Mrs. GREEN APPLE、新曲「共犯」MVの宇宙人になれるYouTubeショートエフェクト公開
https://www.billboard-japan.com/d_news/detail/167185
#billboardjapan #Billboard_JAPAN_音楽ニュース #ビルボードジャパン #Billboard_JAPAN #Mrs_GREEN_APPLE #チャート #音楽 #洋楽 #邦楽 #ミュージック #アーティスト #ランキング #ニュース
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16 results for “Mrs_Moons”
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#NHK #SONGS #ミセス
"【SONGSスペシャル】第722回 Mrs. GREEN APPLE
【放 送】 10月29日(木) 午後10:00～10:45 ＜総合＞
【出 演】 Mrs. GREEN APPLE
【指 揮】 栗田博文
【演 奏】 東京フィルハーモニー交響楽団【VTR出演】大泉 洋、コロッケ、原 菜乃華、水野良樹
さらに未公開トークを盛り込んだ拡大版の放送も決定！
詳細は番組ホームページなどでお知らせします。お楽しみに！
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【SONGS】Mrs. GREEN APPLE ／ lulu. │フルオーケストラと共演！│ NHK - YouTube
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wuGWqEjYjiw -
#NHK #SONGS #ミセス
"【SONGSスペシャル】第722回 Mrs. GREEN APPLE
【放 送】 10月29日(木) 午後10:00～10:45 ＜総合＞
【出 演】 Mrs. GREEN APPLE
【指 揮】 栗田博文
【演 奏】 東京フィルハーモニー交響楽団【VTR出演】大泉 洋、コロッケ、原 菜乃華、水野良樹
さらに未公開トークを盛り込んだ拡大版の放送も決定！
詳細は番組ホームページなどでお知らせします。お楽しみに！
"
【SONGS】Mrs. GREEN APPLE ／ シンデレラ │フルオーケストラと共演！│ NHK - YouTube
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mt-LN6oX1Dw -
#NHK #SONGS #ミセス
"【SONGSスペシャル】第722回 Mrs. GREEN APPLE
【放 送】 10月29日(木) 午後10:00～10:45 ＜総合＞
【出 演】 Mrs. GREEN APPLE
【VTR出演】大泉 洋、コロッケ、原 菜乃華、水野良樹さらに未公開トークを盛り込んだ拡大版の放送も決定！
詳細は番組ホームページなどでお知らせします。お楽しみに！
"
【SONGS】Mrs. GREEN APPLE ／ Brand New │拡大版の放送もお楽しみに！│ NHK - YouTube
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aTWJoh76KGc -
Agatha Christie as a ghost AND a sleuth? Amanda Chapman sold me on the whole series. My 4 star ARC review of Mrs. Christie and the Mystery in the Mews is up now on Views She Writes. Out December 8! #CozyMystery #AgathaChristie #BookReview
https://viewsshewrites.com/mrs-christie-and-the-mystery-in-the-mews/
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I HATE when politicians require a salutation to send them communication. Why? The salutations are gender-based AND for a woman require identification of marital status since you must choose from single (Miss) married (Mrs) or feminist (Ms). A man does not have to indicate his marital status or his gender opinion when choosing a salutation. There is no need to require this information since the gender of a constituent is irrelevant! (Looking at you Hakeem Jeffries)
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Mon Ouka commence à ressembler à quelque chose ! Je pense que c'est un des waza sur lequel j'ai eu le plus de difficulté so far en vrai :thonk:
Wazas 技 : Ouka (桜華) → Denebola → Mrs Narcissa (ミセスナルシッサ) → Kongou (金剛)
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1942 Quarter-Final Round
Top two films from each advance to the Semi-Final Round
See all polls by clicking the "View all pinned posts" link at the bottom of the first post on my page.The Man Who Came to Dinner
Sherlock Holmes and the Secret Weapon
To Be or Not to Be
Mrs. Miniver#Film #Movies #FilmCommunity #Cinema #CineMastodon #ClassicFilms #FilmPoll #FilmTournament
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https://www.europesays.com/africa/505922/ Senator Dr. Rasha Kelej and Ghana First Lady, H.E. Mrs. LORDINA DRAMANI MAHAMA, Inspire Ghanian Schoolgirls at During the Launch of Educating Linda Program #Africa #AID #education #Ghana #Health #healthcare
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BE：FIRST・JUNON、MAZZEL・KAIRYU＆NAOYAが名曲をカバー！Mrs. GREEN APPLE、KEY TO LITらも出演
11月9日（月）19時からの2時間の生放送でおくる『CDTVライブ！ライブ！』（TBS系）に、Mrs. GREEN APPLE、BE:FIRST、KEY TO LIT、MAZZELらが出演することが発表されました。 アー [...]
