “The warp drive. The core, it’s going- the system wasn’t made to handle- she’s going to blow-”

“No, no- Celebrimbor, you fixed it.” Galadriel grabs his arms and holds him steady, noting in the back of her mind how he flinches and whimpers at the contact but not wanting to let go until she’s sure he’s not going to do himself further injury by trying to get up. “Remember,” she says, fixing her steady eyes on his. “Remember? You rigged up a transporter beam and blasted Sauron off the ship. You got control back to the bridge and dropped the shields cutting engineering off. Adar came down– just him, in case the air was too toxic, the deck too unstable or dark for anybody else. Adar found you, and you told him about the transporter, and the threat to the warp drive. You fixed it together, and then you collapsed. Adar carried you from engineering to the medbay, and you’ve been here for three days.”

“Three days?” Celebrimbor repeats. Slowly, he lets Galadriel sink him back down against the pillows. The first officer nods. 

“Three days,” she confirms. “You’re doing well, and the Lindon-” she pauses. Frankly, the Lindon is a mess. Whatever Sauron was trying to achieve, the engine deck has been well and truly cannibalised. So bad is it that the engineers- having secured life support, and repaired any immediately threatening damage, are reluctant to touch anything else until Celebrimbor is able to take a look first. Gil-galad has sent distress signals not only on Star Fleet channels, but on Vulcan, Klingon- even Ferengi frequencies. In an uncharacteristic display of temper and bloodlust Elrond has declared that if they ever manage to figure out what random coordinates Celebrimbor sent Sauron to, he’s going to pull the Maia’s guts out and rearrange them and see how he likes it. “The Lindon is stable,” she says, “and in no immediate danger.”

“Oh. That is…that is good.” Celebrimbor’s eyes drift closed again. Federation medicine had vanquished whatever burns, cuts, and bruises naturally rapid Feonorian healing hadn’t already taken care of (and it worries everyone that Celebrimbor both had wounds old enough that they should have already healed themselves- and that the true extent of how badly hurt their friend has been injured in the last month is, as of yet, unclear). Nevertheless,  the Engineer’s captivity- and, Galadriel supposes, his ordeal in the run up to it, the period where there had been a growing concern that he was experiencing a psychological breakdown- has left him gaunt- visibly ashen and exhausted. He swallows, and seems to be steeling himself for something. When he speaks again, he doesn’t open his eyes, and though he seems to be doing his best to lie very, very still, there’s a faint tremor in his fingers. 

“Galadriel?”

“Yes?”

“Will you…will you please tell Captain Gil-galad that I…am ready to be escorted to the brig at…his pleasure? I will…co-operate fully. With a court martial. Whatever charges he wishes to bring, I’ll not contest them.” he turns his face toward her and when his eyes open again, they are brimming with tears. “If he will see me, I should like to apologize. I neither expect nor deserve forgiveness, but even so, I am sorry. For my foolishness. For not..being strong enough…” A tear spills down , dripping onto the bridge of his nose. Galadriel’s own eyes prickle. 

“Celebrimbor.” She moves her hand to just above his, and when he doesn’t draw away, gently takes it. His fingers are colder than they should be. “Of course Gil-galad will see you- but because you are his friend and he is concerned, not because he is angry. There is no question of a Court Martial- you saved the ship-”

“After I endangered it in the first place-”

“After your attempts at warning of the danger were ignored-”

“The danger that was all my fault-”

“Control of the ship was seized by a hostile alien force who manipulated and coerced you into doing its’ bidding,” Galadriel says. “Celebrimbor, we all thought Annatar was who he claimed to be. That you saw through it at all…well. You remember when he was with us as Halbrand. And I nearly punched Gil-galad in the face?”

Celebrimbor frowns. “...You did punch Gil-galad in the face. And then Gil-galad punched you back. You both ended up rolling around on the floor, pulling each other’s hair.”

“Not according to any of the official logs,” Galadriel says archly “According to the official logs, we only nearly came to blows.  Only you, Gil-galad, and I know different-”

“Elrond knows.”

“Elrond knows everything, Elrond doesn’t count.”

