do you guys remember that blood moon a few years back?
i was out looking at the sky when it happened, there were two cats in my yard that would NOT come near me and for some reason this old dude in a suit was walking his tiny dog even though it was fucking 12 am and i said hi and he told me to go fuck myself and it was the most surreal moment of my life and i think its why im like this today
Darling, I hope that you’ll meet someone who always knew what you deserve. From the things you wanted to feel to the words you needed to hear. I hope you will meet someone who will not mock you—laugh at you when you started blurting out all the crazy things that touched your heart. Someone who will not walk away from you when you started telling them about all the precious things—that runs through your mind. I hope you will meet someone who will not only promise you to stay, but also do everything just to keep you with them. I hope you will meet someone who will embrace every little piece of you. Someone who understands your passion and supports you in loving it . And if you meet that someone, I hope that there will be mutual feelings between the two of you. That even if you are the moon and he is the sun, both of you will always remember that you always light each other’s life. That when you get tired, he will always be there to lift you up—and the same thing as for you to him. I hope you will find someone who will make you feel all the best things you deserve to experience. Because like other people in this world, you deserve to be genuinely happy, even if you thought that you will never be.
Huhu I remember back when I was little there was this disney series where they showed legends from South East Asia– AU based on my fave 👀✨🌸
This was from Indonesia I think??? It was a tale about how there was like a buncha suns in the beginning and people were Sufferin– So they like prayed to the moon goddess and tl;dr she tricked the sun god into eating the other suns… which left him PISSED so he started chasing her 5ever so that’s why the sun looks like it’s chasing the moon as day switches to night
Let me tell you somethin’: it’s
black people everywhere, you
remember that, okay? Ain’t no place
in the world ain’t what got no
black people, we was the first ones
on this planet.
I’m from Cuba. Lotta black folks in Cuba but you wouldn’t know it from being here. Was a wild lil’ shorty just like you, used to run around with no shoes on when the moon was out. This one time… I ran by this old, old lady, was just a runnin’ and a hollerin’ and cuttin’ a fool, boy. And this old lady, she stop me and she say to me, ‘Look at you. I was a lil’ bad ass too, you know.’ She say, ‘Look at you’ and I say ‘Look at you!’ Then she smiled and she say, ‘running around catching up all this light. In moonlight’ she say, ‘black boys look blue. You blue,’ she say. ‘That’s what I’m gone call you: Blue.’
she cursed my great-grandfather, actually, who had spat on the hands of the ocean and disrespected the beating heart of the earth - for what else are waves but a pulse - who was silly and violent and who tried to rip from the water what was hers by rights. we were wealthy, before that, a family of merchants. my mother says in her youth she recalls white horses, the gleam of candles, early mornings with bread baked fresh by a horde of servants.
he didn’t ask permission to cross her. that’s what my mother tells me while she spoons porridge with no flavor into the wood of my bowl. he had no faith in superstition, rode with boats that were more decoration than strength, the folly of a man who was cruel and vain and proud of his own gold teeth. the sky had been blue, so regardless of what the village witch said, he would sail that day. and when his boat sank; their lives turned blue like the sky that day.
my mother says she thinks the curse on the men of our family, even if they come in when they marry, is that they will forever be violent, too foolish to see the storm on the horizon. she whispers this to me on the eve of my seventh birthday, while father is his own storm, thundering around the house, looking for her. later, when i am cleaning the cut by her cheek, she tells me the curse is on the women to forever be unhappy, to wane until they are shadows, to walk into the deep like a sinking ship.
we don’t burn candles often, they are too expensive. she tells me this in the silk of a dark room. the moon kisses her hair.
in three days, my mother will walk into the ocean, and my father will be my own problem. the curse will pass onto me.
my father does not believe in superstition, no curse to conquer him. when he is gone, and i am heartbroken, i go to the village witch. i ask her to teach me about magic, and other things, and about how the ocean can be coaxed, and how to save my father’s soul.
and my hands rot too, keeping a house by myself with things i barely knew. i learn the art of a good scrubbing, keep my mind full of white horses while i endlessly clean, dream of candles in dark while i make the bread that he will not allow me to eat. he keeps me from the ocean, from visiting the place that took my mom, from following in her footsteps where the water makes women undone.
