#less excited to read than i was to find it

[osakanone]

It... They literally are.

Cortisol, the stress hormone is delaying the restoration of your cells and their replacement. It shortens the telomeres which encode your genetic makeup.

It disrupts the removal of amyloid plaques (the things which create alzheimers, and our best bet is memory loss and the deceleration of minds in humans is caused by a combination of cortisol and sugars).

It prevents the proper resolution of stress by denying you access to essential neurotransmitters (which is why everybody is addicted to stimulants).

That fucked up brainshape results in a collapse of linguistic reasoning and thus executive functioning as a defensive mechanism (which is the origin of ADHD).

This can be passed down generationally as gene activation biases which influence your neurotopology and the shape of your brain, since evolution is assuming you're trapped in a cave but still reproducing and wants you to find a way out of the cave. This is why genetic deviations and birth defects (evolution's attempts) are significantly more frequent in places of stress -- with even transness being more common in places of high stress.

Try to imagine someone who needs to tend to a wound, but if they do they might be eaten by an animal while doing it, so they wait, with a knife in hand, ready to throw their grasp into the beast's ribs and have the knife find its middle.

That's cortisol. You're the one trembling with the knife.

I might be about to tell you something you didn't want to know, or something you already knew but did not want proof of.

You can stop reading now if you want to and I won't begrudge you.

This catastrophic gradual resudial destruction of the body is not only triggered by work, but its also alleviated by relative economic position, meaning if you emotionally feel like you have more security or more stuff than somebody else, your body makes less of it.

They want you to take up those economic objects to saturate your income but also to sate your sense of socioeconomic position. That's the real bargain of white collar work.

What's worse is it induces a kind of learned helplessness, where in the mind a human knows something is wrong but they don't do anything about it.

Humans don't try to change anything.

In fact, it literally shortens your lifespan by up to 30%.

It is literally shredding your organs.

Your body is trying desperately to tell you this.

What's worse is if someone has cortisol from the socioeconomic position but not the workload, the balance of cortisol to status is such that it induces extreme paranoia.

And those over you?

Much as locusts aren't grasshoppers, extreme wealth literally transforms brain topologies, producing ad-hoc sociopaths.

To the people above you, you are a toy soldier.

You are being asked to march into fire as tinder because to them.

It is your purpose to be firewood and to burn and if you don't accept this gleefully, you are ungreatful for being made into a toy soldier from wood to begin with.

...depite the fact they didn't shape or paint or build you. They act like they do, because that's the entire grift.

We live in the 15th century, they live in the 21st century.

The empire never ended.

Cry often and cry lots. Seek out adrenaline, which forces cortisol to distribute properly in your body and kickstarts resuming the healing process. You are biologically trapped in the waiting state for some great predator.

Work out. Exhaust your body. Climb. Lift. Run. Anything.

You need to feel acute (from the external, not your own body upon itself) pain and adrenal fear (excitement) or cortisol cannot work as intended.

This is why so many people in high pressure jobs are into BDSM, or are thrill-seekers via white collar crime. This is why so many people lead a double life as stress relief.

Above all though, you need to cry. You need to process the bad emotion. Not now and not in a catastrophic way, but in a (ugh) "productive way", like experiencing tragedy and thus catharsis through stories or by acknowledging things you had buried deep inside yourself and desperately tried to forget.

Not all at once, and only a little, but you must do this at least a little, or your levels don't achieve a setpoint declared by your endorphins and you will develop a tolerance for cortisol and your body will make more much as an addict does.

Biologically, everybody over 25 going through all this "has an addiction to a hard drug" because of their cortisol levels, and its one of the reasons why psychological research has such problems with replication because different places distribute it (and thus damage the body) in different ways.

If you are able to see a doctor, that feeling in your guts is your body screeching, begging you to run. Please please see a doctor and get a once-over. Think of it as a tune-up for a car or a general wellness assessment. If you're over 35, you'll probably catch something while its very minor like bone spurs, or nervous myalgia that's treatable at this point, the winging of your scapulas in your back, or some sort of imbalance of essential nutrients (my guess is going to be magnesium and vitamin D) -- all of which are incredibly painful if left untreated and managing and filtering that pain will eat into your cognitive capacity (since pain management costs your cognition, since you have finite brain volume and the brain can't use the same areas to do both high quality filtering and reasoning at the same time without one disrupting the other).

Read a book called "The body keeps the score" if you want to know more. It will help you solve your problems.

Further reading:

On stress:

Wilkinson, R. G., & Pickett, K. (2009). The spirit level: Why more equal societies almost always do better. London: Allen Lane. Wilkinson, R. G., and Pickett, K. E. (2017) The enemy between us: The psychological and social costs of inequality. Eur. J. Soc. Psychol., 47: 11– 24. Web: http://www.law.nyu.edu/sites/default/... Dickerson SS, Kemeny ME. Acute stressors and cortisol responses: a theoretical integration and synthesis of laboratory research. Psychol Bull. 2004 May;130(3):355-91. Web: https://www.researchgate.net/publicat... Lê-Scherban, F., Albrecht, S. S., Bertoni, A., Kandula, N., Mehta, N., & Diez Roux, A. V. (2016). Immigrant status and cardiovascular risk over time: results from the Multi-Ethnic Study of Atherosclerosis. Annals of epidemiology, 26(6), 429–435. Web: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/arti... I also highly recommend anything from Dr. Robert Sapolsky- "Stress: Portrait of a Killer" is on YouTube, as well as many of his lectures from Stanford.

On wealth:

Someone at an old job asked why I wanted to write up the meeting minutes for our team and I said 'i wanna control the narrative' and they were like 'what' and I pointed out that no one was gonna remember what we said in six months and so my interpretation of the meeting would dictate the assumed reality of what happened

"none of you ever send corrections when I offer the draft so y'all have consented to my version"

"we don't read that shit"

"you must trust me implicitly to create our shared reality that's so sweet"

That's how several coworkers decided I was a supervillain and how I learned several coworkers didn't understand record keeping as like a CONCEPT

[rindreamery]

hiiiiii. congrats on 300follwrs 🫶🫶🫶 about your event can i request karasu tabito, sweet, kiss on the lips, rivals to lovers if not taken^.^ xo

ORDER 9: READY TO GO !

karasu + sweet + kiss on the lips + rivals to lovers w.c. 1k+

note. this took forever and is lowk booty cheeks 😭 literally right when i gained motivation to write this, got hit with a fever and couldn't write for a few days, and then forgot the plot that i initially thought of for this fic. so here we are... many days later... but i tried my best !!

interested in more? check out the lounge !

group projects are, admittedly, the bane of your existence. 

but your professor loved to dish them out every chance they had, much to your dismay, under the pretense of “helping you form bonds with your peers.” though, it was always the same cycle; agree to work on the project on your own, piece together a slideshow or document using your individual work, turn it in, and hope for the best. in the end, your relationships with your peers remain the same, sometimes worse than before. not friends, simply classmates trying to survive the class, together or not. 

finding yourself stuck in, yet another, project, it takes everything in you to bite back a loud sigh. mentally, you’re throwing darts at a board with your professor standing in front of it. physically, you’re stuck in the library, late into the hours of the afternoon (when you could be taking a nap), endlessly researching about some topic that you, honestly, could care less about. 

but that, itself, isn’t the root of the issue.

writing a project about the effects of dopamine on love should not be complicated. well, at least, not more complicated than just pulling up research articles and getting a few quotes to meet your citation quotas. your issue, more or less, was with your assigned partner. him— karasu.

not that he was a bad person— no, quite the opposite, actually. he was perfect in a way that was so infuriating to you. anything you could do? he could do faster, more efficiently, and produce better results. he could put in half the effort and still come out with something that rivaled, or even topped, your work. that bothered you, and his nonchalance about it all only added to your growing frustrations.

group projects were the bane of your existence, and he was a close second.

even now, as he sits in front of you, doing nothing— he is frustrating. though, you can't explain why.

“if ya stop staring...” his voice slices right through your thoughts. he says it so casually, flipping through his notebook, ignoring the way your glare digs deep into his skin. “dopamine’s what makes people feel good, right?”

