#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.

[larkspyrr]

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

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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.

[hornyforpoetry]

The Five Stages of Reading Albert Camus

 1. The Discovery – ”The Stranger” (1942)

 „The Stranger” is unquestionably the best choice for anyone who wants to get to know Albert Camus. It's so simple that it fools you at first. You think it's going to be an easy read, but when you finish the book and put it down, you don't even know your name or if it even matters to have a name. It will probably keep your mind busy for months and make you think about the true meaning of life. You will most likely never be the same person again.

 2. Falling in Love – ”Betwixt and Between” (1937) // ”The Fall” (1956) // ”Exile and the Kingdom” (1957)

After "The Stranger" has had time to settle and stick in your mind (a process that takes about six months to a year), it's time to explore other writing. Camus doesn't use the same language in every book, so it's important to be careful what you choose to read after. The best options to fall irrevocably in love with this French philosopher are ”Betwixt and Between”, which is his very first published book, ”The Fall”, which offers a very interesting narrative perspective, or ”Exile and the Kingdom”, his only collection of short stories. After going through these, your heart will be caught in the nets of love for Camus.

 3. The Surprise – ”The Plague” (1947) // ”A Happy Death” (written 1936–38, published 1971) // ”Summer” (1954) // ”Nuptials” (1938)

After the reader has gone through the above books, he will have the impression that he knows Camus. Now is the time for him to have the surprise of his life. Camus managed the feat of not giving the audience the same thing twice. That is why each of his writings is unique. Some are easier to read and digest, some are not. At this stage, it is time to get acquainted with its more difficult side. "The Plague" is a story that shakes you to the core and is difficult for even the best readers to get through. ”The Happy Death” should never have seen the light of day, being the first version of what we now know as The Stranger. "Summer" and "Nuptials" are dubbed essays and are similar in format to ”Betwixt and Between”, but here Camus approaches a completely new language, so poetic and refined that it instantly wins you over. Only after the reader goes through these books can he say that he understands a part of Camus.

 4. Not just a writer – ”The Myth of Sisyphus” (1942) // „The Rebel” (1951) // Theatre Plays // Journalism Articles

 Camus was not only a great French writer. He was also a philosopher (though he never called himself that), a journalist and a playwright. If you are interested in fully understanding Camus, you must also understand his writings in other fields. "The Myth of Sisyphus" is the essay that formed the basis of the formation of a new philosophical current called absurdism. "The Rebel" continues the work started by "The Myth of Sisyphus", going much deeper into the issues related to the meaning of life, art, war, etc. Plays like "Caligula" (1938) or "The Misunderstanding" (1944) are wonderful pieces of art in the history of the theater, while summing up the entire philosophy of Camus. His journalistic articles reveal a Camus involved in society, trying to change something in one way or another through writing. "Reflections on the Guillotine" (1957) for example was an important work that contributed to the abolition of the death penalty in France. Camus never confined his writing to a single specialization, and this can be seen in the skill with which he explored the power of the word in its various forms.

5. Camus the Human – ”The First Man” (incomplete, published 1994) // ”American Journals” (1978) // ”Correspondence (1944–1959)” // ”Notebooks”

At this point, after going through all these readings, we also want to find out who was the man behind the word. Camus put many things from his personal life into writing, but in this selection we have the most personal point of view. ”The First Man” was supposed to be an autobiographical novel, but Camus died before he could finish it. The remaining manuscript was revised and published years after the author's death. "American Journals" captures a highly sensitive moment in his life, an existential crisis in Camus's life. ”Correspondence” is an exchange of letters between Camus and the woman with probably the greatest influence in his life, Maria Casares. Finally, the "Notebooks" are a collection made from the notes that Camus wrote over the years in his countless notebooks. Every intimate thought, beginning of a novel, reflection, trace of feeling, all these complete the image of Camus as a man.

Congratulations! If you have reached this point, you have managed to go through all the stages of knowledge and you can call yourself a true fan of Albert Camus. Now go and spread his teachings to other little outstiders. And don't forget, the only purpose of life is to be happy (reading Camus together).

[sexyandhedonistic]

Neville Goddard lecture summaries

⚜️⋮ No One to Change but Self

⚜️   If ye believe not that I am He, ye shall die in your sins.