They lapse into silence for a while. It’s not uncomfortable. “The point is,” Galadriel says at last. “If he hadn’t left us when he did, the first time, I don’t know that he wouldn’t have persuaded me to mutiny. And it took us weeks of going back over everything when we found out he wasn’t who he had claimed, piercing it all together, that we even realised he had been manipulating us. And then, when we were explicitly watching for him…he did it all over again. We were all fooled. Alright, Adar was suspicious,” she acknowledges, a little begrudgingly. “But all that meant was that Annatar- Sauron- persuaded me to lock out his access to the bridge. To be fair, I’m still not sure how he had access in the first place-”

The tips of Celebrimbor’s ears turn pink. “That- ah. That may have been me. A flux coil blew in one of the helm’s navigation controls during the party for Disa and Durin’s anniversary. It was a downshift, no one was on the bridge, and everyone else was having such fun, I didn’t want to drag them away to spend half an hour standing about watching me in case I somehow managed to give myself a plasma–shock doing repairs so routine I could manage in the dark standing backward and with one hand tied behind my back. And, well, I got distracted by- that doesn’t matter- and I forgot to revoke it, and no one seemed to mind his coming and going as he pleased until…well. Until Annatar.”

“The point is- and maybe don’t tell anyone else you gave a non-Federation civilian you met when he abducted you the security clearance to get onto the bridge,” Galdriel interjects into her own sentence, the image of an external investigation into this whole mess suddenly flashing before her eyes. “The point is, we were all fooled, Celebrimbor. Twice over.” she squeezes his hand. “You have nothing to blame yourself for, no apologies you need to make.”

“Nevertheless,” Celebrimbor says. He gives her hand a hesitant squeeze in return. “I will make them. Will you tell the Captain I wish to see him, when it’s convenient?”

“I’ll tell him you’re awake, and he’ll come straight down.” Galadriel stands, leaning forward to drop a gentle kiss on his forehead on her way up. “I’d better fetch you a doctor, to, just to give you another look over now you’re awake.” She lets go of his hand, but lingers long enough to give him a last smile. “It’s good to see you, my friend. It is so very good to see you.”

[dasenergi-diary]

I have been back for a week now, from the silent meditation retreat I went on in August.

As always, you come back from these retreats as a changed person. I am not the same person as I was in July.

Oddly, there is not a lot I want to share about this retreat. But there are a few things I want to say.

First, the things I loved:

I love being in noble silence.

I love being in the mountains.

I love that food was provided for me, and I didn't need to want for anything.

I loved watching and listening to the birds and all of the other animals I saw.

I love hiking in the middle of nowhere and not seeing another soul.

I loved doing yoga every night under the stars, and afterwards just laying there watching the night sky.

I love meditation. My two favorite mediations, the first meditation of the day at 6am and the last meditation of the day at 9pm.

Usually when I come home from these retreats, I try to continue my practice. Meditating every day and eating healthier, etc.

But not this time.

Whereas everything about this retreat was just like every retreat I have ever been on, one thing was distinctly different — the teacher and the type of meditation she taught.

She was born into Buddhism in a Buddhist country. It is all she has known, often living in Buddhist monasteries.

In the United States most people gravitate to Buddhism after experiencing some hardship, looking for freedom from suffering. Most Buddhist practitioners in the United States want actionable teachings. Tangible things we can do, to be free from suffering. Tell us what to do, and we will do it.

Whereas my teacher doesn't teach us to do anything. “Do nothing. Just be aware. Observe what is happening right now. Be curious.”

“If you brush your teeth with your right hand, what is your left hand doing?”

I spent several days just watching my mind thinking…

"The mind is not you, it is a process happening all by itself."

The #1 thing my mind does? It makes plans. It's always planning. It plans things to do. It also plans conversations that I might have some day. It fantasizes about things that might happen, and plans what I would do, how I would react.

As my thinking mind was sensory deprived while on the retreat (no reading, no writing, no talking, etc.) it's favorite activity was counting. It wasn't counting anything in particular. It just likes to count 1-2-3-4-5…

Whenever I caught my mind counting, I stopped and checked all six sense doors:

What can I hear?

What can I see?

What can I smell?

What can I taste?

What can I feel?

How is my mind?

I used the counting as a reminder to be in the present moment and "pay attention to what I can be aware of in the present moment." And then I would usually follow that up with, "And what else?"

Don't meditate. Just be relaxed. Be aware. THAT is meditation.

A lot of people at the retreat had a problem with this style of "meditation". They wanted something to focus on. A mantra. A task to do / perform. Loving-kindness / metta meditation. Forgiveness meditation. Something other than doing nothing.

What dawned on me was that after 20+ years of meditation, this "style of meditation" accurately described my daily practice. I just didn't have a name for it or a way to describe it until now. I don't sit daily anymore, because I am always in a constant state of mindfulness… Being aware.

When I swim I am meditating. When I am fixing dinner I am meditating. When I am mowing the lawn I am meditating. When I am doing the dishes I am meditating. When I fall asleep at night I am meditating.

"Don't meditate with expectations. Let go of goals and simply observe what is happening right now."

"Don't be eager for results. Let things happen naturally."