#MAGMOE #JP #JAPAN #Celebrity #EntertainmentNews ##モデル #befirst #cancam #entertainment #エンタメ #エンタメニュース #キャンキャン #ジュニア #テレビ #ビューティ #ファッション #占い #恋愛
https://www.magmoe.com/3325572/entertainment-news/2026-11-03/ -
11月3日
祝日が休みの子とカラオケに行ってきました。食わず嫌いしてたMrs. GREEN APPLEが意外と好きな曲が多くてびっくりです。 -
Photograph, South Wyndham School Jubilee 1928
This is a photograph taken at the South Wyndham School Jubilee in 1928. Who is in the Photograph? Back Row: J Stirling, H Stirling, J McKay, G Hunter, J A Stirling, A Rankin, W Stirling. Front: A Howe, T McPhail, H Holms, MrHorne (first school teacher), I Howe, Mrs Russell, J Johnstone.
Wyndham & Districts Historical Museum via DigitalNZhttp://api.digitalnz.org/records/48087135/source
#PeopleAndFamilies #Education #EventsAndParades #1920s #Organic #H275MmXW340Mm #Museum #Museums #DigitalNZ
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DATE: November 4, 2026 at 08:00PM
SOURCE: PSYPOST.ORG** Research quality varies widely from fantastic to small exploratory studies. Please check research methods when conclusions are very important to you. **
-------------------------------------------------TITLE: Could psychedelics aid therapy for personality disorders? An unusual case offers a first look
A new case report describes a 37-year-old woman with severe personality disorders and ADHD who improved markedly over a year of specialized psychotherapy, during which she also took psychedelic drugs on her own. By the end of the year, she no longer met the diagnostic criteria for narcissistic or paranoid personality disorder, and her borderline symptoms and emotional instability had eased. The report, published in Psychiatry Research Case Reports, raises the question of whether psychedelics might aid psychotherapy for personality disorders, a possibility the authors say needs testing in further pilot studies.
Personality disorders are deeply ingrained patterns of thinking, feeling, and behaving that deviate from cultural expectations and cause severe distress or difficulty in daily life. People with these conditions often struggle with a distorted sense of self, extreme emotional swings, and turbulent relationships. Narcissistic personality disorder involves a fragile sense of self-esteem regulated through grandiosity or extreme vulnerability to criticism, while borderline personality disorder is marked by intense fears of abandonment, impulsive actions, and sudden shifts in mood.
Paranoid personality disorder involves pervasive, unwarranted distrust and suspicion of others, while antisocial personality disorder involves a persistent disregard for the rights of others. Talk therapy remains the primary treatment for these conditions because no medications have been specifically approved to resolve core personality pathology.
In recent years, psychiatrists and psychologists have begun exploring whether psychedelic substances like psilocybin and MDMA might help treat stubborn mental health conditions. This involves either macrodosing, where a patient takes a large dose to induce an intense, mind-altering experience, or microdosing, which entails taking tiny, repeated doses that do not cause hallucinations.
The authors of a 2020 review made the case for researching psychedelics as part of treatment for borderline personality disorder, noting that the drugs may influence some of the same targets as existing therapies, including emotional control, self-compassion, and social functioning. Similarly, a study of clinicians noted trauma-related parallels between PTSD and borderline personality disorder, suggesting that the goals of MDMA-assisted therapy align closely with those of dialectical behavior therapy, a skills-based therapy developed for borderline personality disorder.
Actual clinical data on using psychedelics for personality disorders has remained minimal. Before the new study, the only previously published case of its kind, to the authors’ knowledge, was a 2020 case report describing a 39-year-old woman with treatment-resistant depression and a complex personality disorder who received escalating weekly doses of LSD in a hospital setting. That patient experienced rapid reductions in emotional instability, depressed mood, and suicidal thoughts for about a week after each dose, even without experiencing acute hallucinogenic trips or receiving specialized talk therapy.
To expand on this small body of evidence, Martin Blay of the ADDIPSY Outpatient Addictology and Psychiatry Center in Lyon and Université Paris-Saclay, alongside his colleagues Inès Benmakhlouf and Mario Speranza, documented the trajectory of a patient who combined structured psychotherapy with her own independent psychedelic regimen.
The descriptive case report focuses on a 37-year-old woman, referred to as Mrs. P, who sought treatment at an outpatient center for severe personality pathology, ADHD, and cannabis use disorder. Mrs. P reported a history of severe physical and emotional abuse from her parents during childhood, as well as an attempted rape in 2016, and she was entirely estranged from her family. Her family medical history included two cases of schizophrenia in her grandmother and sister, bipolar disorder in her mother, and alcohol use and depressive disorders among other relatives. Her own psychiatric care began in 2009 after a suicide attempt, resulting in an initial diagnosis of bipolar disorder and over a decade of unsuccessful medication and psychoanalytic therapy.