i am sixteen when i see her in the water of a bowl. she scares me so completely that i drop it, and my father comes in with his hands, and the curse, and i almost forget all about it. it isn’t until after that i realize she is beautiful, and young, which surprises me.
i think about it every evening. her face becomes distorted to me. i can no longer remember the exact shape of it, only the impression of beauty.
i turn seventeen and wait for the high moon. i pin safety to my vest in little witch herbs and runes. i put naked toes on the sand and slip closer, closer, to the avenue of my family’s doom. i find a little private beach, small and surrounded by rocks, hidden from my father in the event he ever thought to come looking. at high tide, it is barely the span of my body. at low, it feels empty.
the witch of the land has given me what i need to call in the witch of the sea, but i do not use it. it feels wrong, somehow, standing here in the wind and the quiet pulse of the world. i put down the incense and sage and i sit just close enough it feels wild, dangerous - but not close enough to get caught up in thrill.
when nothing happens, i go home and i make bread that i will not eat.
for months i do this. i climb down to my beach. i learn to do it when the moon is half, and then when the moon is empty. i learn to do it so well that sometimes i go to sleep in my own bed and wake up by the water. i take to sleeping with warding runes to keep me from being pulled in the rip out to the waiting hands of a hungry sea-witch.
i don’t know when i start talking. more often i sing, because singing in my house is not allowed, and something about the way the rocks echo my voice feels comforting. the older i get, the more i can pretend i hear my mother’s voice, answering me, harmonizing gently. i sing songs about sadness and lullabies about curses. when i have exhausted every song i know, i write new ones about fathers who have never learned how to be kind, about the house i work in but do not love, about mothers who left, and about a sea witch.
i see her sometimes. in a puddle, in the drop of rain, in the strangest places. i never expect it, although i always hope. i am never able to see her for more than the length of a wave, breaking, and each time, it does something new to my heart.
at eighteen i am too much of my father’s burden. he tries to unload me onto other men. the land witch helps me with this. i rub hemlock, burn wolfsbane. we arrange so these men have other women to marry. the news of my curse is bad enough to scare most away. my father is not happy.
after a particularly savage night, i wonder how bad it could be. i could marry some boy from the village who didn’t quite bother me. i suppose they’re not ugly. timothy had always been gentle to me. i think about a life, and how i am cursed to be unhappy. my father would finally be proud of me.
i walk to the beach and i tell the waves about him and how i could convince myself it was love if i just never wanted from him. how i could be okay, if not content, how i could be free, how i already had learned life down on knees.
but i go home and i write a rune of warding. and the years pass and i find reasons each suitor is wanting. and the sea witch i see, sometimes, peeking out at me, staying long each time in the water, looking, watching. i see her in mirrors when my father storms against me. it is bad because he mistakes the cause of my smiling. it is better when she is there the next morning.
and i go to the ocean. when i am too sad to speak, it seems like the ocean is whispering for me. i picture my mother’s voice and tell myself i am happy. i am seven again and we are sewing. i am seven again and the curse has not been given to me. i am seven and she came home after she walked to the sea.
i grow silly, brave, unthinking. i leave behind the herbs and i wade deep. i teach myself the art of swimming. i am bad at it, at first, but something about it feels good to me. like the ocean wants to buoy me. in the day i think of it, guilty. what if there was a rip tide, and the water took me? who would care for my father if i stepped off the beach into a long drop? wasn’t i clever enough to know that the ocean is uncaring?
it is not this that does it. i go out after a rain and i slip on the rocks and suddenly i am in water above my head but without the moon i cannot see the up of it. i kick and i thrash and the water surrounds me. the tide pulls on my body and in the cold i feel my body grow weary. water spills into me. it punches through my body, up my nose and into my lungs and some part of me knows this is what mother felt before she was gone.
i kick ground by accident, reorient, drag myself heaving and spitting into the air. i lie there for a long time, half in and half out of death, enjoying the sensation of breathing and of life.
when i look up, i think i see her, watching me, her brows knit with something like worry. but we make eye contact and my heart leaps and then she is gone and i am left alone with nothing but the dawn breaking.
