#so he was easier to digest by society

[shoezuki]

writing my final essay on the Beat Generation rn and that whole literary movement in america. and my essay topic is basically me arguing that bob kaufman Fucks and was the best beat. because tbh he was

but this also like. contains a lot of my distaste for the beat movement and that this course has really made me more.... like. i dont really like the beat movement much? i mean the biggest aspect of it, of the idea of freedom and no responsibility or consequences is somethin i dont like. most the other shit, bout sexual freedom and movement and anticapitalist n antimaterialist notions are all good. but the beats are just so inherently American. the underlying idea of freedom is SO inherently american in terms of like... the idea of it. its so very 'i can do whatever i want, whenever i want, and i dont care if it hurts other people because i value my freedom over the consequences or responsibilities i would be expected to assume.' its this idea of freedom in terms of absolute individuality and its far too self absorbed for me.

but another Issue i take w it was like. the movement was heavily inspired by black culture, and all about defying social norms and rejecting conformity. but there was still a major issue with norms in the movement itself or at least in terms of how media perceived it. like yes it was about liberty and freedom but also all the most well known beat writers are white dudes. many of them like kerouac held views of women as inherently lesser still.

and like. in that regard most of the most known beats who are like. THE beat writers. were kinda hypocrites. like kerouac didnt think women could write and when he met one woman who was a good writers he saw her as an exception. and with burroughs he was like, from an extremely wealthy family and was given an 'allowance' his whole life and never had to work and so his rejection of capitalism and the job market feels flat in that he can say all that from a place of privilege.

i mentioned it to my professor when we'd talk bout it but honestly the most authentic beats who didnt seem hypocritical or make the movement feel hypocritical to me were those who were marginalized and didnt have a choice in rejecting society. like allen ginsberg was one the Big Beats as well and to me he is the most Beat out of the main three of him and burroughs and kerouac. cuz ginsberg was an openly gay man in a long term relationship, he was jewish and lived on the fringes of 'acceptable' american society as an outlier.

it especially goes for bob kaufman. he was always left out of the beat movement and ignored and even in modern times doesnt really get the credit and recognition that he deserves. but holy fuck if anyone was ACTUALLY beat it was him! he was a black man with a jewish father. he created poetry without ever really writing it down besides on napkins and would 'perform' his poetry on streets and yelling out poems or sticking his head in peoples cars. he did not ever seek out publishing his work and he purposefully would confuse any publishers and would lie about himself and his life so even now some of the aspects of his biography is confusing. he wanted to be forgotten! he was never concerned with actually carrying on his work or creating it and there was something beautiful in that. he was constnatly accosted by police to the point that specific officers would harass and abuse him whenever they felt like it. he actually experienced a lot of the bullshit and hardships the beats rejected and criticised. many white beat writers chose to reject social norms, but he had no choice! theres something so much more authentic about the rejection of society when you by virtue of existing cant even exist within societal norms itself.

he was just. such an interesting dude. and the beat movement abandoned him because he was too far on the fringes of society that the public couldnt accept him. motherfucker wanted that, in a way, though. like he took back his silencing by silencing himself. he wasnt being forgotten or silenced or ostracized anymore, because he wanted to be forgotten.

[willyoubemycherryy]

Intimacy Cues (C. Kent)

Summary: Who better to teach you how to talk body when you never learned the language?

Contains: smut AND plot so it’s long,depressing past, the college au you all secretly needed, struggles with physical touch, struggles with any form of intimacy, one mild panic attack, Clark is understanding but hot, dumb ideas, hugging, bonding, kissing, making out, it starts off shaky then soft but quickly snowballs into horn-e central, size kink, slight dumbification, strength kink, first kisses, virginity kept but not for long just give me till the second part, Clark is a little infatuated, they���re so nasty about each other my word, grinding, kissing (no forreal), prayer bc we all need it

A/N- my stomach is fine, it wasn’t a tumor but a blockage because of something I ate that never digested, causing my tummy to bloat and swell but they fixed me up so I’m back😈

. .* ੈ✩‧₊•

“Nononono- no, stop!!”

This might be the worst decision of your entire life.

Clark pulls away again, looking down at you with his eyebrows drawn together in concern but also exasperation because-

“Hey! It’s okay- you’re okay. Remember…you were the one who asked for my help.” He didn’t say the obvious “but we’re not getting any farther” part out loud but it echoes through your head all the same and you breathe out a deep sigh; regretting it with the depths of your very being but, yes. You did ask him for his help.

Help with what? The answer would’ve ended your social life if anyone who wasn’t Clark had found out.

You needed his help with…closeness- intimacy.

Growing up you were always awkward. Not in a charming way or even unconventional, you just simply didn’t make the cut based by society’s standards. You were always too gangly, too weird, too timid; so imagine the surprise come middle of highschool to now college where you’ve finally grown into yourself.

You know how you like to dress and which clothes look hottest on you, you know what hairstyle suits best for your face shape, you’re still weird but you’re also sarcastic which somehow equals charm to people and you’ve also managed to come out of your shell a bit. Becoming more confident from people naturally gravitating towards you after your blooming stage and even more after letting your friends convince you to join your college’s cheerleading team. You’d become everything you wanted to always try.

Pretty, popular, and fun. The problem?

Thanks to how much of a late bloomer you were, you never got the chance to get comfortable with others intimately during your formative years. Nobody liked you in that way and you were terrified of embarrassing yourself so there was nothing. No first kiss, no first dance with a boy, hell- even now you still get uneasy when others stare at you too long. Hiding behind your image as a college sweetheart made everything you were still to unsettled to try easier. Don’t misunderstand; it wasn’t that you never wanted those things, it’s that you’re not used to others suddenly picking you for those kinds of things after being invisible and missing out on them for almost all your life to the point where you don’t know how to deal with it when those moments do happen.

Still, you acted like everything was fine.

Playing the role of pretty cheerleader- the flirty tease that was favored by many even though that favor was shallow as a tear on a hot day. You pretended. And it was working, nobody knew…or so you believed.

Cue to one of the football teams parties where you’d been flirting with a guy, coy smile painted on your face as you giggled softly whenever he spoke, batting your pretty eyes at him in your little mini skirt. It had been going well until he suddenly leaned closer, focusing solely on you and when you felt the heat of his skin from how close he was- it felt as if the color had drained from your face, leaving you frozen as you became so uncomfortable it was visible; nerves screaming at you to flee until you listened. Spinning on your heels and bolting, trying to calm your breathing enough to will the cotton out of your ears.

You didn’t realize it then but a certain pair of blue eyes had been watching the whole thing. He’s always seen you. Which is funny because you almost always actively avoid him. In fact, he’s seen you enough to know that this isn’t the first time you’ve had that reaction and one day after a particularly rough week of endless pondering over you; he decides to just ask you after practice is over. Clark waits until his and your friends leave, it being only you and him on the field when he starts to walk over to you. The sound of incoming footsteps make you look up and when you see him, he can hear the very second your heart stops; skipping a beat before it quickly begins to thrum out of rhythm.

Honestly, there genuinely are not enough words to describe how attractive Clark Kent was. He was so incomprehensibly beautiful that you avoided Clark altogether just to avoid getting a headache from staring at him for too long especially since the real suffering started when he’d smile. Seemingly perfect pearly white straight teeth but when his grin broadened, his sharp canines would show, leaving you breathless every time. The type of good looking that was flat out overwhelming. Besides being apart of adjacent stereotypes, you two didn’t go together but there was no animosity.

Clark stops and you have to look up at him because of his hulking size. At almost 6’4 he nearly dwarfed you and his proportions matched. Thick, beefy everything- everywhere and you swallow before forcing a smile on your face. While you preferred to avoid him for the sake of keeping yourself out of the psych ward from how crazy he could drive you; you were still curious as to why he came to talk to you. He takes a moment to just look at you, cerulean eyes almost glowing but he doesn’t realize how intense his stare is until you start to shuffle on your feet- dainty hands twitching nervously at your side and that’s when he speaks.

“Hey…I know we don’t usually talk or anything but are you okay?” Even his voice is dreamy but confusion draws on your face because you felt fine; nervous, like you were around any guy you thought was cute, but fine. Clark elaborates at your expression,

“Y’know because of what happened at the party last-”, that seems to jog your memory enough to snap you out of it, eyebrows shooting up as dread overtakes over your face. You whip your head around, making sure there’s no witnesses when you grab him by his sweaty shirt, dragging him all the way behind the bleachers as you slam him against the metal. Clark is caught so off guard that he just lets it happen; lets the pretty thing half his size drag him as you pleased. Your eyes shift as you glare up at him.

You’re positive he’s talking about your little freak out with close proximity guy, the one that made you leave the party completely; walking so fast you nearly burned a trail in the carpet. Heart pounding, you start to spiral.

He wasn’t supposed to see that. He like everyone else- was supposed to be too drunk to notice anything.

Your nose scrunches, full lips curling in a snarl. “I swear if you say anything to anyone-!” You’re threatening him so fast, Clark falters, raising his hands in defense, debilitating blue eyes widening as he starts to plead his case.

“No no-! I didn’t! I-“, He stutters at your harsh gaze, the feel of your hands soaking through his shirt, warming his chest. He needs to hurry up and explain himself before you start disliking him. “I was just worried! Whenever I see you and a guy, even if you act interested-“, he rushes out, panting as he talks even faster, “the second they get too close you look like you’ll vomit!” Your hostility melts into shock and even more confusion and you let go of his shirt, stepping back as you study him, his words stuck in your mind.

“How..? Are you- you’ve been paying that close attention to me? When do you even see me?” You’re at such a loss for words that it’s hard to string them together to properly question him.

“…I”, he swallows harshly, “I always see you.” It’s pure adrenaline that motors his mouth- he thought he was over the time when lovely faced girls made him nervous but you were unexpectedly feisty. It lit something tingly in him. Your eyes search his face and he spills. “I see how you flirt but you’re sarcastic too. Everyone is so taken by your pretty that they don’t even notice, they just call it ‘wit”, he manages to catch his breath enough to sound less panicked now that you look like you won’t kill him, “I see how even though you’re a flyer, you hate heights-”

“H-how-?”

“Your right leg shakes when they lift you, no matter how stable your base is.” Your mouth opens and closes but nothing comes out, heart racing when his voice goes soft,

“But what I’m saying is- so what that you’re not really what you give off? It’s nothing to be ashamed of. ‘Jus curious why you think it is…”, he blinks those long lashes at you and you find yourself explaining the tale of your sordid social past.

By the end of it he’s stunned speechless.

You? Just how bad was your awkward phase for nobody to be interested in you? Wait so that also probably meant that-

“You’re a virgin?!”

You slap your hands over his mouth with a speed equal to his own, face flushed as you shush him, hissing in a low whisper.

“Jesus Chri- shut up! Are you trying to tell the entire campus?!!” You let out another heavy sigh.

“…yes, I am”. You let your hands fall to the side, refusing to look at him while he’s trying to process; silence filling the space between you. You’ve accepted that your ego will never recover from the most gorgeous being on the planet knowing about all your…truths. That you looked and acted the part of a vixen just to hide that you secretly weren’t.

“…so you’ve never done anyt-”,

“No.”

Well then.

You can’t take another long drag of awkward silence, turning to face the boy who knew you probably more than anyone else did.

“Look- I would’ve loved to remedy this but I-”

“Can’t stomach whenever a guy gets too close due to previous deep rooted societal wrought insecurities…” Bingo.

“Well for what it’s worth,” he gives you one of his disarming grins and a flush creeps up your neck; warming your ears, “I think you’re doing fine now.” You snap your head down to see that you two are standing fairly close or at least closer than you normally allow and you don’t have that itch to get him as far away from you as possible. That’s when you get the idea that- “Oh my god! You can help me get over my thing! This is perfect!”! You’re practically vibrating with glee, excited to finally have all your firsts without that looming of touch related dread haunting you. Clark however is swarmed with various images of him “helping” you and can’t keep his ears from reddening at all the different scenarios where he’d be required to be close to you and begins to stutter.

“W-well, I wa- not that I-! I don’t think that’s a good idea, I mean w-we-”, you cut him off before he can weasel out of it, eyebrows creasing in frustration. You unconsciously step closer, your sweet smell bathes his senses as he stares you down, trying not to gulp too hard. “Please, Clark?”, you start and he swallows harshly at how his name sounds in that whiny tone from your lips.

“It can’t be anyone else because you’re the only one who knows! We’re not close now but we could be-“, and the double meaning makes him tune out completely as he only watches your plump lips move; not even registering the sound coming from them. He was thankful you didn’t ask him why he watched you so closely because the answer was one he wasn’t ready to even admit to himself.