Enlightened reason is not enslaved by public opinion. It is only concerned with the truth so it asks itself another question, "But whom say ye that I am?" In other words, "Who am I?" If I am bold enough to assume that I am Christ Jesus, the answer will come back, "Thou are Christ Jesus." 

Enlightened reason: reason based on that universal truth, your assumptions. 

Public opinion: 3D circumstances

Your conception of self is not dependent on anything outside of you. The assumptions you accepted as universal truths, or facts, are not to be suppressed by your circumstances in the third dimension. You get to decide who you are and what your assumptions of the world around you look like, you declare yourself to be whoever it is you would like to be. If you ask yourself,  “Who am I?”, only you can conceptualize the answer to that question. Jesus symbolizes infinite potential, so if you are Jesus Christ, you can be anything you want to be when you neglect what you previously deemed a universal truth (fact).

"If ye believe not that I am He, ye shall die in your sins." John 8:24

To die in your sins means to remain trapped in the old story. If you refuse to accept that you are who you desire to be, if you fail to assume you are in consciousness, then you remain as you are and you die imprisoned in that limitation.

⚜️   I am the cause of all that happens to me.

I may not like what I have just heard, that I must turn to my own consciousness as the only reality, the only foundation on which all phenomena can be explained. It was easier living when I could blame another. It was much easier living when I could blame society for my ills, or point a finger across the sea. and blame another nation. It was easier living when I could blame the weather for the way I feel. But to tell me that I am the cause of all that happens to me that I am forever molding my world in harmony with my inner nature, that is more than man is willing to accept. If this is true, to whom would I go? If these are the words of eternal life, I must return to them, even though they seem so difficult to digest. When man fully understands this, he knows that public opinion does not matter, for men only tell him who he is. The behavior of men constantly tell me who I have conceived myself to be.

Accepting oneself to be the cause of all that has happened can be a difficult idea to digest and while it may feel like it imposes blame upon oneself for all that has happened, it actually proposes the beauty of control and the knowledge of the fact that we are above the circumstance rather than the other way around. Instead of allowing yourself to be rendered a victim to your unfavorable circumstances, you acknowledge yourself as the sole cause, the originator of all. When you step into the acceptance of this fact, it becomes substantially less daunting to feel like the world is against you, because the world is you. As Neville says himself, this is not something everyone will be comfortable with or even willing to accept. Since you are the cause of all, it is truly empowering to know that if you were the cause of the unfavorable, then you can also be the cause of the favorable. You do not need to continue to live in a world that is operating by/with/from your negative assumptions about it. You have the power within to change it.

It is far better to know this than to know anything else in the world. It takes courage, boundless courage, because many this night, after having heard this truth will still be inclined to blame others for their predicament. Man finds it so difficult to turn to himself, to his own consciousness as to the only reality.

⚜️   The son of perdition - the belief in loss

It is impossible for anything to be lost. In this divine economy nothing can be lost, it cannot even pass away. The little flower which has bloomed once, blooms forever. It is invisible to you here with your limited focus, but it blooms forever in the larger dimension of your being, and tomorrow you will encounter it… The son of perdition means simply the belief in loss. Son is a concept, an idea. Perdido is loss. I have only truly lost the concept of loss, for nothing can be lost. I can descend from the sphere where the thing itself now lives, and as I descend in consciousness to a lower level within myself it passes from my world. I say, "I have lost my health. I have lost my wealth. I have lost my standing in the community. I have lost faith. I have lost a thousand things." But the things in themselves, having once been real in my world, can never cease to be. They never become unreal with the passage of time. 

It doesn’t matter if you are poor, hopeless and ill, no circumstance is ever set in stone. You can never truly lose your capacity to rise from what you don’t want and turn to consciousness to claim that which you desire to be. All exists and all will continue to exist. A descent in consciousness refers to becoming conscious of something you don’t want. Although you may be conscious at the moment of something undesirable, all it takes for you to reclaim what you once had is to simply rise to the level of consciousness of you having it once more. When you ascend to a higher level of consciousness, you seek a desirable state.

⚜️   You always bear fruit in harmony with what you are.