my father is furious when there is no bread. he finds my hair wet, and the salt of the ocean still smelling on me. and that is it. that day he goes out and pays someone to agree to marry me.
this feels right to me, i think. i’m twenty-one, three times seven, a perfect number for a curse to fully come down on me. i will be wed in three weeks.
the land witch comes to visit me. she looks like she’s sorry for me. she gives me a spell and tells me to put it under my pillow; i’ll dream of love and it will soothe me. instead i dream of the seawitch, and how wonderful she is, and the sight of her, out on the water, worried.
even though it is risky, i go down to the beach. i do not bother with protective spells, i have already seen that the water can kill me. fear alone keeps me from wandering. i sit on the beach and in the sand i draw runes for understanding and i make the small magicks i’ve spent years learning and i close my eyes and i askthe ocean “why do you do this to me.”
i fall asleep. i dream that the sea witch talks to me. i dream she is my age, that she is the great-granddaughter of the first to curse my family. i dream she has spent years watching, learning, finding the truth of me. that she just needs to get the courage to come and speak, that she has fallen in love with my singing, that she knows no curse but the one in her heart that brings her back to a human, to a creature of air and not water, to a mistake in the making.
in the dawn i know it is a dream and no more. i make bread. i pour water out before it can make mirrors. i do not look. i do not like the ache that has filled me, as if i’ve been looking for an answer and the answer only leads to longing.
the man i meet - my husband-to-be - is delighted by the house i keep. he believes a woman should keep in her place, and her place should be clean. he hears from neighbors that sometimes i sneak out to the land witch’s house. laughter barks out of him. not going to allow that behavior, not me. he does not believe in curses. he will pack me up and move me from the ocean to somewhere in the mountains, where i know nobody. and i will, he promises, learn to keep my place, and that place clean.
i tell myself i could love him. he is not ugly. he says i’m pretty enough after whiskey. my father mentions i used to sing. i refuse to perform for these men so instead i make them cookies. they laugh and talk about me, even when i am in the room, as if they cannot even see. they shake hands and talk about how useless a woman is for much else than breeding. it’s very funny. the man meets my eyes and promises he’ll put a baby in me. i look down and pretend the thrill i feel is excitement, not fear brewing in me.
the land witch comes by a week before my wedding. she is smaller these days, aging. her apprentice and i get along wonderfully. the two women stand before me, holding something.
a small box, so tiny and lovely. “break the curse,” the witch whispers, “learn to be happy.”
i smuggle the box, take it everywhere with me. it is days before i have a moment to slip away, to open it by the sea. i take a candle with me, even though my father will notice and be angry.
by the light of fire i read the spell they have left me inside, and then i am so full of gratitude i cannot stop crying.
it must be a full moon, so i must wait. in the meantime, i walk home, and i bake.
i do not see the seawitch, even though i look for her. maybe i have wounded her, getting married. my father asks why i keep smiling. i tell him it is because i am finally with a man. he grunts and says to stop looking so silly.
the man kisses me. i let him. we are married on a night with a full moon, and i poison him and my father in the bread i did not eat. i think of how these men were cursed so they could not see a storm coming. i watch them as they lie there, dying, and then i put all of the things i own into a basket for the land witch. i leave it there with a song i wrote for her, a spell i know will make her happy, will stop the aging of her joints, will give her the kind of relief she gave me.
i go down to the water. i find myself running, even though i am in no hurry. i know the way so well it is like i wake up there, panting. i ask permission first. i lay out the contents of the box, i organize and practice and when the needle and pain comes, i am ready for it. i am used to pain at night. i breathe into it and walk naked into waters that swallowed my mother.
i chew bitter herbs. i swallow fire. i feel myself drown as i change from land witch to sea witch.
when it is done, i open my eyes in the deep of a moonlit ocean. and i see her.
this time she does not flicker. this time when i reach for her, she is there, and she is pushing my hair out of my eyes, and we are kissing with the ocean rejoicing around us, and i am laughing, and i hear her voice as clear as bell inside me.
and we live like this, a whole world between us where white horses are the size of pinky fingers and swim with their thin snouts, where i need no candles because i was raised lightless, where we have no servants but the water takes care of us. i show her the magic of land and she unfolds the magic of water. together we are unstoppable. when i come up to the air to sing little girls a promise that they can survive the madness, she sings with me, and we make a beautiful harmony.
