#listen... there is a time to plant a time to reap

[hanzajesthanza]

the training montage in crossroads re-ignited a headcanon i had of geralt waking up and doing gymnastics, performing kickflips and mid-air spins around on a fencepost outside an hour before sunrise to ‘limber up,’ and bleary-eyed dandelion wrapping himself up in a blanket to be like "heyyy... what the hell are you doing 💖"

[mapoeggplant]

skip to loafer chapter 71 analysis // spoilers

the chase for the perfect motherhood: for many chapters, we had the chance to hear the monster; now, it's finally time for the scientist to share her side.

the play is about to start, but the story has been going on for a while. for a long time, we had the chance to listen to shima and understand his side like never before, and now, it's time to stop and listen to the side of those who made the mistake. it's finally time for the scientist to give her account of the creation of the monster.

it's very difficult for me not to feel empathy for shima's mother in the present, but unfortunately there's no other way out for her than to reap the fruits that she herself planted. which makes me feel even more sorry for her, since i can understand that she was doing her best to do what she thought was right, but unfortunately the truth came out when it was too late.

in my opinion, motherhood is one of the hardest things in the world, especially when you have no support network whatsoever. you have to, all by yourself, raise a human being in the way you understand to be the best, giving them what you believe to be all the best opportunities you can give. but of course, we are all living life for the first time, so making mistakes is almost impossible.

we don't know exactly what yuki's family life was like and everything that really happened until sousuke came into her life. what we do know is that she lived in a completely abusive relationship and that she had a child with a man who doesn't even remember that he is a father. when we look at it from this perspective, we can understand where all the fear and control that she began to place on shima came from.

motherhood, loneliness. a home, a life, a new world in her hands. the fear of losing her child, the fear of making her child suffer, the anxiety of giving him everything she always believed to be good. the glass dome, the external pressure, the fear of others. the need to protect.

the problem is that, at some point, fear and overprotection dissolved into abuse.

it is undeniable that misaki takamatsu has a writing style that shows the characters' pain without turning them into villains. even if we only have one side of the story for many chapters, at some point the other person will have their chance to speak and the reader will be able to gain a little more depth about this character's life. but, of course, the story simulates a human life, so it is to be expected that the reactions and consequences will also be completely human.

i remember writing, in my analysis of chapter 68, that taiga was both a salvation and a tragedy in shima's life. a salvation for having given him the chance to be a child for a while, a tragedy for having been the butterfly effect that would cause all the subsequent events involving shima and ririka's careers (more details in my analysis). now, taiga once again fulfills this role and finally forces shima's mother to face her own flaws by exposing all her mistakes, something that everyone around her did know and gossiped about (which even shima knew about), but never had enough courage (or strength or they simply didn't care) to face her.

having all her actions exposed so coldly in front of yuki doesn't make her angry, but rather makes her finally see all the pain she had been subjecting her son to for so many years. the fog that covered her eyes, which she believed so much was care, finally disappeared, revealing something much more painful.

and she does what many parents can't do, or simply don't want to do, don't think it's right, don't see any point in it: she apologizes to her son and starts seeking treatment. when she says she's going to the hospital, i interpret it as her seeking psychological help to understand where she went wrong and how she can move forward from here. her life has changed, she found someone who makes her feel good and who takes care of sousuke. her son can finally be free to be whoever he wants to be...but what was done is already done.

it's understandable how angry shima feels about his mother and why he's so reluctant to open up and give her a new chance. for years, he didn't have a mother who was there or someone who took care of him the way a mother should. the wound that opened and remained exposed for so many years cannot heal overnight: it takes years and years of trial and error until the pain begins to be more tolerable than agonizing.

shima has been showing a desire to change ever since he took the initiative and invited his mother to go see his play. this is a huge step, which is the result of a lot of struggle on his part to want to change and find his own happiness. shima's growth is very explicit and palpable, being explored in several chapters — but it still needs a lot of work.

the story of the two still needs a lot of forgiveness to start moving forward. yuki also needs to forgive himself, just as shima needs to forgive himself. the struggle to find a healthy relationship between mother and son requires a lot, a lot of work and dedication, which i believe has already started on both of their parts. but, if shima decides, after all, that he doesn’t want to have any relationship with his mother, he’s in the right to do so and it’s his choice to make.

i hope that yuki one day finds the strength to be the mother she always dreamed of being in sousuke's life. i am very happy to know that now there is someone who is willing to help her and who treats her son with immense respect, as a stepfather should be. i'm also happy that she had a new chance with kieri, but sad that she can't change the past. 

now, for sousuke, i hope this play is his way of letting off steam and finally accepting this monster that lives inside him. embracing his past self so that both of them can move forward. taking all the scraps you left behind and analyzing what is still valid to be used in your new life and what needs to finally be left behind.

life is made of successes and mistakes, of scars that we cause to others and that are caused in us. made of wrong choices, badly said words and feelings much greater than we ourselves can control. it is up to us to understand where we went wrong and where other people went wrong with us and to find a new reason to continue. forgiveness is something that is entirely ours and should only be given when we feel safe enough.

ah! before i finish, just a little note: you can see that shima is way more comfortable with keiri now than he was before. i do believe there's a lot of mitsumi's influence there, but we can't deny the fact that keiri fought hard for his big brother's love!! it's clear that he admires sousuke a lot and wants to be closer to him. great to see them being so comfortable around each other.

what a ride, huh?? another chapter that highlight sensei's beautiful writing, that's for sure!! can't wait to see shima acting in the play and being way more open. sensei do love to make the school festival to be a very crazy arc!!!

thank you for reading 💛!! please support sensei if you can!!

see you next month :)

[reality-detective]

"Drink water from the spring where horses drink, The horse will never drink bad water. Lay your bed where the cat sleeps. Eat the fruit that has been touched by a worm.

Boldly pick the mushroom on which the insects sit. Plant the tree where the mole digs. Build your house where the snake sits to warm itself. Dig your fountain where the birds hide from heat.

Go to sleep and wake up at the same time with the birds - you will reap all of the days golden grains. Eat more green - you will have strong legs and a resistant heart, like the beings of the forest. Swim aften and you will feel on earth like the fish in the water. Look at the sky as often as possible and your thoughts wil become light and clear.

Be quiet a lot, speak little - and silence will come in your heart, and your spirit will be calm and full of peace."

Nature is talking to you, are you listening? 🤔

[ultimate-chickennougat]

| Your Salaryman Husband | (Vol 1)

Vol 2 Vol 3 Vol 4 Vol 5 Vol 6 Vol 7 Vol 8 Vol 9

Salaryman!Kento x Housewife!Reader;

Nanami puts on an apron to help his cute little housewife prepare dinner.

Word Count: 1k

CW: SFW, domestic fluff, fem!reader, newly married Nanami and Y/n,

A/n: First time writing for Kento... thanks for reading!

Your dear husband Kento Nanami was not one to come home late. Ever. 

Even though it had only been about two months since your marriage, the daily routine had already been set, and you couldn't imagine that happening in a decade, let alone on the next day. 

Of course that wouldn't be true in his past profession, as a Jujutsu Sorcerer, but he was back being a salaryman, never going to extra meetings or taking on any more jobs than his work contract required him to. Hence he rushed home, avoiding that dreaded overtime that the younger company members fought for. Even then it took a lot out of him.

Mr. Kento Nanami was a diligent worker from 9 o'clock in the morning to 5 o'clock in the afternoon. A senior manager at an investment company, his pure skill and dedication was the only way he could get that position. He never tried to do anything more than what he had to, which was providing customers with the best investment services he could. And you, the new Mrs. Nanami was his lovely housewife, always there to greet him when he got home. It was always the most comforting thought he had, while listening to the executives drone on about profits, and training the newcomers eager to reap those rewards as well. But then again, that is why he was in that business too, right? 

As per usual, he quickly packed up his things and headed to the elevator right after the hour hand hit 5 on his watch. Ideally he would be home in the next thirty minutes, far more eager than his other coworkers. A promotion was not awaiting him since his marriage, but that wasn’t a concern. He had enough saved up for an early retirement anyway, and, more importantly, one would take away from his precious time with you.

While his heart beat was steady, walking to the train station as he did everyday, yours was much more rampant.

Rushing around the kitchen, you hurriedly washed and cut vegetables, meat, and ground spices as fast as you could. Dinner was expected to be served at about 6:00 pm that night, and afterward would be a relaxing evening with your husband, who would be done for the week. While the daily routine was solidified, the speed of your cooking was not. Especially when your carefully laid out schedule of repotting the plants, cleaning the bathrooms, and doing laundry took a bit too long for each one. It was already 5:15, and you had just popped the tarts into the oven. 

Today's dinner consisted of a thick stew, crusty white bread, and miniature fruit tarts for dessert. With some preparations the day before, it was a plan that should have taken about two hours, most of which would be idle cooking time. That of course, did not happen. 

Your usual greeting of your husband at the door was foiled for the first time. He opened the door promptly at 5:33 PM, about the same time as every day, yet for once you weren't there.

Setting his briefcase down and removing his jacket, he walked through the living room into the kitchen, hearing your not-so-subtle whines of frustration, the scent of sweet fruit and grilled meat filling the air.

Married life is full of firsts, many of which were known to you and Nanami alike. Your first kiss being married, your first date being married, among other things. But what he didn't expect to focus on were the little ones he saw everyday. The first time you screwed up your daily routine, of course, and the first time he got to see you cooking his dinner in your cute little apron.

You quickly turned around hearing Nanami enter the kitchen. "Kento..!" you muttered, knife in hand chopping vegetables with great fervor. He chuckled softly, your knuckles had turned white from the grip, and carrots rolled off the cutting board.

He strolled over to the cabinet, pulling out a simple white apron, not before giving you a quick kiss on the cheek from behind you. "I see you've been quite busy today, my love," he put the apron over his head and tied it in the back, before turning towards your work.

His knees dug into your thighs, as he reached around your body and grabbed the knife from your hand. "How about I finish this for you?" he asked, already starting to chop away. "Aren't you tired from work? You can go sit down, darling," you tried to move away from him, though he gripped your stomach lightly with his other arm, pausing his work. "It's not tiring at all, standing here with you, my cute wife."

He put his head on top of yours, enjoying your warmth and the scent of food cooking, what you've been toiling away with for the past few hours. “I might not be as good of a cook as you, my love, but I think my knife skills are decent enough.” He continued, making quick work of the pile of vegetables. "Darling, the tarts are burning," you gently pushed him away, rushing over to the oven and pulling them out.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there to greet you. I'll make sure to be there tomorrow." you spoke softly, lifting the tarts onto the cooling rack. "I was wondering where my wife's face was. I see you've had quite the predicament in here," Nanami scraped all the vegetables in the pot, and covered it with water as instructed. It would still be about half an hour until done, being finished only 15 minutes late thanks to his help. 