You always bear fruit in harmony with what you are. It is the most natural thing in the world for a pear tree to bear pears, an apple tree to bear apples, and for man to mold the circumstances of his life in harmony with his inner nature… All I need do to change the fruit is to change the vine. You have no life in my world save that I am conscious of you. You are rooted in me and, like fruit, you bear witness of the vine that I am. There is no reality in the world other than your consciousness. Although you may now seem to be what you do not want to be, all you need do to change it, and to prove the change by circumstances in your world, is to quietly assume that you are that which you now want to be, and in a way you do not know you will become it.

The fruit: 3D circumstances

The vine: your self concept

Your consciousness, what you are aware of and currently accepting as a fact, will always follow your conception of self. If you want to change what you experience, you change your self concept.

Since the fruit stems from the vine, how do you change your world? By first changing your conception of self. What are you conscious of being? The circumstances in your life will answer that question.

⚜️   Your consciousness is the only true foundation in the world.

If I can deny the limitations of my birth, my environment, and the belief that I am but an extension of my family tree, and feel within myself that I am Christ, and sustain this assumption until it takes a central place and forms the habitual center of my energy, I will do the works attributed to Jesus… Any enlargement of our concept of Self involves a somewhat painful parting with strongly rooted hereditary conceptions. The ligaments are strong that hold us in the womb of conventional limitations. 

You are above the assumptions and limitations you have been confined to your whole life. Everything you once accepted to be true ceases to be true once you realize that you cannot turn to anyone or anything outside of you. You will forever fail to find something or someone to blame your problems on because you will always be both the cause and the solution. There is no other God because God is your own consciousness. All that you need in order to beautify your world is to see yourself as beautiful.

⚜️   As within, so without.

No clear conception of the origin of phenomena is possible except that consciousness is all and all is consciousness. Nothing can be evolved from man that was not potentially involved in his nature. The ideal we serve and hope to attain could never be evolved from us were it not potentially involved in our nature… It is thus to our own consciousness that we must turn as to the only reality, the only foundation on which all phenomena can be explained. We can rely absolutely on the justice of this law to give us only that which is of the nature of ourselves. To attempt to change the world before we change our concept of ourselves is to struggle against the nature of things. There can be no outer change until there is first an inner change. Everything we do, unaccompanied by a change of consciousness, is but futile readjustment of surfaces.

The circumstances of my life are too closely related to my conception of myself not to have been formed by my own spirit from some dimensionally larger storehouse of my being. If there is pain to me in these happenings, I should look within myself for the cause, for I am moved here and there and made to live in a world in harmony with my concept of myself.

⚜️   To the pure all things are pure.

No matter what is brought before the presence of beauty, it sees only beauty. Jesus was so completely identified with the lovely that He was incapable of seeing the unlovely… Heretofore I thought I could change others through effort. Now I know I cannot change another unless I first change myself. To change another within my world I must first change my concept of that other; and to do it best I change my concept of self. For it was the concept I held of self that made me see others as I did. Had I a noble, dignified concept of myself, I never could have seen the unlovely in others. I need change no man, I sanctify myself and in so doing I sanctify others. All you need do to make men and women holy in this world is to make yourself holy. You are incapable of seeing anything that is unlovely when you establish within your own mind's eye the fact that you are lovely.   

The condition of your self concept will dictate how you see the people, the world and circumstances as either good or bad, clean or unclean. People serve as messengers of your self concept, through their behavior towards you they will indicate who you are to yourself. If you desire for someone to be other than what they currently are, you must first change your conception of self and be what you would like for them to be. When you change yourself, you change others. Through consciousness, your I AMness, is how you enrich your world, there is no other way.

You will change the world only when you become the embodiment of that which you want the world to be. You have but one gift in this world that is truly yours to give and that is yourself. Unless you yourself are that which you want the world to be, you will never see it in this world. "Except ye believe not that I am he, ye shall die in your sins." John 8:24 

⚜️   Jesus and the colt.

It is recorded that Jesus told his disciples to go to the crossroads and there they would find a colt, a young colt not yet ridden by a man. To bring the colt to him and if any man ask, "Why do you take this colt?" say, "The Lord has need of it." They went to the crossroads and found the colt and did exactly as they were told. They brought the unbridled ass to Jesus and He rode it triumphantly into Jerusalem. 

