Carottemechante

When you’re mid sentence and suddenly forget literally everything you were talking about

SEEDS!!!!!!!

😬😬😬

Rewatching Hannibal hits different after actually going to therapy.

That scene (S1E1) where Franklin cries in session and has to beg for a tissue? I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s a moment that's easy to overlook, but it says everything about Hannibal as a “therapist.”

In every real session I’ve had — individual or group — the tissue box is right there. Within reach. Sometimes it’s passed to me without a word. Because emotions are expected in therapy. You're not supposed to feel like you're interrupting, or worse, inconveniencing your therapist for needing something so basic.

But Franklin? He’s practically apologizing for needing comfort. And Hannibal doesn’t even look surprised — they clearly meet weekly. He knows Franklin gets emotional. So why not just place the box by his side beforehand? Is it about control?

And then the room itself. It’s massive. Dark. Imposing. It doesn’t invite vulnerability, it demands performance. It makes the patient feel small — like they’re being judged, not understood. And honestly, that fits. Because Hannibal isn’t there to help Franklin. He’s just observing. Curating. Playing the role of “therapist” while providing none of the support.

It hit me that the younger me kind of sided with Hannibal in that scene. Found Franklin annoying, whiny, maybe even gross (that tissue shot. yeah, the show knows what it’s doing). But now? After living with anxiety, after learning what a good therapist actually feels like?

It’s crystal clear who the real asshole is.

- Stop eating kuromitsu in my body! - Then take off this stupid tie from me

looks like someone will be sleeping on the couch after this

「Thank you.」

This also reminds me of that scene of one certainly not gay detective couple

Saying this as the first thing you find yourself in life death situation means you are no longer straight. You are just gay

I hate them.

A day in a life of RonToto: Vienna

One of the fountains of Strudlhofstiege; the palace garden park; the National Bank’s heavy door; and the historical lamppost.

Yesterday Ron and I took a walk around the AirBnB we rented in the city of Vienna. We visited the National Bank as Ron had a client there. A big shot old European aristocrat. It has to do with a person. A renowned stage actor to be exact. Ron told me to keep quiet now. So I’ll keep my mouth shut. Anyway, we visited a palace with a beautiful garden and a flight of stairs that was supposed to be one of the most beautiful of all in the city. A tip: Sigmund Freud used to live in this district and had his first consultation office here too. It is now a museum and they even preserved the couch his clients used to lie on. The birthplace of psychoanalysis.

That same day, the old aristocrat invited us for a dinner. This restaurant, Plachutta, serves traditional Viennese cuisine. He urged me to order Tafelspitz. It was so good! But the portion was probably good for two people. It was soup and main course in one. The fried potato strips were so delicious. And the soup with tender beef and bone marrow were to die for. My Japanese palate is not used to this serving. The homemade apple sauce and garlic cream were a good choice. I even had sautéed spinach. Ron had Wiener Schnitzel with potato salad and beer.

He urged me to order a Nachspeise, German word for dessert, but I was too full.

Anyway, there are a couple of Asian stores here too. To my delight one of them sells 🍡 so Ron and I grabbed one pack and we might eat them tonight.

So there you go. If Ron would let me I might talk about the case of the old aristocrat in the coming days or so.

Ah, summer in Vienna is sometimes unbearable.

What if we kissed in front of the yuri manga plague doctor brides