Nanami stared deeply as you joined him in the living room. Your fingers carefully undid the tie of your apron, as you started to take it off. "Have I ever told you how good you look in that?" He mentioned, standing up off the couch. You yelped, as he helped to pull it off your head. "...Thank you, darling. You look very dashing in one as well." You muttered, a subtle blush coating your cheeks. 

"I look forward to seeing you wear it tomorrow, my love." He chuckled as he sat down at the dining table, ready for the dinner you prepared together.

[cr3stawrites]

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

aly’s song fic challenge!!

as you can see !!! im copying vienna but honestly i needed to do some sort of masterlist at some point so here we are!! <3

anyways—below are my readersonas, their basic info, and their playlists!! :D along with their hashtags so you can easily find them!!!

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

firecracker — daisy jones & the six ᥫ᭡。

— FIRECRACKER is the little sister of warren rojas, who comes down to L.A. to see her big brother for the first time in two years — only to then be enthralled with the life of being on the strip, and in the arms of billy dunne.

slowly, firecracker struggles with her identity rather than being just billy’s girl (sometimes) and has to find her way to be her own once again. and sometimes she’s glad she has billy by her side (the keyword here is sometimes) but at least she can always count on her best friend (with benefits) daisy jones!

you can find more out about firecracker by using the #firecracker💥 hashtag <3

and you can listen to her playlist here !!

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

aurora — the hunger games .𖥔 ݁

— AURORA is the victor of the 66th hunger games at 15 years old, and due to how she wasn’t even gambled to make it to the final two, let alone the victor, it’s safe to say she wasn’t entirely popular with those in the capitol. and after her parents’ tragic murder in the same way she used to win — aurora now has to make her way through the world, while also dealing with the trauma of being a victor.

enter finnick odair. who becomes her mentor away from blight. and slowly, becomes the love of her life, the one that she’d die for. even if it meant dying in his arms, or not having him at all after tragic events in the arena.

you can read more about aurora by using her hashtag #aurora🪵 <3

and you can listen to her playlist here !!

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

marigold — daisy jones & the six ⋆⭒˚｡⋆

— MARIGOLD is your typical hippie girl in the 70s. she’s confident and most importantly, she loves gardening. even despite living in california her whole life, she finds plants more fascinating than anything else.

she supposed that’s why she has billy dunne wrapped around her finger, with how in love with her he is. perhaps her appreciation for other things while still being a supportive girlfriend makes her the perfect fit for a rockstar struggling with his own issues is what has him wrapped around her finger. whatever it is, the feeling is certainly mutual — for marigold is wrapped around billy dunne’s finger as well.

you can read more about marigold by using the #marigold🌻 hashtag <3

and you can access marigold’s playlist here!! (huge thank you to vienna [@auroralwriting] for helping me out with her playlist!!<3)

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

songbird — the hunger games (tbosas) ♫

— SONGBIRD is the covey’s accordion player, she’s traveled all her life with the covey and has been covey since day one. with her best friend lucy gray baird by her side.

suddenly, when her best friend is reaped, songbird is crippled with the fact that she may never see her again. her best friend, her lover. and now — songbird is struggling with even wanting to care for herself.

she just wants her covey girl back.

you can read more about songbird by using the #songbird🕊️ hashtag <3

and you can listen to her playlist here!!

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

snapdragon — daisy jones & the six 𖤓

— SNAPDRAGON is born and raised in l.a. and from the start, she was meant to be a star.

and yet, meeting daisy jones was the light of her life, not singing for the first time, not recording her first album, not anything involving her career. it was daisy jones.

margaret ‘daisy’ jones.

who just happened to be fucking in love with someone else who was struggling with getting the man she loved to be with her and her only. just her luck.

you can read more about snapdragon by using the #snapdragon 🌺 hashtag <3

and you can take a look of her playlist here!! (thanks to @roses-tired, @emmynemm, and @daisyjonesgf for helping me out with her playlist!!!)

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

cielo — daisy jones & the six *ೃ༄

— CIELO is a born and raised californian girl. her parents own a surf shop near the beach and since she was young, she’s been a surfer girl at heart. she’s even taken up teaching kids to surf as an extension of her parents’ surf shop.

but one day, she has other hopes and aspirations. the music scene is calling her — and she knows it. but everything she writes just doesn’t hit for her, so how would it hit for an audience? and then, a curly hair man is dragged to the surf shop, and cielo’s life is changed for her better.

and hopefully, his encouragement will get cielo out there in her dreams.

you can read more about cielo by using the #cielo✨ hashtag <33

and as always, you can find her playlist here!! (still a work in progress but you’ll see it come together!! — thank u wanda pookie for helping out!!!)

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

wildflower — daisy jones & the six °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

— WILDFLOWER is mostly known as being billy dunne’s high school sweetheart and the mother to his daughter. but she’s more than that. she’s a mother, and she’s a writer.

she wants to break free from the label as “billy dunne’s wife��� or “billy dunne’s high school sweetheart” and become her own person, a well renowned author. yet, her love of being a mother comes first for her little ophelia, and her husband.

who seems to be pulling further and further away from her — and more towards a certain daisy jones, maybe? wildflower doesn’t want to think too much of it, she trusts billy.

you can read more about wildflower by using the #wildflower💐 hashtag <33

and of course !! here’s wildflower’s playlist!!

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

bluebell — daisy jones and the six ✮⋆˙

— BLUEBELL is a single mom in l.a. working part time as a waitress to help care for her daughter cassia. her child’s father is no longer in the picture, so it’s just her and cassia in a one bedroom apartment, struggling to make ends meet.

despite being a mother, most consider her being abrasive and maybe a bit stand offish, but that’s perhaps what attracts her fellow waitress daisy jones to her. because knowing why bluebell is abrasive and people see her as stand offish—it’s because she’s afraid of getting her heart broken again.

daisy has her own problems, but somehow and surprisingly, bluebell lets her into her and cassia’s little life.

but once daisy goes up in fame, can bluebell handle the fame and stress it comes with being the lead singer’s girlfriend — or will the rumors of her girlfriend being in love with the other lead singer make her leave and forget?

you can read more about bluebell by using the #bluebell🫐 hashtags :D

and as always, thank you to pookie wanda, you can find her playlist here!!

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

[clownyboiclownyboi]

because all of you seemed to like yesterday’s pity headcanons, I’ve got more! This time about gardening!

Phil and Techno both garden regularly, because they both have the age old mindset of being self sustainable. Phil is ample at it, but he usually leaves the gardening to Techno. Techno, who checks the soil regularly and plans out the plots for each crop before the ground’s even thawed over. Techno, who breeds the best plants for the biggest harvest or any other genetic trait he can find material. Techno, who makes his own pest deterrent that isn’t actually harmful with completely natural ingredients. Why? Because he enjoys it, he gets to cater to life instead of stealing it for once.

Tommy didn’t know shit about farming until pogtopia, when Techno practically dragged him into the farming area when the kid was bored just to make him stop whining. Surprisingly, Tommy caught on quite quickly and developed a huge green thumb. He doesn’t know everything about gardening, but he knows when his favorite flowers are about to bloom, and when best to harvest summer squash, and how to tell if a fruit is ripe. It took him a while to start gardening again after exile, but once he did, the soil took to his shaky hands just as easily as it did before.

Tubbo is shit at gardening. As much as he’d like to find it as easy and calming as his friend, he’s too harsh now, too clinical with his projects. The one time he tries a garden, the small patch of strawberries is shown no love, hidden away, only allowed a few hours of sunlight and water under the guise of “care.” His hands are too rough, coated in machine oil and no good for the ground. The earth does not know him, not anymore.

Quackity is surprisingly good at gardening. He has a little greenhouse, tucked away in the folds of Las Nevadas, flourishing with flowers and vines and tomatoes and peas. Without his husbands, because of Schlatt, he’d become cruel. He tore at the earth and cursed at it, blamed it for his problems. Then Charlie came along, and turned his heart soft. Directed his anger to the sky, to nothing in particular, until it was gone, and vines eagerly curled around his fingers. It takes effort not to ruin it like he’s ruined everything else, but admiring the sea of color in the little glass house, he thinks it’s worth it.

Fundy used to like gardening. He used to love sitting with his uncle Techno and listening to him ramble on and on about the best way to grow watermelons, the right time to pick apricots, and he’d always been ecstatic when he was allowed to help. But now potatoes taste like guilt, cucumbers like ash, river greens like bitter self hate. Every sweet reaping from the earth souring on his tongue, burning like the bridges he burned with his family. Fundy does not garden anymore.

think I’m gonna start doing posts like this regularly, so lemme know what topic or concept I should do next!

[valentine-cafe]

. ˚◞♡ 𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒆𝒍 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒙 𝒈𝒏 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓◞ ₊˚

. ˚◞ ꒰ verse 209 hǎitāo ꒱ demon x reader, resistance rebel x reader, mercenary x reader, cw: reader is dead ⊹ ۪ ࣪

𖹭. in which hǎitāo laments about the second lover he could not save

“Can you come home?” a soft voice whispered, calling a lover home quietly. solemnly.

letting go of the microphone bubble and sending the voice message through. haitao waits for an answer.

the man waits for an answer that he knows there will be no answer from the other end.

how long had it been again?

two years?

four?

no part of the already tethered and traumatised mind could remember exactly when its other part went. like an angel you flew into the night.

the most beautiful soul a reaper could have come across and held in cold hands slipped as quick as it came.

ears still catch onto laughter from the past, from you. happily singing along to music while grabbing him and dancing him around to cheer him up.

though he had not always been the most expressive man. you, you had made winter days felt like those of summer. where flowers bloomed, the sky vibrant and the rain comfortable.

tears no longer felt frozen and melancholic. but brimmed instead with joy, dripping down onto soft skin like droplets of the morning dew into clear river water.

it was all murky now, paradise had been lost long ago.

ironic, so bitterly sweet and ironic. he was the one to reap your soul too and he could not even remember when you died.

he should, he knows. he had been so busy as of late. doing anything and everything to keep you and the past out of his mind. not to run from you, not to lose his memories of you.

never you.

he wanted to forget you were dead.

he sometimes pretended you lived. that when he came home, you’d be there. waiting for him with opened arms. silly shaped cookies and tea, plants all watered and alive, refreshed. but he was only ever met by the dead and dried visage of what once was every time he came home.

