#the quarrel

[floradelisstuff]

Beloved grieving after the quarrel.

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘍𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘶𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘱 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘱 𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘧𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘺 𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘎𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘖𝘧 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺… 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘢𝘯𝘵… 𝘚𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦…

Created with Photoshop CS2 and BeFunky. I think that I went a bit overboard with the hair... but I like it. I do have all the layers saved separately so can still be changed.

[rangerpippin]

It's about love it's about mutual respect it's about finally being able to listen to and hear and learn from someone who sincerely believes something you never even considered could be right, because you've come to know firsthand that he lives his life with integrity and compassion.

It's about the strain of holding onto a friendship across an ever widening canyon of differing loyalties and knowing that if you ever pressed the issue your friendship wouldn't survive. It's about the moment when a tiny incident, barely even cause for an argument, pushes the strain to the breaking point until tempers flare and words that have been swallowed down for as long as you've known one another come bubbling close to the surface

It's about knowing, knowing, that if you ever failed to bite your tongue, this friend that you love whose life you've laid yours down for and who's laid his life down for you would never ever forgive you, because unforgiveness and feuds and taking offenses that are only settled at the point of a sword is the rhythm by which he lives his life. It's about when you've taken so much and been pushed so far past what you can endure by the hardships you've lived through together and boiled so hot in the anger that wasn't even about the incident you think it was caused by, that has been bubbling for so much longer. It's about when you know it's already too late to get back anything you've lost and at least you'll go out without having swallowed any more teeth

It's about the moment after, after you've done it all, after the volcano has erupted, after you've burned the bridge and said the unforgivable thing and done the unforgivable act, after you've made sure there's no way back, when you realize it wasn't too late after all, it was never too late, but now it is

It's about reaching the point of no return only by what you did once you thought you had already passed it

It's about knowing that forgiveness is already out of your reach, having nothing at all to offer, knowing that you're the one to blame and that you have no strength left to fix everything, but out of utter helplessness asking anyway

And finding, by asking, that asking was all you ever had to do

It's about doing the unforgivable and being forgiven anyway, and finding that forgiveness has given you back more than you had lost

It's about the friendship that came out of the storm being stronger than the one that had never entered it

It's about the moment when one of you needing help that you could no longer hope to deserve is the excuse you both need to forgive, the way that a minor incident was the excuse to have the fight in the first place

It's about a friendship that you never wanted to test for fear that it wouldn't survive was tested anyway, and came out stronger

[casiesfandomblog]

The Quarrel ™

[grrlmusic]

Geotic - The Quarrel 

[vaahdoesstuff]

Listen/purchase: The Quarrel by Geotic

[poem-today]

A poem by Conrad Aiken

                              The Quarrel

Suddenly, after the quarrel, while we waited, Disheartened, silent, with downcast looks, nor stirred Eyelid nor finger, hopeless both, yet hoping Against all hope to unsay the sundering word: While all the room's stillness deepened, deepened about us And each of us crept his thought's way to discover How, with as little sound as the fall of a leaf, The shadow had fallen, and lover quarreled with lover; And while, in the quiet, I marveled–alas, alas– At your deep beauty, your tragic beauty, torn As the pale flower is torn by the wanton sparrow– This beauty, pitied and loved, and now forsworn; It was then, when the instant darkened to its darkest,– When faith was lost with hope, and the rain conspired To strike its gray arpeggios against our heartstrings,– When love no longer dared, and scarcely desired: It was then that suddenly, in the neighbor's room, The music started: that brave quartette of strings Breaking out of the stillness, as out of our stillness, Like the indomitable heart of life that sings When all is lost; and startled from our sorrow, Tranced from our grief by that diviner grief, We raised remembering eyes, each looked at other, Blinded with tears of joy; and another leaf Fell silently as that first; and in the instant The shadow had gone, our quarrel became absurd; And we rose, to the angelic voices of the music, And I touched your hand, and we kissed, without a word.

Conrad Aiken (1889-1973)

[fictionproblem]

EXIT INTERVIEW .

[gleafer]

The Escape Artist

[das-a-kirby-blog]

imo these two would be pretty chill with each other

[sleighhethereal]

Before that mountain fight scene in the MACAQUE episode:

[Y/N], yelling at Macaque: you lied to MK!

Macaque: yep.

[Y/N]: you used him!

Macaque: that is also true.

...

Macaque, eyes half-lidded: she is really pretty

Wukong, punching Macaque's face sending him across mountains: i know, right??

[floradelisstuff]

The image and the associated poem. I think you know what it's about.

Pain

𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘵… 𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥… 𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦…

𝘔𝘺 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 … 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘐𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘯…

𝘔𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘐𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘥 Lays in a heap…

𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘢 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘱𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘵 𝘔𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘤𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵... 𝘔𝘺 𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 S𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘴…

𝘗𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘸𝘯 all 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵, 𝘘𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘥𝘦…

𝘔𝘺 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘯𝘢𝘱 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯,

𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘵…

𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱…

𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘐? 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘩𝘦? 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦?

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘐𝘵 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥…

𝘙𝘦𝘥… 𝘉𝘭𝘶𝘦… 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦 …

𝘈𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘺… !

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓃...!

𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘱… 𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨…

𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦… !

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥…

𝒩𝒪!

𝘏𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦!

𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳… 𝘕𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳…

𝒩𝒪, 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵

𝘔𝘺 𝘍𝘪𝘵𝘻… 𝘉𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥… 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵 ...

𝘐𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯…

𝘠𝘦𝘵... 𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘥..

𝘕𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘯…

𝘐 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦… 𝘐 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦… 𝘔𝘺 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘐𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘴

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓃...

𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘱…

𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱… 𝘐 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘵…

𝐼 𝒹𝑜 𝒩𝒪𝒯 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝘏𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘵…

𝘠𝘦𝘵,

𝐻𝑒 𝒹𝒾𝒹

[frameacloud]

Some fact checks about plurality

The "Bible of psychiatry" is the DSM. In 1994, the DSM changed the name of Multiple Personality Disorder (MPD) to Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID). This was in response to a moral panic where critics claimed that the condition was fake.

The original and current diagnostic criteria do not require trauma for DID (or MPD) (DSM-III, p. 259; DSM-III-R, p. 272; DSM-5-TR, p. 331).

The international counterpart of the DSM is the ICD-11. Its essential features for DID do not require trauma, either.

Both books say that not all cases of multiple personalities are a disorder or a severe impairment. Psychiatry recognizes that medicalizing them is not always appropriate.

Plurality (or multiplicity) is a community umbrella term for many ways of being more than one person in a body. Psychiatrists who know enough about DID are aware of it. Plurality includes but is not the same as DID.

The community has always included plurals who formed for reasons other than trauma. Dividing the community by excluding non-traumagenic plurals and calling them fake is new. That only started in August 2014 on Tumblr, unheard of elsewhere.

When that started, a trauma-caused DID system created the word "endogenic." This means plurals who formed naturally rather than from trauma. The Lunastus Collective coined it in solidarity with them.

(Similarly, the coiner of another umbrella term, "alterhuman," is a member of a traumagenic OSDD system who supports endogenic plurals. The purpose of that word is for plural systems to unite with other sorts who differ from usual definitions of human individual, valuing what we do and do not have in common, instead of in-fighting about who is more legitimate.)

Community historian LB Lee gives several good reasons why-- as trauma-surviving plurals-- they choose not to call themselves "traumagenic" or divide the community by origins. If I may briefly paraphrase a couple of these: If you see suffering as your whole foundation of who you are, then you have a more difficult time envisioning a better situation. If you want others to respect you, a losing strategy is to put down people who are seen as similar to you.

Neither psychiatry nor the greater community of plurals see trauma history as an important distinction in determining whether someone is plural.

[illustratus]

Cardinals' quarrel by Théobald Chartran

[evil-lovergirl]

req. by melxiqz on wattpad .  .  . can i get a uh... dazai x gn reader reader....nsfw...reader has spine... tattoo..

!    short nsfw drabble . . . dazai osamu . . . >> includes thigh-fucking [char. giving], begging [char. giving], hickeys [char. giving], dazai is very touch-starved, he really likes your tattoo, like he licks it and shit, he's just a wet cat </3, reader sleeps shirtless and pantless (still wearing shorts/boxers),n dazai is sleeping nude, lowercase intended >> sorry thigh-fucking was literally the only way i could think of where he sees your tattoo. also "laurel" refers to the poisonous laurel flower. i was a little tired of dazai calling reader belladonna every story and the laurel flower is really pretty

"it's late, 'samu." he hears you attempt to reason with him as he presses his chest against your back, his slender hands already pressing against your chest.

"pleasee? jus' for a little bit, jus' tonight.." he whines as he presses his bulge against your legs, dick already hard and weeping pathetically as he pressed his cheek against your back.

"just for tonight," you relent eventually, knowing that you'd both do this another night again anyway. he lets out a happy sound before one of his hands fall from your chest and down to your thigh as he carefully slips his cock between your thighs, letting out a quiet huff as he slowly begins to move. 

he keeps his eyes shut for a moment before he looks at the back of your head, then his gaze traces down to your tattoo. his eyes traces each inch of the ink-stained skin on your back, hand on your thigh tightening as he speed his thrusts up a bit more.

 his mouth lets out another moan or two before he latched onto your shoulder blade with it, teeth gently pressing against your skin before your hand moved to gently swat him off. "don't do that. i can't hear you, then."

he huffs as he lets go before a whine interrupts him, your hand having retreated and gently prodded at his tip between your thighs with each of his thrusts. his fingers are basically clawing at you, even though his nails were much too short and blunt to reach your skin, anyway. he pants, tounge lolling out like a dog before he glanced back at the tattoo.

deciding that, in his fuzzy mind, licking your inked skin was the second best thing he could do if he couldn't suck, he dragged his tounge across your tattoo with whines escaping hing him as his thrusts between your thighs grew faster yet sloppier, mewling whenever the palm of your hand met the sensitive tip of his dick.

"i love you, i lov-e y-youu, soo muc-- ah, ah..!- so much," he whines out, repeating the words like a broken record on repeat, nearing his climax as his fingers dragged across your chest pathetically and his hand tightened and shook against your thigh, leaving behind red marks in their wake.

"i love you too, osamu. won't you cum for me?" and that's what sends him over the edge, loud mix of a mewl and a moan escaping him as he came all over your thighs and the bedsheets, head buried in your back.

"looks like you had fun," you mused as your hand moved away from his spent tip before gently intertwining with his hand on your chest still, but now much weaker.

"i love you, my laurel," he mumbled softly, chest rising and falling as he breathed heavily before kissing your back rather gently.

"i love you too, 'samu. go to sleep, unless you wanna clean up now?"

"noooo..."

[design-art-architecture]

Sometimes its hard to believe someone has already built your dreams: Ensamble Studio’s @anton_ensamble C’an Terra transforms an abandoned quarry in Menorca into a singular holiday home. Sandstone volumes were refined, smoothed, and paved back, with concrete poured in selected areas to achieve an even surface, and patches of walls smoothened to mimic beige stone block construction. Tucked somewhere in the back is a private room with a pool dug out of the floor—a refined version of swimming holes often enjoyed in nature. Photos: @iwanbaan

[gleafer]

New comic dropped this morning! Join Patreon/Gleafer The Insider or The Spicy Insider to see what happens when Muriel had all that they can take.