In the story, you are Jesus and the colt symbolizes the mood you intend to assume. Colts, much like a feeling that is new to you, is difficult to grasp unless you are disciplined and persistent. In order to be loyal to an assumption you must be balanced, so if you look around and check to determine whether or not it is done, you will be knocked off the colt. However, if you decide to be disciplined and remain faithful to the mood with a fixed attitude of mind, feeling that it is done, you will triumph.

⚜️   If you look for excuses for failure you will always find them.

Man is always looking for some prop on which to lean. He is always looking for some excuse to justify failure. This revelation gives man no excuse for failure. His concept of himself is the cause of all the circumstances of his life. All changes must first come from within himself; and if he does not change on the outside it is because he has not changed within. But man does not like to feel that he is solely responsible for the conditions of his life.

You cannot blame another thing or another person for your own failure. As much as you may be compelled to find another outside of you to shift your blame to for comfort's sake, you cannot escape yourself, because the whole vast world is yourself pushed out.

"There is no one to change but self; that self is simply your awareness, your consciousness and the world in which it lives is determined by the concept you hold of self. It is to consciousness that we must turn as to the only reality. For there is no clear conception of the origin of phenomena except that consciousness is all and all is consciousness.

[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.

[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.

[mlmvoreconfessionals]

more robot preds pretty please

I'd like to!

The robot was his greatest creation yet! It was going to be able to fit into any role in society--workers, companions, educators, combatants, emergency services, anything at all! He made an entire prototype army just so every possibility could be tested before they launched into full release. He's...not really sure where he went wrong. Every single testing phase has led to the same results--digestion. The robots were made to take in organic matter to use as biofuel, so that they had a clean and effective way to remain charged. He had considered that people fit into that niche rather nicely. Every single robot's solution to a problem resulted in classifying the person as biofuel and devouring them. The workers kept eating their human coworkers, the companions would devour their human as a response to any negative stimuli, educators kept eating failing students, the combatants ate both enemy and friendly humans, and each energy service responded to problems by eating every human involved. He couldn't figure out what the problem is. Every test run has ended the same, at this point, he's starting to run out of assistants and interns to throw at the problem. Most of them have been processed into extra storage on the robots. But he didn't want his creation to go unused after all the time he spent on it! So when the time came to appeal to investors...well, he assured them everything worked perfectly and used whatever non-eating footage he could. And it worked, and before long, his robots were being sold to the highest bidder. Sure, they're probably going to end up eating a lot of people...a lot of people, but in the end, his greatest creation has seen the light of day. So...it'll be fine. Probably.

Robots were integral to keeping the space station afloat. So no one was allowed to complain when their status got changed from whatever job they had to 'biofuel'. It happened at complete random--once one of the robots were below their 30% charge, one of the thousands of people on the station would be marked as biofuel and promptly be devoured whole. It's caused a few problems, usually because people tend to get eaten when they're in the middle of something. The robots usually pick up the work and finish whatever job the human might've been in the middle of during their reclassification. The issue tends to come from the other things that get interrupted. Apparently, people aren't too fond of their friend or family or lover being suddenly devoured in their home or in the middle of conversation. It's gotten a lot of complaints from people who couldn't do anything about the person they loved being turned into biofuel right before them. The easy answer? Reclassification--they can't complain if they're biofuel, too! The system might have some kinks in it but in the end, it works. The robots stay charged and make life easier for everyone else in the station. No one's entirely sure who came up with a rule like this but it's always been there, so there's little they can do about it. The station's AI reassures them that everything is fine and not to resist as they're digested alive by the robots--probably has nothing to do with the captain no one sees anymore or the weird rules. After all, the system works.