“can you can— can you come home? i miss you, i am scared of being alone.” his voice wavers. another voicenote sent through to your old number. the profile picture of you is still there.

you are still here. you are in his gallery folder, you are on pictures in the apartment, hung on the wall with pride. for him to always see that smile of yours, the beauty and light you exuded from within and without.

he loved your smile.

gods. he loved your smile.

the first time you smiled at him is something he will never forget. it had made his entire body melt, and at first he hated it because he was scared of it.

but how could he dismiss it when you had been so caring, you had been there to help patch him up. a member of the resistance. you had punched one of the opponments right in the face when you saw him getting attacked.

he does not remember what he told you after that made you smile and laugh. probably some sarcastic bullshit that had pulled itself out of his bloodstained lips at the time.

but when that sweet laughter had pierced his ears for the first time. he felt something he had not in years. a comfort, a place of solace and rest. he could listen to your laughs like they were symphonies composed so intricately that the world would sigh in relief.

your smile was something he always looked forward to seeing. the way the corners of your lips would curl just before the smile itself came was one of the few pleasures of joy he had ever had in his life.

but the joy was gone. a window left open and never closed, letting in the snow and the frost of the biting winter, and the lone reaper to freeze until his entire body and heart are riddled so cold and frozen that it will no longer feel love again.

you are dead, and it is a fact he can’t accept. no matter how hard or how much he tries, he does not want you to be.

he curses death, despite knowing not to.

death. it all has it’s place in this world, and she only does her work.

yet, to lose you?

to lose you so early?

it felt like he a joke. hands losing grasp of something important and stripped of his permission to love. all of his pent up hurt only bottled more. and there was no rim for the dark water to spill over.

there’s always quiet space for wonder in the bleak apartment, no longer is light lit. nor is food brought to the fridge. a blanket of dust and web covering it.

haitao is barely home anymore. it does not matter being home if you are not there.

he can sleep in his car.

or at the couches at work.

showers can be taken there too, it doesn’t matter.

luu’leriel is just as quiet. only seeking to kill and feed when he comes out.

“you left so early, i never got to give you the ring i bought for you.” he whispers into the microphone.

pinging your phone once again, with a voicemessage to never be received nor heard.

he sometimes wonders if you come by when he doesn’t know it? your soul? do you watch him? should he start trying to lift spells— no, no. you deserve your privacy. he always gave you privacy. that does not get to change now just because you are gone.

“i just uh. . .” he trails off and sits down on one of the kitchen chairs. the one you’d always sit on. one of your old pillows in his hand, held close to a soft breathing chest that sometimes would stutter to hide sobs.

“just- just i’m sorry. it’s all my fault” he chokes, tears streaming down his face. telephone slid onto the table, while an arm comes up to wipe away at swollen dioxazine eyes.

“is my fault.” he sobs and leans back into the chair, clutching tightly onto the pillow.

if he had been able to save you that night during one of the missions to retreat enigma from valence. if he had told you to stay home instead. or stay at the base to help patch up any hurt people.

you could have been alive

you would be with him

he shouldn’t have ever let you go with him.

there laid a certain anger amongst sorrow and grief towards you. so carelessly rushing after him and the other leaders, without his knowledge.

you’d wanted to help on the field. and when he found out he had an argument with you.

that hurt the most. the argument.

“i didn’t even get to say sorry.” the hiccup that made itself present in his throat transitioned into a sharp cry.

“gods i’m sorry, you just wanted to help. i don’t wanna be angry with you, you don’t deserve that.” he splutters. nose sniffling profusely. and drying itself in the pillow, along with the tears that spilled like they never had.

“can you please come home so i can say sorry and we can be okay again.”

the screams are deafened out by the heavy silence of the kitchen. nothing but static noise of the radio in the living room making itself present.

“can you please come home and just tell me this is a bad dream. because i don’t know what’s real anymore? i don’t wanna lose anyone again.”

[firefly--bright]

the drywall confessions.

jean kirstein x fem!reader , modern a.u

summary ; making a home out of the walls that surround you was easy when it was the two of you.

warnings ; none! what a shocker

a/n : something short and sweet! im still in the process of writing d2d and masquerade hehe. summer break just started so it might take just a little more time :3 inspired by this reel i saw on instagram. also requests are now open since i'll have more time to write!!

taglist ; @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @mrsnobodynobody , @hopeless-anti-romantic , @jeancremebrulee , @berrijam , @happxme , @cherrypieyourface , @imgayandshesanime , @moonmalice , @kivernova , @potaho3frog , @xakilicious , @katestrophes .

masterlist is in pinned post! ✿ join my taglist ✿ requests are open! ✿ songs to listen to while reading !

If walls could talk, they’d sing praises of your love.

the dark brown scuff against the right wall of the living room that was left when you and jean tried to move the couch by yourself was all but proof of that moment. He almost stubbed his toe, and you almost tripped over the carpet, but after the couch found it’s new home only a tad bit to the left from where it was before, the two of you heaved a breath as you reaped the rewards of your hard work on the couch, wiping the sweat off of your forehead. Jean grumbled about how it didn’t really make a difference. You had a ready answer on your tongue; pointing to the now one inch of extra space – “look at all this free space we have!” with a sarcastic grin on your face. Jean took one glance at you and knew he had to laugh, if only a little, if only to please you, if only because he loved you.

if walls could talk, they’d tell jean about how much you missed him while he was gone.

The business trip wasn’t even that long, only about two weeks, and it wasn’t even the longest the two of you had gone without each other, but it was enough for you to notice his absence after your move into the apartment together. The walls watched softly, reflecting the sunlight off of themselves, as you accidentally pulled out two mugs instead of just yours – your see-through, glass mug with small hand drawn flowers on it with a thin crack along it’s base that you were only mildly concerned about and his usual mug that said, in big bold letters, “NUMBER 1 COUGAR”. the walls noticed how often your eyes strayed away to the screen of your phone, hoping every time that it would be his message lighting up your screen. And later at night, when everything was dark and he finally did, the walls observed, that you eagerly picked up and talked and listened and talked until the only thing they heard was your small snores. The phone call ended three hours after you had slept, they’d note.

If the walls could talk, they’d whisper critiques about your decoration choices.

It didn’t make sense, really. Everything on the shelves was eclectic and without any structure. The bookshelf was really just a name of what it was supposed to be, but held objects that were far more precious than pages. Jean’s hereditary vinyls that he’d unapologetically stolen from his childhood home along with the record player, small plants that each had their own names, pictures from photobooths that you had taken throughout the years – some with just the two of you, some with your friends, some with you and your cat. lamps with warmly lit bulbs in them of varying heights and colours, collecting a small but unseen amount of dust on their bases simply because “jean. This looks exactly like the lamp that crushed pixar’s 'i'” “why are we supporting an abuser, then?” and “this one looks like a mushroom!” “babe, we have so many lamps already-“ “jean, this one is a mushroom.” They were good lighting for your old and new artworks, some of them messily made but with more than enough personality for the walls to be able to speak through them. And if they could speak, they’d tell you about all the sketches of you they’d see jean draw but never show; all his loving being silent but all-consuming.

And the walls would scold you for ruining their perfectly white canvas into something better-worse.

Jean agreed that maybe the smudges could be fixed by painting over the whole damn wall. “im getting sick of this white.” “that’s very racist.” followed by a scoff from the former, as he opened the pinterest browser on his laptop, asking you to shift closer to him to get a better view at his screen. Not because he thought your warmth was mandatory for him to function, of course not.

The walls would retell how scared they were when jean got those small pots of paint, you sat in your most worn-down and ruined pair of pyjamas infront of the white wall that currently had too many stains for it to go unnoticed. Jean opened the can with a butterknife with a, “dude, couldn’t you have gotten, like, a popsickle stick?” “a whole pack of fifty for one paint can?” “we could’ve made popsickles.” “uh huh. You just want an excuse for something sweet.” to which you only smiled ear to ear and jean wondered if you knew that he didn’t need something sweet as long as you were infront of him.

The painting job inevitably failed. Two sort-of artists that thought it was something they could accomplish ended up with a wall of mismatched paint and aching shoulders and stained fingers. You called it a night with pizza and washed hands, jean cradled calcifer – your adorable but petty cat – in his arms like a spoiled baby and placed several kisses on his furry forehead as you sat down with plates in your hand. jean joined you on the ground, letting the furball run free across the apartment before resting his head on your thigh.

The walls would have notes of what not to do while repainting them as one of those two sort-of artists waited for her beloved to leave the house the next day and once again, sat down and drew a small heart with the residual pastel paint left in the pot, a small and satisfied smile on her face even if it was only for a small mark.

The day after the next, when she took the paint, her fingers itching to claim the walls as theirs again – she found three small stars around the heart that she did not remember drawing. Smiling, you put down your signature flower and leaf combo before closing everything back up and waiting for the vandalism wars to begin.

By the time the walls could recall how jean proposed to you, the bottom of the bedroom wall that was conveniently covered up by the bed held countless doodles. Some of them were smaller, cuter versions of the two of you with big eyes and small bodies holding hands, some of them were far more detailed version of them – just their faces with their eyes looking at the other -  despite their small size. The most remarkable ones, however, were your initials written on the wall. Bottom corner of the bedroom wall were the initials of the people that loved the most while residing in their walls that could only be seen if anyone was actively looking for them, seeking them out.

 If the walls could talk, they would talk about you and jean.

Despite the bustling and distracting city outside, jean’s vinyls played their safe melodies as you pulled out two mugs from the cabinet in the kitchen, jean’s arms wrapped around your back as you prepared coffee for the pair of you in your respective mugs. Jean would hold back a small grin at the mug that was now his signature – the one that you gifted him when you were only friends and just getting to know each other, the one that made him know that he’d want you in his life for far longer. The walls would sing the songs of jean’s record player as you sat near the coffee table in your living room and typed away on your laptop, calcifer snoring peacefully on his father’s lap, the latter with his own laptop infront of him. The walls would tell you how much he loved you because he would look at you so often they wondered if he ever got sick of the view – but they didn’t. the walls didn’t talk because they knew you knew. They could tell you accounted all his actions and return them tenfold, in your own silent but all-consuming ways.

If the walls could talk, they wouldn’t want to because you slept on his shoulder after coming home late from work and finding him on the couch with his eyes closed. They wouldn’t talk because they’d see you wrap a blanket around his shoulders before snuggling up next to him – gently, softly, so as to not wake him up.

If the walls could talk, they’d say nothing because everything was already said and known.

If the walls could talk, they wouldn’t have to.

[cosycafune]

YOU’RE JUST LIKE YOUR DADDY!

rich boy’s playhouse: chapter two:

a summary of the story: to continue to reap the benefits of satoru’s playhouse and love, you need to prove that you are worthy. I mean, the two of you love each other, but that’s only expressed through clouded, emotionally-unstabled intimacy. but what happens when a masked man hurts your emotions, leading to satoru attempting to romantically comfort you in ways you wouldn’t expect?

a synopsis of acts: fluff, angst, talks of intimacy, comforting, verbal fighting, threats of fighting, crying, almost panic attack, coldness, dismissiveness, mentions of spiralling, humiliation, threats, slapping, unestablished relationship, mentions of sexual acts, friends with benefits. chapter 2/??? art credit: sakimenz on patreon.

previous part: chapter one.