Your lips stop moving after a while and them paired with your begging doe eyes make him cave, Clark nodding in hopeless defeat. He was supposed to be over the influence of pretty girls.

“S’okay, I’ll help you out. Your secret’s safe with me.” The corner of his mouth tilts up in a lopsided smile that was somehow both attractive but made you feel safe and you smile shyly back. You were nervous but you know Clark is a good guy- reckless as hell with his charms- but a good guy. What could go wrong?

•

•

•

Standing in the middle of your dorm room with your arms wound tight around yourself is when you find out that alot can go wrong.

Clark came over and you two came up with a starting plan that seemed the easiest: talk and slowly close the distance between you two until he was touching and looking at you without you getting uncomfortable or pushing him away. It sounded simple enough at first only…. you severely underestimated how you’d react to Clark. The way his deep mellow voice sounded in your ears, how he always held such steady eye contact as he moved towards you, that heavenly jawline tilting when he’d think too long. Already, Clark was big from afar but up close he was even bigger. Strong arms and broad shoulders; chest so thick it was noticeable through his shirt. You were used to others falling at your feet but Clark stood fine and it affected you in ways you didn’t prepare to deal with, so you tried to do what you always did- ignore it.

Matching Clark’s light conversation as you two eventually get more comfortable, gradually gravitating towards each other with slow short steps. The air shifts when you exhale and the breath tickles his chest. This is when you normally get squeamish but you merely hesitate for a few minutes before taking a deep breath and pushing yourself by letting him keep his distance.

His hand twitch and he shuffles a bit closer, biceps flexing as he reaches out, resting his hands on your shoulders; your conversation quiets as he stares at you with perfectly blue lidded eyes and then you feel the stirrings of restlessness under your skin. That impeding urge to get away. Despite the way you feel, the slow atmosphere helps you tremendously to not pull away but your pulse spikes all the same. His hands felt nice. You take another deep breath as you try to come to terms with what you were feeling.

Clark was a guy.

A guy who was standing in your bubble, touching you- looking at you.

A million emotions fly across your face at record speed and Clark doesn’t move any more for the next couple minutes. No, he waits for you; large rough palms warm on your bare shoulders while his pinky idly messes with the thin strap of your top. Your skin was soft. The heavy rise and fall of your chest has him focusing on you more intensely, trying to get a read on how you felt until you break the silence with a shaky exhale.

“We can keep going- you can keep touching me.” He knows you don’t mean it that way but his ears burn anyways as he nods. Taking a second to think before taking his hands off you to take yours, ignoring your big eyes look as he places your hands around his waist- inevitably moving closer and his voice softens like he’ll frighten you away if he were to speak any louder.

“You can touch me too. Promise I don’t mind…this is for you after all.” You suppress a whine because being so close was already hard with you fighting every instinct yelling at you to get gone and go somewhere where nobody could comprehend you but now with Clark staring at you like that, it was even harder. Your eyes flick about the room as you flatten your palms more against his back, mentally rolling your eyes back at how his muscles feel. You don’t even realize you’re biting your lip but Clark does, instantly alert the second he felt your small hands nervously press against him, his eyes zeroed in on the swollen skin dipping under the pressure of your teeth. He feels bad because while he was supposed to be helping you, he couldn’t stop thinking about how sexy you were being so shy but hardheaded enough to build up the grit to go for what scared you because you wanted it.

Without taking his eyes off your face, he rubs his hands up to your neck, making you squeak before smoothing them back down your shoulders; repeating the motions with a gentle hum.

The room feels hot- you felt hot and jittery but it’s too much. Unable to keep the waves at bay, goosebumps trickle over your skin and your eyes scrunch in panic as your breathing picks up. He was close. Close and touching you. You can’t bring yourself to look into his eyes because you know when you do, you’ll be naked for all to see and you scream.

“Stop!”

Nobody can see you-nobody’s supposed to be seeing you, the girl who was never even chose last as you were overlooked entirely no matter how badly you wanted to reach out. Maybe that’s what started your fear. Maybe you were scared of losing experiences because of rejection.

Clark doesn’t move away but he isn’t touching you anymore and you aren’t touching him as your hands fly to the sides of your head, trying to calm yourself down and guilt pours over him. He wants to hug you; comfort you but he knows that pulling you against him in a hug will only worsen things right now so he waits. Closing his eyes to help you feel at ease, listening closely to the beat of your heart until your breaths quiet and he hears it fluctuate back to normal. He keeps his eyes closed until he feels your small trembling hands slide back around him and instead of putting his hands on your shoulders, he moves his arms around them; resting them against your back but not pulling you in yet. It’s quiet besides the hushed sounds of him cooing at you and your breathing. The air now has an underlying current and you shift in his heavy arms, inhaling deeply as you finally look up at his face. Shyly, you cut the silence; voice soft as how you feel.

“…you can open your eyes now..” Clark feels his own heart speed up before he responds, low tone matching yours and electricity hits you when it clicks. This is intimate.

“Are you okay? We can stop and try again some other time; I don’t wanna upset-,”

“I want you to look at me.”

His eyes pop open at your command, peering down at you in such a way that your breath catches; anxiousness rising up you again but you stay right where you are. Willing yourself to embrace the exposed way he makes you feel.

Under the heat of his stare it’s like he’s seeing everything you’ve ever hid or been but his hold is steady enough to let you know he’s there with you and he’s not going anywhere. You still feel naked but more than that, you feel safe. Comfortable enough to not shy away from his warmth, you take another breath; looking up at him through your lashes- making his head fuzzy.

His eyes shift from their usual blue to the shade of the sea after a storm and you’re swept away, logic going with you as you slowly glide your hands up his sides to his where his arms hold you. Feeling every dip and curve of his strong build until you reach his hands, repositioning them around your lower back. You move closer but because you two were already standing so close- your chests touch and Clark stops breathing. The soft swell of your breasts move against his body with your every inhale and he finds his senses filled with you.

Your gaze is torn away when you turn your head, looking down as you drop against his chest. Arms looping around him making his own instinctively curl around you, holding you tight to the firm but soft muscle of his chest. You both pause for a few minutes- waiting for the urgent panic but it never comes. Instead, you melt into him with a relieved sigh, warm breath bleeding into his shirt. You two were officially hugging.

And you were in heaven.

You never knew close contact with the opposite gender could be so delightful. Clark was just so big and warm and smelled so good, you bury your face into the meat of his pec almost deliriously, sighing happily. Fuck, you really had been missing out. His arms are firm and heavy against your back, effectively locking you against him. The endorphin rush hitting you has you practically purring; the sounds of your bliss vibrating Clark’s chest and he smiles, letting you get your fix as he enjoys the way you fit into his arms.

Unsurprisingly, you two stay like that for a while. Fitted against each other in the silence of your cozy bedroom. He sees the top of your head move and he’s suddenly looking into your eyes, pupils blown so wide that your eyes are black. Clark has to bite his lip to keep from smiling at how cute you look. Your eyes flit down to his mouth to see the peek of his fangs that always show, letting out a small breathy ‘oh’ when you do. You’re still reeling in all the best ways as you rest your chin against his chest, unabashedly looking at his handsome face.

Clark raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow at the phantom hearts in your eyes and the way your small feet are standing on top of his larger ones while you make no attempt to separate your bodies, completely content with his proximity. He likes you so he likes your closeness and he’s even more elated that you seem to like him being so close too. Speaking lowly so he doesn’t disturb you, he checks if you’re still on the planet with him.

“This okay, sweetheart? Y’enjoying yourself?” The petname slips out but you don’t move or rush to correct him as your blood simmers, a numbingly pleasant heat washing over you so strong it’s hard to think. Running your hands in a slow caress up his back, you feel the muscles flex as his arm twitches and a smile grows on your face as you blink dumbly- brain currently taking a break, you mumble sweetly,

“Mmhm, yeah never better.”

And it’s true. You’ve never felt this safe, this free with anyone that wasn’t immediate family or your best girl friends. He was touching you and seeing you but you didn’t care because you knew whatever he was seeing and touching, was safe as it would ever be with him.

Clark huffs out a laugh at your belated response, moving one of his hands in a warm caress up your back, feeling you shiver and he bites his lip again. You were so alluring without even having to try and he breathes to reign himself in since he was currently the first and only to have you melting like this from a hug alone. If a hug got you like this he could only imagine how beautifully you’d respond to-

“Um, C-Clark?” Your soft voice brings him back as he hums, flicking his eyes down lazily at you.

“Yeah, baby?” Your sweet little gasp makes him realize that he just called you another nickname but you don’t seem to mind, flustering prettily in his arms. He leans down closer to your face, only to hear you better, eyes patient as he stares at you.

“I know this is supposed to be about me but how do you feel? You’ve been so good with me..I just wanna make sure you’re okay too.” Clark smiles, moved that you’re worrying about him even with all his experience.

“Yeah I feel good but how about you? Want me to let go or we can try something different?” He would’ve asked if you wanted to stop but he was going off your body language and it was telling him distance was the last thing you wanted and he was right as you shook your head before resting your chin back into his chest, looking up at him with those pupil eclipsed doe eyes.

“I feel great but…”, your voice gets smaller as it takes on an almost needy tone before stopping altogether. You snap your face back into his chest and he’s even more curious to get it out of you but you just can’t say it.

“You really don’t need to be embarrassed. Clothed or naked, we all start somewhere”, he whispers against the top of your head, stroking your back soothingly as you try to talk yourself into asking him before you chicken out, “with me you can start wherever you want and you know I’ll never tell. Or make fun of you..”,

His voice is tender with warmness and it turns your reservations to raindrops as you look back into his eyes. Steeling your nerve, you ground yourself with the way you feel in another persons arms for the first time in your life- his arms and decide to go for it.

“You said- we can try something different?” Your heart begins to race again as Clark’s starts to pound. He can’t keep the heat out of eyes as he returns your stare, nodding.

“Yeah. We can do whatever you want.” His breath wafts across your face, forehead resting against yours and the rate at which you find yourself needing him- scares you. You’ve been depraved of this kind of contact to the point of fear since forever but now…

“Then…can we-“, you blink rapidly, not wanting to verbalize it but not wanting to go without even more.

“Can we kiss please?”

Clark has to shut his eyes. You looked so sweet, felt so soft and even though you couldn’t keep the neediness from seeping into your words, you still asked so politely. Blood rushes through his ears as he feels a familiar stirring in his groin, taking a deep breath because it wouldn’t do for him to lose control now, his voice is heady with pure want when he answers,

“F’course. I’d love to kiss, baby.”

Large hands settle around your waist as you get pulled completely flush to him, legs almost intertwining while your pelvises touch; bodies glued together. The languid heat of arousal thrums through you, making your head spin.

Your lips part when Clark presses his forehead more firmly against yours, lighting you from the inside out when he dips his neck to slot his open mouth over yours.

Immediately your chest burns, heart feeling like each pump is gasoline, fueling the fire hes started in you. Clark’s full lips slide against yours, alternating between suckling at your top lip then bottom lip slowly, coaxing you to follow his lead, groaning his approval and the sound turns you up as you press yourself harder against his body. You feel so good you’re thrumming- heat steadily pulsing through you.

Your heads move from how hard you’re kissing, slick sounds coming from your mouths intensifying as you get rougher, delicious shivers all up your spine. Clark presses his lips fully against yours, moving them open wider with his own, hot breaths mingling as he licks hotly against the opening of your mouth. A bolt of pleasure hits you so hard that you gasp, wrenching your mouth off his as you moan- the needy little thing so whiny it makes his cock fatten in his pants as you pant against each others lips. Fuck. He can smell how wet you are. The sweet, heady smell makes his mouth water with him tossing shame clean out the window.

“Can I put my tongue in your mouth? Please, pretty girl?” You move your arms around his neck to get as close as possible, nodding desperately.

“God, yes-!” His mouth is back to consuming yours before you finish. Opening your lips with the force of his swollen ones, he sucks your bottom lip before lapping his tongue into your mouth. You twitch in his hold, even more turned on when he doesn’t have to move to keep your squirming in place, casual show of strength making you lightheaded as he swallows your moans. Wet smacks fill the air, your grip on him tightening when he sucks your tongue into his mouth. You get wetter and he can tell, growling in pleasure as he suddenly lifts you; your legs locking around his waist as he uses his hold on yours to grind you against him. The result is instantaneous. You melt like cotton candy, chest shaking against his from your pleasured moans as your shared spit wets your lips. Still aware of the fact that you need to breathe, Clark pulls away with a suck of your lips- staring at you hungrily with dark eyes.