“yes,” comes your initial, curt, response. you can’t help the way your eye twitches at his tone, tracking his every move as he actively avoids looking back at you. his eyes are locked onto his notes in front of him, but you know better— he’s not actually reading them. “but it’s also a lot more complicated than that. dopamine affects a lot of things, like our reward systems and motivation. but if we’re talking strictly in the context of love, it’s what makes us feel that rush of excitement when we’re around someone we like.”

he hums at that, pretending to mull over your words. “got any personal experience?”

his question catches you off-guard, and for a second, you find yourself tripping over your words. “what— why do you care? you don’t need to know that.”

“no need to get all defensive.” he responds, once again in that casual tone of his, but mildly amused at the way you react to him. like he’s getting a kick out of making you flustered over his words. "i’m just thinking, to understand how dopamine affects how we see someone, we need to get some real-world data. like, experience it first-hand."

karasu finally looks up from his notes, and he raises a brow at you, anticipating your response.

you see right through him— a lie. this type of research project didn’t require personal understanding, rather, understanding gained from reading other sources. yet, oddly enough, you find yourself entertaining the idea. intrigued. “experience it first-hand? you want me to act as your lab rat or something?”

“well, ya are pretty much the perfect lab rat.” and your mouth opens to retort, but he flashes you a half-smile, that shuts you right up. though, teetering closer to that signature smirk of his. “because ya hate my guts. we can test to see if dopamine can make ya hate me less.”

you blink at him, blankly.

you're gauging for any sign that he’s messing with you, but he doesn’t backpedal on his words. rather, he sits there, chin propped in the palm of his hands as he waits for you to respond. (but it’s hard to, not when your mind is drawn to the way your heart stutters at his insinuation. an unexpected, and unwelcome, reaction from you.) "so, what? you’re suggesting we kiss or something?”

“ya said it, not me.” karasu shrugs, finally straightening his posture out and getting up from his chair. “purely for research purposes, of course.”

there’s another beat of silence as you wait for him to crack— to tell you that he’s simply messing with you. then, the two of you could go back to doing this cursed project, potentially finish it in one go, and never have to meet up ever again. but he doesn’t, and the silence draws into something more uncomfortable the longer it goes on. 

“wait, are you... are you being serious right now?” you asked, your eyes widening as you look at him in disbelief. 

“science is science,” is all he offers to you.

you could feel your face heat up, the warmth crawling from the base of your neck and up, and  you’re sure your cheeks are sporting a bright shade of red.  it takes a few seconds for you to gather yourself, not willing to back down, but in the end, all you can muster is, “fine— for science.”

his grin widens at that, and before you could second-guess your choice, he’s planting his hands on the table and leaning in. 

yet, despite his rough approach, the kiss is soft— tentative, almost. his lips are barely brushing against yours, and you could still feel his shallow breaths as he refuses to make that last push to connect the two of you. he's simply hovering over you, almost urging you to make that decision, giving you that choice to back out of it if you wanted to.

all you can focus on is the rapid beat of your heart in your ears, the warmth emanating off of his lips that are so close, yet so far from yours. the logical, karasu-hating part of you is yelling at you to pull away, to get it together. but you don’t.

you close the distance between the two of you, locking your lips in a shallow, but sweet, kiss. full of nerves, from the way your lips freeze up against one another, not knowing where to go from there. the confidence he held washes away in that fraction of a second; his elbows buckle underneath him, caught off-guard by the feeling of your lips, pulling the two of you apart.

it’s brief, barely considered a kiss, but your reaction to him is undeniable. the way your heart pumps just a little harder, the tiny, electric sparks coursing through your veins, or the way you found yourself chasing after his lips as he pulled away.

the two of you stay silent, but you find that he's grinning at you— differently, this time. in a way you can't quite explain.

"hate me any less now?"

© rindreamery, 2025

[jazziejax]

𝐌𝐲 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Dev-Em x Black!OC

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - In which the sudden crash into the backyard of a southern belle’s Louisiana bayous home leads to the unexpected meeting of an outer space alien and regular baker

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Fluff, chile, idk superpowers maybe?

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - I think this might be my favorite story so far. I love superhero’s and lovey-dovey fluff and this is all that plus a fine ass man so…UNEDITED!!! Sorry for any spelling errors. I’m also working on my other works so you’ll be getting an update soon! Also, tagging never works for me so if the tag list is janky, I’m so sorry. Let me know if you want to be apart of it and what you guys think, LOVE YOU!!!<3

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 7,109+

Tonight was quiet, oddly enough. The air was still, with no sound of the soft chirping of crickets or a lighting bug in sight, save for the occasional breeze of the warm southern wind. The usually humid air now had a cool breeze to it, less sticky and sweeping the curly flyaways at the back of her neck, causing her to occasionally reach back to swat at the feeling of false flies. Her curly fro was in a bun at the top of her head, a silk scarf wrapped around the base and a pencil stuck in her hair rather than behind her ear since she was wearing her glasses. She was reading some physiological thriller about a woman and her husband’s mistress. She was almost done and was anticipating the crossword puzzles it had in the back.

She sat on her porch in a creaky rocking chair, a book resting on her lap and a glass of iced tea sweating on the small table beside her and her small orange, Mufasa, resting on the floor. She then sighed, tilting her head back to lean against the back of her chair. “I pray a marriage like this never finds me.” She said to herself after the woman caught her husband and the mistress again, the pair telling her their creed story to ruin her life and walk away scotch-free and with all the money. Her gaze was locked on the stars, able to see the twinkling rocks due to the small amount of artificial light available in the Bayou neighborhood.

This was how every night was for her. She ended the day on her porch, her fluffy robe covering whatever she decried to wear that night as she softly rocked back and forth in her old chair, reading whatever book she picked up next from the porch swing, that seat was filled with all the books she bought when she first moved into the large home. Then she’d end it all by giving the stars one last glance. Looking between the constellation patterns she could recognize and the occasional star-link that slowly moved across the sky. And the North Star shined big and bright in front of her, angled perfectly with the spot of her chair.

But the twinkling was different tonight. The stars seemed to shine brighter than usual. Everything about tonight was different.

That’s when she saw it. A streak of light tore across the sky, burning bright like a falling star. She stood up with a gasp, looking at the moving ball. “Oh my goodness, a shooting star.” She said softly. She started at it as it moved across the sky before quickly clasping her fists together. “Ohh! I gotta make a wish.” She held them up to her chest, tightly shutting her eyes. She then took in a beep breath.

I wish…for something new. Something fun and exciting. Anything……Anything to make my miserable life a little less lonely. She thought to herself, her thoughts dwindling within her mind once she realized how sad and pathetic she sounded. She let out a small sigh, opening her eyes and placing her hands on her hips. “Now this is just sad, Magnolia Etienne.” She shook her head at herself. She then crossed her arms, giving the sky one last look. It was empty now, with no moving stars in sight. Pushing her lips, she turned around and picked her book up from the soft pad placed on the seat of her rocking chair.

She tucked her book under her arms and squatted to scratch behind her cat’s ears. “Come on Mufasa, time for bed.” She said. The lazy cat perked up at the sound of her voice and her fingers in his fur. He meowed as he leaned into the touch, rising from his lounging position, the bell on his collar emitting a soft ding. She grabbed her glass of tea and began to make her way into her home, opening the screen door.

She held the door open, watching Mufasa waddle his way past her. She had a small smile on her face before closing both of her doors behind her and locking them. She watched as Mufasa trudged his way up the stairs to her right while she went to the left, right into the archway that led to the large kitchen. She poured the rest of her tea down the drain and placed the dark green glass in the sink. She then scurried out of the kitchen back through the same archway and began to make her way up the same stairs as Mufasa.

She was only halfway up before she heard what sounded like a large freight train coming near. She couldn’t pause to contemplate what the sound could be before a loud explosion sounded from outside. The entire house shook at the crash, the pictures on the wall jittering at the vibrations while Magnolia tried to keep her balance as she leaned against the wall next to her for stability. She heard Mufasa’s loud screech from her bedroom before she saw the orange ball bumbling down the steps towards her.