In late 2021, specialists revised her diagnosis to mixed personality disorder and ADHD, and she completed a year of dialectical behavior therapy without improvement before arriving at the authors’ clinic. At her initial intake, she was highly agitated, spoke rapidly, and reported severe emotional outbursts, frequent conflicts with her partner, suicidal behaviors, and deep mistrust and contempt toward others. The clinicians administered a battery of standardized interviews and questionnaires before treatment began and again after one year. At baseline, using the Structured Clinical Interview for DSM-IV Personality Disorders, she met the diagnostic thresholds for borderline, antisocial, narcissistic, and paranoid personality disorders.
The treatment team proposed a weekly individual therapy program alongside a prescription for methylphenidate to manage her hyperactivity. The psychotherapy was based on Good Psychiatric Management, a structured approach that helps patients understand how their symptoms relate to interpersonal sensitivity and daily stressors. She also joined a six-week psychoeducation group for narcissistic personality disorder, an intervention previously developed and outlined in a 2024 proposal by all three of the study’s authors and their colleagues. Mrs. P initially refused all psychiatric medication, accepted the psychotherapy, and informed her clinicians during the first sessions that she had begun buying psychedelics online to self-administer alongside her therapy.
Because of her family history of schizophrenia, the clinicians had serious safety concerns about her psychedelic use, as these substances can trigger psychotic episodes in vulnerable people. However, Mrs. P insisted she would take the substances regardless of their advice. To preserve the fragile therapeutic relationship and monitor her for any emerging signs of psychosis, the team agreed to proceed with the psychotherapy while discussing her experiences openly during sessions. Each weekly therapy session reviewed her recent emotional outbursts, practiced mentalizing (the ability to understand her own and others’ mental states and motives), linked her current reactions to past traumas, and set practical goals for emotional regulation.
Over the course of her treatment, Mrs. P logged her psychedelic intakes, tracking the dates, doses, substances, and personal insights gained, while abstaining from cannabis and other drugs during the year. In most microdosing cycles she took a dose every two to three days, using small amounts of psilocybin truffles, an LSD analog called 1cP-LSD, or a mescaline analog called methallylescaline. Her eight macrodosing sessions involved larger amounts of psilocybin truffles, one dose of Amanita muscaria mushrooms, or MDMA, typically 100 to 130 milligrams. In one session, a weighing error led her to take 600 milligrams of MDMA, about five times her usual dose, resulting in an overly intense experience accompanied by temporary side effects including a rapid heart rate, anxiety, and impaired physical coordination, though she did not seek medical care.
After one year of this combined regimen, psychometric testing showed substantial reductions across multiple symptoms. On the structured diagnostic interview, her narcissistic criteria fell from five to none and her paranoid criteria from four to one, so she no longer qualified for either diagnosis. Her borderline criteria fell from eight to five and her antisocial criteria from six to four, still enough for both diagnoses. Her scores for avoidant and obsessive-compulsive personality disorder criteria remained unchanged at one and three.
Symptom severity scales echoed these diagnostic shifts. Her borderline symptom severity dropped by 72.2 percent on the self-reported Borderline Symptom List (from 3.13 to 0.869 on a 4-point scale) and by 68.8 percent on the clinician-administered Zanarini Rating Scale (from 16 to 5 on a 36-point scale), shifting her borderline symptoms from high or moderate down to moderate or mild. Measures of pathological obsessive-compulsive traits and covert narcissism also declined by about 20 to 32 percent. Her scores on a brief pathological narcissism inventory, which were already within the normal range at baseline, showed a modest reduction in vulnerable narcissism and almost none in grandiose narcissism.
Measures of emotional and social functioning also improved over the year. Her difficulties with emotion regulation decreased by 29.1 percent (from 127 to 90), and her impulsivity score dropped by nearly 12 percent. Her score on the Toronto Alexithymia Scale (which measures alexithymia, the difficulty recognizing and describing one’s own emotions) dropped by 28.3 percent, moving her out of the possible-alexithymia range. Her social functioning frequency rose by 24.1 percent and her social satisfaction increased by 85.7 percent (from 21 to 39 out of 40), though her overall functional impairment on the Sheehan Disability Scale changed little, moving from 27 to 25 out of 30.
Clinically, Mrs. P stopped having suicidal crises and began viewing her intense mistrust of others as an outdated defense mechanism rooted in childhood trauma rather than an objective reality. Her ADHD hyperactivity remained pronounced, and she had to rely on daily organizational strategies to avoid exhaustion after briefly trying and stopping stimulant medication. The authors hypothesize that the psychedelic intakes facilitated her progress in therapy, noting that her major interpersonal breakthroughs in sessions closely followed her macrodosing experiences, though they emphasize that this idea remains highly speculative and should be considered with the utmost caution.