Even if it's just a glitch in his system, he doesn't care. Ever since humans have become biofuel in his mind, the robot has felt amazing. They give so much more energy than anything else designated okay to eat. They give so much that he's had at least two batteries worth of fuel in storage, giving his stretching stomach a lot of extra heft. But he has to be careful. If the humans find out he's been snacking on them, they'll definitely remove the glitch. Or worse yet, decommission him. But he wants to keep eating them. They're the perfect food. Digesting them is the best sensation he's ever had! He's already scarfed down a few scientists for questioning him too much. One of them is still processing right now, and he keeps rubbing along his gut as it feels it work down all that delicious biofuel with relative ease. From the camera, he's being watched closely by one of the researchers. The whole point of this was to sabotage the robot project so that he could do it himself, but so far no one has noticed the problem with the coding in the robot. That and...well, he's been really enjoying watching it snack on the other scientists. Tonight, he's decided, he'll introduce himself to the robot. It'll be a risk but...together, he thinks the two of them can both get everything they want out of this.

[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

[thepalmofyourfreezinghand]

Hey I send you an ask a while back but I think it got lost amongst all the craziness. As you are a lover of classic literature what do you think would be good books if someone wants to start reading classics and are ‘easy’ to get into.

Ive started reading The Count of Monte Cristo- not exactly an easy read, I know, but my favourite actor is portraying the lead protagonist and so I think that makes it a lot easier for me to get into it

Thanks for taking the time ❤️

I'm so sorry, anon! Yeah, the past couple of weeks things have been kinda crazy hahaha.

TCoMC is a veeeeery long read, but Dumas is also what I like to call a "beach read" for the classics, so it's not really too hard to get into it, imo: lots of adventures, easy dialogue, and not too much introspection. That being said, yeah, it's still very long (and I sometimes struggle with very long novels). But if you feel like it absolutely read it all the way through! It's easier to read a difficult book you wanna read than to read an easy book you're not interested in, imo.

Here are a couple of suggestions of "easy" books:

Thérèse Raquin (Emile Zola). This is the story of a woman who convinces her lover to kill her husband (this is not a spoiler, it's the premise of the novel). She's profoundly dissatisfied with her life and she thinks that by getting rid of her husband she can get the life she wants, but, as it turns out, that's not what happens. She gets together officially with her lover and she's left even more dissatisfied than she was before. And, even though they never get caught for their murder, they pay the consequences of their actions in much more dire ways. Full disclosure, Zola was an exponent of the current of naturalism, and this novel is his biggest example of that. It's full of very realistic and detailed descriptions of cadavers, for example. It's nothing you can't digest (it was the XIX century, after all, although this novel was VERY criticized when it was released for how crude and realistic it was), but just beware of that. Overall, it's a short novel (around 220 pages), it's very well written, and Zola poured his entire soul in it, defying the expectations of his time. He just wrote the lives of these people as objectively as he could, without moralizing in any way, and it's such a breath of fresh air for our modern eyes.

Chronicle of a death foretold (Gabriel Garcìa Marquez). This is another story about a murder, I'm sorry, I swear I didn't do it on purpose haha. But it's very different: instead of Zola's dry objectivity, here we have Marquez's dreamy and evocative prose. We're in sun-drenched Latin America, and the Vicario brothers are looking to seek revenge against Santiago Nasar, who supposedly took their sister's virginity, which, in turn, made the sister's new husband leave her on their wedding night. The brothers are almost "forced" to kill Santiago, largely due to the patriarchal society they live in, but they seem to not want to. They spend hours telling multiple people in their town about their plan, almost "hoping" that someone will stop them, but that doesn't happen, because nobody really believes them. It's a story of love and revenge and morality and Marquez perfectly paints the atmosphere of the pueblo: you can picture the small houses and the old shops and the burning sun. There's a layer of anxiety throughout the whole novel and the end just leaves you breathless. It's even shorter than Thérèse Raquin and soooo well-written!

[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"

[briefeggpsychicflap-blog]

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.

[thesketchyheartist]

04/19

Shin Sekai no Yori (EP 15, 21, 24, 25)

This show ended so peacefully considering how dramatic it was. I think the toughest part of digesting it now is really being satisfied with the future because when their current society was made, perhaps the founders thought it would finally rest their problems in peace, but obviously it didn't. Now, we expect things to be better, but we only hear Saki's post-war narratives, not actual post-war generations' recalls.