Magnolia’s heart pounded within her chest as she suck to the floor, scooping her cat into her arms as she waited for things to die down. Her home still vibrated after the lasting effects of the crash, which she could tell was close due to the sound and her still shaking home. And after that, for only a moment, everything was still. The only sound was her shallow breathing and Mufasa’s soft bell as he moved within her arms. She then slowly pushed herself up, her heart hammering in her chest.

“Lord have mercy,” Magnolia breathed, scrambling to her feet. She stumbled up the stairs, her cat still in her arms as she made her way down the hall and to her bedroom. She gave no regard to the clothes on the floor as hopped over them, quickly grabbing the shotgun from beside her bed. She didn’t wait another second before rushing down the stairs. She went to her left, leaving her into the living room, making her way over to the bay window tucked to the side, and looking out the large glass panels.

A glow white emitted from her backyard through the smoke of the explosion. She furrowed her brows as she blinked, wondering what could’ve possibly crashed landed on her property of all things.

She pushed herself from her knees on the cushion window seat to pull out the ball draw under it, pulling out a large flashlight. With Mufasa still in her arms, along with her gun and now her tool, she made her way to the back door of her home. She took slow steps from the living room to the dining room, the white glow dimming down before her eyes through the curtains of the home. Once she made it past the seating area and into the kitchen, she hit the screen door leading to the back porch. She paused, gulping as she looked through the mosquito net that stopped at her knees.

“Okay, Mufasa. This is probably really stupid.” She said to the cat in her arms. “So I’m bringing you out here in case I die.” She looked down at him, only to meet his disinterested expression, a consistent look of his. “I want you to run to Leroy’s house and tell him I’m gone. He’ll take care of you.” She gave him a sad smile. Mufasa just blinked.

“You don’t give a damn.” She sighed before leaning down a little to drop him from her hands. She stood straight with a small huff, calming her nerves and collecting herself before stepping out of the door. She wiped her palms on the side of her soft purple robe, switching the cold metal of the rifle between her hands. She then began to stretch her arms and shoulders, pulling one arm over her chest to the opposite side. Once done, she placed the gun in her hands, positioning it just right in case she needed to aim. She also held the flashlight.

Magnolia squinted as she pushed open the door, the smoke from the explosion seeping into the bottom of the door. Mufasa rushed out into the smog that had eased its way up the steps of her porch.

Her breath hitched as she pushed open the screen door and stepped onto the back porch, her sock-cladded feet pressing against the cool and damp wooden boards. She squinted out into the yard, trying to see past the smoke that was beginning to roll into the bayou waters not far from the grass.

She took a few more steps out, stepping down the first few creaky steps of the porch. She could hear the soft bell of Mufasa’s collar coming from the center of the explosion. Her heart was pounding within her chest as she stepped closer and closer, her flashlight finally giving her some justice of sight into the space of the crash. “Please let it be…oh, hell, I don’t know, nothing crashing into your backyard is good.” She said softly to herself. “Unless it’s money in a safe. That’ll be good if I could get the safe open.” She tried to calm herself down, her mind racing on something that could potentially kill her or have her making some sort of official report.

Her breath hitched at the sight before her, the fog dimming to reveal what lay in the middle of her garden. Right where her prized tomatoes used to grow, was a smoldering crater, smoke curling into the humid night air. She edged closer, the shotgun held tight to her chest and then froze when she saw it—someone, or something, lying in the wreckage.

“Well my, oh, my.” She whispered. There was a man in the crater. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and covered in soot. His clothes—or what was left of them—looked strange, like some sort of uniform or armor that had been ripped apart in the impact, the black suit shimmering in the moonlight. Blood streaked his face, and his breathing was shallow, which she could only tell that he was doing by the way the smoke cleared from his face. She stood there, shocked at what she was seeing. She glanced around the crater, looking for anything else that could indicate what happened or caused the crash, but there was nothing. No debris, shrapnel, scraps, nothing. Just him and the hole.

Mufasa sat himself next to his head after giving the man a quick sniff. He then reached out a placed a paw on the unconscious man’s head, turning his head to give the woman his same disinterested face. Magnolia hesitated, but only for a moment. She then dropped her arms, letting out a deep sigh. “Reckon I can’t just leave you out here,” she muttered to herself, setting the shotgun aside.

She placed her hands on her hips, observing the scene before her. She then let out another sigh before moving her way into the crater with the man and giving her cat a look. “You gon’ just sit there and stare or are you gonna help a sista out?” She asked, bending to the man. Mufasa just yawned, giving her the same look, causing her to let out a small scoff. “No help, as usual. You know, I don’t even know why I let you live with me, rent-free.” She snarked at him as she moved to grab the man’s upper body to drag him away. “You’re gonna have to start carrying your own weight.” She groaned as she took steps. Mufasa just sat next to him, watching as she struggled. “Of course not now.”

It took all of her strength to drag him into the house. She groaned all the way into the home with the weight of the man in her arms. Mufasa did nothing but follow her, at the heels of the unconscious man, stopping now and then when Magnolia dropped him to catch her breath. “Just give me a sec. This guy’s a bolder and you’re no help.” She’d puff out. Then she’d only receive the small ding of his bell as some sort of response. “I have gots to stop talking to my cat.” She sighed.

By the time she got him onto the couch, she was sweating and cursing under her breath. His weight was unreal, like trying to move a fallen redwood tree. Once he was settled, she went to the kitchen and gathered a large bowl with some warm water and a fresh sponge. She sat the materials on the small coffee table next to him, then focused on his clothing. “Dammit, you need clothes.” She sighed. She rushed up the stairs to her bedroom, grabbing her biggest items of clothing, which she usually slept in. Her joggers weren’t that baggy, at least not enough to fit him, so she went for the large basketball shorts she always wore for whatever reason.

After collecting those, she went back down to begin cleaning what she could.

Surprisingly to her, he had no wounds on his skin, even though dried blood littered his face and neck. She was a little glad that was all it was since that meant she didn’t have to run back upstairs and gather supplies to clean his wounds. But that also made her even more confused. She still wasn’t fully clear on what exactly had happened for him to end up in her backyard. But she cleaned the air and debris from his skin as best she could.

“Where in the world did you come from?” She murmured, her eyes lingering on his sharp jawline and high cheekbones. He was a beautiful man. His skin was smooth, the light brown color warm against the warm lighting of her home. His face was clean-shaven, not a hair in sight besides the ones in his head, which were cute and curly. She couldn’t help but notice his large features. They were attractive. His lips were strong and structured. His nose was perfect, symmetrical, and sculpted to his face. What she admired most was his ears. His large ears were…cute.

That’s all she could say about him.

He didn’t respond to her soft voice, just lying there unconscious, his chest rising and falling steadily. She worked quietly, her cleaning moving from his face to his chest after she struggled to remove the tattered uniform. The cleaning seemed to ease the racing heart and her wandering mind. Her nerves settled as she busied herself. Once he was cleaned up and changed, after trying her best to not admire his exquisite physique like some perv, she covered him with a quilt, sat in the armchair opposite him, and waited, her shotgun resting across her knees.

“Okay, Mufasa. Now we wait.” She said, leaning back in the shake, her gaze locked on the arms. She didn’t get to change his pants, not wanting to do anything past taking his combat boots off and making it extra creepy on her end, so she just settled for the shirt.

It didn’t take long before she was feeling the effects of sleep hitting her like a bolder. Her head was leaned back against the back of the chair while Mufasa was curled against her feet. And just as she was zoning off, suddenly remembered.

I wish…for something new. Something fun and exciting. Anything……Anything to make my miserable life a little less lonely.

𝐌𝐲 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

It was the smell of bacon that woke him. Not that he knew what that was. But it was a strange smell nonetheless. His eyes snapped open as he woke with a start, and for a moment, he panicked. His body jolted as though he’d been dropped from a great height. For a moment, disorientation flooded him. His heart dropped and his mind became alert. The room around him was unfamiliar—soft light filtering through the lace curtains and stained glass windows, casting patterns across the dark hardwood floor. The air smelled faintly of lavender and wood polish. The walls were lined with framed pictures of smiling strangers, and the faint hum of a ceiling fan on the ceiling. He pushed the thick and cold quilt off his chest and sat up too quickly, causing his head to swim.