In her own written perspective, Mrs. P recalled her mindset before treatment: “I was like an injured wild animal, like ‘me against the whole world.'” She credited the psychedelics with shifting her out of emotional dissociation and helping her replace shame and guilt with self-compassion, while crediting the non-judgmental psychotherapy with helping her integrate those lessons and trust other people.
Aspects of Mrs. P’s progress align with several earlier studies on psychoactive substances, though those studies used different designs and populations. Her reductions in narcissistic traits parallel a 2020 survey of the general population, which examined self-reported traits rather than clinical personality disorder symptoms in a psychotherapy patient, and found that awe-inspiring psychedelic experiences were associated with lower maladaptive narcissism. Her reductions in borderline symptoms also align with a clinical study of depressed patients with borderline personality disorder that observed symptom improvements following intravenous ketamine infusions rather than classic psychedelics.
Additionally, a 2024 prospective survey of adults microdosing for ADHD found that microdosing was associated with reductions in ADHD symptoms and one aspect of emotion regulation over four weeks compared to conventional medication. That survey relied on online self-reports rather than a clinical case combining micro- and macrodosing with talk therapy. While Mrs. P similarly showed improvements in emotion regulation and impulsivity, her core hyperactive ADHD symptoms persisted throughout the year.
At the same time, this single positive outcome stands in tension with broader safety data regarding personality disorders and psychedelic use. In a 2024 observational study that tracked general drops in mental wellbeing across mostly unsupervised and recreational psychedelic use rather than structured, specialized psychotherapy, 16 percent of all participants reported worse mental health afterward, and people with a history of personality disorders accounted for a disproportionate 31 percent of those negative outcomes.
The case report’s authors cite this research as showing roughly a fourfold higher risk of worsening mental health among people with personality disorders. Although the authors acknowledge that no such worsening occurred in Mrs. P’s case, they also point to a phase 2 trial of psilocybin for treatment-resistant depression in which all three participants who showed suicidal behavior after receiving the highest dose had a history of suicide attempts or self-injury, a pattern the authors suggest may indicate underlying personality disorders.
There are several other caveats to keep in mind when interpreting this case report. Because Mrs. P chose the timing, substances, and doses on her own without supervised drug sessions, her care cannot be classified as standard psychedelic-assisted psychotherapy, and it is impossible to separate the effects of the drugs from the effects of the talk therapy. As the authors note, Mrs. P might have achieved these same improvements through the specialized psychotherapy and strong therapeutic alliance alone.
Other factors could explain her progress. People who enter treatment in crisis often improve from that low point regardless of the intervention, and stopping cannabis use (one of the reasons she was referred for care) may by itself ease mood swings, impulsivity, and the kind of suspiciousness reflected in her drop from four paranoid criteria to one. Her enthusiasm for psychedelics could have shaped her questionnaire answers, and the acknowledgments thank her for helping write the paper. In addition, case reports tend to be written up when outcomes are good, whereas patients in similar situations who got worse would be unlikely to produce a paper like this.
Questions also surround the drugs she took and the timeline of her use. The substances she bought online were never tested, so their actual content and doses cannot be verified. The paper’s dates also conflict: the text says her therapy began at the end of 2023, yet her psychedelic log starts in September 2022 and includes overlapping cycles and out-of-order entries. That makes it unclear whether she started psychedelics before therapy or how much of her use fell between the two assessments.
The authors further note that Mrs. P’s case does not reflect typical psychiatric patients, who frequently take daily prescription medications. Aside from her brief trial of methylphenidate, she took no psychiatric medications while using psychedelics. Combining psychedelics with some psychiatric drugs can trigger severe medical emergencies, such as seizures when mixed with lithium or dangerous spikes in blood pressure when combined with monoamine oxidase inhibitors, an uncommon class of antidepressants.
The researchers suggest that further pilot studies are needed to test whether combining psychedelics with psychotherapy could be safe and useful for patients with personality disorders.
The study, “Could psychedelics be useful in the treatment of patients with personality disorder? A case report of psychotherapy with concomitant use of psychedelics,” was authored by Martin Blay, Inès Benmakhlouf, and Mario Speranza.
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Ink and Rain - Chapter 1
The rain in Prague didn't just fall; it seemed to hang in the air, a silver mist that clung to the cobblestones of the Lesser Town and turned the spires of the Old Town into ghostly silhouettes against a bruised twilight sky.
Elias Thorne hated the rain. As a restorer of ancient manuscripts, he preferred the dry, dust-moted stillness of his workshop, the smell of aged parchment and iron-gall ink, and the predictable rhythm of centuries-old paper. But Prague was a city of water, and lately, Elias felt as though he were drowning in it.