He can’t even remember when he picked you up but the tiny undulations of your hips let him know it was a welcome decision. You looked so good. Lips puffy n slick, doe eyes teary and blown out, wet as fuck with your hard nipples poking through your top…you could ask him for every one of Saturns rings and he’d get them for you.

Clark takes a deep lungful of your tantalizing scent before he checks on you again.

“How was that, sweetheart? Y’first kiss right?” You nod, cupping his face. You can’t help the way you smooch more pecks onto his pink lips, aching as you answer.

“It was so good”, you drag your nose down his jaw; kissing his ear as you whisper into it, “you feel so good, Clark..”. You have him completely hard at this point, thick and fat as his tip oozes pre when you start to whine. He almost feels bad that you’ve waited so long, being so pent up wasn’t good and you deserved to feel good everyday.

“What’s wrong baby?” The low timbre of his voice makes your pulse skyrocket, causing you to absolutely dissolve against him, hips twitching as he helped you rub yourself on him.

“I-I need..-“, you let out a soft cry and he quickly soothes you. Kissing you deeply before pulling away, licking his lips of your taste as he verbalizes exactly what you need.

“Need to cum?”

The heat in your chest blooms up to your face as you nod, suddenly growing shy but still comfortable. You purr as Clark presses a sweet kiss to your cheek, looking at you with pretty lidded eyes.

“Would it be okay if I made you cum princess?”

The utterly wrecked moan that comes out of your mouth has goosebumps scattering up his arms, holding you tighter as you nod vigorously.

“I need words baby”, he whispers. Giving you another kiss to tempt you and it works. He was too irresistible and he knew it.

“Yeah, you can make me cum Clark.” And with that he carries you over to your bed, laying you on the plushness as he takes over your mouth again with a hungry groan, your hands touching everywhere until he pulls away- fangs on display as he smiles making fire sweep through your veins.

Massaging your legs, he rises on his knees- taking off his shirt as your mind checks out from how hot he is, shifting restlessly as the ache in your pussy throbs with the best pain. Whining his name, Clark cooes at you; big hands moving to pull your clothes off. Your nerves are going haywire but you need this- need him to make you feel things, lifting your hips to help him slide your shorts and underwear off, spreading your legs as you let him get a good look at your messy wet hole twitching in need.

Clark swears, hooking his hands under your knees and bending them towards your chest. Exposing you more as he licks his lips, keeping his eyes glued to your cunt.

“Atta girl, jus’ lay there nice n pretty and I’ll give you what you need..”

[optimisticmosquito]

Guys hear me out on this svsss au idea.

Sower Shen yuan. SY transmigrating into a young sower child and having to learn sower and demon culture. One large difference to his old life is that his diet now consists of rotten flesh. He has a lot of feelings about that. It's raw flesh! It's rotting! It's the worst every world has to offer!

Curse you system for placing him here! He must be the unluckiest transmigrator to ever exist! Or maybe not the unluckiest, he could have been transmigrating into some low iq villain and destined to be killed off by the protagonist. His new life is definitely preferable to that! Barely.

He might grumble but he's learning a lot of new things that were never mentioned in PIDW! After all cultivators don't know much about sowers, and higher demons don't care about what's going on in sower society as long as they follow orders.

They are natural scavengers, their food needing to be at least somewhat deteriorated for them to digest it properly. Every sower is born with the ability to rot flesh, it's kinda needed after all if you want to survive. But as they age sowers can cultivate their ability, creating faster ways to rot flesh, or methods that are more effective on different types of flesh. The most talented ones are even able to create diseases that can affect and rot still living flesh.

Of course the better one's technique is, the easier it is to get food. So most sowers would be hesitant to share their techniques outside direct family. This would create sower lineages with uniquely cultivated diseases.

It's all very interesting! SY would be vibrating with excitement if he didn't have to experience it firsthand.

This all without mentioning human meat as a delicacy among demons. SY refuses to participate, but even he can't decline when his caring grandma was able to procure some just for her beloved grandkids, as a rare treat.

The worst part is his body actually likes the taste, despite how revolting it looks. He has a lot if internal crises about it.

You could of course spin this into a bingyuan. Luo Binghe just out of the endless abyss meeting this nice sower and falling head over heels. Making a lowly sower his empress after he takes over the demon realm.

But I'm thinking of going another direction, either jiuyuan or liushen.

SY's forced to go into the human side of the borderlands because of food scarcity on the demon side. He's not stupid about it! He knows some cultivators patrol the area so he's gotten himself a bracelet of disguise to hide his demonic traits.

While there he comes across a head disciple from Cang Qiong Mountain Sect and ends up entangled in their mission. They help eachother out, shares laughs and near death moments, creating a bond that should surely last even after the mission ends.

If not for the fact SY is a demon. He desperately hides his identity, making sure his new friend doesn't touch his skin by accident as he has cultivated enough for his touch to be dangerous to normal humans. He isn't sure it would be dangerous to cultivator disciples, but he doesn't want to take any chances.

And then the worst happens, he is revealed as a sower and his new friend mistakenly assumes he was tricking them so he could kill and eat them later. Angry with themselves over being tricked, disgusted by any good feelings still harbored towards a man-eating demon. Only a moment of quick thinking on SYs part saves them from having to kill SY. SY returns home heartbroken and without any food for his family, abd stays listless and sad for a long time.

Years later he'll come across a peak lord, looking for a cure to a deadly sower disease spread on behalf of the old demon emperor.

If anyone feels inspired please write it! I'd really want to read a sower!SY au as well!

[larkspyrr]

chapter i — we could form an attachment (wc. 4.9k)

prev — masterlist / ao3 — next

reblogs are appreciated!

The Opera Epiclese was almost always a circus — sometimes in the most literal sense of the word. But this event was on another level entirely.

The epicenter of Fontaine's rich history on Erinnyes played host to a menagerie of pastels, frills, cuffs, and nonsense. A sea of nobles and hopefuls swarmed the Court of Fontaine from Marcotte Station all the way to the Fountain of Lucine — a mass of the nation's wealthiest, most ambitious, and most eligible young people, escorted here and there by older family members with varying degrees of investment, twirling and sipping and gossiping.

The jets hidden within the overlapping layers of shallow pools spouted pillars of crystalline water, casting an almost imperceptible mist over the whole courtyard, granting it an ethereal charm and allure not befitting such fatuous rituals. A flood of rainbow roses, lumidouce bells, marcottes, and activated romaritimes bloomed raucously over every inch of the gardens, their aroma thick but not unpleasant, their petals offering a lush natural carpet for the venue — not that there was enough space between the milling crowd to appreciate it. Cuihua trees bursting with bulle fruit lined the perimeter, the little citruses begging to be picked, only protected by the unspoken high society rule that to do so would be unbecoming. A small quartet of violins stood before the fountain itself, playing a light-hearted and airy song to accompany the festivities, though not a soul was paying attention.

A few lucky (or conversely, unlucky) aristocrats may leave the Opera tonight with the promise of approaching nuptials and a happy future. Far more would simply leave with an impending hangover and some gossip on Baron Something-or-Other's latest romantic failings.

You took a dainty sip from your champagne flute. It would be more nauseating if it weren't so entertaining. You and Lady Furina seemed to have that in common — an enduring appreciation for the cyclical drama. You wondered absently if the Archon herself would make an appearance to stir something up. You hoped she would.

All the world's a stage, indeed.

You made your way across the courtyard, the click of your heels on the parquet stone drowned out by the throng; a nearby wide, stone planter in your sights. It would be as good a place as any for you to remain aloof and antisocial but still in sight of your father, who spared you a supervisory glance from where he stood with other noblemen, certainly discussing nothing of importance.

From your new perch, the noise and color and spectacle all were duller, easier to digest. You leaned against the marble and observed the sea of activity, daintily nursing your drink.

You were enjoying the time spent on your own when you heard a soft rustle of fabric to your right — a noise that would have been impossible to catch had you been any closer to the heart of the gathering. You turned in time to see a man you didn't recognize leaning against the same planter as you, looking for all the world as comfortable as if you'd invited him to be there.

You had not.

He didn't seem to belong there — that much was evident — and not just because he was an unfamiliar face. Tall and dark, his icy blue eyes were framed by a rush of thick, dark hair and a thin, crescent scar. Far from his only scar, by the looks of it — a complex network traveled down his neck and disappeared under his collar, intricate enough to rival the meticulous lacework that had cost your father a pretty mora at the boutique — despite your insistence that such costs were wholly unnecessary. The stranger's suit, a well-tailored gray and black ensemble, was partially obscured by a fussy, fur-lined coat. His burgundy tie was ever-so-slightly crooked, making your fingers twitch with the urge to adjust it. A desire no doubt born of the years you had been doing the very same for father.

Even under the warmth of the setting summer sun, he seemed to radiate a chill that brought goosebumps to your exposed arms.

If he'd ever been at an event before this one, there was no way you could have forgotten him. He seemed the type to linger in someone's mind long after he left a room.

He tilted a polite smile down at you.

"Good afternoon, miss," he greeted in a voice altogether too friendly to match his intimidating countenance.

"Charmed," you clipped. You gave him an appraising look, not rushing the path your eyes made up his frame, from the clunky boots, ill-suited for the occasion, to the silver streaks in his hair he didn't seem quite old enough for yet. He had the dignity not to cower under your inspection. "I'm afraid this flowerbed is occupied, sir. Please find your own."

His smile shifted and was clearly meant to look apologetic. You weren't convinced. "I'm afraid I can't."

You lifted a brow. If nothing else, this could be an entertaining interlude from the pomp and circumstance. "And why not?"

He cleared his throat, nodding in the direction of some hedges across the way. You flicked your eyes over discreetly, just in time to catch a head of blonde hair and another of jet curls disappearing behind the greenery, followed by stage whispers that surely they didn't think were quiet. Didn't they?

"You see," he began in a lower tone, clearly having better mastered the art of not being overheard than your spectators. "There is a gaggle of lovely but persistent young women in pursuit of me at this very moment, and I'd very much like to be engaged in conversation with someone else in order to postpone my torment. I'd be in your debt if you could look engrossed in this discussion for just long enough that they lose interest and find someone else to prey upon."

You hummed thoughtfully, watching now ginger curls leaning incautiously from behind the hedge, green eyes landing viciously on you and the interloper before vanishing once more. Just how many girls were hiding behind there?

"Oh?" you said, raising the glass to your lips with a smirk. "Not interested in sampling their scintillating conversation skills? Are you not here in search of a partner?"

"No, I'm not," he responded good-naturedly, running a hand through the artfully tousled sweep of his hair. "I have no intentions to marry at present."

You hmphed, twirling the flute in a gloved hand. "Yet here you are," you said, softly flicking the glass in his general direction, the tiny whirlpool you'd gotten going interrupted. You did not bother to conceal your skepticism. "Tolerating the vagaries of a high society debutante ball. And you'd tell a complete stranger this, because...?"

He leaned in, conspiratorial. "I am here as a matter of obligation only. Politics. Appearances. You understand." He returned back to his former stance, expression neutral, resting lazily against the polished marble. "Let's just say I'm sharp enough to recognize a kindred spirit when I see one."

You could feel yourself reflecting the same curiosity that danced in his eyes against your better judgment. This exchange was turning out to be interesting. "A kindred spirit, is it?"

"Indeed," he said. "Judging by the fact that you are also skulking in this corner and don't seem to have any more interest in mingling at this event than I do."

"I do not 'skulk'," you responded, unamused at his word choice. "And while I'd ask you to separate me from your assumptions, you aren’t incorrect. I'm also here only because it is expected of me."

He looked pleased with himself at your confirmation, and now dealt you the same appraisal you'd previously subjected him to with a calculating stare. You fought the urge to fidget under his evaluation, finding it beyond frustrating to have no idea what he was thinking behind his amicable yet inscrutable exterior. "Is that so? It is not often you see a noble lady uninvested in the affairs of the court."

You bristled, fighting the urge to furrow your eyebrows in a way you'd been told by many etiquette coaches was 'unflattering'. "There are greater aspirations to have beyond being a pretty little thing for some nobleman to set on his trophy shelf. Even for so-called 'noble ladies'."

He laughed then, a short, surprised burst. The sound was rich, reverberating in your bones. "My apologies. Please don't misunderstand, my curiosity tends to get the better of me. Indulge me?"

You sniffed, turning away from him once more to observe the hedge across the path — it seemed quiet enough now that the ladies within must have moved on like he'd hoped they would. Your chin lifted of its own accord as you flicked your eyes back to him. "I'm not interested in discussing my life aspirations with a man who lacks the good manners to even introduce himself first."