"If you are tense, the mind cannot see clearly. Be relaxed and aware."

"Be here right now."

"Meditation is not just about sitting. It's about how you live your life."

[weepynymph]

Jess Mariano and the art of never saying 'goodbye'

Correct me if I'm wrong, but is the only time Jess ever actually says 'Goodbye' to Rory that time when she explicitly asks him to??

['Because, you didn't say goodbye.'

'Oh. Goodbye, Rory.'

'Goodbye, Jess.']

Because that is objectively heartbreaking and wonderful writing.

[user-needs-new-hyperfixation]

uuuuughh trying to find a place to stay overnight in a rural area and all the reviews for every inn, even if it's not specifically a "B&B" are all "The hosts are so friendly! They made us supper and ate with us and we chatted for three hours on the deck!" NO. Vacation is for recuperating from hours of forced socialization every day. Somebody plonk a Comfort Inn in the middle of podunk nowhere so I can interact with a grumpy chainsmoking check-in guy for all of 45 seconds and not speak to another living soul for three days and just have a place to pass out between long periods of staring contemplatively at the ocean.

[jrueships]

Leaked screenshot of sauce's pathetic hamster recruiting attempts on aaron rodgers

[toxifoxx]

i need my brain rewritten bro

[acourtofquestions]

Boots crunched in hay, and then he was knee to knee before her.

Aedion.

There was nothing kind on his face. No pity or warmth.

For a long minute, they only stared at each other.

Then the prince growled softly, "Your plan was bullshit."

She said nothing, and couldn't stop her shoulders from curving inward.

"Your plan was bullshit," he breathed, his eyes sparking. "How could you ever be her, wear her skin, and think to get away with it? How could you ever think you'd get around the fact that our armies are counting on you to burn the enemy to ashes, and all you can do is run away and emerge as some beast instead?"

"You don't get to pin this retreat on me," she rasped. The first words she'd spoken in days and days.

"You agreed to let Aelin go to her death, and leave us here to be slashed to bloody ribbons. You two told no one of this plan, told none of us who might have explained the realities of this war, and that we would need a gods-damned Fire-Bringer and not an untrained, useless shape-shifter against Morath."

Blow after blow, the words landed upon her weary heart. "We—"

"If you were so willing to let Aelin die, then you should have let her do it after she incinerated Erawan's hordes!"

"It would not have stopped Maeve from capturing her."

"If you'd told us, we might have planned differently, acted differently, and we would not be here, damn you!"

She stared at the muddy hay. "Throw me out of your army, then."

"You ruined everything." His words were colder than the wind outside. "You, and her."

Lysandra closed her eyes.

Hay rustled, and she knew he'd risen to his feet, knew it as his words speared from above her bowed head. "Get out of my tent."

She wasn't certain she could move enough to obey, though she wished to. Needed to. Fight back. She should fight back. Rage at him as he lashed at her, needing an outlet for his fear and despair.

Lysandra opened her eyes, peering up at him. At the rage on his face, the hatred She managed to stand, her body bleating in pain. Managed to look him in the eye, even as Aedion said again with quiet cold, "Get out."

Barefoot in the snow, naked beneath her cloak. Aedion glanced at her bare legs, as if realizing it. And not caring.

So Lysandra nodded, clutching Ansel's cloak tighter, and strode into the frigid night.

"Where is she?" Ren asked, a mug of what smelled like watery soup in one hand, a chunk of bread in the other. The lord scanned the tent as if he would find her under the cot, the hay.

Aedion stared at the precious few logs burning in the brazier, and said nothing.

"What have you done?" Ren breathed.

Everything was about to end. Had been doomed since Maeve had stolen Aelin. Since his queen and the shifter had struck their agreement.

So it didn't matter, what he'd said. He hadn't cared if it wasn't fair, wasn't true.

Didn't care if he was so tired he couldn't muster shame at his pinning on her the blame for the sure defeat they'd face in a matter of days before Perranth's walls.

He wished she'd smacked him, had screamed at him. But she had let him rage. And had walked out into the snow, barefoot.

He'd promised to save Terrasen, to hold the lines. Had done so for years. And yet this test against Morath, when it had counted ... he had failed.

He’d muster the strength to fight again. To rally his men. He just ... he needed to sleep.

Aedion didn't notice when Ren left, undoubtedly in search of the shifter with who he was so damned enamored.

He should summon his Bane commanders. See how they thought to manage this disaster.

But he couldn't. Could do nothing but stare into that fire as the long night passed.

[hauntingblue]

Weird that helaena didn't foresee this btw she has predicted nearly every tragedy that happens to the greens