He had come here three months ago to catalog a private collection of 17th-century correspondence before they were auctioned off. The job was supposed to take six weeks. It had stretched into a season of endless delays, bureaucratic red tape, and a loneliness that felt heavier than the wool coat he wore.
The shop he worked out of, Antikvariat Světlo, was a narrow, crooked building tucked between a bakery and a shuttered bookstore. The owner, an elderly woman named Mrs. Greta who spoke Czech with a German accent and English with a sigh, had given him the back room. It was cold, drafty, and smelled faintly of lavender and damp stone.
Elias sat at his workbench, a magnifying loupe pressed to his right eye, carefully peeling a brittle page from a binding. His hands were steady, but his mind was wandering again. He thought of London, of the grey skies there that felt different—flatter, less romantic. He thought of the silence of his apartment, the way the phone rarely rang.
A knock at the front door shattered his concentration.
It wasn't the polite tap of a customer. It was a heavy, impatient pounding, followed by the bell above the door jangling violently.
Elias sighed, setting down his tweezers. "Greta is closed," he called out in Czech, hoping the visitor would get the hint.
"I know she's closed! I'm looking for the man who fixes books!" The voice was deep, rough around the edges, and unmistakably British.
Elias froze. He walked to the doorway connecting his workshop to the main shop. Standing there, dripping wet and shaking a black umbrella that looked like it had lost a fight with a gale, was a man.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a leather jacket that cost more than Elias's monthly rent. His hair was dark, plastered to his forehead, and his eyes were a startling shade of amber, scanning the cluttered shelves with a mixture of frustration and curiosity.
"You're the book fixer?" the stranger asked, stepping closer. Water pooled around his boots on the worn floorboards.
"I'm Elias," he said, crossing his arms. "And yes, I restore books. But we're closed."
"My name is Julian," the man said, ignoring the dismissal. He pulled a small, sodden bundle from his pocket. It was wrapped in oilcloth, which had done little to protect the contents. "I found this in a dumpster behind a café in Vinohrady. It's... it's important. My grandfather's journal. I think it's falling apart."
Elias looked at the bundle. Even through the oilcloth, he could see the damage. The spine was broken, pages were swollen with water, and the leather cover was peeling. It was a mess.
"That's not a restoration job," Elias said gently. "That's a rescue mission. And it's going to take weeks. Maybe months. And it will be expensive."
Julian stepped forward, invading Elias's personal space. Up close, Elias could smell rain, expensive cologne, and something earthy, like cedar. "I don't care about the cost. Just tell me you can save it."
Elias looked into those amber eyes. There was a desperation there, a raw vulnerability that contradicted the man's imposing exterior. It tugged at something in Elias's chest, a chord he hadn't realized was waiting to be struck.
"Bring it in," Elias said softly.
Over the next few weeks, Julian became a fixture in the workshop.
He didn't just drop off the journal and leave. He came every day, usually around noon, bringing coffee from the bakery next door or pastries that were too flaky to eat without making a mess. He would sit on a stool in the corner, watching Elias work.
At first, Elias found it distracting. He was used to working in silence, the only sounds being the scratch of his knife and the rustle of paper. Julian's presence was loud—he shifted constantly, hummed tunelessly, and asked questions about the process.
"Why do you use that glue?" Julian asked one afternoon, leaning over the workbench.
"It's animal hide glue," Elias explained, not looking up from the page he was flattening under a weighted board. "It's reversible. If I make a mistake, or if someone wants to undo my work later, they can. Synthetic glues trap the acid in the paper and destroy it over time."
"So you're preserving the possibility of change," Julian mused. "That's poetic."
"It's practical," Elias corrected, though a small smile tugged at his lips. "But yes, I suppose it is."
They fell into a rhythm. Julian would arrive, watch for an hour, ask a question, and then leave to run errands or meet friends. Sometimes he stayed late, helping Elias sort through boxes of loose pages that had been separated from their bindings.
One evening, as the sun began to set, casting long, golden shadows across the workshop, Julian brought out a bottle of wine.
"Greta said it's okay," he lied. Elias knew Greta wouldn't have said that, but he didn't correct him.
They sat on the floor, backs against the shelves, sharing a glass of cheap red wine. The rain had stopped, and the air in the room felt warm and still.
"What are you doing in Prague, really?" Elias asked, swirling the wine in his glass. "You said it was for the journal, but you've been here for a month. You don't seem like the type to spend your days watching old men fix books."
Julian laughed, a low, rumbling sound. "I'm an architect. Or I was. I took a sabbatical. My firm was pushing for a project in Dubai, something massive, glass and steel. I couldn't do it. I wanted to... find something real. Something that lasted."
"And the journal?"
"It belonged to my grandfather. He was a diplomat. He wrote about everything—the politics, the people, the beauty of the places he visited. But mostly, he wrote about feeling alone. Even when he was surrounded by crowds." Julian looked at Elias, his gaze intense. "I felt like I understood him for the first time when I found that book. I needed to save it because I needed to save myself."