His mouth pulled up at one corner. "Are you sure the exchange of such confidential information would be of equal value?"

You held your stance, unfazed. "That will be for me to decide, sir."

"Very well." He inclined his head, an earnest hand pressed to his chest. "I am Wriothesley, Duke of the Fortress of Meropide. It is an honor to make your acquaintance."

You felt the color leave your face and your fingers go dead cold. This man — the Duke of Meropide, of all things — watched cheerfully as you hurried into polite obeisance. Damn it all. You hadn't exactly been courteous with the man. "Your Grace. The honor is mine."

His eyes still shone with mirth as you straightened. "Please, no need for such formalities. My mistake for — ah, what was it you said?'' he pondered, eyes drifting off in mock thought as you waited, drenched in miserable anticipation. "Right! ‘Not having the good manners to introduce myself first’."

Your cheeks warmed and you forced back a rush of frustration with yourself. "My apologies, I — I meant no disrespect," you said, gathering your composure. "You are not at all what I pictured, Your Grace. I hadn't known you were to attend a society function here on the surface."

"Tragically, society functions below the Fontemer are in short supply," he said sardonically. "And please, don't apologize, it's not often one gets to enjoy a chat with a charming, spirited stranger. What's your name?"

You offer it with another small nod. "My father is the Viscount Vellerot."

As if on cue, you faintly heard your father's voice calling your name from somewhere amidst the hustle and bustle; evidently he'd lapsed in his duty as your chaperone — once again — and had lost track of you. You weren't sure what it was he may want, though; clearly something must have come up to remind him of his purpose at this party. That was generally the way of things.

You tended to prefer being forgotten.

"And that would be him calling for me now," you explained as you pushed yourself from the planter and stepped past him. "This flowerbed is all yours. It was a pleasure to hide from the gaggle of lovely women with you, Your Grace. Good luck avoiding them for the rest of the evening."

He chuckled, a sheepish smile on his face. "The pleasure was all mine, my lady," he said. "But don't think I've forgotten our deal. You still owe me an answer."

With a vague smile and a polite curtsy, you disappeared back into the crowd, leaving the duke still leaning against the flowerbed.

Turns out, your father had only wished to introduce you to yet another son of yet another powerful acquaintance of his. His hopeful eyes as he sent the two of you off to dance only made it harder to turn the boy down, even if he were several years your junior and an entitled brat to boot. Your father truly only wanted your happiness, and you didn’t have the heart to tell him his efforts were in vain. This young noble wasn't the first you'd ever had to reject, and you unfortunately very much doubted he'd be the last — though you hoped he would, at least, be the last for that particular soirèe.

It turned out that would not be the case either, but you tried to keep an approximation of optimism anyway.

The one thing more sure than the line of people begging your attention — for want of your dowry and the association with your family, not anything to do with you, mind — was the tidal wave of whispers that had begun to take over the flow of the neverending gossip. It hadn't taken long for the news to spread —

Did you hear? This event has a special guest —

The Duke of Meropide is here? He must finally be looking for a duchess…

Come, Anne, allow me to introduce you to the duke. Fix your gloves, we want to make a good impression. Let me put this flower in your hair — maybe he will ask you for a dance!

Slowly, all the usual chirping melted away into one, resounding sentiment from all corners of the court — the Duke of Meropide is here, and he will be mine.

None of them knew what you did. You did your best to conceal your smile at the knowledge that all their posturing and peacocking was an investment in vain. Just as it was when their artless schemes were directed at you.

Afternoon melted into evening and you'd been idling away the hours, chatting to and dancing with and entertaining people who you didn't have the privilege to inform were wasting their time with you, longing to be anywhere else.

You finally seized enough of an opening to flee the courtyard proper for a moment of respite in a blooming hedge maze, as the gathering at the top of the grand stone steps was dying down and getting ready to migrate to the beautiful, opulent expanse of the Icewind Suite for the evening's grand finale. You found a remote, hidden spot and sat heavily, removing a shoe so you could massage the soles of your aching, overworked feet.

A branch snapped nearby and you whipped your head in its direction, heart thundering, to find the individual responsible for interrupting your moment of rest.

You should have known.

"We meet again," said the duke with a dip of his head.

"We do indeed," you said from where you were seated, letting your foot drop. Even in the dim lighting of the garden, you could see the man looked worn. Delight pulled at your lips at his evident misfortune. "Enjoying your evening?"

He sighed, a long, drawn-out, heartfelt sound. "Can't say that I am," he admitted.

You smiled ruefully. "That makes two of us. These events are nothing if not a test of our constitution." A yawning silence expanded between you and you slipped your heel back on, standing with a small stretch. You brushed down your dress. "I will return to the group. I really shouldn't be seen here with you without my chaperone, Your Grace. It wouldn't be proper."

He rolled his eyes. "Don't you ever get fatigued by these stuffy, outdated rules?"

"Every day," you said wryly. "But the rules still exist, and I have a reputation to uphold. I can't be thought to have been compromised. There are always sharp eyes waiting for someone to slip."

He crossed his arms in front of his chest, keen eyes glinting, in a gesture all too calculating for your liking. "Why risk coming out here alone at all?" he asked. "What if a person with bad intentions were to come looking for you? Someone who might wish to 'compromise' you?"

"A person other than you?" you retorted. "All I know of your intentions is that they do not include marriage, yet here you are anyway. Who's to say what your intentions truly are?"

He frowned. "Point taken," he conceded. "Though I assure you, they are nothing untoward. You didn't answer my question."

Your smile was scornful. "Fear not, Your Grace, for I am quite sure no one at this party could present any real physical threat to me. Of course, we are all always subject to the whims of the rumor mill, and I'm afraid that could do much more damage to me than any wealthy man in tights ever could."

His lips twitched in amusement. "Physical?" he remarked. "You grow more intriguing with every word."

"I am quite skilled, sir, both with a sword and without," you replied, a proud tilt to your chin.

He hummed thoughtfully, nodding. "That brings our deal back to mind. What is it you'd do instead, if not play along with these society games?"

You considered him for a long moment. His curiosity seemed genuine. You saw no reason to lie or disguise the truth. "I'd become a Champion Duelist."

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly before his smile broadened. "How about that?"

Your eyes narrowed, leaning forward into his space just slightly. "Is there a problem?"

"Not at all," he assured with a dismissive wave and a light, surprised laugh. "Just caught off guard."

You huffed and leaned back, allowing the remainder of your defensiveness to drain away. "Miss Clorinde is an acquaintance of my father, as it sometimes seems everyone in Fontaine is," you said, dry. "She has been gracious enough to join me in training from time to time. Of course, that will slow considerably during the social season while I trade in my boots for heels and my fencing ripostes for verbal ones."

He looked lost in thought for a moment. "I knew nothing about the aristocracy before receiving my title — it wasn't part of the curriculum for urchins, believe it or not. But in all my studies since, I've never once heard of a member of the inherent nobility leaving their seat for such a role."

"There is a first for all things," you said airily. "I had forgotten you come from, uh, humble beginnings. Your studies must have been quite intensive."

"I do, and they were. They still are. There's a lot about all of this I still find kinda baffling. My 'humble beginnings' are unfortunately part of the reason I have to make appearances this season," he said, tone ringing resentful. "It seems not all of our peers are pleased that a former… commoner with an honorary title is in the position I'm in. There are those interested in incorporating the Fortress as an official Fontainian entity — a government-managed facility. The question of my legitimacy is only helping their case when I haven't participated at court in any formal capacity as Duke."

You pondered his words for a moment. "So the rumors are true? This truly is your first time ever attending a society function?"

He nodded, his nose wrinkling with distaste. "It is, and it seems no amount of reading could have prepared me for it. The Iudex suggested that making a point of looking for a wife of noble birth, genuine or otherwise, might be enough to keep the wolves at bay, at least until the nobility votes to solidify or dissolve the Fortress of Meropide's autonomy, and by extension, my position as its administrator. He said if I wished to sway the vote my way, then I'd have to convince them I belong." He grimaced. "And that I’d have to consider making some sacrifices to do so.”

"I can't say that I'm surprised," you said. "These people value one thing above all else — their own superiority. Anything that threatens that, threatens them. If you were to form a connection with a strong family, the fuss would surely die down. No one wants to be on the bad side of those more powerful than they are."

The duke hummed. "Then Lord Thibeault must think he is very threatened indeed. I've been feeling a bit like a fish quite literally out of water. Would it be improper of me to say I miss my fortress?"

You snorted, unladylike. "He's the ring leader? Lord Thibeault must have far too much time on his hands if he is available to cause as much trouble as he does."

"You're familiar?"

"'Familiar' is one way of putting it. Lord Thibeault is a busybody and a wretch. He can't bear to see anything fresh or interesting shake up his beloved court or upset the status quo he holds so dear."

"So it seems," the duke said thoughtfully, letting a quiet beat pass. "Your aspiration was a pleasant surprise. Thank you for sharing it with me."

"It is only a secret by necessity," you sighed. "Not because I'd like it to be. What was your expectation?"

"I didn't have any expectations,” he said. His mouth curved into a roguish grin. “Never do. That's what makes the wait so good. I love cliffhangers."

You laughed. "I'd hate to have kept you in suspense. Sadly, the endless cycles of dancing and tea and etiquette classes will leave me little time to continue my training over the coming months, so my dream will remain just that: a dream."

"Why do you do it, then?” he asked, cocking his head. “Continue enduring all this nonsense?"

"As I said before, it is my duty,” you said slowly, wilting. A familiar feeling of defeat sank into your bones. “It would set a bad precedent if I didn't. I have two younger sisters and my father is a good man who only wants us to be happy, but he is getting on in years and... well. If I were to dishonor our family by abandoning them before they were situated, I could never forgive myself."

His eyebrows drew together and you could see his gears turning. "That's why you continue to take part?"

"Yes. I just need to somehow find a way to avoid any... obligations until they are in safe, happy situations, and then maybe I can be free. They are only just behind me in years, so it won't be that long. If all goes according to plan, a few years, maybe. Otherwise, as there is no male heir, my sisters would be at the next Viscount Vellerot's mercy when my father passes, whoever he may be once he is named. I will not risk their futures for my own selfishness."

The duke frowned. "I don't think wanting to pursue what would make you happy should be considered selfish."

You shrugged. "Nevertheless, if I want to make sure my sisters are taken care of, I likely will eventually need to secure the hand of a respectable man, my own wishes be damned,” you sighed. “I suppose I just can’t help but to naively hope for something more."

He looked to be lost in thought, arms crossed in front of his chest, tapping a considering finger on his chin, a tap-tap-tap that set your teeth on edge and filled your with a sense of foreboding. His eyes, looking at something far off in the distance, eventually focused back on your own as he came to some hidden conclusion in his mind.

"And what of a duke?" he offered.

You blinked, your mind hurrying to understand the implication of his words, yet failing to do so. "Something on your mind, Your Grace?"

"I have a proposition for you."

You looked at him intently. "And what would that be? This isn't going to be another ill-fated proposal, is it?” you scolded. “I thought you were supposed to be smarter than that."

"Oh, not at all," he said, dangerous eyes holding yours in a vice grip. "We could pretend to form an attachment."

You found yourself temporarily at a loss for words. You heard him, knew the meaning of each word in solitude, but strung together in such a fashion they felt like mismatching puzzle pieces, the completed landscape out of reach. "What do you mean?"

He began to pace in the small clearing, gesturing with his arms as he unfolded the inner workings of his mind. "We are both uninterested in marriage and yet forced to give the impression that we are. I need the lords and ladies of the court to believe I have found my duchess to cement my legitimacy as the duke until we secure the Fortress of Meropide’s autonomy. You need them to believe that you are searching for a respectable husband to maintain your, and by extension, your family's good reputation until your sisters have found happy matches. Who could be more suited to our respective needs than each other?"

"You're suggesting a ruse?" you whispered, scandalized. “Are you crazy?”

"Perfectly sane,” he continued. “What I'm suggesting is that we let the people believe we are precisely what we are — respectably off-the-market."

You began to shake your head in disbelief, wanting to back away but finding your legs refusing to obey your command. "Your proposition is ridiculous."

"It's perfect,” he said with conviction. “What better way is there to keep the wolves at bay than to lower the gates? Plus — you understand more about how to blend into society than I could ever hope to, and let's just say that with my background, I could offer a hand in your training. We can help each other.”

“The season won’t last forever,” you pointed out. "And when autumn comes around?"