That’s when he heard it—the soft clatter of ceramic plates and titanium pans clinging together. His senses seemed to sharpen as he zoned in on the sound, hearing the quiet hum of a tune being sung under someone’s breath. “I’ve been loving you, too long.” He heard the voice of a woman sing as the smell of meat filled his nose, along with a hint of something sweet. He could hear everything else as well, from the steady hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, the faint creak of the house as it settled, and even the low rumble of a truck passing somewhere far in the distance. He rose to his feet cautiously, glancing down at himself. His torn armor was gone, replaced with a clean t-shirt that fit his frame a little tight.

He could feel the memories rushing back to him, but it all wasn’t clear. He could only remember being in the escape vessel before something happened and then it all cut the heat he felt from the speed of the ship and then the crash. He remembered home but he didn’t have a clue as to how anything led to now.

He then realized his body felt different when he stood. Stronger. Lighter. He looked down as he clenched a fist and felt the sense of power or energy, humming just beneath the surface, waiting. His gaze darted around the room, catching sight of a mirror on the wall near the fireplace. He moved over to it, looking at his clean and clear face. He looked as if nothing happened. He then turned back around, observing the place he was now in.

The house was large but cozy, every surface filled with framed photographs, antique knickknacks, and small vases of wildflowers. A knit blanket had been folded neatly and draped over the back of the green couch he rose from, his quilt discarded on the floor. He then saw some sort of gun leaning against a chair angled towards the couch—close but not threateningly so. He turned his head and then began his move toward where he heard the voice from, causing the wooden floor to groan softly beneath his weight. He flinched at the sound, but even as he moved, his senses adjusted. He could hear her still. Her voice. She was humming. The faint sound of a song he didn’t recognize on her lips.

Dev’s brow furrowed, and he tilted his head as though he could see through the walls. His senses then kicked in without permission. The faintest shift in his vision brought the world into sharp relief. He blinked, startled as the wall in front of him seemed to blur and fade, revealing a woman standing by the stove, her honey-roasted skin shining in the sun that seeped through the kitchen, and the reddish tint to her hair swept into a mess of curls at the top of her head, wrapped in a emerald green scarf as she stirred something in a skillet. He could see through the wall, clear as day.

He stumbled back, a rush of panic tightening his chest. What was happening to him?

The creak of the floorboards gave him away as he stepped toward the kitchen. “Good mornin’.” The soft voice called to him before he even reached the doorway. He hesitated, his muscles tensing as he stepped further into the room. And there she was—the woman he’d seen through the wall. She was a young woman with very curly hair and a lot of it. She was standing at the stove, her back to him as she poured batter mix into the small waffle machine next to the stove. She glanced over her shoulder, giving a view of her face. Her expression was kind but wary.

“Figured you’d wake up hungry.” She said, gesturing toward the small table near the window to their left, where a plate full of food was already waiting.

His gaze shifted to the plate, looking at the many varieties of food on it. They then darted around the kitchen, taking in every detail—the mismatched stool chairs at the island-style bar and the ones at the table, the vase of wildflowers in the center of the table, the open window letting in a soft breeze. He could hear the sound of water faintly moving from the open pane, ducks quacking and mosquitoes buzzing. He gulped, brows furrowed as he tried to take in everything that surrounded him, wondering if he could piece together where he could be from the environment and her weird clothing. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. “Where am I?”

She stopped what she was doing to slowly tune her head towards him, face contorted in confusion “Louisiana.” She said, blinking at him as if his question had an obvious answer. But then she realized that none of last night seemed to make sense and she wasn’t quite sure if she was still dreaming or not.

“You’re in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.” She added, turning back to what she was doing. There was a long silence between them, causing her to turn her head back around and see that the man was now just looking at her, his expression guarded but confused. She pursed her lips, giving him an awkward smile. She then quickly turned the heat down on the gas stove, just letting the bacon fry as she turned back to face him.

“You, uh,…kinda crash-landed in my backyard last night.” She began, her face still fringed in its uncomfortable expression. “Crazy, I know! I, uh, I thought you were dead for sure, but you were breathin’, so I just brought you on in.” She shrugged as she explained. The man just stood there, his face still stoic but confused. He frowned, thinking of it all since his memory was still fuzzy. The last thing he could still recall was the explosion... and then falling. He closed his eyes, fragments of his home flashing in his mind. Memories flooded his mind, his friends, and family. But none of it was clear. How he got here wasn’t clear.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” She questioned, breaking the silence. His eyes snapped open, and for a moment, he said nothing. He just stared at her, watching the wince she had on her face as she seemed to register just about all it meant with him being there. Finally, he shook his head. “No. I’m not.”

She nodded slowly, opening the waffle maker and then setting the hot cake on a plate on the island behind her. “Well, I figured as much, seein’ as you were wearin’ somethin’ that looked like it came out of one of those space movies and whatnot.” She grinned uncomfortably as she nodded her head. “And the fact that you…crashed into my backyard.” She added, letting out a slight wince. “But...you don’t seem like you’re here to hurt me, so...” She trailed off. She wasn’t normally such a nervous wreck when it came to speaking to people, and oddly enough especially strangers.

And she wasn’t even nervous that there was some stranger in her house. Well, not fully since she was the one that brought him into her home. She was just extremely confused over the whole occurrence of everything. The wish, the shooting star, him…crashing into her backyard and it all being real? She felt like she was losing her mind and the only thing keeping her sane was speaking. And the boatload of cooking she did.

“I’m not,” he said quickly, his tone firm with his eyes locked on her form. She gulped, her hands anxiously fiddling with each other on the counter as she faced him. “Good to know.” She said with a small smile, before grabbing the waffle plate and moving it to the small table next to the window. She placed it on the table with the rest of the food and then began untying her apron. She looked over at him, offering a soft smile as she brought the cloth over her head. “Have a seat.” She gestured to the wooden chair next to her.

Dev just stood there, his gaze unwavering from her face as she stared at him, her eyes jumping between his features. “Please.” She added softly before taking a seat in the bay window booth that circled the small table. Dev steadily moved to the table, pulling out one of the wooden chairs on the opposite end of the table, since the window provided a seat for the other side. He sat across from her, his eyes on the food before him while she watched his every move.

Once he was seated, she began again. “Name’s Magnolia, by the way. Most folks just call me..well, Magnolia. Never really had a nickname.” She grinned at him. Deb just nodded his head, looking at her. There was a pause between them, the pair staring at each other. Sitting there, she just realized the color of his eyes. The striking bright eyes stared into her soul. She couldn’t tell what coke they were, shades of all colors within them as they shined in the light coming through the window behind her.

He admired the way the sun seemed to shine around her like some sort of glow emitting from her skin. The glow made her hair seem as if it was on fire as it lightened it.

“Dev-Em.” He replied, though his voice was stiff, awkward. Magnolia’s brows spiked, his voice snapping her out of her thoughts. “That is my name.” He clarified.

“Well, Dev-Em.” She said, leaning back in her chair. “I might regret saying all of this but, you know, I think I kinda brought this onto myself.” She said, letting out a nervous laugh. “You’re welcome to stay here till you get back on your feet. As long as you don’t wreck my kitchen, we’ll get along just fine.” She grinned.

Dev hesitated, unsure of how to respond. His instincts told him not to trust so easily, but there was something about her—her calm demeanor but anxious jittering under his gaze, the way she didn’t press him for details of everything—that made him nod. “Thank you.” He said quietly.

Magnolia smiled, though there was a touch of nervousness in her eyes. “You’re welcome. Now eat before it gets cold.” She said, beating to the food. She quickly then began to dig into hers, pouring a little bit of syrup onto her waffle.