When we first met, we were so hesitant and nervous, as if saying each other’s names would light us on fire. You couldn’t hold steady eye contact and I couldn’t stop looking at you through my lashes. Blood rose to your skin as if you were the ocean and I was the moon pulling at your tidal waves, calling them to come closer. The flowers on our table bloomed for you while your smile planted trees in my lungs. Do you even remember what it was like to figure out someone new and exciting? To have something so shiny and untouched that you consumed all the oxygen in the room with anticipation? You’ve brought so much beauty into my world and you have ruined so much for me.
I remember driving out of the city in the middle of the night with the Moon as my only companion. I was a living carcass of a love that was not meant to be and everything that failed to be complete. I remember driving endlessly, only to find myself atop a hill. The night was breezy and strangely peaceful. I did not know where I was, but it felt like I was still on track, like I had been found. I was all alone, all by myself without a shoulder to lean on, but I was not lonely. That was when I came to realize the beauty of solitude.
Finally finished the Sailor Moon R piece. I really like this season and I remember quite a bit of it when I was younger but it’s been so long. This season is full to the brim with villains! So, so many villains. I didn’t even fit in Rubeus in this mess of villains. Or Black Lady. but I think the big baddies are all here and I adore the four sisters.
Post-it: Yoongi-oppa, what nickname do your parents often call you when you were young?
A: 송월. (Songwol)
A fan asked Yoongi’s father the meaning of this nickname and he said it means living a life enjoying and appreciating the arts. Yoongi’s father still calls him “Songwol” now and whenever he calls Yoongi “Songwol-ah~”, he would reply with “What?”. The hanja of “Songwol” is 松月, 松 means “pine tree” and 月 means “moon”.
it’s not just the fact. the fact that you message me everyday at 4 am just to remind me to take better care of myself. the fact that you do it even after I tell you not to. the fact that I barely answer back on time. the fact that you’re on the other side of the planet. the fact that an online friend is one of my biggest fans. the fact that you remind me to eat and drink. the fact that you love throwing random information around, my own personal human google, you’re the lightbulb of my ideas. the fact that you hate yourself just as much as I hate myself. the fact that you blame yourself for your uncle’s death. the fact that you love me more than I love myself. the fact that you love my poetry more than the amount of poems I’ve written, and I’ve written plenty. the fact that you’re still here after all of this time. you are simply too damn cute, by simply being you. friendship masked as sundown, you never like to see me frown. you always ask– what was your suck and sweet of the day? most days I say nothing. most days I don’t want to talk about it. when I think that I deserve pain, I remember you and I stop. when the moon grows the flowers in my mind, when I can’t come up with hard facts or a simple way to say I love you to myself– I think about you. a thousand rivers must contain one dragon, a thousand nights must be enough for me to forgive myself. you are randomness. you are a singularity. you are a tiny poem. you are pressed daisies. you are an unwritten metaphor, you cross my mind, but I can never formulate you. you are on the tip of my tongue, a prose piece without a single mention about love, but I still feel loved by you. you wanna know why you’re different? a million tumblr accounts, yours is the only one without reblogs, posts or anything. you’re my invisible reader. and I see you for you.
I remember when XY first came out and I saw people say that it was going to be their first pokemon game and I was amazed. Same thing happened when ORAS came out too. I mean gen 6 was my kids first as well.
Now we are moving ahead with Pokemon Sun and Moon and I have already seen people say that it will be their first pokemon game. It makes me think about the first time I put my pokemon red game into my gameboy and fell in love with a game that has been such a large part of my life.
I hope that whatever gen was your first from gen 1 to gen 7, that you experience that same magic too.
(“Hmm… Pathetic. This is hardly a display of true power. My fist alone could send his ass straight to the moon.”)
(“Hmm… I remember when I beat him up like that. I gave him a proper beating so I did. Too bad it was in another continuity though.”)
(“Hmm… I do hate having to go against Maria’s wish and endanger the planet once again under the influence of the doctor and his eerie little pest… but I must admit it is strangely satisfying to witness the hedgehog getting taken down a peg.”)