"Oh, that’s the beauty of it. We go our separate ways," he said, eyes gleaming like he was telling an inside joke no one in Teyvat other than the two of you could ever understand. "It didn't work out! It happens."

You laughed, incredulous, an unfamiliar feeling beginning to fill your chest.

"There are sure to be reporters for the Steambird here,” he said. “One dance in the Icewind Suite, and you and I will be the cover story of tomorrow's paper. Then, no one will touch us."

You blinked, running through every possible outcome and scenario in your mind, but — steadily, the pros began to outweigh the cons. You could continue your training. You would have to invest significantly less of your time at these Celestia-forsaken events and not sacrifice anything for either yourself or your sisters in the process. A smile crept onto your lips as the feeling in your chest reached a crescendo — it was hope, a happy, buoyant feeling you were always afraid to let yourself feel.

"This really could work, couldn’t it?" you asked softly.

His smile looked truly genuine for the first time that evening as he offered you his arm. "It will work."

Your arm was looped through the duke's as you made your way down the stairs towards the Icewind Suite, the path lined with lit lamp posts and romaritimes and gawking attendees. The hydro blooms were releasing an array of colorful, opalescent bubbles into the cooling night air, making the latest turn of events feel even more surreal than they already did. The usual residents of the Suite were nowhere to be seen, likely decommissioned, their eternal waltz paused so they could make room for the evening's closing event — and some select charades.

The crowd hushed as you stepped past, a wave of quiet rolling downwards, and you could feel the weight of dozens of curious eyes on you. With each step, arm in arm with the duke, it seemed that more and more attention broke away to hone in on you. You wondered vaguely if your father was anywhere among them — you wondered what he thought. You managed to spot Lord Thibeault in the throng — a disapproving scowl pulled at his wizened face.

Finally, the two of you reached the ground, the shimmering sea of polished marble spread out before you, empty but for the reflection of the night sky in its depths. It waited for you, the symbol of a successful evening of new partnerships and futures to be shared. You’d seen many a pair spin upon this floor — never once had it been you. You had never intended for it to ever be you.

All the world’s a stage, after all.

The duke gently shifted your body so that the two of you were facing one another. He bowed, an elegant bending of his knees and lowering of his head, far more graceful than a man who had his history etched into his skin should be capable of. He made it look effortless.

Icy blue seized you as he straightened back up, eyes crinkling ever-so-slightly at the corners. "Might I have this dance?" he asked, holding out a hand.

His mirror, you curtsied, slow and deliberate. You smiled, a small and surreptitious thing, and placed your gloved hand in his. "You may. Don't trip on your feet now, Your Grace. Rule number one for fitting into high society — you must be as graceful and confident in a ballroom as you are on a battlefield."

He pulled you in closer; too close to be strictly proper. "Call me Wriothesley. We want this to be convincing, don’t we?” he murmured into your ear. Another pulse of low whispers spread throughout the spectators as a few more pairs joined you on the Icewind Suite. “And you wound me, my lady. I think you will find my performance to be more than satisfactory.”

You swallowed thickly. "That remains to be seen, Wriothesley. Let's hope you can convince them better than you can me."

The grand ballroom and every last soul within held their breath as the duke placed a rough, scarred hand on the small of your back. You could feel the weight of it through layers of thin lace and silk as you wove your free hand under his arm and anchored it against the back of his broad shoulder. Your fingers on his back felt inexplicably cold, but the rest of your body burned hot. Your heart pounded. Your eyes locked onto his. Time came to a standstill.

“I intend to,” he said.

The music began to play, and you allowed him to lead.

a/n: so here she is!! i am really excited to get into this one, and i know there was a bit borrowed here from bridgerton itself, tho i promise this is where most of the direct similarities will end. i simply wanted to pay homage to where this idea initially came from <;3 hope you all enjoy

i didn't initially plan to have a taglist for this one, but if there are enough requests for one, i'll consider it. if anyone knows of a better way to notify people when i update (besides pointing them to ao3, anyway) im all ears

til next time!

[dark-elf-writes]

Nana learned protection and loyalty at her not-actually-big-brother Reborn’s knee

Which translates to a more violent, borderline obsessive ideal of what love is

It’s still sweet and heartfelt, but also a bit bloody like the bared teeth of a guard dog

Frankly, she thinks Byakuran is perfect for her son

(She had tried for a normal relationship for her parents sake, who never really understood Nana as she got older but loved her all the same, and ended up with Iemitsu, who seemed like a traditional Prince Charming at the time but is now anything but, she’d rather have her son with someone who really loved him than stuck with someone society could digest easier)

There were only two people in her life that Nana did not have to make herself small for.

Reborn, her not-quite-brother who for having the hands of a killer was always so gentle when he reached out for her as if afraid she would shatter under his touch, and Tsuna her sweet little boy with his gentle heart that looked at her like she hung the stars.

Not iemitsu, who only looked at her and saw a pretty doll that he could play with to his hearts content then leave exactly where he left her until he wanted to play again the painted on smile never leaving her face. Not her parents who had looked at her and seen too much.

Just her older brother of choice and her baby.

She had sworn, the moment she had held Tsuna for the first time with Reborn brushing back her sweaty hair the three of them alone in the delivery room for just a few moments of bonding before nurses came in to tend to her and her son, that she would never let him make himself small. That she would never let him settle for anyone who loved him a by less than what they should. A love that came with teeth and claws to protect her little Tsu-kun. A love that would have him cherished rather than used and cast aside.

Seeing the boy flashing his teeth at her husband and the arm he had slung low around Tsuna’s waist, keeping her boy close to his side and away from Iemitsu’s grasp, she saw that love she had dreamed of for her son.

It was fortunate she had invited Reborn over for the holidays as well in spite of Iemitsu’s protests. He should see this as well.

[you-and-youth]

a lot of people dont understand cameron. the character they hate is just a warped, entirely inacurate caricature. practically someone they made up. and, i think its because a lot of people are paying no attention to him until after neil dies (and then make no effort to understand him).

because the things ive seen said about him by people who hate him are not just surface level, but truly, blatantly wrong. like, "goes against the entire reason hes in the movie in the first place and his entire character to an alarming degree that makes me question if you even watched the movie" kind of wrong. I mean, hell, even some people who do like him.

bottom line is, cameron doesnt actually agree with the administration on everything. he isnt following the rules because he wants to. hes afraid. he is so so deathly afraid of what will happen if he is caught breaking those rules. he does actually enjoy being in the dead poets society (very obviously so if you are actually paying like any attention to him at all). hes charlies antithesis, on the point of fear especially. that is his reason for being in the movie. he is a cautionary tale against being so afraid to step out, someone who couldnt take a risk, be himself, who couldnt overcome his fear. thats what his purpose is. its the opposite to charlies, who is to warn against having absolutely no fear of such consequences.

when trying to slot cameron into a villain role, people seem to be talking about another character all together. about some guy who just hates everything and wants everyone to suffer for Reasons. because they dont like him, dont understand him, and dont care to.

which, really sucks, honestly. i think a lot of the time, discussion of this movie becomes black and white, nuance and reason and consideration kind of just... absent. in favour of this surface level lense that makes it easier to digest. especially in regards to cameron.

his motivations are fundamentally different than is being stated here. he is afraid but he doesnt want to hurt people and wants to be like the others. he wants to sieze the day. he wants to take keatings lesson to heart. but he cant. hes terrified and frankly not really let in. the poets treat him pretty badly, even during the society meetings. for everyone else, the dead poets society offers a place to bloom, to be themselves. but cameron doesnt get that.

but he tries. he is so patient. he is trying to fit in and do things the way the poets want him to, do things all the ways everyone (in the society and out of it) is demanding he do them and thats not sustainable. he was going to break eventually and it came when neil died and no one told him, or when he was called into nolans office and asked to make a decision where either option would ruin his life while he was already grieving.

even then, in spite of it all, he is still trying to save them from getting expelled (why else would he go to the meeting afterwards? and specifically try and give them advice on how not to get kicked out?).

he is trying. he is tearing himself to pieces trying to be what everyone wants. to be a good obedient srudent for nolan (and presumably his parents) but also be the person the poets want him to be - when really, he isnt either. hes just cameron. but thats not good enough for anyone, or at least, if it is, no one lets him know that.

this misinterpretation of cameron isnt even surface-level, its just baseless.

edit: hope this didnt come off as too aggresive or anything? i tend to sound that way so, premsptive apologies

[aidoneuswrites]

"𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒, 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐒"

ㅡ cw: pre kenjaku , hurt comfort, panic attack

ㅡ a/n: commission request from my friend, i hope you guys enjoy !

The life of a sorcerer was never easy and anyone to talk as if it was, never had been a true sorcerer. It was a demanding and life-sucking job. To some it was what got them out of bed in the morning, their own motivation to keep going and to grow for themselves and those around them. It was a badge of honor in which they held high on their chest. That feeling of promise and responsibility to help the cities less fortunate. Being a sorcerer was like being a hero and as all the shows and comics will show you, the hero holds the biggest grin of pride on their face. They never ask for words of gratitude. Never ask for anything in return other than a promise to be safe or more cautious in the future. 

But is that truly fair ?

Why is it that those blessed with the power and strength of a sorcerer have to lower themselves to those of the unfortunate. They’re not special and yet we treat them as if they deserve anything and everything. So when do we draw the line ? When will it be us sorcerers turn to benefit ? 

The hands of justice and shitty reality tugged back and forth at the dark haired student as he sit at the edge of his bed. 

EXORCISE INGEST EXORCISE INGEST EXORCISE . . .

Was this truly all he was good for ? Is this going to be his life over and over again ? An endless cycle of putrid disgusting curses being consumed by him and only him. All that weight weighing on his shoulders as he continues to lose himself physically and mentally. When will it all wash away from the sorcerer's mind just as he washes away the exorcized souls that are consistently digested.

Will this path curse him as well ?

Scattered around his room were clothes in disarray, half empty soba noodle cups, sticky half finished vending machine coffee cans that, all together, emitted a rather muggy and sour smell encasing the small space. But to Geto, did it truly matter what was or was not in the room ? It’s not like he would be around much longer. 

After his talk with Yuki he was sure he knew what needed to be done. Sure he would miss Shoko and Satoru, but for the better of the curse society ties needed to be cut. Even more so they weren’t even here or have the knowledge of what’s going on. 

Once again Geto was being pulled by rationality. A part of him didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want to go down the path of a true “only sorcerers” society. Maybe things would change for the better. Maybe it would get easier just after it got worse. It has to. Because if it doesn’t - if this is truly how life will go is there ever going to be a just world to live in ?

The tugs of justice and reality turned into heavy pulls. The sorcerer's mind was spinning into chaos as tears filled his eyes. As some false sense of stopping the spiral the Geto gripped tufts of hair into each hand and yanked down, the mental weight of it all forcing him to fall to his knees. Chest tightening as his entire body began to tremble and a wave of nauseating chills encased him. A numbness spread to his fingertips as his grip tightened. The sorcerers breathing became sporadic as he inhaled the familiar revolting smell of his room. It felt like he was once again ingesting yet another rotten soul. Flashbacks flickered in his mind.

  EXORCISE INGEST EXORCISE INGEST EXORCISE INGEST EXORCISE INGEST EXORCISE INGEST EXORCISE INGEST EXORCISEINGEST EXORCISE INGEST EXORCISEINGEST EXORCISE INGEST EXORCISEINGEST EXORCISE INGEST EXORCISEINGEST EXORCISE INGEST EXORCISEINGEST EXORCISE INGEST EXORCISEINGEST EXORCISE INGEST EXORCISE.

An anguished cry belted out of Geto, tears rushing down his face letting any and all emotions that were once forced down, out for no one see. No one to hear, but him. In only seconds Suguru knew no one was left to help, no one to steer him away from the hollow-hearted path that is probable to come and yet a part of him wished - god he so desperately wished - that his ivory haired companion would burst through that door and embrace him. Embrace him the way he always craved, yet never yearned to reach out for. An embrace so strong and unyielding that would wash away all evil from his mind. All to be left would just be him. 

Them .

Pessimism rotted his brain.

But how could someone like me ask for something so undeserving.

A doomed siren call of yearning. Every part of the sorcerers soul wanted, needed , Satoru. As if without him the air within his lungs would deplete and there would be nothing but a husk left of Suguru. 

Without a black sheep how could one truly distinguish the golden sheep. Without darkness there would be light.

Above all else, without Satoru there would be no Suguru.

As torment plagued his mind everything fell silent. Only a low hum echoed his brain as the floor conjured and twisted below him. He was truly spiraling out of his own control.