As he picked up his fork, the smell of the food under his nose made his stomach growl. “Thank you.” He said. Everything from bacon to eggs laid around, the option of grits and oatmeal offered with an assortment of toppings for their specific taste, for the oats and their small waffles. For the first time in days—maybe longer—he felt a small flicker of safety. Magnolia watched him from across the table, her gaze softening as she saw the guarded tension in his shoulders begin to ease. She stuffed her face with the food, watching as he did the same across from her. She wasn’t too sure of where he came from, her best and most logical bet was that he fell from a plane, even if that didn’t make any sense as to why he had no scars. Or broken bones. Or why he was alive.

All that to say, she wasn’t sure if he had the same food as she did, but he didn’t seem to care with the way he tore into it.

“Well,” She said, breaking the silence with a teasing tone. “You sure are polite for an alien.” She let it slip before she could even think of it, dropping her fork onto her place as she placed her head in her hands.

Dev looked up, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Alien?”

Magnolia let out a small huff before she shrugged, an unsure grin tugging at her lips. “I mean, you did fall from the sky.” She began, her face slowly morphing into one of uncertainty. “At least, I think so. I’m not too sure anymore, last night was sort of a blur and I’m just very confused.” She sighed, going back to her food with a dejected look on her face. “If I could ask Mufasa I would.” She mumbled before taking a chunk out of her bacon.

Deb only became more confused, still eating as he looked at her.

“Mufasa?” He repeated, his accent and not hearing her making him pronounce the name wrong. But it didn’t seem to matter anyway before the bundle of orange bound into the kitchen, his bell letting out a soft ding as he brushed his fur against Dev’s bare feet on his way to the bench with Magnolia. Dev’s eyes slightly widened at the sight of the animal that situated itself next to the woman, just staring at him with a bored look. A little too expressive for an animal, might he add. Magnolia just glanced over at the cat.

“That’s Mufasa.” She said in a monotone before looking back at the cat. “And what did I tell you about being in my kitchen? This is not some white folks home, get.” She said sternly, pointing out of the door he came. The orange cat let out a single meow before jumping from the booth and trudging his way out. Dev’s eyes just went back to her once the animal was gone, confused and a little concerned at everything he’s witnessed so far.

Seeing his confused look, Magnolia squinted her eyes at him. “Me talking to my pet is the least of your concerns right now.” She said, menacingly gesturing her fork at him before digging back into her food. Dev let out the faintest chortle at her words before digging back into the delicious meal.

After finishing most of the meal in silence, Dev suddenly spoke. “Do you know what happened to me?” He asked, his voice low and full of strained pain.

Magnolia paused, just about to place a strawberry into her mouth. She then blinked, it clicking within her mind that he might not remember much. She then let out a small sigh before sitting the fruit down. “Well sugar, to put it simply, I’m not all too sure.” She said, shrugging. Dev blinked at the nickname but didn’t look up from his plate as she continued, feeling her gaze on him. “One moment I’m on my porch, reading a book and enjoying the stars. Next, there’s a crash in my backyard and I go back there to see you on my precious tomatoes.” She explained. “Though they weren’t that precious, some animals’ been nipping at ‘em and I actually don’t like tomatoes.” She grinned.

Dev’s face stayed stoic, his gaze moving from his food for only a moment. He glanced at her before looking away from her soft gaze. He shook his head, his frown deepening as he thought of it all. “I just……everything is different. I feel different. Things are louder and brighter for some reason.” He began to explain. He didn’t know why he was confessing all of this to her, or even speaking on his feelings in the first place. But it just felt like the right thing to do. It was the only thing he had left to him.

Magnolia’s face sided even more, leaning her head down to gaze at his face more, seeing the internal conflict he was having. “Do you, remember what happened?” She questioned hesitatingly.

Dev gulped before shaking his head, finally raising his eyes to look back at her. “All I remember is…leaving. Leaving my home. Anything after that is fractured.” He stated, staring at her. Magnolia gave him a soft smile, looking him in the eye. Her heart hurt for him. He seemed so alone, and even though he was trying his best to hide it and stay strong, she could tell he was on the brink of breaking. This seemed to be the point to drive him over the edge.

“Well, I don’t really know what you’ve got goin’ on with all that, you know, this is a strange situation. But you were a mess when I found you.” She stated. “All bloodied, bruised, looking like you’d just been through hell. I cleaned you up as best as I could and let you rest. That’s all I could do.” She said.

Dev seemed to relax slightly, though the tension in his shoulders didn’t completely fade. He glanced down at his hands again, the memory of him looking through the wall and the power he felt at the end of his fingertips.

“Listen,” Magnolia said softly as she reached over to place her hand on his still one. Her voice alone caught his attention, but her gentle tone and her soft touch ignited something within him deep down that he couldn’t understand nor dwell on at the moment. “You’re safe here, okay? Whatever’s happenin’, we’ll figure it out. I’ll help you as best as I can.”She smiled at him. “I mean, I couldn’t imagine going through what you’re going through alone. I’d want the help.”

Her words surprised him. He’d expected suspicion, fear, even hostility. But there was none of that in her voice. Just... kindness. He nodded slowly, still wary but grateful nonetheless, subconsciously flexing his hand under her thumb that rubbed against the back of his hand. Magnolia smiled, a little nervous but genuine, and scooted her way off the bench.

“Good, because now we’ve got to get you settled.” She smiled before rising from her seat. Dev furrowed his brows, his eyes trailing her as she walked away with her plate. “You better hurry up and finish. First thing first, we gotta get you checked out to make sure everything is okay.” She said, not running to face him as she began cleaning her mess. Dev’s heart spiked at her words, concern texting his way into his chest as he thought of having to leave. And then interact with the people outside. And their environment.

As if she could sense his worry, she started again. “And done sweat it too much, I’m real close with a doctor down here named Leroy. He’s at work right now but we’re gonna go give him a little visit and then after that, we’ll get you all set.” She said. She then sat down the rag she had and turned to face him. Even though his face didn’t show it, she could see the questions flying within his mind. She held her hands out in caution, stepping back over to the table. “It’s okay. I trust Leroy with my entire life. He’s been there for me since I was a baby. Technically a step-grandpa but we were never raised in the same home and it’s just really complicated so I just call him Uncle Leroy.” She rambled.

Dev just started up at her, and she tried her best not to get lost in his large sea-green eyes. He then nodded before going back to consume the rest of the food on his plate. Magnolia stood there for a moment, watching him eat and caught up in her own thoughts. Thoughts about what she was going to do now that he was here, how long he’d be staying with her, how the hell any of this was even possible—she still wasn’t quite sure if she was losing her mind or not.

She then gulped and turned away, moving back to clean the kitchen. They coexisted in silence. Dev scarfed down the rest of the food that was available on the table while Magnolia cleaned the mess she made in the storm of her cooking. She’d then wait until a dish on the table was left barren by Dev, moving to collect it wot give it a nice clean.

It wasn’t long before Dev rose from his seat, gathering off of the empty dishes from the table that were left after Magnolia gathered the others from her hovering. She stepped to take the plates from his grasp with her usually content and joyous expression, only for Dev to hold out his hand.

“I can do it.” He explained, staring down at her. Magnolia looked back up at him, not standing closer to his frame and just now noticing how tall and muscular he really was. She blinked her big eyes up at him. “Okay.” She nodded before moving out of the way. Dev stepped around her, moving to the sink that faced more large windows that this home seemed to be full of.

He cleaned quietly, using the warm dishwater and a coarse sponge to scrub away at crumbs of food left. He could feel her eyes on him still, watching as he worked around the kitchen with no issue. He finished in no time, drying his hands in the cloth next to the stove and then turning to face her. Magnolia was quick to flash him a large smile. “Great! Now we can get going.” She said before moving to her front door, which wasn’t too far from the kitchen, and gathering all she needed. Her sweater, even though she didn’t need one, hung in the coat rack. Her shoes were on the floor next to the door and her keys hung in a hook above all. She glanced over her shoulder at the sound of Dev’s steps behind her.

“Your shoes are there.” She said, pointing to the boots he came in near hers, exceptionally larger.

Dev placed the boots on his feet at the same time as hers, her getting dressed much more hastily than him. She quickly grabbed her bag and a large jacket from another hook. She held the clothing item out to him. “Here, you can wear this if you want. It’s not exactly good out but you might want to cover up, you know? Not that you need to cover up, it’s totally cool if you don’t. But you can just take it just in case.” She rushed out, still holding the jacket. Dev paused, his brows twitching in confusion for only a moment before he took the item from her hands.