“It’s always me,” Listening to your phone continuously ringing, you ignore it — mumbling to yourself while you lay within your bed.

Everything within you vigorously ached, being subjected to walking so long without any sense of direct. Well, what hurt further was sobbing erratically on your way back, feeling like a bird in a cage. It wounded your heart that Satoru completely humiliated you, unwilling to chase after someone like you.

Innately, it was all your fault. All your fault for expecting more from someone who showed you obvious love, only to scoff whenever you addressed it as love. Satoru’s your first everything, but he’s too knitted into his ego to realise that all you’ve ever done is love him. Yet, the only times he had ever shown that is through intimacy, where the two of you are concealed — tiny specs of nothing.

“If he ever cared, he wouldn’t have let me walk an hour home, crying, aching and a mental wreck,” Grasping onto your sheets with hurt, a lump forms within your throat, “How can he turn back and walk back to the party, knowing everyone feels sorry for me?” With your head thumping, you continue to ignore your phone.

Satoru’s feelings are complex to you, but it weirds you out drastically — especially since the two of you have shared so many romantic and sexual experiences together. You’re both each other’s first times, through virginities, angst, friendship and more. In your eyes, it hurt that the two of you were something. Yet, within his eyes, it seems as if he views you as nothing — something lowly and worth using.

What were you expecting from someone so rich, who’s occasionally an asshole? But most importantly, someone whose relationship with their parents is nothing more than in shambles right now. As, Satoru’s father had been absent from his life for months — in moments where he needed him the most. So, it’s obvious Satoru’s taking his burning strands of heartache and burning them upon a once supple you.

Now, you linger — your limbs tainted and etched with the imperfections of Satoru’s nature. Imperfections he concealed behind his looks, his niceness only reserved in moments of friendship, intimacy or where you’re completely alone. Never would he ever want to openly press his lips upon your own, claim you publicly — so you knew what you had to do.

Frankly, you wanted to start fresh — away from the pitiful stares of people who feel bad for you. Bad as you’re being openly strung along, tackled with the hardship of a man whose greed suppressed all there is to you.

Selfishly, Satoru had disoriented your value — blowing hot and cold deliberately. Deliberately to observe you helpless scramble to save him, alighting his ego with the concept of knowing you would forever linger beside him. Forever inhale, ingrain and worship the pain and etching he would plant upon you.

Even in humiliation, he couldn’t help but seal your lips — so you met his standards. They’re subconscious procedures, but you knew his heart ached whenever he pushed you to your limits, completely breaking you until you’re pleading for him to free you or to apologise. Yet, this is your last straw.

“I will not be Satoru’s plaything or stupid playhouse, where he doesn’t want to choose me publicly,” Coming up with a plan to flee from Satoru’s cruel romantic reign upon you, you bundle yourself into a vulnerable ball, “I’ll choose to live with my mama, as no one knows where she lives.” Finalising the idea, you can’t help but spring up — growing agitated by Satoru’s spam calling.

Darting towards your desk, you drag your ailing physique towards your phone — astonished by Satoru’s heaps of miss calls.

Scoffing, you instinctively block Satoru’s overwhelming number — your heart longing for a slither of peace he would never grant you. Steering away from the resolved issue of Satoru Gojo, you nervously dial your mother’s number — longing to occupy her cottage with her. As, after all, living with your father was simply to gift you a better range of opportunities: university and the city.

Ring, Ring, Ring. Your heartbeat quickens, every moment you linger here squeezing your contorted heart — leaving you vulnerable to Satoru’s vengeance. One thing you knew was to not block him, as he would scan every surface of the world to discover your fleeing presence.

After all, Satoru’s attachment issues were insane — leaving you a chess piece within his pocket for whenever he longed to speak to you. Not all of your moments were bad moments, but a lot of the bad moments concealed the good moments where the two of you consistently consoled each other — making sure the two of you are okay.

However, it’s an okay that dodges the conflict in your heart and the unestablished ropes of your distorted relationship with Satoru.

“C’mon, mama, answer,” Beginning to panic, you violently ball up your fist — longing for you last steak of hope to not bail upon you.

“Y/n, baby, what’s up?” Gasping at your mother’s gentle voice, you reveal your smile and your sniffles.

“Mama, can I come back home for a bit?” Concealing your rough cries, you let out a choked sob through your sheepish request.

“I can book a quick taxi to come and get you, don’t bother with packing,” Understanding writhes within your mother’s elegant tone, pushing you into longing for her company.

“Thank you, mama,” Concealing your fearful sobs of sombreness, you shakily spew your strained breaths.

“I’ll be here for you, my sweet girl,” Your mama announces sweetly, leaving you into letting her notice your frantic cries. Cries that leave her gasping, unable to fathom the ache you carry against your chest.

“I just thought that someone would love me for me,” Snifljng, you inform your mother hopelessly, “I trusted him, but he humiliated me in front of everyone.” Ranting to her, you listen to her breaths of conflict, anger and ache.

No one wanted to see their baby in pain.

“No, don’t let a stupid boy make you question your worth,” Anger entwines with your mother’s tone, “You’re perfect, so don’t blame yourself for an idiot boy not realising he had everything in front of him.” Hyperventilating at your mother’s maternal assurance, you weep loudly — incapable of holding back your over-pouring emotions.

You’ve bottled them up for months.

“Baby, I’ll be here for you, mama’s here,” Focusing on your mother’s voice, your heart swells lovingly, “You’re my baby, and I’ll hug you for as long as it takes.” Holding back her own tears, your mother proposes her heartfelt promise.

“I just wanted to be enough for him,” Croakily speaking, you begin to calm down slightly — focusing on your mother’s angelic humming.

“He’s too much of an idiot to not realise he had everything he needed in front of him,” Gasping at mama’s straightforward sentence, you grow to realise your time is strained and limited.

If you didn’t hurry, Satoru would gather you again — spoiling you momentarily to suppress you. You knew his patterns, but your tired physique still longed to be catered to by your first love. A man who happened to reign up you, through so much more than anyone else could understand.

“The taxi’s here, my darling dove,” Your mama tells you, staying on the phone to you while you put nothing more on than shoes. Even if you’re in your pyjamas, you didn’t care — you needed to leave.

Running effortlessly, you grow uncaring for your messy looks, your unkempt breathing and the downpour of your emotions. Emotions that leave you spiralling whilst you run, the vacancy of the halls granting you an unwatched freedom. No peering eyes captured you right now, your temporary control over freedom exhilarated you.

Arriving at the front of your dorm building, you spot the peering taxi — opening the door and settling within it. Your mother confirmed who the taxi driver was before you settled in, leaving you feeling safe — even if it was two am in the morning.

“You’ll be okay, young girl,” The taxi woman spews, smiling at you from her driver’s mirror — leaving you to breakdown further.

As you take in the entirety of everything, you view a panicking, ivory head strolling towards your dorm building. That’s when you realised that Satoru had planned to selfishly console you, pushing you into subconsciously monitoring him.

Foolishly watching his messy physique, your eyes bury into the teary state of Satoru Gojo.

“Damn, that boy looks a mess,” The taxi lady announces, leaving you to block out her words — focusing contently on a surveying Satoru.

“Satoru,” Muttering his name from your shaky lips, it’s as if he heard you. As when you subconsciously say his name in a farewell whisper, his eyes greet your ruined ones in the taxi.

“Y/n?!” Inching nearer to the taxi, you erratically lock the taxi door, “I won’t let you leave me without you letting me confess to you!” Satoru frustratingly speaks, pushing you into weeping further — unwilling to fall for his never ending cycle.

“No! You embarrassed me!” Growing angered, you finally raised your voice at Satoru’s pleading state, “You shut me up in front of everyone, letting them look at me with pity, before you turned back.” Shaking your head, covering your ears, you barely could meet Satoru’s eyes.

“I just wanted you to love me, you know?” Gathering confidence, you meet his desperate, cerulean eyes, “I’m tired of being baggage you only like when you’re happy.” Sniffling, you glance at Satoru with nothing more than hope that he would tear down the door and start new with you.

“You’re not baggage,” Satoru truthfully tells you, his unkempt demeanour properly being registered by you as he forces himself to swallow his pride.

“Goodbye, Satoru,” Painfully spewing words you were never fond of, you push down your shaky hands, your heart unable to handle saying goodbye to him.

“I won’t let this be goodbye,” Stress overwhelms Satoru’s groggy, choppy statement.

“You’re literally your daddy’s son!” You shout with annoyance, unsure of how he made this about himself.

Satoru’s lips part with a raw pain that endows you, too, “I’m in pain, but you still manage to make it about you because you’re Satoru Gojo.” Muttering, you were glad that you muted your mother beforehand — or she would have cussed Satoru out.

“Drive, ma’am!” Swiftly shouting your words, the taxi driver begins to drive — leaving you to watch Satoru lightly bang against the window in a desperate plead.

“No! No! No!” Satoru exclaims through his pelting tears, momentarily running to his car — in hopes you wouldn’t get away.

However, Satoru was too late. Too late to reach the taxi, as the streets ran cold — completely empty. Not a single trace of your presence remained, aside from the pink phone keychain he had purchased you. In his eyes, that was your way of saying an unspeakable goodbye — leaving him hellbent on saving you from the old parts of him.

Satoru wanted to change to find you again. He had to, as he loved you with all he had. Yet, it only took him now to realise that he had been loving you in all the wrong ways. He had failed to truly pour his heart into the romantic aspects you longed for, and a title for him to claim with you.

You just wanted to be seen, and he failed to gift you something so beautiful.

Rich boy’s playhouse. Maybe he is his daddy’s son? Because in the same way his mother suffered, that’s what he had pushed onto you.

Satoru’s going to make this right, even if it takes him plentiful years.

—

do not copy, modify or translate my works. all rights belong to me: cosycafune. 2024.

[godsofhumanity]

BOOKS IX | HOMER'S ODYSSEY | LITERATURE REVIEW

SUMMARY: In Book IX, Odysseus reveals his name and recounts his recent turmoils to King Alcinous. He begins with his travels to Ismarus, and then his visit to the land of the Lotus-Eaters. In the land of the Cyclopes, Odysseus outsmarts Polyphemus, son of Poseidon, thereby incurring Poseidon's wrath.

previous book / all books / next book

OKAY. so in the last book, King Alcinous of the Phaecians is entertaining Odysseus, and now, in Book IX, the meal draws to an end and it is FINALLY time for Alcinous to enquire who exactly Odysseus is... remembering, of course, that until this time, Alcinous has blindly served Odysseus without knowing his name, as the laws of xenia demand.

so.. Book IX begins with Odysseus saying, "yep, i am ODYSSEUS!" and he immediately launches into a huge story about what happened after Troy.