Because of his own clouded state, it never brought to his attention that he wasn’t alone. 

Stood in front of him was a pair of slick, low heel shoes that were custom to the school.

“. . .ru..”

“ Oi. . . guru..”

The hum soon began to die out.

“ Suguru. . .?”

The familiar voice eventually made it to his ears. Along with the audible voice, Suguru realized he was face to face with him as well. Two arms stretched out as they held his shoulders. In a daze Geto could make out the face of his ivory haired friend. What usually lied on his face was that stupid smile, but a new one took its place. His friends eyes were furrowed and pupils shaky as they darted back and forth to follow his own. As if he was trying to search for an answer in his eyes. An answer to all the screaming, the purposeful seclusions, to the empty promises he had given him when asked if everything was alright. 

It wasn’t and it hasn’t been for a while, but was that really all so bad?

“ Suguru what happened? I heard you scream. What the hell is going on !” Gojo burst out in alarm. Maybe now wasn’t the best time to raise his voice, but something wasn’t right. Something needed to happen and now . 

His throat was torn from earlier. Any word that followed came out warn and fading. The urge to collapse and let everything take over, was seeming like the easiest solution to it all. To just let go.

His body felt heavy and dead, at this point he was just a walking corpse. But every time his mind would come back to reality all he would see was him . Somehow that made everything just a little better. It gave him hope, but it also crushed him. 

“I. . .cant” weakly words of defeat poured out from his lips. There was plenty to look at in the mess of his room, anything but his eyes. The look of pity on everyone's face once you finally spew out admittance to your flaws and fears. 

They’re all the same.

Satoru was now sitting on the floor across from his friend. He knew that the words would form eventually, just a matter of when. All he could do was be there for him at this moment. 

Reaching his hand out to the tired friend, Satoru placed it atop of his. A form of reassurance to show that he wasn’t alone and he never will be.

Upon the contact a feeling of disgust insued through Suguru’s body. A wave of anger and resentment flooded his brain. Not to the person before, but to himself. 

This wasn’t right! He shouldn’t be here! Why is he here?

Though part of him longed for the situation, the part that revolted at it grew stronger. He could overcome this on his own, without Satoru.

DENIAL.

“Don’t touch me!” his arm flung as he slapped the gentle hand away from his own.

He felt bad for everything he did and what he’s about to do but, according to the raven haired sorcerer, this is how it should be. 

“Don’t you understand that I don’t want your help? I never did!” his face twisted with anger and sorrow. Suguru couldn’t stop the words that spilled from his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to leap into his arms, never letting go. To tell him any and every concern, to finally rid himself of the rot that lay dormant in his brain. 

To be free of it all. But that was never what Gojo was made for. He knew he couldn’t lay it all on him. In a kind world Suguru could speak of all his troubles and be heard, really heard. He could find a path that would make this seemingly wrongful world just feel a little bit better. A world where he could stay with Satoru side by side until the end of time. Together they were the strongest.

And yet here I sit pushing all of it away.

“You wrong.” Satoru’s voice was deep and grave. Deep down he knew something was going on with his friend, but even the strongest can be rather dull when it comes to reading emotions. Suguru’s weight loss was the first sign, then the restlessness, until eventually he became distant all at once. Guilt embedded into the before speaking sorcerer. The signs became so obvious and the solutions even more so. He could have stopped this before it became how it was now. 

“I wasn’t there when you needed me most.  .  .” he began. Opposing his friend's demand, he leaned into Suguru’s shaking body, embracing him like he should have done before. Something he’s been yearning to do for years. 

“But I’m here now. So please. .” guilty tears began to stain his skin. “.. please let me shoulder your troubles and misery too.” 

It would be so easy to push away everything. To give everything up at Jujutsu Tech and lead a path of solitude. So easy to turn a blind eye to sentiment and justice. All it would take was one foot out the door who was once more waving its maledictive beckoning hand. 

The cold calloused hands of the cursed society held a path of disarray and loneliness, something Suguru felt is the only place he truly belonged. But a flower can not thrive in the dark. It requires care, warmth, and love - something Jujutsu Tech, Satoru, and Shoko all provided. 

And yet why does this now wilting flower want to walk into the cruel clutches of the neverending dark?

Lost eyes met with the hopeful blue ones before him as one last final call for help.

“Satoru. . .I’m terrified of what I’m becoming.”

ADMITTANCE.

The time finally came for the damaged flower to outstretch its roots before it wilts away for good.

With a torn voice Suguru spoke his final words of plea.

“Save me, Satoru.”

As the sun set the moon rose, engulfing the once scattered room in a faint glow. On a newly made bed lay two sorcerers, two friends, comrades, lovers . A gentle breeze escaped the window brushing through their hair and with a gentle hand the ivory haired boy tucked his partner's hair off his face. Like waves in the night's ocean their bodies rose and fell as a feeling of calm settled over them. 

A vow between soulmates was made that night.

To save one is to save the other.

Without Satoru Gojo there would be no Suguru Geto.

Without Suguru Geto there would be no Satoru Gojo.

And just as the sun always sets, the moon will always rise.

[anthonypeawashere]

Why I think self-pity is the bane of our joy

Stoicism is an old philosophy which is only now starting to have a modern rennecaince with new ideas and concepts. This is great, because it allows us to develop brand new doctrine to fit the world around us, and terrible, because it means we don't have the answer for everything. However, one of the things that are being explored the most as of now is self-pity. This is a very prevalent state of mind in the western world, where it has become so common to complain about the small things that it can seem almost competitive.

Our ability to complain has combined with our ever-rising standard of living to create cartoonish complaints that we are gasping to share with the world around us, who are trying to voice their complaints. As Vers writes: "Alle kalder ud, men ingen gider at svare" (Everybody needs to be heard, but nobody is willing to listen). This has lead Neils Overgaard, a man I deeply respect and look up to, to create what he calls the "immigrant test": Basically, you take whatever thing is bothering you in the moment, and you imagine that you have to tell it to a mother of 5 children who has left Sudan, crossed the Sahara, been illegally exported across the Mediterranean, and finally landed in Greece, ready to live out the rest of her life at the lowest bottom of our society. Your task is now to look her in the eyes, and tell her about the problem that is letting you down, and if you think you can do that, THEN it is worth thinking about.

Self-pity is not the same as complaining, though. I would argue that self-pity is what happens when you systematically feel rightious to complain and the world around you validates this feeling. And what you're doing on a psychological level is train your mind to focus on the negatives and hold on to them, so that you can pass them on to others. Surely, my friends, a brain that only notices and focuses on the bad things is not a happy one, right?

So how do YOU avoid self-pity and the need to complain in general? Well, you're not out of options (though it may be tempting to say that you are). In this post, my advice will be to FORTIFY. Back in the day, people used to say "man up", but that's kinda turned into a toxic thing that means "push it down", and it's also only for men. So now we have the new word "fortify", which is much better. How do you fortify? That's up to you, but it should ultimately make you a more emotionally resilient person. Focusing on the next step can be a great way of fortifying, for example:

Your car breaks down on your way to work. You are going to be late. Do you: A. Have your mood be ruined over the situation, complain to your boss when they ask you why you are late, and get pissy when you get the repair bill? B. Accept that the situation is out of your hands, focus on getting your car towed and finding another way to get to work, and calmly explain to your boss that your car broke down and you still showed up ready to work?

It's entirely up to you, but option B is not only a calmer, more pleasant way to handle the situation, but it also makes you a more resilient being in the future, because your brain will recognise your handling of the situation and be calmer the next time something unpredictable comes up, thus marking the start of a good spiral.

There will be more in the next post, to make it easier to digest.

Love you all! - Anthony

[aidoneuswrite]

"𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒, 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐒"

ㅡ cw: pre kenjaku , hurt comfort, panic attack

ㅡ a/n: commission request from my friend, i hope you guys enjoy !

The life of a sorcerer was never easy and anyone to talk as if it was, never had been a true sorcerer. It was a demanding and life-sucking job. To some it was what got them out of bed in the morning, their own motivation to keep going and to grow for themselves and those around them. It was a badge of honor in which they held high on their chest. That feeling of promise and responsibility to help the cities less fortunate. Being a sorcerer was like being a hero and as all the shows and comics will show you, the hero holds the biggest grin of pride on their face. They never ask for words of gratitude. Never ask for anything in return other than a promise to be safe or more cautious in the future. 

But is that truly fair ?

Why is it that those blessed with the power and strength of a sorcerer have to lower themselves to those of the unfortunate. They’re not special and yet we treat them as if they deserve anything and everything. So when do we draw the line ? When will it be us sorcerers turn to benefit ? 

The hands of justice and shitty reality tugged back and forth at the dark haired student as he sit at the edge of his bed. 

EXORCISE INGEST EXORCISE INGEST EXORCISE . . .

Was this truly all he was good for ? Is this going to be his life over and over again ? An endless cycle of putrid disgusting curses being consumed by him and only him. All that weight weighing on his shoulders as he continues to lose himself physically and mentally. When will it all wash away from the sorcerer's mind just as he washes away the exorcized souls that are consistently digested.

Will this path curse him as well ?

Scattered around his room were clothes in disarray, half empty soba noodle cups, sticky half finished vending machine coffee cans that, all together, emitted a rather muggy and sour smell encasing the small space. But to Geto, did it truly matter what was or was not in the room ? It’s not like he would be around much longer. 

After his talk with Yuki he was sure he knew what needed to be done. Sure he would miss Shoko and Satoru, but for the better of the curse society ties needed to be cut. Even more so they weren’t even here or have the knowledge of what’s going on. 

Once again Geto was being pulled by rationality. A part of him didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want to go down the path of a true “only sorcerers” society. Maybe things would change for the better. Maybe it would get easier just after it got worse. It has to. Because if it doesn’t - if this is truly how life will go is there ever going to be a just world to live in ?

The tugs of justice and reality turned into heavy pulls. The sorcerer's mind was spinning into chaos as tears filled his eyes. As some false sense of stopping the spiral the Geto gripped tufts of hair into each hand and yanked down, the mental weight of it all forcing him to fall to his knees. Chest tightening as his entire body began to tremble and a wave of nauseating chills encased him. A numbness spread to his fingertips as his grip tightened. The sorcerers breathing became sporadic as he inhaled the familiar revolting smell of his room. It felt like he was once again ingesting yet another rotten soul. Flashbacks flickered in his mind.

  EXORCISE INGEST EXORCISE INGEST EXORCISE INGEST EXORCISE INGEST EXORCISE INGEST EXORCISE INGEST EXORCISEINGEST EXORCISE INGEST EXORCISEINGEST EXORCISE INGEST EXORCISEINGEST EXORCISE INGEST EXORCISEINGEST EXORCISE INGEST EXORCISEINGEST EXORCISE INGEST EXORCISEINGEST EXORCISE INGEST EXORCISE.

An anguished cry belted out of Geto, tears rushing down his face letting any and all emotions that were once forced down, out for no one see. No one to hear, but him. In only seconds Suguru knew no one was left to help, no one to steer him away from the hollow-hearted path that is probable to come and yet a part of him wished - god he so desperately wished - that his ivory haired companion would burst through that door and embrace him. Embrace him the way he always craved, yet never yearned to reach out for. An embrace so strong and unyielding that would wash away all evil from his mind. All to be left would just be him. 

Them .

Pessimism rotted his brain.

But how could someone like me ask for something so undeserving.

A doomed siren call of yearning. Every part of the sorcerers soul wanted, needed , Satoru. As if without him the air within his lungs would deplete and there would be nothing but a husk left of Suguru. 

Without a black sheep how could one truly distinguish the golden sheep. Without darkness there would be light.

Above all else, without Satoru there would be no Suguru.

As torment plagued his mind everything fell silent. Only a low hum echoed his brain as the floor conjured and twisted below him. He was truly spiraling out of his own control.

Because of his own clouded state, it never brought to his attention that he wasn’t alone. 

Stood in front of him was a pair of slick, low heel shoes that were custom to the school.

“. . .ru..”

“ Oi. . . guru..”

The hum soon began to die out.

“ Suguru. . .?”

The familiar voice eventually made it to his ears. Along with the audible voice, Suguru realized he was face to face with him as well. Two arms stretched out as they held his shoulders. In a daze Geto could make out the face of his ivory haired friend. What usually lied on his face was that stupid smile, but a new one took its place. His friends eyes were furrowed and pupils shaky as they darted back and forth to follow his own. As if he was trying to search for an answer in his eyes. An answer to all the screaming, the purposeful seclusions, to the empty promises he had given him when asked if everything was alright. 