Elias felt a pang of sympathy. He knew that feeling of isolation, of being surrounded by history but disconnected from the present. "I came here to escape," he admitted quietly. "London was... suffocating. Too many expectations. Too much noise. I thought if I went somewhere old, somewhere quiet, I could find clarity."
"Did you?" Julian asked.
Elias looked around the workshop. At the stacks of paper, the jars of ink, the dust motes dancing in the fading light. Then he looked at Julian, sitting cross-legged on the floor, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlamp outside.
"I think I'm starting to," Elias said.
Their eyes held for a moment longer than necessary. The air between them seemed to thicken, charged with something unspoken. Elias felt his heart beat faster, a traitorous rhythm that he couldn't control.
Julian reached out, his hand hovering near Elias's. "You have ink on your cheek," he whispered.
Elias froze. "Do I?"
"Yeah." Julian's hand moved, his thumb brushing lightly against Elias's skin. The touch was electric, sending a shiver down Elias's spine. It was gentle, tentative, yet it carried a weight that made Elias's breath catch.
"Elias," Julian said, his voice barely audible.
"Julian," Elias replied.
Neither of them moved away. The distance between them closed, inch by agonizing inch. When their lips finally met, it was soft, hesitant, a question rather than a demand. Elias tasted the wine on Julian's tongue, felt the warmth of his skin, the roughness of his stubble against his own smooth cheek.
It was a kiss that felt like coming home.
When they broke apart, both of them were breathing heavily. Julian's eyes were dark, the amber almost swallowed by black.
"I've wanted to do that since the day I walked in," Julian confessed.
"Me too," Elias admitted, his voice trembling. "I thought I was here to fix books. I didn't realize I was here to fix myself."
"Maybe we can fix each other," Julian suggested, his hand sliding down to rest on Elias's knee.
The rest of the evening blurred into a haze of touches and whispers. They moved to the small cot in the corner of the workshop, surrounded by the scent of old paper and the promise of something new. The rain started again outside, tapping against the window, but inside, the world was warm and safe.
Weeks turned into months. The journal was slowly coming back to life. The pages were dried, the ink stabilized, the binding reinforced. It was a masterpiece of restoration, a testament to Elias's skill and patience.
But the real miracle was what had happened between the lines of the journal.
Elias and Julian had fallen deeply, irrevocably in love. They explored the city together, walking along the Vltava River at dawn, climbing the stairs of the Castle at sunset, getting lost in the winding streets of the Jewish Quarter. They shared meals in tiny restaurants, danced in the rain, and talked late into the night about everything and nothing.
Elias found that he no longer hated the rain. He loved the way it reflected the lights of the city, the way it washed away the dust of the past. He loved the way Julian looked at him, as if he were the most precious thing in the world.
One evening, as they sat on the balcony of Elias's apartment, watching the snow begin to fall, Julian turned to him.
"The journal is finished," he said. "It's ready to be sold."
Elias felt a pang of sadness. "Yes. It's time."
"But I don't want to sell it," Julian said firmly. "I want to keep it. With you."
Elias looked at him, surprised. "But your grandfather... the family..."
"My grandfather would have wanted me to find happiness," Julian said, reaching for Elias's hand. "And I found it here. With you."
Elias smiled, tears pricking his eyes. "I think I found it too."
They leaned in, their foreheads touching, sharing a silent promise. The snow fell around them, blanketing the city in white, turning Prague into a fairy tale.
In the end, the journal was more than just a collection of words. It was a bridge between two worlds, a connection between two souls who had been lost and had found each other in the most unexpected place.
As the winter deepened, Elias knew that he wouldn't be leaving Prague. The city had become his home, not because of its history or its beauty, but because of the man who stood beside him, holding his hand, ready to face whatever came next.
The rain had stopped, the snow had begun, and for the first time in a long time, Elias Thorne felt whole.
Epilogue
Six months later, the exhibition opened in the main hall of the National Museum. The restored journal was displayed in a glass case, bathed in soft light. Visitors marveled at the intricate details, the vibrant colors of the illustrations, the perfect preservation of the text.
Elias stood in the corner, watching the crowd. He wore a suit that fit perfectly, a gift from Julian. He looked polished, confident, happy.
Julian appeared beside him, his arm slipping around Elias's waist. "You did it," he whispered. "You saved it."
"We saved it," Elias corrected, leaning into Julian's embrace. "Together."
They watched the visitors, the historians, the dreamers, all drawn to the story of a man who had traveled the world and found himself in the pages of a book.
But the real story, the one that mattered most, was the one they were living every day. A story of love, of healing, of finding home in the arms of another.