REPETITION: Number 9

i think the number one thing that stood out to me about Odysseus' odyssey (hee hee) is the repeated mentioning of the number 9.

when Odysseus leaves Ismarus, his crew is lost at sea for 9 days:

"I was driven thence by foul winds for a space of nine days upon the sea, but on the tenth day we reached the land of the Lotus-eaters..." (Odysseus, Book IX)

later, when Odysseus leaves Aeolus' island, again, he travels for 9 days:

"Nine days and nine nights did we sail, and on the tenth day our native land [Ithaca] showed on the horizon." (Odysseus, Book X)

and again, when Odysseus goes through the whirlpool of Charybdis, he is stranded for 9 days:

"Hence I was carried along for nine days till on the tenth night the gods stranded me on the Ogygian island..." (Odysseus, Book XII)

now, obviously, not ALL of Odysseus' inter-island travels took 9 days-- when he leaves Aeolus for the second time, it only takes him 6 days to get to the city of Telepylus.

but i still find it fascinating that at least three times, Odysseus is stranded for 9 days. we KNOW that the number 3 = the fates, so i feel the repetition of the number 9 three times here also sort of represents that this journey really was fated for Odysseus.

METAPHORS: Lotus-eaters, Memory & Loyalty

another interesting thing to note is Odysseus' encounter with the Lotus-eaters.

the Lotus-eaters are probably referring to inhabits of the island of Djerba, which is where modern-day Tunisia (in N. Africa) is.

now, i've written many times previously about the role of memory in helping to maintain "loyalty"... specifically, Penelope tries to shut the bard up so that she won't be reminded of Odysseus, but Telemachus forces her to listen so that she will think of Odysseus and be true to him.

here, the lotus fruit/flower that Odysseus' men eat takes away memory. it represents the same temptation that Penelope had with the bard, but this time, it's a temptation for Odysseus-- a chance for him to forget his troubles (and therefore his home).

but Odysseus, luckily, sees through the appeal of the flower and refuses it, and doing so, he saves many of his men and gets a little bit closer to Ithaca.

CONTRAST: Civilised Men vs. Wild Cyclopes

Book 9 ends with the infamous tale of Odysseus and Polyphemus.

we get a really nice description of the "untamed" cyclopes:

"...we came to the land of the lawless and inhuman Cyclopes. Now the Cyclopes neither plant nor plow, but trust in providence, and live on such wheat, barley, and grapes as grow wild without any kind of tillage... They have no laws or assemblies of the people, but live in caves... they take no account of their neighbors." (Odysseus, Book IX)

anyone who has read Hesiod's Theogony will recall that Zeus' lightning bolts were forged by Arges, Brontes, and Steropes, the three Cyclope-sons of Ouranos and Gaia. in Hesiod's version, the Cyclopes are highly intelligent AND respected by Zeus and the other gods...

but here, Homer offers a picture of the Cyclopes as wild and savage. they're not intelligent (suggested by the absence of agricultural practices like sowing and reaping, and then confirmed later by Polyphemus' folly in falling for Odysseus' trick).

interestingly, Homer also suggests that one of the reasons why the Cyclopes are so wild is because they don't have any sense of community:

"...each is lord and master in his family, and they take no account of their neighbors." (Odysseus about the Cyclopes, Book IX)

this is further supported later on; when Polyphemus realises Odysseus' trick, he even wails to the other Cyclopes and they simply laugh... they don't rally together to try and fight the intruders.

something i find contradicting is that, when Odysseus enters Polyphemus' cave, Polyphemus is actually quite organised and neat:

"His cheese-racks were loaded with cheeses... [the lambs and kids] were kept in separate flocks... As for his dairy, all the vessels, bowls, and milk pails into which he milked were swimming with whey..." (Odysseus describing Polyphemus' cave, Book IX)

now, i don't really know what Odysseus was expecting to find,, but the picture painted here seems quite neat and... civilised to me. there is a storage area for the food, the animals are kept in proper pens, and they're even segregated according to sex and maturity.

we don't get a description of the other Cyclopes' homes, but my guess is that, being the son of Poseidon, having godly blood in him, i think that Polyphemus is a little different to the other Cyclopes... i think there is a feeling that perhaps he is a little more intelligent and crafty than his brethren owing to his divine ancestry.

but of course, it is not greater than Odysseus' own boon.

CONTRAST: Differences between the Iliad and the Odyssey

another interesting thing in Book 9 is the wine that Odysseus takes to Polyphemus' cave... well, not the wine itself, but the story of how Odysseus got it.

back in Ismarus, when Odysseus sacks the city, he comes upon a priest of Apollo and he respects him and does NOT kill either him, his wife, or his child. he steers CLEAR. in return, Marus gives him some gifts.

now, take a moment to go back to Book 1 of the Iliad:

"[Apollo] was angry with [Agamemnon] and sent a pestilence... because the son of Atreus had dishonoured Chryses, his priest." (Book I, the Iliad)

Agamemnon's men, when face-to-face with the priest of Apollo, pay no heed to his holy status and sack him, taking his daughter away from him. swiftly, Apollo responds in full, plaguing the men with severe pestilence.

Odysseus, in the Odyssey, demonstrates his intelligence and cunning but learning from Agamemnon's mistake. he sees Marus, priest of Apollo, and leaves him well alone!!

Odysseus' knowing when to fight and when not to fight is something that really sets him apart from the rashness and ego of the other heroes.

of course, this is not always true of Odysseus' character. like all the other heroes before him, he's not infallible. with Polyphemus' story, Odysseus it seems that Polyphemus' curse that he should have a very difficult time getting back to Ithaca on himself-- his men beg him not to taunt Polyphemus, but Odysseus, full of pride and ego, ignores them:

"'Do not,' they exclaimed, 'be mad enough to provoke this savage creature further.' But I would not listen to them, and shouted out to [Polyphemus] in my rage [more taunts]. ... On this he lifted up his hands to the firmament... and prayed, saying: 'Hear me, great Poseidon! ... if [Odysseus] must get back to his friends at last, let him do so late and in sore plight after losing all his men. Let him reach his home in another man's ship and find trouble in his house.'" (Book IX)

now, a new question is raised-- is Odysseus' journey fated? is he just doing exactly what the gods always intended? or was Odysseus' journey a product of free-will exercised? was it Odysseus' actions that caused Polyphemus' curse which resulted in things going the way they did?

i personally think that Homer is keeping the idea of predetermination vs. free will intentionally vague. i think he doesn't really ascribe to any one notion-- both are important, and both come up in their own time during the story.

in Book X, we'll see Odysseus visiting Aeolus and receiving the bag of winds that SHOULD, if all goes to plan, send Odysseus and crew straight back home to Ithaca (spoiler: things do NOT go to plan!).

[mockingjaysfm]

𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴'𝚂  𝙰𝙻𝚆𝙰𝚈𝚂  𝙰  𝙵𝙻𝙰𝚆  𝙸𝙽  𝚃𝙷𝙴  𝚂𝚈𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙼. loyalty  is  something  fragile  as  the  white  roses  decorating  snow's  mansion.  it  begins  with  the  party,  where  champagne  flows  and  music  sways  its  guests  across  the  floor.  laughter  and  food,  dazzling  smiles  upon  beautiful  faces.  this  is  what  they  are  used  to,  and  it's  what  most  of  our  victors  will  never  learn  to  stomach. 

missions  are  given,  the  sleeper  cell  awakens.  HANI  JANG,  SAGE  HAYASHI  AND  PRUDENCE  WARREN  are  to  be  lookout,  tiny  ear  pieces  installed  in  our  team's  ears  whisper  to  one  another  the  status  of  the  peacekeepers  within  the  vicinity.  they  are  to  be  quiet,  discreet  as  they  linger,  tailing  their  targets  and  keeping  a  low  profile.  easier  said  than  done?

TOBIAS  SNOW  is  to  remain  close  to  the  president  at  all  times,  and  to  ensure  that  the  door  to  his  private  office  is  unlocked  and  accessible  to  his  team.  FINCH  DELVAL  is  to  stick  close  to  his  side  should  danger  arise.  LAVINIA  SNOW  is  to  escort  HONORE  COIN  to  said  office,  to  allow  him  access  and  to  be  ready  to  spring  into  action  should  they  be  spotted.  they  are  to  be  disguised  as  a  pair  of  drunken  lovers  slipping  away  for  quiet  time  should  an  interruption  arise.  whilst  LAVINIA  keeps  watch  by  the  door,  HONORE  is  to  install  a  data  spike  on  snow's  computer  which  will  share  important  files  back  to  district  13  —  capitol  propaganda,  surveillance,  footage  of  executions,  all  damning  and  incredibly  important. 

LIVIA  PLINTH,  LIBRA  RIVEIRA  and  HELBOR  UNDERSAND  (npc)  will  plant  listening  devices  throughout  the  mansion,  slipping  within  its  hallways  and  around  corners,  dropping  the  minuscule  devices  along  the  way. 

all  going  to  plan,  the  mission  will  provide  district  13  with  the  access  it  needs  to  snow's  data  points…  but  it  doesn't.  of  course  it  doesn't.

there  is  a  traitor  in  our  midst,  a  rebel  turncoat  who  attempts  to  reach  snow  as  he  breaks  away  for  a  bathroom  visit.  a  warning  is  offered  to  the  old  man  via  note  slipped  past  FINCH  and  TOBIAS  and  into  the  president's  smooth  hands.  they  must  find  a  way  to  get  rid  of  this  traitor  discreetly,  without  blowing  their  cover  and  shutting  him  up  before  he  can  reveal  the  names  of  the  rebels.  word  is  given  between  ear  pieces  that  the  mission  is  to  be  aborted.  before  HONORE  can  confirm  or  deny  the  success  of  planting  the  data  spike,  a  gunshot  rings  out  throughout  the  channels.  in  trembling  voices,  the  rebels  all  check  in  with  one  another.  all  but  HELBOR  who  is  later  confirmed  dead  by  LIBRA.

it  is  quiet,  controlled  chaos.  the  rebels  rushing  to  return  to  the  party  whilst  holding  their  covers,  keeping  their  emotions  in  check  despite  having  just  lost  a  comrade.  back  to  the  ignorance  and  the  dancing,  the  laughter  sparkling  like  the  drops  of  diamonds  hanging  from  the  chandeliers.  snow  must  make  a  move  before  anyone  catches  wind  of  something  going  awry.  we  see  it  as  the  president  clinks  a  fork  against  his  glass,  pulling  the  attention  back  to  himself.  he  is  unruffled  despite  it  all,  smiling  as  he  announces  a  special  surprise. 