It wasn’t and it hasn’t been for a while, but was that really all so bad?

“ Suguru what happened? I heard you scream. What the hell is going on !” Gojo burst out in alarm. Maybe now wasn’t the best time to raise his voice, but something wasn’t right. Something needed to happen and now . 

His throat was torn from earlier. Any word that followed came out warn and fading. The urge to collapse and let everything take over, was seeming like the easiest solution to it all. To just let go.

His body felt heavy and dead, at this point he was just a walking corpse. But every time his mind would come back to reality all he would see was him . Somehow that made everything just a little better. It gave him hope, but it also crushed him. 

“I. . .cant” weakly words of defeat poured out from his lips. There was plenty to look at in the mess of his room, anything but his eyes. The look of pity on everyone's face once you finally spew out admittance to your flaws and fears. 

They’re all the same.

Satoru was now sitting on the floor across from his friend. He knew that the words would form eventually, just a matter of when. All he could do was be there for him at this moment. 

Reaching his hand out to the tired friend, Satoru placed it atop of his. A form of reassurance to show that he wasn’t alone and he never will be.

Upon the contact a feeling of disgust insued through Suguru’s body. A wave of anger and resentment flooded his brain. Not to the person before, but to himself. 

This wasn’t right! He shouldn’t be here! Why is he here?

Though part of him longed for the situation, the part that revolted at it grew stronger. He could overcome this on his own, without Satoru.

DENIAL.

“Don’t touch me!” his arm flung as he slapped the gentle hand away from his own.

He felt bad for everything he did and what he’s about to do but, according to the raven haired sorcerer, this is how it should be. 

“Don’t you understand that I don’t want your help? I never did!” his face twisted with anger and sorrow. Suguru couldn’t stop the words that spilled from his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to leap into his arms, never letting go. To tell him any and every concern, to finally rid himself of the rot that lay dormant in his brain. 

To be free of it all. But that was never what Gojo was made for. He knew he couldn’t lay it all on him. In a kind world Suguru could speak of all his troubles and be heard, really heard. He could find a path that would make this seemingly wrongful world just feel a little bit better. A world where he could stay with Satoru side by side until the end of time. Together they were the strongest.

And yet here I sit pushing all of it away.

“You wrong.” Satoru’s voice was deep and grave. Deep down he knew something was going on with his friend, but even the strongest can be rather dull when it comes to reading emotions. Suguru’s weight loss was the first sign, then the restlessness, until eventually he became distant all at once. Guilt embedded into the before speaking sorcerer. The signs became so obvious and the solutions even more so. He could have stopped this before it became how it was now. 

“I wasn’t there when you needed me most.  .  .” he began. Opposing his friend's demand, he leaned into Suguru’s shaking body, embracing him like he should have done before. Something he’s been yearning to do for years. 

“But I’m here now. So please. .” guilty tears began to stain his skin. “.. please let me shoulder your troubles and misery too.” 

It would be so easy to push away everything. To give everything up at Jujutsu Tech and lead a path of solitude. So easy to turn a blind eye to sentiment and justice. All it would take was one foot out the door who was once more waving its maledictive beckoning hand. 

The cold calloused hands of the cursed society held a path of disarray and loneliness, something Suguru felt is the only place he truly belonged. But a flower can not thrive in the dark. It requires care, warmth, and love - something Jujutsu Tech, Satoru, and Shoko all provided. 

And yet why does this now wilting flower want to walk into the cruel clutches of the neverending dark?

Lost eyes met with the hopeful blue ones before him as one last final call for help.

“Satoru. . .I’m terrified of what I’m becoming.”

ADMITTANCE.

The time finally came for the damaged flower to outstretch its roots before it wilts away for good.

With a torn voice Suguru spoke his final words of plea.

“Save me, Satoru.”

As the sun set the moon rose, engulfing the once scattered room in a faint glow. On a newly made bed lay two sorcerers, two friends, comrades, lovers . A gentle breeze escaped the window brushing through their hair and with a gentle hand the ivory haired boy tucked his partner's hair off his face. Like waves in the night's ocean their bodies rose and fell as a feeling of calm settled over them. 

A vow between soulmates was made that night.

To save one is to save the other.

Without Satoru Gojo there would be no Suguru Geto.

Without Suguru Geto there would be no Satoru Gojo.

And just as the sun always sets, the moon will always rise.

[i-am-a-learner-with-a-passion]

MEN ARE LETTING DOWN WOMEN

Men are easily disposable,

Women are indisposable,

During a crisis, a war, or a violent uprisal, the tyrannical opponent targets the man because men are easily disposable.

That is why it is easier for a despot to shoot and kill a man in cold blood and behave ignorant and unremorseful.

But women are indisposable, and for this reason, they easily become the engine of any uprisal.

It is difficult to contain a protest where women are at the forefront providing a buffer for men to escalate the combat.

Women are the most vocal and the most animated.

They stoke the fire, escalate the push , and accelerate the combat.

Why is this so?

Because women want men to step up and fight for them.

Because women want a life where their offspring can easily access food and other essential resources.

Because women have the daunting role of nurturing offspring into the next generation.

Therefore , they are the first to raise the alarm, and thereby, men have to come out of their armoury and attack the villain.

Women feed the warriors. They nurse the injured. They covertly collect intelligence information from the opponent.

They even choose to sleep with the enemy.

This is to ensure their men rise up and advance with the combat.

History has all this written in our Afrikan books of literature.

From The Abushiri revolt to the Chimurenga war to the Maji Maji rebellion to the Mau Mau revolt to the Dahomey revolution.

This is how nature made it.

When thieves raid a village, it is women who have been gifted with the role of alerting the men using their high-pitched screams.

However, in a society where men are effeminate, and women are becoming masculine, such combat will suffer fatigue in the early phase of escalation.

Women will get tired because men will have lost the drive to push forward.

— and effeminate men will betray the combat, they will be traitors and betrayers of the combat, this is why in ancient times, when a warrior was captured by the opponent, he was deported, excommunicated or terminated.

Because once captured, he will throw the combat under the bus, and the entire dream will fizzle. To be rekindled again by another generation of agitated women.

Therefore, men must rise up, and we must continue fixing our frames and mindsets. We must resist any attempts by the enemy to enrol us in the Roman circus to numb the fire in our bellies.

Resist any attempts to corrupt your character for thirty pieces of silver.

This corruption will leave an ugly indelible mark in your soul that will devour you forever.

Therefore, men, before you lose hope, remember why your woman raised the alarm.

Don't bury her voice in your digestive organs.

[fantasyinvader]

So, I finished reading To Kill a Mockingbird today. I'm Canadian and it wasn't part of my curriculum in school, but I picked up the movie a long time ago and decided to read the book first before watching it. You know, because the book is better nine times outta ten. But, in the back of my mind, the question of whether Atticus was actually a racist was on my mind.

People accusing Atticus Finch of secretly being a racist didn't just pop up with Go Set A Watchman, the rejected first draft that was reworked into Mockingbird. It's been around for a bit despite the book talking out against racism and instead wants everyone to get along. So, what was my final conclusion on this matter?

I do believe there is reason to believe Atticus is racist, but it might have been by accident. Part of the thrust of GSAW is an adult Scout returning home to discover this fact and having to reconcile that Atticus isn't the paragon of righteousness she thought he was. It would make sense for there to be little clues in the flashbacks to illustrate that Atticus was always like this and Scout was just seeing him through a child's eyes.

But at the same time, TKAM wants to make it very clear that Atticus isn't like most of the adults in Maycomb and he's more of an egalitarian. He even has his kids call him by his first name like he does to them, or why he doesn't like to use his natural talents in shooting because it makes him better than others. You could even argue it's why he's in the legal profession as he argues that the world outside isn't equal. Someone's always going to be more talented, or have an advantage, but in the courts everyone is supposed to be treated the same. So I think that's the intent of the reworked story, while stuff like him saying he's as radical as a major proponent of white supremacy at the time are details Harper Lee may have failed to edit out (and I don't take that as Atticus joking, as the man is against lying. He's willing to let it be known Jem killed Ewell so that people won't talk about it behind his back, And this would also put him in direct contrast to Ewell, who lied about his daughter's actions resulting in Tom Robinson's death).

My problem though is his attitude towards society. A white man who takes advantage of a black man is trash, says Atticus, but he never extends this to society. He knows there's injustice, but his reaction is basically don't shit where you eat. Don't confront others on their racism, instead try to be an example especially towards your children in order to incite change. This is contradicted, however, because of how he allows Aunt Alexandria to try and instill her beliefs into Scout. Beliefs that are racist and classist, about how she's better because of her breeding despite how the family's money has dried up. The hypocrisy of the ladies meeting where one woman sings the praises of a preacher looking out for people in Africa while treating black people in her vicinity with scorn. And then there's the fact he tells Scout he knows there will be a reckoning due to how African-Americans are treated, just he hopes it doesn't happen in her lifetime. That black people will still be mistreated until after his kids are dead. To see this attitude being championed, it did not sit well with me.

Maybe the movie will be easier to digest. At least it has Gregory Peck.

I keep thinking about how TKAM is supposed to be Superman's favorite book and movie, and I can see him aligning with the inspiration bit because that's kinda Supes' deal, but Superman also isn't afraid to confront injustice. He was introduced as a champion of the little guy, doing things like beating wife-beaters or forcing war profiteers to fight in the wars they start. Mild-mannered Clark Kent was writing fiery editorials to try and urge Americans to join the war against Hitler and was kicking Klan ass back in 1946 on the radio. I get using TKAM would be a standard answer for Superman considering it was revealed before this discussion became more common, but it's an aspect to his character I feel would warrant an update.

Not him being a massive Metallica fan though, that needs to stay until the end of time.

[sunwarmed-ash]

🔥Sinful Sunday🔥

Chapter 11: What you do on your own time's just fine, my imaginations much worse...

Ships: HankConvin, HankCon, HankVin, Convin Rating: Explicit-sexual content Chapter Tags: hankvin feels, top!Gavin, verse!Connor, handcuffs, dirty talk, anal sex, sexy banter, wire play, begging, draaamaaa Dedications: @sweeteatercat and @tentoriumcerebelli this chapters for you 😈👀🔥💜 Summary:

Gavin's apartment: Sep 29th 12:28 AM

So much has changed in such a short amount of time Gavin is struggling to keep up with it all. His healing relationship with Hank, an unexpected budding one with Connor, their work life, society and their opinions on androids, phcking life, and its pounding him down into the dirt. He’s already smoked through a third of his new pack as he waits for Tina and it hasn’t helped ease his nerves one phcking bit. 

He’s still trying to digest all the information he’s gotten over the last 72 hours that have to do with Hank and Connor and specifically not the phcking case. 

Hank and Connor are definitely a thing. Probably have been for even longer than Gavin can start thinking about.

Hank and he, are, maybe starting to become a thing again. It's really dependent on Gavin now. Because Hank is making obvious strides to bury the hatchet. He just has to accept the apology and trust nothing like before will happen again. Which is so much easier said than phcking done, by the way. 

He and Connor, have still yet to discuss what in the hell they were, but it doesn't feel like just sex. As much as he initially wanted it to be. If it was just sex, his phucking heart wouldn’t try and beat out of his chest every time his big, soft brown eyes bore into his.  

A sharp change in the wind has Gavin hissing and pulling his well worn jacket tighter around his body. it's cold outside, it’s always phcking cold in September. He’d wait for T inside, but if he has to look at his walls where Connor broke him apart for another second he’s gonna combust right out of his skin. He just needs a break from everything. His heart needs a break. Meaningless sex will do that for him. Give him the reset he needs. 

He hopes

[the-single-element]

Good morning.

Today, as we read Matthew's good news, where Jesus is continuing to instruct his inner circle on how they're meant to spread that good news to the surrounding countryside... we read something that - let's be frank - doesn't sound like good news at all.

Jesus isn't as raw in his language to his disciples as he would be later, when speaking to the crowds on this topic. He says "whoever loves their family more than they love me", not "whoever does not hate their family". But it's still a statement that's hard to digest. It's especially hard to digest in contrast to the story of Elisha blessing the Shunemite woman, where her ties to her family are the medium of that blessing.

How can we reconcile this? How can we make sense of absolute "if X is less than Y" rules in a kingdom whose logic of love normally doesn't truck with that kind of math? How can we celebrate and reject familial bonds - which were of supreme cultural importance in Jesus's society - in the same breath?