And as the lights dimmed and the crowd dispersed, Elias and Julian walked out into the cool night air, hand in hand, ready to write the next chapter of their lives.
#InkAndRain #BL #BoysLove #MLM #QueerArt #LGBTQ #LGBT #story #art #gay @bl @board
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Tues. Nov. 3, 2026: Still in Pumpkin Season
image courtesy of Deborah Jackson from PixabayTuesday, November 3, 2026
Waning Moon
Neptune, Saturn, Chiron, Uranus, Venus, Mercury Retrograde
Partly cloudy and mild
Welcome to another week! I hope your weekend was grand, and full of fun, seasonal activities.
Many people start decorating for the Winter Holidays right after Halloween, and if that makes them happy, good for them. I prefer to enjoy the harvesty November vibe, the going dark and quiet, and then decorating after Thanksgiving. We should all do what makes us happy.
You can read the Community Tarot Reading for the Week here. We’re using a different deck, and we have a different spread for the coming year.
Friday, I was tired. Thursday had worn me out more than expected, mostly because of those who think I exist for their convenience. They are in for a rude awakening.
On a happier note, a friend of mine recorded herself singing an Elvis-inspired birthday song to my mom, which was a delight.
Anyway, Friday I wrote some cards, got a package for a friend packed up, and headed to the post office on foot after breakfast. I wasn’t sure I was up to it, but felt I should try.
Good thing I went on foot. There was a major water main break on Ashland, right near the post office. I had to slosh through to get to the post office, and slosh back to get home. But I got it all done. I disinfected my wet feet, shoes, and socks. I put up some extra water in pots and buckets in case we were shut off completely, instead of just low pressure.
It was bad enough that the library was closed for the day, along with businesses like Christo’s Pizza.
I put the new insurance cards in the car and my wallet, and remembered to put the new registration sticker on the license plate, so that’s all good.
North Adams Farmers’ Market won Best of the Berkshires this year. Yay! Well deserved.
I finished reading Alyssa Maxwell’s MURDER AT ROSECLIFF, and really enjoyed it. I’ve attended several of the Newport Flower Shows there, and appreciate the space, so it was fun to read a novel set there. Alyssa’s done a good job with the whole series. If you like historical mystery, this is a worthwhile series. Each book is set in a different Newport mansion, and she is meticulous with her research.
Did some work on the ghostwriting, but not enough. Every bit that gets done is more than I had before, though. Got a short story out on submission, too.
Up at the usual time on Saturday, ready to celebrate Samhain. The day was about a series of small ceremonies, each with a different focus. I also played with cats and read a bit. I started a couple of books that were disappointing, so I put them aside. Unless I’m being paid, I’m not pushing through books I don’t enjoy any more.
I had crockpot meatballs and sauce going most of the day, for a spaghetti and meatballs supper. It’s a variation on the Samhain black/white/red supper (where all the food and décor are in black, white, and red). I’ve attended some of these dinners in past years, back in New York that were gorgeously dramatic. Some of them combined with the concept of the “Dumb Supper” where extra places are set for those who have died, and the entire meal is held in silence.
We were much simpler. Just a basic meal, and talking about those we remembered who are no longer around.
I did my tarot spread for the coming year in the afternoon, and then did the ritual and the first of the Tending the Dead rituals that night.
I watched some video from the Greenwich Village Halloween Parade, which was a lot of fun. Imagine, 170 dancers for the “Thriller” dance portion of the parade, and a whole cadre of drummers dressed to honor Dolly Parton. Along with the costumes, floats, and puppets that are always a part of the spectacle. It looks like people had a really good time.
I rarely got a chance to view the parade in person during the years I lived in NYC. I usually had a show that night, and then dashed off for a ritual. But this history of the parade is a lot of fun. If you’re interested in learning more about the parade’s history, which stretches back to the 1970’s, you can do so here.
I turned the clocks back before I went to sleep on Saturday night. I love “falling back” because I can do so much with that extra hour.
Up at the usual time on Sunday. The cats had demanded breakfast from my mom, and she got up to feed them, then went back to bed. I started the morning routine.
After breakfast, I took down all the spiderweb curtains. I put up the red curtains in the front of the house, the dark greens striped curtains (made by an aunt in the 1940’s and which are still beautiful) in the kitchen, and the gold curtains in my office. I also put the weatherstripping into the wonky window in my office, so we’ll see if that helps. I switched out the twinkle lights in the kitchen – they are still autumn-colored, but not pumpkin lights.
I did the Community Tarot Reading for the Week, which you can read here.
I’ve been invited back to judge the contest I’ve been judging for quite a few years now, and am happy to do so. I will ask to keep the same categories.
I was invited to submit some plays to a theatre that’s about an hour away, so I may do that this week, if I have something appropriate.
I heard about an anthology that moved publishers. The volume of stories I’m included in will release probably in January, so that’s good to know.