the  lights  dim,  and  screens  flicker  to  life  around  the  room.  there  he  is,  the  beloved  CAESAR  FLICKERMAN  is  standing  upon  that  familiar  stage,  announcing  to  the  world  that  this  particular  hunger  games  is  due  to  be  a  special  one,  indeed.  this  hunger  games,  which  will  honour  coriolanus  snow,  will  see  that  the  pool  of  tributes  are  to  be  reaped  from  the  existing  pool  of  victors.

silence.  it  feels  as  though  our  victors'  stomachs  drop  as  it  all  settles  in.  and  then,  applause.  the  capitolites  are  practically  gleeful,  some  of  them  even  reaching  out  to  shake  our  victors'  hands  in  their  congratulations,  exclaiming  that  this  will  be  the  best  games  ever.  above  it  all,  is  president  snow,  watching. 

in  a  final  moment,  caesar's  face  distorts  and  the  screens  cut  to  black.  a  cold,  steady  voice  announces  “this  is  a  pirate  transmission  with  a  message  from  the  districts.  the  mockingjays  live.”

the  lights  cut  out,  and  the  party  is  over.  peacekeepers  rush  the  confused  guests  from  the  party,  urging  them  back  into  the  city  where  our  victors  return  to  their  lodgings,  capitolites  to  their  homes.  a  sense  of  danger  settles  over  the  city,  but  beneath  it,  there  is  a  feeling  of  hope.

we  are  now  progressing  to  the  moment  that  our  victors  find  out  they  are  to  be  reaped  for  this  year's  hunger  games!  feel  free  to  continue  threads  from  part  one  of  the  event,  to  also  write  threads  during  and  after  the  events,  including  your  muses  back  home  in  their  districts  if  you  wish.  please  don't  progress  writing  to  the  reaping  as  this  will  come  in  our  next  plotdrop!

muns  writing  within  the  rebel  mission,  feel  free  to  headcanon  or  write  out  what  happened!  please  dm  the  main  for  anything  major  you  wish  to  happen  to  your  muses  during  the  mission!

[inmydrcams]

fandom: gale is all anger actual book gale:

“Gale knows his anger at Madge is misdirected. On other days, deep in the woods, I’ve listened to him rant about how the tesserae are just another tool to cause misery in our district. A way to plant hatred between the starving workers of the Seam and those who can generally count on supper and thereby ensure we will never trust one another. “It’s to the Capitol’s advantage to have us divided among ourselves,” he might say if there were no ears to hear but mine. If it wasn’t reaping day. If a girl with a gold pin and no tesserae had not made what I’m sure she thought was a harmless comment.”

“I think of Gale, who is only really alive in the woods, with its fresh air and sunlight and clean, flowing water. I don’t know how he stands [the mines]. Well…yes, I do. He stands it because it’s the way to feed his mother and two younger brothers and sister. And here I am with buckets of money, far more than enough to feed both our families now, and he won’t take a single coin.”

“Gale never interrupts. While I talk, he tucks the gloves in his pocket and occupies himself with turning the food in the leather bag into a meal for us. Toasting bread and cheese, coring apples, placing chestnuts in the fire to roast. I watch his hands, his beautiful, capable fingers. Scarred, as mine were before the Capitol erased all marks from my skin, but strong and deft. Hands that have the power to mine coal but the precision to set a delicate snare. Hands I trust.”

“He steps in and I feel myself lifted off the ground. The room spins, and I have to lock my arms around Gale’s neck to brace myself. He’s laughing, happy. “Hey!” I protest, but I’m laughing, too.”

“Well, with an uprising in District Eight, I doubt he’s spending much time choosing my wedding cake!” I shout. The instant the words are out of my mouth I want to reclaim them. Their effect on Gale is immediate—the flush on his cheeks, the brightness of his gray eyes. “There’s an uprising in Eight?” he says in a hushed voice.”

“Gale steps into the picture on Sundays, although he’s got no love for Peeta or Haymitch, and teaches us all he knows about snares.”

“Katniss,” Gale says softly. I recognize that voice. It’s the same one he uses to approach wounded animals before he delivers a deathblow. I instinctively raise my hand to block his words but he catches it and holds on tightly. “Don’t,” I whisper. But Gale is not one to keep secrets from me. “Katniss, there is no District Twelve.”

“It was Gale who thought of the Meadow, one of the few places not filled with old wooden homes embedded with coal dust. He herded those he could in its direction, including my mother and Prim. He formed the team that pulled down the fence—now just a harmless chain-link barrier, with the electricity off—and led the people into the woods. He took them to the only place he could think of, the lake my father had shown me as a child. And it was from there they watched the distant flames eat up everything they knew in the world.”

“I’m afraid of Gale’s answer, but I ask anyway. “Why do you think [Peeta] said it?” “He might have been tortured. Or persuaded. My guess is he made some kind of deal to protect you. He’d put forth the idea of the cease-fire if Snow let him present you as a confused pregnant girl who had no idea what was going on when she was taken prisoner by the rebels. This way, if the districts lose, there’s still a chance of leniency for you. If you play it right.” I must still look perplexed because Gale delivers the next line very slowly. “Katniss…he’s still trying to keep you alive.”

“Whatever reason Peeta had for saying those things, he’s wrong.” The stupid sticks won’t go in the box and I snap several in my frustration. “I know. Give it here. You’re breaking them to bits.” He pulls the box from my hands and refills it with swift, concise motions.”

“Gale sets his tray beside me and I try not to stare at his turnips too pathetically, because I really want more, and he’s already too quick to slip me his food. Even though I turn my attention to neatly folding my napkin, a spoonful of turnips slops into my bowl.”

“Fulvia gives us a wave, and Gale and I follow her and Plutarch out into the hall. “So well intended, and yet so insulting,” Gale whispers in my ear.”

“If you really want to impress Posy, you’ll have to dye yourself bright pink,” says Gale, thumping his tray down beside me. “That’s her favorite color.” Posy giggles and slides back down to her mother. Gale nods at Flavius’s bowl. “I wouldn’t let that get cold. It doesn’t improve the consistency.” Everyone gets down to eating. The stew doesn’t taste bad, but there’s a certain sliminess that’s hard to get around. Like you have to swallow every bite three times before it really goes down. Gale, who’s not usually much of a talker during meals, makes an effort to keep the conversation going, asking about the makeover. I know it’s his attempt at smoothing things over. ”

“Haymitch reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. “It’s all right. We’re going to try to get Peeta out.” […] “Haymitch finally drops the good-natured act. “You know who else, Katniss. You know who stepped up first.” Of course I do. Gale.”

[souliebird]

[[get low || unfinished]]

series: daredevil | pairing: matt murdock x ofc | rating: unrated

summary: Matt gets off work early, but he's not the only one. (unfinished)

words: 1.7k

notes: I'll never finish this so I might as well chuck it into the wild

"Go home, Matt", Foggy said, planting his hands on Matt's shoulders and forcibly turning him so he was facing the direction of his apartment

"But Foggy," Matt tried to counter, but before he could get another word out, a hand was slapped over his mouth.

"No buts, Matthew. Go home and take the rest of the day off. Take a nap. Take a very very long nap and do not look a gift horse in the mouth," Foggy told him, hands still blocking him from speaking.

That didn't stop him from trying, though. 

"Your blind jokes no longer work on me, Murdock. Go home. I do not want to see you until tomorrow because I AM going home to take a very long nap. Which you are also going to do. Nod of you understand."

Matt nodded, unable to fight the smile starting to spread across his face. Foggy dropped his hands and Matt could not help himself.

"To be clear, I'm not going home with you, right? Marci might-" 

Foggy groaned loudly, throwing his hands up and turning to start walking towards his own apartment. Matt threw back his head in laughter.

"Bye, Foggy, I'll see you tomorrow!"

"You won't see anything, you fucking asshole! Take a nap!" 

Matt shook his head fondly before unfolding his cane and starting to tap his way home.

Their afternoon court case had been rescheduled thanks to leaky pipe finally bursting over the court room they happened to be scheduled in. They had received the call, and after confirming all the details regarding their new time slot Foggy had decided it was a sign to take the rest of the day off.

Because they had court planned, Karen was off following a lead for one of her articles, so there really was no reason to stay in the office. 

And he didn't get the afternoon off very often…and a nap did sound nice. 

Not that he'd ever admit it to Foggy.

As he crossed the street to the block his apartment was on, a familiar sound caught his ear and his smile returned. 

Sadie was home, and by the sounds of it, in the process of cooking something. He could hear her chopping away at fresh vegetables, probably making something insanely delicious for dinner. His stomach gave a pleased rumble at the idea. 

He didn't know how he'd gotten so lucky to be with someone who took all his Rightful pickiness about food seriously and made him food he actually really enjoyed. She was passionate about food and Matt happily reaped the benefits. 

He folded up his cane before going into the building and starting upstairs. He limited his focus to his apartment, sorting out what noises were coming from within. He could hear music, something in Spanish with a deep bass that was muffled, suggesting Sadie was wearing headphones. He'd have to be careful to not scare her when going in. 

She was definitely not expecting him to be home so early.  Not that he expected her to be there either. 

He resisted the urge to start taking the stairs two at a time. He was supposed to be Relaxing, after all. 

Matt tilted his head as he listened and climbed. 

Sadie's heart rate was steady as she prepped, talking to herself all the while. Just a barely whispered "chop chop chop" that made Matt's smile bigger. He could tell she was smiling as well. 

The song coming from her headphones changed and after a few beats, Sadie gave a delighted gasp. The chopping stopped and Matt heard the clank of the knife as she set it down. He listened as she took a few steps away from the counter then started to…rock? Sway? No, dance. Matt's grin got bigger.

Sadie was dancing to her music. 

He stopped for a moment, trying to place the song. It was vaguely familiar, something he heard in college, he's pretty sure. He didn't go to clubs for obvious reasons, but he had gone to parties and had heard the songs around. 

Sadie clearly not only knew the song but enjoyed it. As soon as the vocals started, she was singing along. 

Matt licked his lips, deciding it may not be a bad idea to hurry up to the apartment so he could witness Sadie having fun up close. She was always so anxious that he just wanted her to have fun. He wanted her to be comfortable around him, to be able to dance like she was when he was in the room. Even after the few months they had been together romantically, she was still nervous to let go around him. 

Hearing her dance, moving her hips how she was, motivated him to get to his front door in almost record time. He had to stop and pull his focus away so he could actually open the door. With the final barrier gone between him and Sadie, Matt closed his eyes and inhaled. 

He could taste the iced coffee Sadie had gotten while out, the sweat she was starting to generate from her dancing, the supposedly scent free detergent that clung to the sleep shorts and tank top she had changed into. Her day clothes were in the hamper - she had walked by a construction site at some point and he would bet they were covered in dust. Before she had started cooking, she had tidied up the apartment, not that she ever let it get too dirty.