“It’s fine. I’ll take it.” He said. He didn’t really know what to say to her rambling but he seemed to just say anything if it got her to calm her verse just a tad. Magnolia gave him a smile before rushing out of the door with everything on her. Dev was close on her heel, only glancing back at the sound of a bell to see Mufasa sitting at the bottom of the steps, watching them leave. He didn’t know why, but he flashed the animal a small smile before closing the door, moving out of the way for Magnolia to lock it.

“Fasa will be fine, he’s smart and crazy. I’ve seen him scare a gator from my backyard once.” She said, catching the small look the man gave the mysterious cat before jumping off her steps and moving over to her blue Ford pickup truck. Not that he had a clue what the hell that even was. Dev stood on the porch, observing what he could. Her porch was sort of cluttered but pretty. Potted plants with pretty flowers hung from the banister of the house, some littering the wooden flora of the porch. To his right was a porch swing filled with books, old books tattered and well-loved. To his right was a rocking chair, tucked into the corner where the taking net the all of the house, guarding whoever sat in it from falling. It looked cozy, with a blanket and two pillows on it, and more flowers surrounded the light wooden chair with intricate engravings on it.

There was space for another chair next to it, closer to the steps of the porch, but it was empty save the small footstool decided to look like a little chair. He could assume it was only for Mufasa.

He couldn’t even observe the rest of the hard and surrounding homes before the sound of the door slamming on the truck startled him, although he didn’t show it. Magnolia had her arms stuck out of her window, her head angled to look at his form on the porch. “You can ogle later, pretty boy! Hop in!” She cheesed, before ducking back into the car and cranking it.

Dev frowned, slowly making his way to the loud machine she inserted herself into, stopping at the door she was directly next to. His face showed a look of almost concern as he gazed into the odd box and glanced around it. Magnolia looked at him in confusion as he stuck his head through the window. She leaned hers back, his face almost colliding with hers.

She let out a small laugh before she placed her hand on the side of his face, pushing his head back out of the window. “What are you doing?”

“What is this?” Dev asked, looking at the colored machine. Magnolia furrowed her brows, a small smile still on her face in amusement as she looked at him, watching as he ran his fingers across the side of the car. It slowly fell once she realized he was speaking of the car. He didn’t know what the car was. She closed her eyes, letting out a small sigh.

She snapped them back open. “Uh, never mind that right now, I’ll explain it on the way over. I want you to go around and get in on that side.” She said. Dev didn’t say anything before moving around the front of the car, Magnolia’s eyes not leaving him once as he made his way to the passenger side. He pulled the door open with no problem before only a tad caustically moving to take a seat. Once the door closed behind him, Magnolia locked the door and pulled out of the driveway.

“Put your seat belt on, please.” She said, glancing k we at him once the vehicle started dinging.

“Seatbelt?” Dev frowned over at her, his big eyes filled with confusion and a little wary at how fast she was riveting for just having pulled out of the driveway. Magnolia pursed her lips at him.

“This is going to be a long day, Sugar.”

@kneelarmhstrung

@winorlosetogether

@joshuafatubaee

@becauseimswagman1

@nubiagurllll

@gwenda-fav

[doe-eyed-disaster]

Reading the new Vulture article about Neil Gaiman's serial sexual abuse (and Amanda Palmer's complicity) has shaken me, maybe most viscerally in the way it describes the weird kind of normal that victims so often have to construct.

Many survivors of sexual violence do not process their experience as such, not at first. I was one of them. It's such a shock to the system that lots of us kind of just... erase it? Like the tape is fuzzy there or the file got corrupted or the footage is just abruptly missing for that stretch of time. You just go on and don't really account for that lost time.

I got changed and threw out the clothes I'd been wearing in a dumpster, came back to the room, and woke the rest of the band up to start loading the trailer so we could get to the next show. One of the men in that room had raped me only a few hours earlier.

One of my band mates was having marriage trouble and asked us, his friends and me, for advice. I gave him genuinely good insight and helped navigate a tough moment in the relationship. He had raped me less than 12 hours previously.

We played a show with some artists I looked up to. I was in the green room with them and him. He saw how excited I was to be talking to these people and started talking me up as a musician to them. He had raped me only a few weeks prior.

Who do you tell? Who can you tell? Who will believe you? Who will do something, anything, to help you? I wasn't talking to my family. I didn't have other friends. I didn't know anyone in the scene. I wasn't thinking explicitly in those terms, but they lurked in the back of my head, the kinds of things that redirect you out of any critical analysis.

Lots of things went unexamined: why I'd thrown those clothes out; why I was bleeding and bruised the next day; why I was still nursing those injuries weeks later. That sort of thing. I didn't think to wonder why I didn't like to let him out of my sight when we hang out. I didn't pay any mind to how I'd get so anxious that I could barely breathe if he walked behind me or between me and a door. I couldn't bear to think precisely *whose* hands I kept feeling around my waist and neck when I woke up in a panic.

And you just keep on with that fractured kind of normal for as long as it takes, every day that you can't admit it adding interest to the emotional devastation. You wonder sometimes "am I crazy? I must be. Normal people don't feel that way." You deflect when the conversation veers too close. You feel afraid to label your experience *that* way because really it wasn't all that bad and I'm just exaggerating like I do.

And then one day you can't keep up the facade. Something slips. Someone sees something you didn't want them to. Someone comments and then doesn't buy the deflection. The details are different every time for every person, but two things are always true:

* you're gonna grieve hideously for the hideous thing that was done to you

* you're gonna have to deal with the thought that no one might ever believe you

It's a power thing. He had the power to do that to you. To me. To her. To them. That's what made you vulnerable. He wasn't suave or seductive or darkly brilliant. He was just stronger than you, more powerful. That's what keeps you quiet. He'll be able to shut the conversation down, deflect and move on, label you a libellous slut and call it a day with no more inconvenience than wiping off his shoes. He'll have friends that help him find his marks, who make him opportunities. He'll toss you right out and not think twice about doing it. My guy got to do it to me once, and it took everything in me to manage to keep it from happening again without *looking* like that's what I was doing. Sometimes though, when they're rich and powerful, they just get to keep doing and doing and doing. Dozens of times to dozens of women, every one of them living the same fractured reality that I and so many others have woken up into.

If you're reading the accusations against Neil Gaiman and wondering how it went on so long and so far, that's the whole equation: powerful men surrounded by enablers, living in a culture that sees their trauma as fodder for literary awards and ours as something so inconvenient to consider that it's easier to leave us all alone with nothing to console the sense that, even though you can't quite remember it, something terrible happened right where the tape skips.

[balkanradfem]

As you might have figured out, I don't like buying stuff. I despise the store, the supermarket, the mall, to hell with them. I will make whatever I need from stuff I have at home, or I will find it outside, or get it from someone who doesn't need it anymore, my last ditch effort will be the second hand market.

But, it also happens that I had a need to buy.. a specific thing. And I couldn't get it from the second hand market, and I didn't know anyone who had an extra one. This of course, caused me pain and anguish, because it meant I would have to walk into a store, grab a product that wasn't strictly necessary for human survival, and then pay for it, and walk out. Like a consumer.

And it's not like my life depended on it, I just, really wanted one, okay.

I needed a silicone spatula.

One thing I hate even more than buying things, is throwing food away, and sometimes,,, I could not get the last drop of the soup from the big soup pot, I couldn't wrangle out the last few drops of salsa sauce I canned, I couldn't get every last bit of pancake mix to drip outside the bowl. That is another torment which I tried to resolve by excessive spoon scraping, shoving my tongue inside jars, trying to dilute it with water and getting it out that way. But deep inside I knew there was a better way. That this could be dealt with in an easy, efficient, satisfying way with a single valuable object. A spatula.

I didn't do it impulsively; I had gotten some excellent news and I decided, as a celebration, that I would buy myself a spatula. It would be one thing I do out of my ordinary life, because it was an extraordinary day and I had just so much happiness and courage I could just manage to buy an object.