Someone’s been trying to access my FB account. I keep getting codes for the attempted password reset, and keep telling them that I am not the person asking for them. Another indicator I should just delete the whole damn account.
I’m still not sure if/how I will promote the holiday material and/or new releases on Instagram. That’s where I have the largest reach, but do I have enough protections on my sites? I’m not posting links to this blog, because I can’t protect it as well as I’d like without paying. I have a few tools I’ll add in the coming days, but who knows.
I spent time on Instagram for the political posts, and and also to learn more about the “Thriller” dancers in the NYC Halloween parade. It’s a community dance project, led by a professional dancer playing Michael Jackson (the past three years it’s been an amazing guy known as “Kwabs” who has a dance company in Brooklyn). There are “zombie pappas” who organize it and teach the choreography, and it’s for all levels of dancers. The project started about 20 years ago (shortly before I left NY state). They perform the routine about 20 times over the parade route, which, wow, just wow. I just love that so much. They did a daylight performance in Times Square, too, which is great.
There are “Thriller” dance projects in many other places, too, such as Chicago. Checking out the videos and the behind-the-scenes videos of how they put it together, and the dedication of those involved, is joyful and heartening. Projects like this make a huge positive difference.
It’s definitely worth a search through various videos.
Enchiladas for dinner, and a quiet evening tucked up in warm colors and scents and blankets with the cats, reading.
There was a challenge to read a book in November from the year one is born. I looked at the publication list. There are some pretty major books that came out that year, but I wanted to read something a little less known. I decided on MY BONES WILL KEEP by Gladys Mitchell, a mystery writer whose name I’ve heard, but with whose work I’m not really familiar.
Of course, I couldn’t find a copy of that particular book in the library or in the Commonwealth Catalogue, although they have her first, A SPEEDY DEATH, which I ordered. And I will go a-hunting for BONES.
But I became interested in Gladys Mitchell. You can read about her here and on a tribute website here. She wrote under multiple names, and wrote over 80 books. She was part of the Golden Age of detective fiction and part of the Detection Club. She wrote 66 Mrs. Bradley mysteries, and Diana Rigg played the character on TV. Anyway, I’m intrigued, and want to learn more about her and her work.
Did my Tending the Dead ritual for the night.
Slept well, and up at the usual time on Monday. The first few days after “falling back” work well for me.
Morning routine was terrific, and I even had an excellent free-write session. I’ve so often felt disconnected from my creativity in these past months that it’s nice to feel like something is coming back. Consistency and showing up no matter what help.
I had to trot down to the post office on Monday to mail some bills. I fell, due to uneven paving, in front of the gas station on Ashland St. Three people hurried over to check on me, which was kind of them. I felt like an idiot, and had skinned my knee like a five year old.
I kept going, dropping off the letters and bills at the post office. I ran two errands on the way home, one successful, one unsuccessful. I cleaned out the scrape when I was home. It’s fine, it just stings, and I feel stupid. But that’s the way it goes sometimes.
I’m trying to figure out the writing plan for next year, as far as what I’m writing and submitting. The thought of it just makes me tired, and this year’s plan was basically tossed out the window, but having a plan at least gives me the basic road map from which I can stray if necessary.
I got some decent work done on BETTING MAN, which made me feel better.
I got the notes back from one ghostwriting assignment, asking me to turn the notes around (a major rewrite) by today, while keeping the other Thursday deadline. Um, no. I said I needed to push the Thursday deadline out, then. So they decided to keep the Thursday deadline for the other assignment and push this one out – but I can invoice for part of this, which will be a big help in getting bills paid on time this month.
The unrealistic deadlines are wearing me out, as is the expectation that I make up for the time things sit on someone’s desk on their end. No. Just no.
I got some decent work done, but not enough, because I was frustrated, and that does not give me a smooth path to the work.
Heated up leftovers for dinner. Went to bed early, after the night’s Tending the Dead ritual. Had weird dreams about a building built into/on a cliff over a small village that I’m sure I’ve visited in dreams before. No idea what it all meant.
Up at the usual time today, decent morning routine. Stressed about the ghostwriting. This morning, I take my mom to the insurance navigator appointment, to sort everything out, and to make my appointment to sort out my Medicare stuff. Hopefully, by the time we get back, I get the okay to invoice the ghostwriting assignment, and then the rest of the day is ghostwriting.
The scraped knee bled a lot yesterday, scabbed over, kept bleeding. I cleaned it again and put a gauze bandage over it. It’s right on the hinge, so it’s hard to keep it quiet. I had hoped to go to yoga tonight, but if the knee continues to be in pain and bleed, I can’t.
Today is election day here in the US. To say I am worried is an understatement.
One step at a time, right? Literally.
#books #elections #freelance #life #writing