Matt had thought he was a stickler for cleaning until he met her. 

Based on the way she was still dancing around the kitchen, Sadie had not heard him come into the apartment. He dropped his saddle bag, coat, shoes, and cane at the door, not caring to hang everything properly. 

The lyrics to the song were not PG at all and Matt could only guess her dancing wasn't either.  Her knees were bent and her ass was bouncing around in her tiny shorts, while her hips swirled around. Matt knew how good she was at using her hips - when she got a little tipsy she preferred to ride him like it was a sport and she was aiming to take gold at the Olympics.

He finally moved from the hallway to the main room, Sadie still not noticing him, and took a moment to take everything in. 

Her curls were bundled on her head and she smelled like coffee and lemon and baking soda. He could taste the lipstick she was still wearing - she had changed to an indie line made of cocoa butter after she'd learned about his senses - and he wanted to lick it off her lips. Or maybe, she could put some more on and leave pretty marks all over him. The thought made his cock twitch with interest.

Deciding he no longer wanted to just be an observer, Matt stepped forward and called out softly, "Oye Siri, pausa la música."

"Pausando la música," the mechanical voice of Sadie's phone replied through her headphones, pausing the music as it answered.

Sadie almost instantly stopped dancing, making an adorably confused noise. She whirled around to face where her phone was laying on the counter and in doing so, finally noticed Matt. Her heart jumped in a brief moment of fear but she quickly realized it was him, and every part of her just sang with joy. Like every time she saw him.

She pushed the headphones off her head so they were around her neck and began moving around the counter to him, "Matt! I thought you had court today?"

"I did," he replied, stepping forward to meet her, hands going out to grab her waist as soon as he was able to. He danced his fingers over the waistband of her shorts, which she had folded a few times to make them even shorter, before tugging her flush against him. "But the court room got flooded and our date changed. Next Monday now."

Sadie looped her arms around his neck, swaying just slightly in his arms, "Do I want to know?"

Matt huffed fondly, "It wasn't my fault, just poor city maintenance."

"You know," she started, fingers tracing up to start scratching at the base of his skull. Matt gave a pleased groan and dipped his head in enjoyment of the touch and the little rant he knew was coming. "If they diverted even two percent of that inflated police budget into city maintenance, things like that wouldn't happen. How many city buildings are past code? So many schools could get updated plumbing and air conditioners, but no the police need another ten-gillion dollars to stand on train platforms and drink coffee."

"I think ten-gillion is underestimating it," Matt hummed. "I think I heard Brett say it's more forty-gillion."

Sadie giggled, pressing herself closer to him, "is there such a thing as a city maintenance vigilante? Instead of fighting crime, you break into buildings and get them up to code? A group of crusaders changing out cloth wiring in the middle of the night?"

Matt tried to imagine it and let out a bark of laughter, "Trying to get the permits would be impossible."

"They're vigilantes, Matt, they work outside the law. No permits or inspections, just passionate people fixing the city," she pushed up onto her toes and kissed the tip of his nose, "Like you."

"Hmm, and you," Matt replied, starting to smile more over the smudge of lipstick now on him, "How'd the food bank go?"

She gave a little shrug, still scratching at the base of his neck, "they said they'd review it in their next meeting. We'd be better off doing it ourselves."

Matt huffed in response, "You can't do everything yourself. You taught me that." He squeezed her hips before stepping back just enough to put their forehead together. He could feel her smiling up at him and took the opportunity to sneak in a quick kiss. "You could teach me something new, though."

Sadie reacted in all the ways he had hoped she would - her heart rate increased and her arousal coated the air around them and her cheeks heated up a fraction from the rush of blood to them. She made a curious little noise in the back of her throat, one most people wouldn't hear, but was so loud in his ears. 

"Teach me how to dance?" He asked, dropping his voice and putting a little tease into it. 

Sadie was instantly embarrassed, hiding her face against his neck, "Matt…."

He squeezed her hips again, nuzzling into her hair, "Think it should be a hands on lesson. My hands, all over you, feeling how you move."

[siderealmaven]

Love Letters To Your Zodiac Sign <3

Dear Aries,

Did you know that there is nothing wrong with being angry? It means you’re alive and attuned, sensitive and observant. You’re more intelligent than people give you credit for because the things you’ve seen and come to know are not something you can stay silent about. Your voice and actions have impact, a butterfly affect that spreads like wildfire, igniting the hearts of all who dare to get close to you.

Your anger is a sacred wild thing. It warms the body, it cradles the heart and motivates the mind to strive for something better. When you stop being ashamed of all they have labeled as aggressively too much, you’ll come to understand you need every untamable part of yourself to achieve your dreams. You will accept you could not be led because you were meant to lead and leaders must be able to defend and protect all they hold dear. Be proud of your strength. The world needs it.

Dear Taurus,

Did you know that it’s okay to invest in yourself? You don’t always have to put everyone else first. This body, this mind, this soul are yours and you are in charge of protecting and nurturing it. You cannot allow others to treat you like a plot of farmland to be tilled, sown and reaped until the soil is depleted. There is no smile worth that pain. Don’t even bother with those barbed wire fences, make sure you go for the iron and stone. This land is sacred land.

Don’t listen to the people who try to tell you what you should plant or how to make it grow. You were born for this and the plan must come from you. The vision and the work and the sweat must come from you. They will stand at your gates and beg to sit by your flowers and eat at your table after swearing that you would never harvest anything. Go ahead and let them see your smile as you say “This one is just for me.”

Dear Gemini,

Did you know that it’s okay for you to speak your mind, even before you’ve already made it up? The best ideas come mid-sentence and give you unexpected endings. It’s okay to delight in the excitement of seeing what your brain will divulge next, to feel curiosity towards your own subconscious without shame or reservation. You are like a magician and each time you cast a spell the result is different, a never ending kaleidoscope of brand new colors.

You have the heart of the inventor and the hands of a craftsman, you were built to create with wild abandon. Every time you allow yourself to wander and drift, to rebel against the rigid lines laid out for you, you follow the sound of your own inner voice. It doesn’t matter if anyone else is listening or if anyone else believes. The most important question to ask yourself is this; do you?

Dear Cancer,

Did you know that it is okay to be soft? The walls around your heart shine like armor in the moonlight; a warning to stay back, a lure to come closer. A call to animals with sharp teeth. You don’t have to apologize for the way that you are made or the way that it makes others feel. But you do have a duty to protect and preserve these precious parts of yourself, to treat your body like a shrine to your own life. Putting up walls to do so does not make you a bad person.

In a world that is cold and cruel more often than not, the softness of Cancer is like a warm fireplace, setting the living room aglow. It’s the warm stew in your favorite bowl and the handmade quilt laid over your lap. Without Cancer’s softness there would be no comfort, no nurturing hand, and no growth. There would be no safe places to land. So go head and hang up your artwork and light the scented candle. These small touches are what makes your house into a home and home is what the world needs, more than anything.

Dear Leo,

Did you know that it’s okay to want to be alone sometimes? You were born in the spotlight and I know you love the way it enhances your natural shimmer. There is nobody that can steal the stage and captivate the crowd quite like you can. However I know there are times when you wish you could just sit quietly and observe things, let your sparkly clothes rest and your cheeks recover from flashing that mega watt smile. So why do you keep pushing yourself to do more than is humanly possible?

The ooohs and aaaahs are certainly not worth the burn out. Your best work will be born in those quiet moments of solitude, when you allow yourself to reflect on your own thoughts and feelings without another person’s input. These are good times to ask yourself if your own needs are being met. It’s all too easy to get lost in the sauce when you’re constantly surrounded by others. Today, give yourself a break and ask yourself the real question. What makes you feel like a million bucks even when no one is looking at all?

Dear Virgo,

Did you know that it is okay to not always have the answers? There is a delicate element of beauty to uncertainty and it deserves your attention. There is a softness in the waiting and something like the relief in letting go of the need to know. Your value isn’t dependent upon your ability fix things and provide for others, much less in your ability to spout off information when someone asks for it. Who are you trying to save with your knowledge?

The most important answers are found within the quiet stillness, where thoughts can run free without expectation. Hit pause on your routine, forget about your schedule and step outside of your comfort zone. Leave the mess exactly like it is. Wander outside and let your mind contemplate the shapes in the clouds. Imagine the butterfly floating by has something important to share with you. This is how you save yourself.

Dear Libra,

Do you know that it’s okay to say No? You don’t have to be everything to everybody all of the time. There are pieces of you that were only ever meant to be yours and you have to guard them as fiercely as any treasure. There are times to be graceful and kind, and there are times to growl and roar like the animal we all are at the end of the day. When is the last time that you let your inner beast out to play? Let it scream with wild abandon?

The thing about rules is that we made them up. We can deconstruct and discard them, build them back up in a new image. There are society’s rules and then there are your rules for yourself. Does your personal code of honor actually serve you and your goals, or is it designed to keep you safe on someone else’s chessboard? If you’re tired of playing this game, then take off your helmet. You’re free to create your own rules and your own game, whenever you choose.

Dear Scorpio,

Did you know that it’s okay to let your guard down every once in a while? I know the world is full of terrifying monsters, but you were born with a knife in your hands and that is pretty scary too. Besides, there is more to life than just defending yourself. Like community, friends and family, who are on the other side of these mile high walls. I know you have every reason to be scared of vulnerability but we all know it’s what you crave the most.

Believe it or not, the things about you that make you different than everyone else are the most alluring thing about you. You don’t have to share yourself with everybody, but don’t make people who are jumping through hoops wait outside your door forever. Pay attention to who shows you curiosity and sees your authenticity as the gift it really is. The world has a lot to learn from your emotional strength and resilience.

Dear Sagittarius,

Did you know that it is okay for you to change your mind? That it the beauty of life; it is ever changing and so are you. You don’t have to hang on to your old selves, perspectives, beliefs or desires and carve them into stone. You don’t have to be who you were yesterday. I know that some people will call you flighty or uncommitted, but you were made to explore, discover, and evolve with the times. Stagnation is a disservice to your growth.

Growth is the ultimate commitment and the most difficult to keep, but you’re devoted like no other. You’re allowed to focus on yourself and prioritize your own perspective. The greatest teacher is not someone you must find and follow, but the organ beating inside your chest. Quiet down and listen to its whispers. What truth is pumping through your veins? Are you brave enough to acknowledge it? You’re the only one who can.

Dear Capricorn,

Did you know that you’re allowed to have nice things? There is no point to Life if you don’t let yourself enjoy it. And I don’t mean the expensive cars and designer bags, I mean the homemade muffins fresh from the oven, just like your grandmother use to make. I’m talking about the fresh sheets on the bed sprayed with your favorite scent and letting yourself sleep in a little longer than you’re supposed to. I mean that hug that you really need, but won’t let yourself ask for.