I have examined multiple stores to see what they were offering, and in the end found the cheapest, but the most beautiful looking spatula (it had a transparent handle with little bubbles inside, so fun!) and I grabbed it in awe, thinking how it will be the most beautiful object in the kitchen. But then. My environment-loving brain warned me that I'm about to buy an object made out of silicone. And I didn't know if silicone was environmentally friendly!

So I grabbed my phone, typed in 'environmental impact of silicone production' and read articles obsessively, standing in the store in the spatula isle. I found out it is better than plastic, but not ideal; it's not actively damaging the environment, it comes from natural materials, it's very resistant to heat and unlikely to damage anyone's health, it doesn't shed microplastic, but it's energy-consuming to produce it and it doesn't degrade or compost once it's made.

It wasn't a good environmental choice for me to buy the spatula. I was staring at it longingly, thinking of all of the food I could save with it. All the jars I could scrape clean, all soup that would be eaten. And I came to the conclusion that if this is the only spatula I ever buy, if I never throw it away, if I find someone to give it to at the moment of my death, who would also use it – then it doesn't matter as much that it's non compostable. It will be a lifetime object that I will cherish. And the rush and excitement I had built up, I couldn't give it up. So filled with existential guilt and shame for single handledly ruining the environment, I purchased my 2 euro spatula.

And it was glorious. Every single day I would be filled with happiness and satisfaction from this object, which would clean bowls and jars and pots from food so efficiently I actually had less work washing them later! I was getting more food, nothing was getting thrown away, my food-efficient brain was with me; this was an excellent idea. I am powerful, I am not wasting any food anymore, I can clean my pots and bowls with ease, all of the pancake mix is out, the joy could not be greater.

And just then – my new roommate moved in. And I love my roommate, and I noticed she didn't have any dishes or cutlery, so I told her with open heart, she could use mine as much as she likes, and I'd lend her pots and pans too if she needed them. Of course I would, she's a hard-working woman from Nepal who is so kind and works so much every day.

But this lovely, wonderful, awe-inspiring woman, decided to... she decided to cook her food exclusively using the spatula. We have so many wooden spoons meant for cooking and stirring, without even looking I can tell you we have 8. An excessive amount. They are all displayed in a big jar where I keep my spoons, wooden spoons and spatula. But the woman decided, no, I will use the spatula to cook every meal. Maybe it's because it's new and shiny? Maybe it's what she uses at home? I don't know.

And after cooking, she simply discards the spatula at the bottom of the sink.. and leaves it there.

And then I come to the kitchen, and look for spatula, and realize it's dirty, and I'm unwilling to do other people's dishes because that has never gone well in the past, so I just. Leave it there. And then make pancakes and weep. Because what have I done. I don't have the heart to tell this kind, warm, hardworking woman to not use my spatula, because she has enough trouble already in life, and she must like the spatula if she uses it! I can't tell her to wash it every time immediately because I know she has to rush for work and I also fail to do my dishes consistently and just wash them on Saturdays. I would look like a hypocrite. I can't tell her I'm a weirdo obsessed with scraping food from everything I cook in because I don't want to freak her out. And ultimately, does it really matter that much? It's just a spatula. It's just a spatula.

So I am writing to merely share my pain, caused by odd tendencies, enhanced by intense struggle with consumerism, and finding out in the end, it didn't even matter. My beloved spatula is currently in the sink, drenched and sullied from not even scraping food, but from stirring it instead. I was so happy to use it for a little bit. May she rest in peace.

[the-cosmic-cauldron]

🧚🏽‍♀️𝒫𝒾𝒸𝓀 𝒶 𝒫𝒾𝓁ℯ: 𝒢𝓊𝒾𝒹𝒶𝓃𝒸ℯ ℱ𝓇ℴ𝓂 ℳℴ𝓉𝒽ℯℛ 𝒢ℴ𝒹𝒹ℯ𝓈𝓈 🧚🏽‍♀️

Welcome to 10 Days, 10 Posts from The Cosmic Cauldron! Over the next ten days, I’ll be sharing a blend of astrology and tarot posts, each designed to spark your curiosity and guide your journey. If you find my content interesting, fascinating, or engaging, be sure to click the follow button for more! Ready to dive deeper into your personal journey? Head to my homepage and book a reading — you won’t regret it.

ᑭIᒪᗴ 1

Here, I am your Mother Goddess, offering you some advice for your healing journey and your current stage of life. First, I want you to focus on positive things. Sometimes we lose track of the good, but it’s important to recognize the positives each day. I encourage you to write down or verbally affirm three positive things each day, even if it’s just speaking them to yourself in the mirror. One of those positive things should be about you—how you look, how you act, and appreciating yourself. You need to learn to appreciate and affirm yourself. This will help you stay positive and, more importantly, build confidence. Self-acceptance is essential for you right now.

I also want you to stop being so impulsive and spontaneous. While those traits can be exciting, I believe this is a time for you to slow down and create a plan of action. Rather than acting on a whim, take your time and be patient. Life will unfold in its own time, and you have many years to do everything you want to do. Focus on what you can do right now—establish that in the present. Accept where you are in your journey, including the pain, your past, and even the parts of yourself that you might not like. Even if something doesn’t feel wholesome or it makes you feel less confident, accept it. Acceptance is a crucial part of your life right now.

Instead of seeking validation from others or focusing on what others think of you, focus on self-acceptance. This will be freeing for you. By focusing inward, you can cultivate patience with where you are right now. Instead of rushing to move forward, allow yourself to embrace your present reality. Accept where you are, what you have, and what you can do with the tools and resources available to you right now.

You need to be more intentional. Take your time, plan, and stop rushing. Don’t expect things to happen randomly. Accept your reality and use what you have in this moment. Focus on yourself—your work, your effort, and your development. This phase of your life is about self-acceptance, and it’s time to put in the work. Lay down the groundwork, pay attention to the details, and don’t skip over them. Set goals, make plans, and be intentional. This requires inner work, not trying to gain approval from others. Start liking yourself and put the effort into developing your true self during this time.

ᑭIᒪᗴ 2

Here I am, your Mother Goddess, offering you advice for the healing stage you are currently in. One thing you need to focus on is that not everyone is going to agree with you, resonate with you, or be on the same page as you. Don’t try to force your way or get people to see your perspective. Some people are only interested in asserting their own views instead of understanding yours. Not everyone will be understanding, and it’s important to accept that. If someone is not receptive to what you’re saying, accept them for who they are. Trying to change their perspective or improving yourself to fit their expectations is only exhausting your energy. It’s causing you to become frustrated, aggressive, and out of alignment with your true character. You’re investing your energy into people who aren’t reciprocating the positivity you deserve.

Right now, your focus should be on self-protection. Protect your energy and find ways to shield yourself from external influences. Outside pressures are strong, but this is a sign that you need a stronger core. Start journaling and reflect on who you are, your opinions, values, and beliefs. Stand firm in them. 2025 is the year to stand strong in who you truly are. Be clear when communicating with others, and let them know that while you are emotional, you won’t allow your emotions to dictate how you communicate. A clear mind is essential for you right now.

This period calls for you to step away from the crowd and reconnect with yourself. Take time to meditate, journal, and channel your thoughts and words in a way that isn’t excessive or full of resentment, bitterness, or anger. Aim for balance and communicate from a place of confidence and clarity. Accept that there are situations in your life you may not feel good about, but to protect yourself, you need to understand how you ended up in those situations. Self-protection involves understanding the root cause of your circumstances.

If you’re grieving, frustrated, or sad about something, ask yourself: What is the core of this emotion? Did you put yourself in this situation? Did you lack boundaries or intention? Did you lack clarity? These are the necessary questions you must ask to start honoring your happiness, joy, and peace. Self-protection is about honoring these aspects of yourself. By understanding the experiences that led you astray from your true self, you can set new intentions to focus on your happiness, joy, and peace moving forward.