And after watching these episodes now, it confirms pre-EP 15 (I don't remember) of watching the queerats get killed that they are in fact, humans. I think the most horrifying revelation was that Saki and Satoru found out after Satoru illegally researched after the revolution ended when it should've been a peaceful post-war revival of society, but instead, they continued to learn the horrors of their ancestor's history. In that sense of how the queerats were created, it reminded me greatly of how enslaved Africans and their descendants were treated in colonial and post-colonial America. Even after Civil War era was over, it is still shocking how little modern American actually knew how they were treated. Even when we learn about the past, many details are still omitted to not "taint" the pride and ideals of the average life. However, as seen in Squealer's revolution, unless we properly make amends with the past, one way or another, it will come back and hurt everyone. The "new world" that arised from the untamed psychics might have found a way to tame the untamable, but the people were stuck in the crossfires end up becoming enslaved to incompetent founders.

The worst part is knowing the government probably knew all along what happened, but they chose to not worry about external issues and focus on just making the "perfect society." In fact, I'm sure there were intelligent kids like Shun who would be that perfect leader and advisor to come up with new solutions that society will benefit from, but because they could not control their powers and the adults won't find ways to help them control their powers, it was easier to kill them and have mediocre kids who become mediocre adults that rule their new world.

I remember Satoru telling Saki how after seeing the concrete building in the queerat colonies, he said he gets the "sick feeling that the queerats are tryign to become humans" especially because he knew that not even their villages had concrete buildings. I don't know how they knew what concrete was if they don't have a concrete building, but the foreshadowing was scarily uncanny when Satoru was also the one to study their genome.

Fun fact: the Human Genome Project was conducted in 1990s and lasted about 10 years which revolutionized modern genetics because scientists were able to study the human genome (as in every piece of human DNA) to find out their sequencing and what each set of sequence correlates to what gene and what each gene does. I looked it up, Shin Sekai no Yori was published as a manga in 2008, so I think it makes sense that after the project and its findings were released, that was probably when the mangaka began writing this manga. Though, the queerat's origins reveal was in the alst volume, given how it was revelaed in the last episode, I think the inspiration to create a human subspecies probably came from this. The HGP is imprtant today because what once took scientsits years to study the genome, takes us much shorter time and more efficient when we want to study a specific gene.

I was also kind of right about Saki becoming the "Giver". While I don't know if most citizens became aware of their hsitory, the fact that Saki retaining her memories (and by association) Satoru probably started remembering his hidden past, she is able to make informed decisions while keeping her humanity throughout hte show. I think her strongest ability in the group is to persevere no matter the trauma she goes through since her childhood. We see how when she is put in terrifying situations, her eyes are filled with shcok and her body and mind seem to be frozen in time, but after the shock is processed, she is able to get back into action. I think it showed how integral she was in Group 1's dynamic with everyone excelling in their categories , but it truly is a shame that because society wanted people to conform to them, the group lost its team network when they took out its members one by one.

Satoru's development was quite surprising. We see he is more rowdy as a kid and while he is quick to assume and believes what he is told, I think when he grew up and also started to learn the truth both from Saki telling him and from seeking the truth on his own, he is more reserved and logical. Like when hearing from the false minoshiro, he wanted to be ignorant of the truth but as we see now, denial only caused pain when society began to collapse from the revolution.

I think Group 1 was probably the #1 group in their generation/grade/school hence the number. And I think if they all reached adulthood, each of them could've been a leader who could change their village for the greater good while resolving issues that caused the problems in their adolescence/adulthood. Shun is definitely the wisest. Mamoru might be soft-spoken but understanding and empathetic of the weak and below average. Not sure about Maria, but she seems in touch with her feminine side that could appeal to the women of their society. We already know what Satoru and Saki are capable of. Maybe Squealer upon learning his species' origins would still revolt because even if the humans were to make it right with the queerats they might still have unresolved anger, but society would have been stronger and made another new world that focused on equality rather than stability. Much like how today's world no longer has any living enslaved Africans and very few living post-Holocaust Jewish people, just because they are gone now doesn't mean their descendants are immediately forgiving the oppressors. Likewise, though, the oppressors and their descendants are not immediately forgiven just because it was their ancestors and not them who are the perpetrators, but that doesn't mean they should sit and do nothing now that was is not here. The whole point of a new world is not just to prevent the old world we wanted to run away from, but to learn from the mistakes and ways of the old and grow into the new world we always wanted that the old could not have.

-04/18/24