It’s okay to ask for things, to need things, and to want them. Comfort isn’t inherently evil because it is temporary and you are not inherently undeserving because you’ve previously found it out of reach. And my love, don’t you know? You don’t have to work for it all either. The best things in life are free, arriving in the worn palms of a dear friend who’s been wondering where you’ve been. Won’t you open the door?

Dear Aquarius,

Did you know that it’s okay to let yourself been seen? You’re not going to burst into flames the second you allow someone to get to know you. But you certainly will start to slowly decay if you never allow anyone in, just saying. Sure there will be people who don’t understand and even people who purposely misunderstand, but you are free to ignore them the way they are ignoring the best parts of you. You shouldn’t ignore yourself just because they did it first. Who wins in that scenario?

You may not want to hear it, but the best parts of you are the ones you’re afraid to be open about. But that fear isn’t necessarily something that should stop you. The truth is that you are not as alone as you might think. There are lots of people out there who are hiding these same thoughts, feelings and sides of themselves too. When you take the leap and let yourself be authentic, it gives them permission to come out of hiding. So raise your flag high and ignore the haters. The friends and family you’ve been waiting for are making their way towards it.

Dear Pisces,

Did you know that you don’t have to believe everyone? Your heart is big and receptive, so it’s natural for you to want to give everyone the same empathy and benefit of the doubt that you wish was afforded to you. However, not every story is true and not every story is told with good intent. It’s important that you learn to discern the difference between people who have earned your affection and understanding, versus those who are just looking to take advantage of it.

The same way you don’t have to believe everything others say, you don’t have to reject your own story just because someone else has. Sensitive, intuitive people are going to pick up on things that others don’t and their inability to do so is not a reflection of you, your validity, or your worth. Make sure you prioritize relationships with people who believe you the first time, see your sensitivity as a strength, and encourage you to believe in yourself. Your story after all, is worth telling too.

Originally published on @siderealmaven's Patreon Page.

[motherpriestess]

The Goddess and the Moon: A Sacred Bond as Old as Time

Before clocks ticked and calendars flipped, before cities rose or empires fell, the Moon was our first timekeeper, and She spoke in the language of the Goddess.

Across ancient cultures, from the stone altars of Neolithic Europe to the sacred springs of Africa and the temple summits of Anatolia, the Moon was never just a rock in the sky. She was a presence, a rhythm, a mystery, and above all, she was Divine Feminine personified.

The Great Mother and Her Silver Daughter

In countless traditions, the Moon was seen as the daughter, or even the embodiment, of the Great Mother, the original source of life and cosmic order. She was the Triple Goddess: Maiden, Mother, and Crone, cycling through her phases just as women cycle through youth, fertility, and wisdom.

As the waxing moon, she is the Maiden, fresh with promise and creativity.

As the full moon, she is the Mother, nurturing, powerful, and passionate.

As the waning moon, she is the Crone, wise, introspective, and deeply connected to the mysteries of death and renewal.

Her silver face in the night sky mirrors the spiral of life, rising and falling, growing and diminishing, only to begin again. In the Moon’s rhythm, our ancestors saw not just time, but a map for living.

Moon, Blood, and Birth

The connection between women and the Moon was more than symbolic, it was biological.

Charles Darwin himself observed that the menstrual cycle echoes the lunar month, and studies have shown that women living near the equator often ovulate with the full moon. Pregnancy and menstruation were believed to be influenced by the Moon’s phases: the new moon was the time of bleeding, while the full moon heralded conception.

This sacred synchronicity inspired myths where the Moon impregnates, governs fertility, and signals new life, both in the womb and in the fields. Sowing and reaping were lunar arts, planting at the new moon, harvesting at the old, and in many cultures, only women, under the guardianship of the Moon Mother, held this agricultural wisdom.

Sanctuary of the Moon

The Goddess of the Moon was not worshiped in palaces or citadels, but in the soft, wild places: caves, springs, mountaintops, lakes, and forests. Her temples were horned altars, shaped like the crescent moon, standing for both fertility and the waning cycle of death.

She was Isis of Egypt, Selene of Thrace, Astarte of Sinai, deities of birth and love, battle and mystery. Her priestesses, often called “virgins” (in the ancient sense, belonging to no man), performed sacred rites of ecstasy and transformation under her glow.

And even as patriarchal systems later masculinized the moon or relegated the Moon Goddess to myth, her symbolism endured, in crescent-shaped jewelry, spirals carved in stone, and the stories whispered under starlight.

Darkness, Descent, and Rebirth

Unlike the sun, the moon disappears. She wanes, grows dark, is swallowed by night, and then returns.

This cyclical death and rebirth made her the goddess of the underworld, of grief and letting go, but also of resurrection and return. The ancients saw in the Moon a reflection of the soul’s journey: to grow, to fade, to rest, and to rise again.

In a time obsessed with linear progress, with constant doing and achieving, the Moon offers a different wisdom: rest is sacred, death is part of life, and return is always possible.

Why the Moon-Goddess Matters Today

In our modern world, the Goddess and the Moon call us back to wholeness. Not just as a concept, but as a lived, embodied reality.

She reminds us to listen to our cycles, not fight them.

She teaches that power is not just force, but intuition, presence, and rhythm.

She calls us to re-sacralize what has been dismissed: the body, the earth, the feminine.

To reconnect with the Moon is to reconnect with ourselves, our roots, our wombs, our wisdom. It’s a way of remembering a time when the world moved with the Goddess’s breath, when time flowed not in straight lines but spirals.

Embracing the Spiral

The Moon doesn’t ask us to believe, she asks us to feel. To notice. To remember.

Whether you light a candle at the full moon, track your cycle with her phases, or simply gaze up in wonder, you are participating in an ancient communion, a ritual as old as humanity.

So tonight, step outside. Look up. There She is the Moon, the Mirror of the Goddess, still watching, still guiding, still whispering Her secrets to those who will listen.

[books-covers-andanalysis]

Sunrise on the Reaping Review

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Yes, a perfect 5 stars. This is the best Hunger Games book

Characters

This has reminded me why Haymitch has always been my favorite character. He is so much more complex than some people gave him credit before this book. He was never just a “drunken asshole” who had a soft side, he is a deeply traumatized person who closed himself off due to all his loved ones being killed. Seeing Haymitch before his trauma was devastating, especially because he has such a big heart (which I’ve been saying but some people didn’t listen!). He loves his ma, brother, and girlfriend so much. He grows to love his fellow tributes so much. He even decides the bunnies are his allies! Then the last 40ish pages destroyed me because we saw him break in real time and turn to alcohol to deal with his grief. His PTSD is so bad, it’s genuinely some of the worst PTSD I’ve ever encountered in a book before. Haymitch is the best Hunger Games character

The side characters were also outstanding. The ones that stood out the most to me were Maysilee, Lou Lou, Wellie, and Ampert, and all of their deaths hit me. It was like Haymitch had multiple Rue’s. Maysilee had so much unexpected depth; helping the tributes with their tokens, despite being the most stuck up girl in town, wanting to make the Capitol pay for what they’ve done. She was an outstanding character. Lou Lou is a tragic character. We don’t even know her real name or personality, that’s how deeply horrible her story is. Wellie stuck with me because of how much and deeply she bonded to Haymitch. The scene of her and Haymitch in the tree with chocolates is one of the most memorable parts of the book for me. Ampert is another one whose story is just so tragic. He was punished for his dad’s defiance

Of the returning characters, I was most moved by Mags. Even though her role in the story was small, she left such a lasting impact on Haymitch. Even in the arena, he thought it’s okay to cry to her. Wiress was also a lovely surprise, as was Beetee. Plutarch finally became a character I care about and remember. The seeds of the rebellion being planted was fascinating, and I appreciated the acknowledgement the rebellion didn’t start and end with Katniss; people had been trying for years, she was just the spark

Plot

On the surface level, this book is about Haymitch’s games and how he doomed his family and girlfriend during it by trying to break the arena. Now, in Catching Fire it is shown that Haymitch finds a force field at the end of the arena, and then we he fights the other last tribute, he accidentally uses it to fling her weapon back at her. But it’s implied there’s more to the story. Why did this get his whole family killed? Katniss’ stunt with the berries didn’t get her whole family killed, and that was intentional! It’s been implied forever there was more to Haymitch’s games year, and now we finally get it. It wasn’t just the force field, Haymitch had defied the Capitol every step of the way as soon as he landed in there. And he suffers the worst consequences one can think of for it. While the whole book was great, the moments that stick out the most to me are:

Haymitch being threatened by Snow. Every part of this scene, from Haymitch drinking the milk to try and stop Snow from being saved, to Snow projecting onto Haymitch, to saying Haymitch should be thanking him for giving him the option to choose how he dies, to the horrifying Lou Lou reveal. Every part of this scene was written in a way that is so horrifying it sticks with you the rest of the book

The last 40ish pages, or as soon as Haymitch wakes up in the hovercraft to the end of the book. This sequence felt like it was out of a horror movie. Haymitch waking up chained and watching a snake eat a bunny, to being isolated with nothing but milk and rolls. He was shown disturbing footage of old Games, handcuffed and taken to his Victor Party where he sees the other Victors who helped with this plot have been tortured. Snow threatening him again, and him being locked in a cage at the party and treated like an animal. Haymitch had to ride home knowing Maysilee, Louella, and Wyatt’s bodied were right next to him. He got home to his family being burned. Then gave Lenore Dove the poisoned gumdrop. Haymitch’s PTSD during all of this is so genuinely devastating, he is having nightmares, and shutting down, and terrified. This is the best written part of the book, and the best written part of the whole series

Themes

On a deeper level, this book is about implicit submission, propaganda, why do we let the few control the many? It’s about abuse of power, corrupt governments, and all the usual Hunger Games themes like how American capitalism is evil, classism is evil, we are desensitized to violence. This book explores these themes in both subtle ways and big grand ways. These are obviously very worthwhile themes to explore, and this book does so with care. Haymitch wondering who is he, to take down the Capitol. But little does he know how much trouble he is causing it. Plutarch asking why didn’t you just have a rebellion in the training room? Why don’t the districts rebel?

My issues with the past Hunger Games books have always been that something was missing. For the first one, it was that all the careers felt like caricatures for the villains in the arenas. For the second, it was that it felt distant. For the series as a whole, it was that while it’s good, it seems afraid of the horror of its own setup, and most of the tributes are meaningless deaths, despite the books own themes. This book fixed all my issues with the other books. All the named tributes felt human and got moments where you empathized with them. Every character death was devastating and written with the emotion it deserved. It was in the scene with Haymitch the whole time. Suzanne Clark has improved her writing tremendously. This is the best book in the series and the only one I’ve given 5 stars too. Well done! One of the best books I’ve ever read