Part of it is stuff we've discussed before. Jesus doesn't mention it in today's good news, but in Luke, he pairs this admonition with a parable about being sure you can accomplish your mission before committing to undertaking it. About being ready to buy the pearl of Great Price when it goes on sale - as he will describe in another parable a few weeks from now - rather than miss the opportunity. If we prepare our hearts for that possibility ahead of time, it'll be easier to stick to the mission should we ever be required to choose between it and something else in our hearts. This possibility of controversy is something we heard about just last week, paired with stories of the controversy Jeremiah faced when sent with his own message.

But there's another factor here.

The first words of Jesus's ministry were "the kingdom of heaven is at hand". Jesus is here to establish a different paradigm than the one that came before - one in which, so he says, the things we've given up to reach it will, somehow, be abundantly reimbursed.

How could this be? A reimbursement of material wealth, maybe we can understand at first glance. But what does it even mean for lost family to be reimbursed?

The clue for how this could possibly work, is embedded in today's story of the prophet Elisha.

Consider this: before Elisha blesses the Shunemite woman's family, they invite him into their family. They have him over for family dinners. They give him a little room to stay in, in their home. Their family is no longer a pure, earthly logic matter of blood and marriage; it's become something slightly different.

And this difference opens the door for more differences. For miracles, yes - both the one we hear about today, and the nearly unprecedented miracle that happens later, where Elisha revives this promised son from death. But the door has also been opened for moments which defy this world's logic in more mundane ways. Moments where the wife takes charge over the husband. Moments where the woman acts almost as Elisha's own mother. The familiar patterns of family, especially family as the domus of a patriarch, have been subverted. Something else has snuck in.

Paul provides an explanation, using some of his favorite images. If baptism is a symbol for death and rebirth, then what is a family but "a group of people I was born into"? If we have a new life in the Kingdom, then why wouldn't there be a family waiting for us there? Perhaps it'll be our old family, and perhaps - if we have to make the sad decision to depart from them in order to live in the Kingdom - it won't be. But Jesus implies, too, that the logic of the Kingdom will conspire to bring such a new life to birth - new family life and new social life and new professional life. That relationships within the Kingdom will be intrinsically blessed, even ones as simple as offering someone a cup of water, or a seat at a family dinner.

All throughout his account of the Good News, Matthew attempts to transcribe, from Jesus's life and teachings, glimpses of the otherworldly logic of the Kingdom of Heaven. This is our first such glimpse. When the apostles return from their mission, there will be more - at the Sermon on the Seashore, and then in Caesarea Philippi and Capernaum, and finally in Jerusalem.

But with today's glimpse comes a sense of what we have to gain, and how we will gain it. A sense that will hopefully be provisions for our journey, ready to help us steady ourselves when we face difficult choices along the way.

A sense that we really are living with Jesus, even now, and that there are blessings all around us, waiting to leap into our hands if we take the opportunity to catch them.

[batri-jopa]

SHIT 'N' STUFF NOBODY AWAITS "Movie-night" part 2 of 3

So here's for another film: last time seen... more than ten years ago apparently.

First time I watched it being a teenager and I remember the important plot twist seemed so, sooo weird to me - yet I still loved it for opening my mind with the fresh point of view. Like: a girl hiding inside a closed conservative pure-male society? Give it to me any time of day or night!!!😍

And well, the main conclusion? This movie is not "so soo weird" - it's just SOO QUEER!!!😆 How come I did not notice that before?! That was probably too much for my catholic teenage brain to digest back then🤣

It's not about "cross-dressing" - that's just a tip of the iceberg: one is not sure if main character is still a woman pretending to be a man, a woman becoming a man, a person not sure of who to be? And is it easier or harder when gender rules are so different and so strictly separated from each other? Cause if you want to "eat a fruit of every tree"...

But gender aside: after watching it 2 times in my life I, for some reason, decided to remember that main character loves them both but only desires the man... And thus I assumed she was biromantic heterosexual - that toward another woman she was loving only platonically, a lot like if she was "asexual man"...

Was I not listening to the song "No wonder he loves her"? Ending with words "If I were a man I would too"?! And continued in a moment when their closeness becames so visibly distracting... A song of a woman realising that she's falling in love with another woman 😳

Holy shit, she's bisexual!!!🤯

And if that's not enough: evoking bisexual desires in them both!🤣 (he's saying he always wanted to touch "his friend" but was afraid, thought that something is wrong with him... But he really did not know, he was absolutely sure that's a man and so YES, he was a man desiring another man!!!). And even when they already know the truth - you can see it in their eyes reading a letter and you know they both still love her...

So I always liked this polyamorous relationship before ever knowing it's called that way😅

And all in all "nothing is impossible"

[abookishidentity]

Books finished in January 2024

-The Village Library Demon-Hunting Society by C.M. Waggoner started December 30, 2024 and finished January 1, 2025 -4/5 stars. This book was quite interesting. The first few chapters felt different than the rest of the book. The main character was an amateur detective who helped the police catch criminals and such. The reason that there was so much murder in this quaint little town and it was stuck on a time period with no internet access was because of a demon who liked seeing her solve these crimes. Then there was a tone change and shift when this is realized. The book became more interesting after this. I need to read other C.M books.

-Persephone Station by Stina Liecht started January 2, 2025 and finished January 5, 2025- 4/5 stars. Good representation, good science fiction elements, and I liked the plot. It was fun and I liked the characters a lot. It had cool aliens in it too. They had to protect the aliens from capitalism essentially. Characters meeting the aliens/the original people who lived on the land and having to protect them from invading forces is always good to read.

-Network Effect by Martha Wells started January 6, 2025 and finished January 8, 2025- 4/5 stars. It's always good to read about Murderbot again. They are such an interesting character. I liked how different this book was. We got the perspective of murderbot, a different killerware version of it, and a newly freed SecUnit. That was cool. I love Muderbots interactions with the humans. Muderbot seems to be having major feelings in this book.

-Leviathan Wakes by James S.A. Corey started January 8, 2025 and finished January 13, 2025- 3/5 stars. I did not care for this book overall. It was cool that humans populated different planets and there was this virus going around infecting people. But this book was written and published in a different time. If I had read this over ten years I may have enjoyed it but sadly I don't now. There were lines here and there that made me want to throw the book. Also I don't want to read about cops. Even though Miller was fired and all that, an ex cop is still a cop. Not going to read more of this series.

-My Heart is Human by Reese Hogan started January 13, 2025 and finished January 15, 2025- 4/5 stars. This was easier to digest than the previous book. A young trans father doing everything he can to provide for his daughter and gets an advanced AI implanted in his head. This is a world in which technology, like computers and robots, are shut down because of some virus. It seemed at first that all technology was banned but that seemed like it would be unrealistic. It does exist just in basic forms. Once again, the main character essentially falls for a cop. Also I don't know how you can have a relationship with someone if you had shot them in the stomach. Overall a good book though.

-A Bid to Rule by Novae Caelum started January 16, 2025 and finished January 20, 2025- 4.5/5 stars. This is the first book in the series technically but it's the third to be published? Anyway its a prequel which means there isn't much tension because you know at least three characters aren't going to die. This is such a fascinating world. The rulers can do shapeshifting and can really fall into the characters they are trying to be. The main character does an inception kind of shapeshift. He was pretending to be a certain character who was pretending to be another character. It's fucking wild. Good series. I highly recommend.

-Lady Eve’s Last Con by Rebecca Fraimow started January 21, 2025 and finished January 23, 2025- 4/5 stars. A woman tries to con a rich ass man to marry her so she can take half his money but the man's stepsister is on to her con. It's gay and it's in space. What more do you want? I liked this a lot.

-Gnomon by Nick Harkaway started January 24, 2025 and finished January 28, 2025- 3/5 stars. Interesting plot. I like that it's different than the other book I read of the author. I wish we got more of the actual scary science fiction setting instead of the stories of the people in the dissident's head. The book was way too long. Or perhaps I just wasn't into it as I should have been. I like the ending though.

-Bookshops and Bonedust by Travis Baldree started January 29, 2025 and finished January 30, 2025- 4.5/5 stars. This book was so relaxing to read after the previous book. I liked this book more than Legends and Lattes mostly because I just love reading about bookstores and libraries. I loved Potroast and Fern's way of talking. Sachel was incredibly cool as well. This was such a fun and quick read.

[environmental1000studies]

Semester Practicum

For my climate change practicum, I chose to join the astronomy club for the year. It fits perfectly because we learn more in-depth about the celestial phenomena that go on way above us, and it is a personal interest I am very passionate about. I would say the club, on average, takes an hour out of my week. Wednesday nights are dedicated to attending club meetings unless I have a conflicting obligation. The club operates on a presentation into activity regiment, varying from topics like the Eras of the Big Bang–the process in which our universe was formed in a matter of 3 minutes upon the unification of the essential forces into one super one: gravity, continuously forming and destroying particles in which the pure energy release expanding the universe, and cooling enough for nuclei to form to create other elements. Our universe is still expanding today, collisions still occurring, and eventually, a collapse. On the other side of the topic spectrum, we covered astrophotography, which I have since learned is very sensitive to light pollution. Also, weather patterns impact the nature of this work, leading to delays in studies due to natural phenomena. The club board is very introductory in teaching this information and equipment operation to club members, making it a bit easier to digest and process the new information I receive each week. 

One of our first quick-fire lessons of the semester was on operating a telescope, which may sound a little anticlimactic, but for me personally, it was a great ton of knowledge. After taking physics, I can say wholeheartedly that optics is not entirely common sense. Eyepieces, lens options, refractive and reflective images, and all of the settings in-between take understanding, which does not come on its own. Telescopes are more than mere instruments. According to the Center for Astrophysics | Harvard & Smithsonian, telescopes revolutionized the field of astronomy, allowing astronomers to see further beyond the eye; into the vast unknown with each advancement. We have discovered anomalies, black holes, other planets, and galaxies since the invention of telescopes in the 1600s, and progress only paves way for more. 

Another important tool I have discussed with club members is satellites. Enormous metal contraptions float above us, and record essential data for tracking climate change. According to “In the Air” from the Smithsonian Institution, sensors are able to capture levels of atmospheric gases, the sea, and our planet’s weather patterns. The information provided allows governments to make informed decisions when discussing domestic and international climate policies. Beyond this, scientists can use measurements to develop more efficient and cleaner alternatives to the methods we currently have in place. It is also vital for natural disaster response and aid efforts to monitor real-time data on events to ensure maximum safety. Finally, among the varied list of uses, agriculture has a spot. Satellites can help farmers adapt to climate change in their region by measuring various factors of soil and crop conditions. Now, all of this was not prior knowledge to me. This was a time for me to learn something new, and my fellow clubmates did not disappoint! This conversation, carried out over the semester, sticks out to me distinctly because I remember thinking, “These people are so smart!” I had the worst case of imposter syndrome for the briefest moment, but I walked away having a better grasp on the field as a whole! This intersection of our terrestrial home and celestial surroundings is undoubtedly a drastic benefit in combating climate change, and should definitely be a piece of common knowledge throughout society. Sometimes, people forget to interact with their natural surroundings, missing the wonder that surrounds them. 

I remember our club president telling a story of a time he was at Mauna Kea, this dormant Hawaiian volcano that is considered to be the best place on Earth to stargaze and is actively prioritized in being protected from light pollution due to its natural beauty. He could not believe his eyes, and at that moment, as he was telling the story, I felt envy. His experience sounded like a dream (I have it marked down as a place to visit when I travel to Hawaii in the future). But, the more I thought about it, the more I was saddened by the current state of our local environment. New York City is significantly lacking night sky visibility due to the immense amount of air and light pollution, as shown in the image below. New York City is renowned for its lights and screen displays, so obviously, it is not the ideal place for astronomical observations. Nevertheless, it is important to note the impact this has on our environment. My own personal research has resulted from a conversation we had earlier in the semester regarding the impact of New York City’s lights on migratory birds. Large amounts of birds failed to survive movement patterns due to disorientation caused by the city’s blinding lights that extend into the sky, resulting in restrictions put in place by the state. This is just one example of how we see the immediate impact of light pollution on the environment. Who knows what research shows about the translation of light pollution into air pollution–maybe I should look into that! It’s an interesting concept: light having an impact on the medium through which it travels..hmm! Regardless, NYC suffers due to the immense amount of light, and it is an important topic to carry into future research and prioritizations. 

All semester, we have been talking about the impacts of human processes, greenhouse gas emissions and our rapidly increasing rate of climate change, and the astronomy club is allowing me to see in my own eyes how it has impacted our atmosphere. I have only barely scratched the surface in topics and areas of study, but I am excited to learn more with time! 

wc: 980