Let go of the idea that everyone needs to agree with your life or respect your decisions. Not everyone will approach you in a respectful way. Now is the time for you to take space for yourself, to re-establish your sense of self-protection. This will help you avoid falling into the same cycles of hurt and pain. Let go of your defensiveness, anger, hostility, frustration, and animosity. Shift your focus inward so you can protect yourself from negative situations and move closer to happiness, joy, peace, and love.

ᑭIᒪᗴ 3

Hi, here I am, your Mother Goddess, offering advice for the healing stage you’re currently in. This period is all about honesty and truth. You need to tap into both. The thing is, you’ve been seeing things through colored glasses, perhaps a bit of delusion. And that’s okay—sometimes delusion helps us manifest things, but it can also hinder our authenticity and clarity when it comes to facing the honest truth in our lives, which is necessary to heal wounds.

It seems like you’re going through a lot emotionally and mentally. There’s a lot happening in your life that you simply don’t enjoy, and it feels overwhelming. It’s important now to be honest with yourself about where you’re at. Don’t sugarcoat it—take the time to sit down and have an honest conversation with yourself. Write in your journal, make a video, or even record voice notes on your phone. The key is to be clear and honest with yourself. I sense there’s some self-deception going on, perhaps because you’re repressing emotions or avoiding dealing with them. But these emotions are affecting the way you think, clouding your mind, making it chaotic and hectic.

We need to get you out of this chaotic place, and the way to do that is through clarity and honesty. This period in your life demands this. You need to confront those truths, even though they will be hard. It may feel like you’re being tossed around in a blender, shaken to your core, but guess what? It will lead to something great. You must explore your own truth and authenticity now.

Your mind is cloudy, and when you start confronting these truths—when you acknowledge that your life is not where you want it to be—you’ll start to understand the root of the problems and where they came from. Look at the past for what it truly was, not what you wish it had been. Accept that certain things happened in the past, and no longer view them through rose-colored glasses.

Once you can see how your emotions were affected by those situations, you’ll begin to understand how those emotions have clouded your mind. Your mind has become unclear, scrambled, and chaotic. Now, you need to figure out how to release these thoughts and emotions. Journaling is a great tool for this. Whatever method works for you—writing, recording, or speaking—use it to clear your mind. Brain dump everything so that you can think and communicate more clearly. This will help you start engaging with the world more authentically, without your mind holding you back.

Trust me, facing the truth and being honest with yourself will cause some upheaval in your life, but over time, it will smooth things out. It will lead you to live a beautiful life, rooted in authenticity. You’ll be able to show up as yourself, and the old wounds will begin to heal because you will be living in your truth.

ᑭIᒪᗴ 4

Hello, here I am, your Mother Goddess, offering guidance for the healing period you’re in. This time calls for you to let go. The theme right now is simply to release—the anxiety, the overthinking, the self-doubt. I know it’s not easy, but I’m here to guide you through it.

The first thing I want you to realize is that things you think are personal are often not as personal as you believe. People act based on their own thoughts, not yours. And while they may interfere with what you want, you cannot allow their actions to become a reflection of who you are. Instead, allow people to just be. Let them be, and choose how you want them in your life. You hold the power, not to control their actions, but to decide how you respond and what role they play in your life based on their actions.

Instead of constantly getting caught up in your feelings, always feeling the need to defend yourself or speak up, and getting into altercations with people who don’t think like you—let it go. This is the time to release so much: old habits that no longer serve you, outdated beliefs about what success is, and what you believe is good for you. It’s time to adopt new, positive beliefs rooted in femininity, love, nurturance, art, and creativity. You need to become more fluid, allowing yourself to enjoy life more and embrace the fruits of your labor.

Take your self-care to the next level. Really invest in a solid routine that focuses on nurturing yourself. Change your environment if necessary. If your room or house feels stale, change it. If you’re wearing the same clothes, switch it up. You need change. Let go of all the things you’ve been holding on to, believing you needed them. A key area is your self-care routine. If you don’t have one, it’s time to establish one. If you already do, then re-establish it for 2025. Let go of last year’s habits and create new ones to care for yourself. What will you do for yourself this year?

It’s time to let go of the past. Let go of what you thought you had to be, and choose who you want to be in this moment. Focus on filling your cup and prioritizing your emotional well-being. If you’ve been focusing outwardly on others, it’s time to shift inward. Start small—maybe it’s watching a movie with a tub of ice cream, or going to your favorite restaurant, but begin somewhere. Shift from giving to others all the time and start giving to yourself. It’s time to look up and nurture yourself.

Stop twiddling your thumbs—make decisions for yourself. It’s time to let go of the old. Apologize to others, accept your own shortcomings, forgive, but most importantly—move on. You need to release and let go. Write things down and then burn the paper as a symbol of release. Record a video expressing all your feelings and thoughts, then lock it away. In a year, look back and see how far you’ve come.

Letting go is essential now. Let go of old possessions, material items, emotions, lack of forgiveness, neglecting self-care, focusing too much on others, defensiveness, anger, animosity, frustration, anxiety, self-doubt, and worry. Free yourself to move forward and focus on being present. Ground yourself in the now, not in the old version of you. Focus on who you are becoming, and begin building this version of yourself from the ground up.

[bredforloyalty]

guess what i fucking got off the internet archive from a giant zip file

[the-oracle-of-the-lost]

asking because i know tagging courtesy varies among fandoms and i've always gone by the "if they have dialogue they get tagged" rule but i've also heard people complain about overtagging characters if there's no real focus on them so? i'm curious to see what other people think.

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

Compound Fracture

YA thriller set in rural West Virginia

follows an autistic trans boy who survives being almost killed by the Sheriff’s son after a party, and accidentally kills one of the boys who hurt him when he tries to get back at him

and is pulled head-first back into the 100 year old feud between his & the sheriff’s families, that began when his great-great grandfather was executed after inciting a miner’s rebellion, the grandfather whose ghost has started to haunt him

community & family & socialist revolution

aro-questioning MC

arc from netgalley, out september 3

[mosstrades]

im having an absolute unadulterated blast with the Ethersea prologue for many many reasons, it's beautiful and exceeds all my expectations.. but also. there's many moments here that genuinely make me go "oh god damn, these people are Americans." the Quiet Year system is a profoundly fascinating and revealing game - nothing tells you quite as much about how somebody sees the world than asking them to imagine a new one.

[amrv-5]

pained by the idea of spending $17 on a sandwich but these are calling to me so bad

[kyouka-supremacy]

(╥﹏╥)

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Books of 2023: IMPERIAL RADCH by Ann Leckie.

Up next! This came highly recommended by many friends (and also the internet at large when I asked for SFF revenge recs, so thanks!), and I have Tracked Down The Original Covers, so I'm ready to go.

[macchiatosdumptruck]

.

[crybaby-bkg]

it is truly so insane how reading motivates you to write so much more

[thelittlestspider]

one headcanon i have is that matt is a huge mystery/detective/noir genre fan, and like listens to those old mystery radio dramas and owns cassette tape versions of them too (i think he would like physical copies of these kinds of things)

i love matt being a fan of old mysteries/noir and having physical copies of everything. i have a few headcanons in a similar vein.

- jack was a big fan of old black and white movies and he and matt would watch them together. it was like one of the only times they got along/one of the only things they had in common besides boxing. i feel like this is also kind of where his love for jazz music originates from. it's all kind of wrapped up in bittersweet memories.

- matt and milla used to listen to noir dramas together.

- matt has a copy of each music player (record, cassette, cd) that keep breaking every few years and he has to get mike and peter to collaborate to fix them. (peter is good at fixing electronics/has some mechanical know-how from uncle ben. mike likes fixing things and is matt's go to for getting things fixed around the house bc he knows a little bit of everything.)

- matt knows all these random facts because of milla, foggy, peter, and mike. (milla's special interest: history + she works in city planning (?). foggy has tons of law related stuff committed to memory. peter reads wikipedia for fun and is obsessed with urban planning bc of uncle ben. mike used to take apart everything and narrate it to matt like he was doing surgery.)

- riffing off the headcanon above, it would be funny if matt was able to engineer his billy club bc mike narrated whatever he was fixing to matt and had him feel all the parts while they worked on it.